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tyriq withers x black!bm!reader

Girl, you my paintin', you my art installation Gonna fuck you, put you on the wall

All I wanna do is show you off, I want to put you on Why would I ever blow you off?

Right now, let's go get lost

warnings: vanilla smut, smoking, swearing,

a/n: Skin by Mac Miller came own during my smoking session and I was inspired:))

The cold yet humid Jacksonville night air slapped Tyriq in the face the second he stepped outta the rental. Sticky, thick air – the kind that made your clothes cling to you. Jasmine and honeysuckle, the same damn scent that always reminded him of her and her momma's garden.

He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, that nervous little tic of his. Felt surreal, man, pullin' up to this house again after all the red carpets and bullshit. This was still home, kinda.

The porch light flickered on as he reached the steps, cuttin' a sharp outline of [Y/N] in the doorway. Even in the dim light, he could see the way her shape filled out them soft-ass shorts and tank top. A far cry from that cheerleader uniform she used to rock. Motherhood did somethin' to her, alright. Somethin' that twisted his gut in a way that made him wanna get her pregnant her all over again.

"Hey," she said, quiet.

"What's up?" he replied, tryin' to keep it cool.

He held out the bag. "Got some things for TJ, new shoes, games, some clothes for the winter, you know the basics."

"I appreciate it , Ty. He needs it. I’ve been working nights so I can get him the basketball stuff he wanted but he told not too. Must’ve been waitin' on his daddy to come through." She said chuckling

"It's nothin' he’s my son," he mumbled, feelin' kinda shy. "He with your momma?

[Y/N] nodded, gesturin' him inside. "Yeah, she took him to bible study. They ain't gonna be back for a minute, you can wait if you want ." She said casually

His heart damn near stopped. A minute alone with her?

"Yeah, I can chill."

The house was just as he remembered, comfy, lived-in. The smell of patchouly oil hung in the air, mixed with the leftover scent of dinner and wood from the fireplace.

He followed [Y/N] down the hall to her old room. Straight-up time capsule. Posters of old school rappers, makeup all over her vanity, and her corkboard. That damn corkboard.

He couldn't help but walk over to it, a smile twitchin' at the corner of his lips. There they were, frozen in time: photos from homecoming, that whack-ass prom photo, and a grip of maternity shots. [Y/N] had that glow back then, the kinda fierce protectiveness a new momma got. He remembered how proud he was, scared shitless, and deep in love. Still is, if he was being honest .

[Y/N] sat at the top of her bed, rollin' a vanilla backwood with a pro's touch. "So, how's the fame treatin' you, Mr. Hollywood?"

He chuckled, sitting at the bottom of her bed, he back and head leanin' against the wall .

"It's a trip, man. But I love it, miss this shit sometimes though , ya know? The quiet. Not havin' cameras in my face every two seconds."

She lit the blunt, takin' a deep drag before offerin' it to him. "I understand , I saw the movie though . You killed that role Ty. Seriously, I was so proud of you ." She said genuinely, looking into his eyes deeply.

"Thanks, [nickname]. That means a lot." He took the blunt, inhallin' that familiar vanilla tobacco.

"And I saw you mentionin' me on that podcast," she teased, a playful light in her eyes. "Sayin' how much you admire me. How any girl who’s gonna be in your life has to understand I come first no matter what?" She chuckled, batting her lashes jokingly

He playfully rolled his eyes. "I’m an actor, I get paid to lie." He laughed looking at her. She bust out laughin', throwin' her head back, her color 30 boho braids flowin' down her shoulders.

The laughin' died down, leavin' a comfortable silence. He noticed how close they were, her bare soft legs draped over his clothed ones.

"You still got a thing for me, don't you?" she asked, a teasing tone but a soft and real expression.

He didn't deny it. "I think it might be the other way around sweetheart" He teased her, nudgin' her leg playfully.

She leaned up and shoved him. "Boy, please you wish I wanted your ass."

But her smile gave her away.

Their eyes locked, and the air got thick. Years of unspoken shit, needs, complicated feelings. "Promise me somethin', Tyriq," she whispered, lookin' him dead in the eye. "Promise me you won’t let the fame interfere with our relationship, if I didn’t have you in my life I don’t know what I’d do. So promise me, please?."

He kissed his teeth. "Why the hell would I let fame make me forget you, [Y/N]? You stuck with me for life. You know that, right? You the mother of my son. You ain’t going nowhere that I won’t follow."

A slow-ass smile spread across her face. "I don't mind bein' stuck with you." She said in almost a whisper but loud enough for him to hear it.

He admire her face before he leaned in close, his breath warm on her cheek. She met him halfway, her lips partin' a little. The kiss started slow, hestitatin', like testin' the waters. Then, they allowed themselves to fully give in.

Years of holdin' back, yearing', everything came pourin' out in that kiss. It tasted like vanilla, shared memories, and a love that just wouldn't die.

His hands cupped her face, deepenin' the kiss. Her fingers rub the back of his freshly shaved buzz, pullin' him closer. He couldn't get enough.

He broke the kiss, his forehead touchin' hers. "You sure you wanna do this?." He asked breathlessly.

"I missed you, Ty," she breathed, her voice shaky.

That’s all he had to hear, his fingers fumbled with the hem of her tank top, slowly pullin' it up and over her head. Her breasts, heavy as hell, brown nipples peeking through the lace material, puffy from the breeze that slipped in from the window behind them. He swallowed hard, his eyes all over her.

She reached for his black crew neck , her hands shakin' as she raised it over his arms . He threw it off to the side, his toned golden chest on full display, definitely a change from the last time she seen him.

He kissed her again, his hands movin' down her body, gettin' under the waistband of her shorts. She helped him out, kickin' them off her legs. He leaned back for a second, takin' it all in – her thick thighs, her curves, her chocolate skin shinin' in the dim light, the stretch marks that reminded him of how beautiful she looked while carrying their son.

She noticed his stare and subconsciously covered herself, not fully comfortable with her mom bod yet, even all these years later.

“Nah don’t hide, let me see you baby” he said in a low husky voice, gently moving her arms to her sides. He knelt in front of her, positioning himself between her legs, lookin' her dead in the eye."You're so fucking beautiful, [Y/N]. Damn near perfect."

He slid inside her slow, her heat and wetness surroundin' him instantly . She gasped, her nails diggin' into his back.

"Tyriq," she moaned, voice low and tight.

He started movin', slow at first, then harder, faster. Their bodies workin' together, a familiar rhythm full of longin'.

"God damn it’s been so long" he whispered in her ear.

"Way too long " she said, breathin' hard.

Tyriq could feel his orgasm building, not even caring if he came too fast, he knew she was close too. He could tell by the way she tightened around him and her words became less and less coherent.

They came together, a mess of moans and groans. Tyriq didn’t even bother to pull out, lowkey hoping he’d get a call in few weeks telling him she was late.

He gently fell pulled out of her, her body shakin' as the cold air hit her puffy pussy.

He laid there beside her for a long time, catchin' his breath, all tangled up.

He kissed the top of her head. "I ain’t goin' nowhere [Y/N], I’m here. Always.” He said as he slowly drifted off to sleep, the scent of shea butter and marijuana in his nose, [Y/N] in his arms. Finally felt like he was home.

tyriq withers x curvy!black!reader

— Is it hot in here, or is it just me? I'm so high in here, been smokin' on this weed

warnings: smut!!, first vanilla smut, smoking, fingering

—

The midnight glow in Tyriq’s bedroom is drenched in warm red , the strip light above his bed casting shadows across the walls. The air smells faintly of his cologne and the sweet tang of the bowl you’ve both been passing back and forth for the past hour. Outside, the world feels hushed. Inside, the low volume of Martin keeps up its laugh track, filling the space between your own random bursts of laughter.

Your eyes are half-lidded from the high, body warm and relaxed in that way only late-night sessions bring. You’ve spent countless nights in this position over the years, but tonight… something about him feels heavier in your vision stronger in your awareness. You catch yourself tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way the red lightmakes his eyes look brighter, and before you really think, your fingers are brushing against his face. Slow, gentle strokes over cheekbone and beard line.

He doesn’t look down, you’ve always been touchy when you’re stoned, he’s used to it, but the corner of his mouth twitches at your touch.

“Have your eyes always been that green?” Your voice comes out softer than you expect, half-curious, half-flirty.

That finally earns you a glance. Tyriq smirks, chuckles low. “Yeah… since birth.”

You nod, smiling lazily. “Figures. They’re… something else.”

He tilts his head, studying you now with more intent. “And you… you always been this beautiful?” His tone is serious now, stripped of play.

You grin with mock confidence. “Yes. Obviously.”

He laughs, deep and genuine, but there’s a pause afterward. You’re both still locked into one another’s gaze, sitcom chatter melting into background noise. The bowl sits abandoned on the nightstand.

Tyriq's gaze intensified, his high taking full control of his senses. "You seriously are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice laced with sincerity. "I love how your eyes sparkle when you laugh, and the way your hair curls at the nape of your neck. Even the tiny freckles on your nose are perfect."

You blush at his words, your heart flutters.

He remains serious, his eyes locked onto yours.

You pretend to scoff, though your stomach’s flipping. “Boy, you better stop…”

He just watches you, unmoved by your teasing. You catch the seriousness in his look. Flustered, you breathe out a soft, “Thank you.”

He hums in acknowledgment, tucking a strand of your silk-pressed hair behind your ear.

“Can I be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I really wanna kiss you right now.” His voice doesn’t waver.

You chuckle lightly, not moving. “Stop playing.”

“I’m not playin’. I want to kiss you… right now.”

This time, you hear the weight in it. You blink up at him, smile tilting, before murmuring, “Do it then.”

He didn't hesitate, leaning down slowly. Their lips met in a soft, warm kiss that felt like floating. The kiss deepened, your hands finding his jawline, your fingers tracing the stubble. You bite his lip gently, causing him to groan. Pulling away, he was breathless, his eyes dark with desire. "If you're gonna be doing that biting shit, you need to warn me," he said, his voice husky. "Or else I'm gonna get the wrong idea and think you want to get into something deeper."

There was a small beat, and she looked at him, her hand still on his jawline. 

"Maybe I do," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. His face was a mix of shock and seriousness, and he told you not to tease him. You swore you weren’t , your tone mirroring his earlier seriousness. With a swift movement, he sat you up, positioning you to straddle him. His arm wrapped around your curvy frame, one hand firmly grips on your ass, eliciting a yelp and a smile from you.

“I’ve been waiting so damn long to do this,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze. “Then stop waiting.”

He didn't need any more encouragement, leaning in for a rough, passionate kiss. Your tongues danced, and he gripped your ass cheek like his life depended on it. You rubbed his chest, your hands roaming under his wife beater, feeling the hard planes of his muscles.

Tyriq's hands found the hem of your cropped fitted black tank, slowly lifting it over your head. Your bare chests pressed together, his heart pounding against yours. He holds you tightly, as if afraid you would disappear. You were putty in his arms, your body responding to his every touch. He guided your hips up and down against his bulge, the thin fabric of your shorts creating a wet patch on his sweatpants. You were so glad you had chosen not to wear underwear that night..

The makeout session grew more intense, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving marks. You protested softly, but he hushed you, his mouth capturing yours again. 

He made his way down to your breasts, sucking and nibbling, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. His hand leaving your ass and slowly making its way down the front of your shorts, inserting two fingers into your aching cunt . He knew exactly how to work your body. You were a moaning mess in seconds, your high amplifying every sensation. Just as you were about to reach your climate…

A knock at the door startles you.

Tyriq, however, didn't stop, his fingers still working their magic. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice steady. Nicholas, y’all’s roommate, announced himself, asking if you guys wanted to ride to get food. You bit down on Tyriq's shoulder to keep quiet, your body trembling with anticipation. He continued his ministrations, even faster now, his voice laced with amusement as he told Nic he would be ready in about ten seconds.

“We’ll be there in a minute!” he calls out, tone too casual for the moment.

Nic’s footsteps retreat, leaving the two of you in thick silence again.

As soon as you heard Nic land downstairs, your orgasm hit hard, your shriek muffled by Tyriq's shoulder. He chuckled, a shit-eating grin on his face, his fingers still inside you. 

You lifted your head to stare at him, your expression a mix of anger and giddiness. . 

“You didn’t even think about stopping?”

Tyriq lifts a brow like he’s innocent, mouth twitching into that cocky grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You motioned to his hand still down your shorts. He then pretended to realize, taking his hand out and licking his fingers, humming in satisfaction.

"Tastes like the best thing I've had all day," he teased

“Best part of my night,” he says, leaning back against the headboard like nothing happened. “But I’m still hungry. Let’s go meet Nic.”

You slide off his lap, still a little dazed, catching the hoodie he tosses you. The cotton smells like him.

As you prepared to leave, you stopped him, noticing the wet patch still on his sweat pants. “Umm aren’t you gonna change those?” you ask him.

He teases you again, “Why should I? They look fine to me.” You stared at him in awe. With a final shit-eating grin, he yelled for Nic that y’all were ready.

As y’all reached Nic, he smiled, but his expression quickly changed as he noticed the hickeys on your neck and Tyriq's busted lip. Nic stared at both of y’all , his eyes wide with realization. 

pairing: cameron cade x reader

no warnings, just yearing:(

a/n: if you like this please like and reshare, I definitely wanna write more because I love me some Tyriq!

Nigga get some balls, ain't no telling you gon' see that bitch tomorrow Stop holding up the wall waiting for the right song Better holla 'cause you know they 'bout to cut the lights off

The humid Florida air hangs thick tonight, a familiar blanket you could swear you’d forgotten since August. The scent of sunscreen and chlorine has been replaced with the earthy tang of late fall. Fall Break. Back in Jacksonville . Back where everything started… and ended.

You spent a good hour perfecting your look. Your hair, bone straight from a fresh silk press, bounces just above your shoulders. Contoured cheekbones, expertly lined lips, a carefully curated outfit. You’ve honed it all. Confidence radiates from you in waves, a shield built brick by brick since he left.

This house party is… underwhelming, but obligatory. Everyone’s here: familiar faces, some older, some younger, all pulsing with the same restless energy that defines this town. Then you see him.

Cam.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, shoulders broad, a college football jersey stretched taut across his chest. He’s filled out, matured. The boy you knew is gone, replaced by a man you barely recognize… except you do recognize the way his eyes lock on you.

A jolt, familiar and unwelcome, shoots through you. It's been a year, but the ghost of his touch still lingers.

He’s talking to… DeShawn? Your DeShawn? Your current boyfriend? Shit.

DeShawn catches your eye and grins, waving you over. He pulls you close, his arm warm around your waist. "Yo, babe, check out who’s back in town!"

Cam's smile is polite, but his eyes… they tell a different story. A story of shared secrets, of whispered promises under the oak trees, of a love that burned bright and then fizzled out like a cheap firework.

“Hey, (Y/N). Looking good,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

"Hey, Cam. Good to see you too." Your voice is steady, but your pulse betrays you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, dissecting every inch of you. He’s noticed the changes, the way you carry yourself now, the steel in your spine.

The night blurs. You navigate the party, a practiced smile plastered on your face. DeShawn is attentive, sweet, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents swirling around you. Cam is always nearby, a silent presence on the periphery. Each stolen glance is a spark, threatening to ignite the ashes of what you once had.

Later, you find yourself edging towards the back door, needing a breath of fresh air. You pull out your vape when a voice calls out "Mind if I join you?"

It’s Cam. He holds up a lighter and a blunt. Your chest aches.

“Always the good stuff, huh?” you say, trying to keep it light.

He chuckles, a familiar sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Wouldn't offer you anything less."

You follow him to his car, his old Corolla that watched you guys fall in love all four years of high school, now replaced by a black Jeep Wrangler parked beneath the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight. The cicadas are deafening, a chorus of summer memories.

He lights the blunt, the cherry glowing red in the dim light. He takes a drag and offers it to you. The first hit goes straight to your head. You lean back against the cool metal of the car, feeling the familiar burn in your lungs.

"So," he says, exhaling a plume of smoke. "College treating you well?"

"It's alright. Different. You know." You shrug, trying to downplay the ache in your chest. “What about football? Living the dream?”

He laughs, a humorless sound. "It's… a lot. Pressure. Expectations." He pauses, then looks at you, his eyes searching. "Nothing like this place, I missed it." Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words.

"I missed you," you blurt out, the words escaping before you can stop them.

His gaze softens, his head turns to face you, the hard edges of his face fading. "I missed you too, (Y/N). Every damn day."

"Why?" you ask, the question raw and vulnerable. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you even try to work it out?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I was young. Scared. I thought... I thought I was doing what was best for both of us." 

"Best for you," you correct, bitterness lacing your voice.

He winces. "Yeah. I fucked up, (Y/N). I know I did. And I'm sorry."

The apology hangs in the air, fragile and insufficient. You want to scream, to cry, to rewind time and fix everything. But you can't. You take another hit from the blunt, the smoke stinging your throat. 

"We were good, Cam. We were really good."

"We were," he agrees, his voice barely a whisper.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours. A jolt, even stronger than before, courses through you. You look at him, really look at him, and see the pain in his eyes, the regret etched on his face.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. Your heart pounds against your ribs. You want to kiss him, to feel his lips on yours again, to lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace.

But then, a phone rings.

DeShawn’s ringtone.

Your stomach drops. You pull away, breaking the spell.

"I gotta…" you stammer, reaching for your purse.

He nods, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and disappointment. 

"Yeah. Go."

You step away from the car. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you back. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of your cheekbones. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

You want to stay. You stand on your toes and give him a quick kiss, soft and fleeting, a ghost of what could have been.

"Bye, Cam," you whisper, turning away.

He doesn't say anything.

You hurry back to the party, the cicadas’ song echoing in your ears. DeShawn is waiting for you, his face etched with concern.

"Where were you?" he asks.

"Just getting some air," you say, forcing a smile.

He pulls you close, holding you tight. His touch is comforting, familiar, safe.