cocooned-butterfly

[cocooned-butterfly]

Quickie | Roman Reigns

Images/GIFs aren’t mine, credits to rightful owners.

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black! reader

Warnings: smut, almost getting caught, nearly cockblocking mother, quickie sex, freaky deaky Roman, daddy kink, dirty talk

Summary: You and Roman were trying to behave for the weekend at your mom’s house, but you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Word Count: 1.57k

A/N: Ya’ll. OOU WEE. that damn interview when Daddy was talking about how he looked like he was in the middle of an orgasm really did something to my body so I had to write this. all i write is smut i feel ashamed LMAOO

“Bend over, baby.” Roman’s gravelly voice softly commanded you, hearing the whooshing sound of the zipper on his pants.

You giggled all the while obeying him, getting on the guest bed on all fours with his large frame standing behind you.

“You locked the door right?” You look back over your shoulder to see him pulling his boxers and pants down just enough to free his heavy, throbbing cock.

His eyes met yours and you saw that desire in them. “Hell yea. Nobody seein’ this but me, princess.” He spits into his hand and glides it over the head of his mushroom tip before rubbing it up and down against your soaking folds.

The immeasurable pleasure made your back arch even deeper. Roman loved your plump ass, and he let you know it every damn day.

His massive hands each grabbed handfuls of your ass and moved it around, enjoying how soft and fleshy the cheeks were. “Fuck, baby…” He bit his lower lip, still teasing the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.  

You pushed back against him, wanting him to hurry and put it in before your mom came looking for the two of you.

Any other time, you two would be on a leash, but you hadn’t seen Roman in a couple weeks because of his schedule so…

You both were horny.

“Unghh…Roman, put it—in.” You begged him.

He loved to hear you beg for him. “You want this big dick inside you huh?”

“Mmhmm.” Your desperate whines oozed out of your mouth.

“Fuck…I wanna see that ass bounce for me, baby.” He sexily bites onto his lower lip, just imagining all your fleshy ass putting him into a trance, as he positions the head of his dick against your aching hole.

No matter how many times you had sex with him, nothing ever prepares you for his thick manhood. It felt like you were getting split in half, feeling every vein that ran along it snug against your sensitive walls.

He never continued moving until you gave him the green light, but you were so turned on that you didn’t need that long to adjust this time.

Both of his hands were grabbing your waist, so you swung your right arm back to grab onto his forearm, pulling him towards you.

“You okay, baby? Let me know.”

“Yes, just please fuck me.” You rushed out. Your entire body felt white hot, eyes rolling back and almost seeing stars.

You had no choice but to do a quickie, Roman thrusting into your heat with deep strokes. He moved your panties more to the side, trapping the cloth underneath his hand that was still gripping your waist with firmness.

Even more of your wetness was leaking out of you onto his cock, and even on the bedsheets.

Roman loved seeing you cream all over him, it drove him crazy. “That dick feels so good it’s got you creamin’ huh?”

Dirty talk.

How he was so good at it baffled you. Words that could make you lose yourself was a foreign concept before you met Roman.

He was drilling into you so that your ass was starting to clap against his pelvis, filling the room with that loudness. His heavy balls slapping against your erect clit wasn’t making you trying to keep quiet any better.

“Ooh, shit! You’re so deep in me.” Your hands were gripping onto the comforter for dear life, even biting on it to try to keep from screaming.

Everything around you disappeared, but Roman was still keeping an ear out for footsteps in the hallway.

He slowed his thrusts down and stopped, but still stayed inside you.

He heard footsteps and the muffled sound of your mother’s voice talking silently to herself. “Where did those two go? Dinner is ready.”

Then there was the knock on the guest bedroom door.

Your head shot to the door, and then to Roman, silently telling him to say something.

“Are you guys in there?” Your mother’s chirpy voice called out from the other side of the door.

Roman cleared his throat and decided to speak back. “Uh, yeah. We’re about to shower and come back down.”

The thrill of almost getting caught somehow made Roman’s cock swell inside of you and he began moving again, making you have to hold in your moans.

“Oh okay! Both of you are taking a shower?” She asked as if that would be a weird thing.

You reached around and put your hand against Roman’s abdomen to make him stop thrusting so you could get out a tangible sentence.

“Yes mom! We’ll be down, I promise.” You saw Roman smile out of the corner of your eye.

He began thrusting deep into you over and over again, gripping one of your shoulders to get a new angle, making your mouth fall open in a strangled moan.

You looked over your shoulder at him, pleasure on your face, but also a hint of fear, not wanting your mom to hear you getting cracked.

He smirked at you and just brought his index finger to his lips, signaling for you to shush.

You flopped back down onto the bed. Roman heard the footsteps descend away from the door and down the hall.

“It’s okay baby, she’s gone. Let me make you cum. I wanna feel that pussy squeeze around me.”

He knew exactly where your G spot was, dragging his length against it repeatedly. Your ass was bouncing with every movement and he was hypnotized by it.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled out.

His words barely registered in your brain, but nonetheless you tried to answer quietly. “Ooh, it’s yours Daddy. You fuck me so good.” The squelch of where you were joined could be heard by the both of you.

“That’s right. Even this pussy knows it. You hear that?” His steady voice growls out to you, still keeping the pace of his thrusts.

Turning your head to rest your face against the sheets, you could see your man’s face. Despite his rough exterior and serious demeanor, you were the only one who could make him lose control like this.

His eyebrows were furrowed together in focus and his mouth was agape, reveling in the pure ecstasy that you two had shared countless times.

You took pride in it, though.

Roman wanted to feel another angle so he raised his right leg to rest his foot beside you on the bed. This position always got him deeper inside you.

You felt him sink in about another 2 inches, really rubbing up against your spot that made your legs quiver.

“Ooh fuck baby, you feel that?” His voice resonating through the room like silk. You began to thrust yourself back to meet his hips, your ass hitting his pelvis resulting in the clapping sound that he loved to hear.

“Shit, Roman! Ugh, I love it.” You whimper to him, moving your hand to rub that swollen nub between your legs.

“Let me rub that for you baby. I wanna feel that little pussy squeeze around me when you come.” He replaces your fingers with his thick, warm ones.

He sped up his thrusts, hips snapping toward yours, as he circled your clit in figure-eights which was just the way you liked it.

Your orgasm hit you before you knew it and before you could scream, you felt Roman each around to put his hand over your mouth to muffle the noise a bit.

“Shhhh, c’mon baby. You tryin’ to get us caught?”

You tried to focus on your breathing to keep quiet but all you could feel was the pulsing and gush of wetness between your legs.

Roman looked down at your pussy pulsing around him as he fucked you through your orgasm which brought him to the edge too. He felt his balls begin to tighten up and let you know.

“Fuck princess. You gon’ make Daddy come too.” He removed his hand from your mouth to land back on your hips, going at a rigorous pace now.

“Yes Daddy, please gimme that nut. I want it so bad…” You sweetly begged him, knowing it would push him over that edge.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck baby.” He gasped and pulled out at the very last minute, releasing his hot come all over your ass and back.

He stroked his throbbing dick to every last drop, his moans like music to your proud ears.

You bit your lip and smiled back at him, enjoying seeing him in that post orgasm bliss.

Roman couldn’t help but swipe some of his essence off your ass on his two fingers and bring it up to your waiting lips.

You happily obliged and sensually sucked on his digits, licking them clean. “Mmm. That’s my good girl.”

You two were just enjoying each other in the bliss until you were rudely interrupted, again.

“Are ya’ll finished showering yet?” Your mother’s voice rang through the other side of the door.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yes mom. We’re just getting dressed now.”

“Okay just checking!” And her footsteps faded away down the hallway.

You got off of your knees from the bed, leading Roman to the bathroom so you could actually take a quick shower.

“Baby, next time let’s just get a hotel room.” Roman voiced his thoughts as the water cascaded down onto you.

“Agreed.”

The end.

[cocooned-butterfly]

sit back, relax, and enjoy! (all of my works with oc's is a black female oc)

minors do NOT interact. 18+ only.

ROMAN REIGNS

• UP WAITING

• A TALK

• BIRTHDAY GIFT

• COME HOME...

• STRESSED

• CONJUGAL VISIT

• MAD AT ME

• SURRENDER

• QUICKIE

JEY USO

• DATING JEY USO WOULD INCLUDE... PTS. 1, 2, & 3

• FACETIME CALLS PTS. 1 & 2

• LIVE

• NEW HAIR

• VAMPIRE! JEY

• ADDICTED: INTRO | ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN |

JIMMY USO

• BIRTHDAY PARTY

• PAMPERED

• DATING JIMMY USO WOULD INCLUDE... PT. 1

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

reblog if your toes also curl at the thought of a gentle giant. bonus points if that gentle giant is a black king

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

Today’s writing tip? Change the scene before you change the story. I was stuck on a conversation until I moved the location. Suddenly it flowed. Writers block? Outsmarted again. (Until next time.)

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

fruit-in-jars 101 by stacynguyen

"What is jam? What makes something authentically jam? Can bacon really be made into jam?

It was all very Existentialist.

The answer to those questions is a bit complicated and non-definitive. The U.S. FDA has defined jam and jelly in very specific and mathematical terms (such-and-such percentage of juice to fruit to water to sugar = jam/jelly); it also uses jam and preserve interchangeably, for the most part. While interesting, the FDA’s definitions did not matter much to me because the FDA wasn’t really using the terms in the way that we usually use the terms. Also, the FDA wasn’t comprehensive in its definitions. It didn’t tackle other fruit spreads like marmalades or curds, for instance.

The more I looked into, the more I thought, dude, this information would make a good infographic."

[cocooned-butterfly]

[cocooned-butterfly]

Testing a Theory

Summary: After a rough night, Smoke finally gives in physically and emotionally, revealing his submissive, breeding-obsessed desires.

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black!Fem!Reader

Warnings: smutty smut, breeding!kink, sub!smoke, praise kink, slight daddy!kink and use of the n-word

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Writer's block has been beating my ass, but I finally fought back!! I hope y’all enjoy the read 🫶🏾

Three times now.

Three times Smoke has come to you with bloodied fists and cracked knuckles, teeth clenched as if to swallow fire.

Three times, he’s taken you with that kind of trembling, unspoken longing that says I shouldn’t be doing this but I need you more than air.

And he has pulled out every time.

Even when his hands shook. Even when he groaned your name, like it was an apology and a prayer.

He wanted to finish inside you. He just…wouldn’t.

That’s when you start to wonder:

Maybe he’s scared of what it would mean.

Maybe he’s punishing himself.

Maybe he wants to take what you offer, surrender to you but not unless you make him.

You’ve also noticed something else.

Past the gruffer edges and biting teeth, there’s something tender. Something quivers.

When you praise him? He shudders.

When you say good boy in that low, honeyed tone? He grips the bed sheets as if he’s about to confess a war crime.

“Soldier in the streets,” you murmur to yourself, leaning against the window that bobs and fogs from your breath. “But a whole sub in the sheets…”

And tonight?

Tonight, you’re gonna put that theory to the test.

It’s Thursday and this is the night Capone usually has the twins doing unspeakably foul shit that Smoke has refused to talk about.

You hear him before seeing him.

Heavy boots pounding up the steps. A pause outside your door. A soft grunt as he exhales as if just being near you is undoing him.

Then two knocks, slow.

You leave the door unlocked. Just like you always do.

"Come on in, Eli."

He steps inside.

And damn.

He looks like sin on two legs. The kind of sin God warns you about but never rescues you from.

He is tall and broad, his frame soaked from the rain, shoulders rounded from exhaustion. His brown skin glistens coppery in the amber lamplight, and he smells like wet tobacco, gunpowder, and cheap motel soap. That sharp Mississippi drawl clings to him even in silence.

You watch his intense acorn brown eyes pull over you, bare legs, silk nightgown, the curve of your body softened by the candlelight. His gaze gets stuck on your lips, then your chest, then further south.

He is already breathing heavier.

"Rougher night than usual?" you ask softly, knowing the answer.

He nods. Drops his coat. Doesn't say anything.

He still has that damn shoulder holster strapped under his vest. Still has dirt underneath his nails. His mouth is set tight, jaw clenching like he is chewing gum with a bitter aftertaste.

You take a step toward him, slow.

"You need to come down, baby. Let me help."

He does not move.

So you gently cup his face, rough stubble and skin chilled from the rain and tilt it toward yours.

"You ever gonna let go with me, soldier? Or are you too scared of what it will mean?"

That is when his eyelids flutter just for a second.

Got you.

You back him up until the backs of his knees hit your bed.

"Take off your shirt, Eli."

He hesitates for a moment, but then he literally peels the shirt off.

You notice how his thick chest rises and falls as he breathes, muscles tight with tension. A faint scar crosses his right shoulder, and another, lower, covers his ribs. His arms flex as he pulls his shirt over his head, skin slick with sweat and moisture.

He sits on the bed like he is in trouble.

Good. Because he is.

You take that as your cue to straddle him, soft thighs settling over his lap, nightdress creeping up as you lean in close.

"You know I have been thinking 'bout you," you murmur, trailing your fingers over his bare chest. "Thinking 'bout how good you feel inside me. And about how every time, you pull out like a coward ass nigga."

His whole body tenses.

"I know you want to," you whisper, your lips brushing against his jaw. "I know you want to fill me and watch me walk away with your cum runnin’ down my thighs."

"D-don't," he breathes. "Don't say shit like that, Y/N."

You smirk.

"Why not? Cause you won't be able to hold it back?"

A deep growl escapes his throat.

"I'm tryna be good now, Y/N," he mutters. "You know I can't—"

"You can. You just won't."

He doesn’t respond. He just helps you pull your gown over your head and tosses it to the floor. 

You grind down slowly and can feel the hard, pulsing length of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.

"You always tryna protect me. Protect yourself. But you ever think maybe I want you to lose control, Eli?"

He lets out a shaky breath. His hips jerk up instinctively, grinding against you. His hands hover over your thighs, shaking like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch.

"You know what I think?" you ask, your tone light but darkening. "I think the man that kills for Capone every night, the man that breaks bones like glass, the man who shoots first and asks questions later is really just a messy little submissive when the lights go out."

His breath hitches in his throat.

Bingo.

"You like it when I ride you 'til your voice breaks, huh? You like when I tell you you're doing good. You cum harder when I tell you you're mine, don't you?"

"Fuck—" he gasps, biting his bottom lip.

You lean in, your lips grazing his.

"You like it when I call you daddy too, don't you?"

He groans. His head falls back like he can't take it. His thighs flex hard beneath you.

"Say it," you demand.

He clenches his jaw. Stubborn as per usual. You slap his chest.

"Say it, Eli."

"...Yes," he finally chokes. "I-I fuckin' love it, Y/N. Please—"

"Please what, daddy?"

He whimpers.

"Please let me cum in you."

"Are you gonna be a good soldier for me tonight?"

He nods like he's being drafted into a war.

He pulls his trousers down and you take his cock out of his boxers and stroke him a few times before lining yourself up, sliding down slow. So damn slow and his whole body goes rigid.

"Fuuuuck," he moans, already breathless. Your wetness and heat damn near sending him over the edge. 

“Shit,” you whimper as his grip on your hips tighten while he fills you with every inch. 

You ride him slow. Tortuous. Deep.

"You're so thick, Eli. Stretching me like you were made for it."

"Don't— don't say that—baby, I can't—”

You dig your nails into his chest, letting out breathless curses and moans as you bounce harder on his fat dick.

"You can. You'll stay right there and take it. You'll let me fuck you 'til you lose every bit of that control you hold on to so tightly."

He nods wildly, hips thrusting up mechanically in rhythm with your grind.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me. My perfect little soldier."

"I'm I-I... oh shit— I ain’t gon’ last," he gasps. "I swear to God—"

You grab his throat, not too tightly but enough to make him notice. He moans, a deep, breathless whimper.

"Quit talkin’ about it and do it, Elijah."

He gasps, eyes flying wide open. 

You squeeze a little more.

"Be a good soldier and cum inside me like you always wanted to."

That's it.

He lets out a whimper so filthy that it takes the air right from your lungs. His whole body jolts. He grabs your waist like he's drowning, and he just erupts inside of you with a guttural cry. You can feel hot thick pulses filling you deep, his hips twitching as he tries to ride the high.

"Shiiit—Y/N—fuck—fuck—"

You don't let up even when he starts twitching from overstimulation. You slowly shift your grip on his throat while leaning in close to him, lips against his ear.

"Look at that. You came so fast. So messy. You really are my little sub, huh?"

He nods, chest heaving, still hard inside you.

"Say it, Eli."

"…Y-you mine," he whispers. "I'm yours."

You're still straddling him, bare and full, hips flush to his as the rain patters against the window like a lullaby.

The room is soaked in sex, skin, and tobacco… the real stuff, earthy and weighty. His breath is slowing, but his arms are still around your waist, like he doesn't trust the air between you enough to let go. 

Your arms drape sweaty and lazy around his thick, muscly neck, fingers curling into the damp curls at the base of his skull. He trembles faintly still, the aftershocks rippling through him like he'd just survived a war. 

And you? 

You are calm. Soft, brown skin glowing. Pressing sweet, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of his cheeks, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. Each time he flinches just a little, like he forgot how it felt to be loved on like that. It’s been a while. Years.

“Breathe, baby,” you murmur against his temple. “You're safe.”

His chest rises and falls under your arm, broad, solid, scarred, and beautiful. His arms are like steel cables wrapping around you, but the tension is finally bleeding out of them. He melts into you inch by inch, right there in your arms. 

Kissing his forehead. His dimple. That special spot behind his ear that always makes him groan when you suck on it.

“You did so good for me, Eli.”

A soft hum vibrates in his throat—less a sound, more a feeling that escaped.

You kiss the corner of his mouth and rock your hips just a little. He shivers. Still inside you, overstimulated and raw. 

“Sensitive?” you tease gently. 

“Hell, yeah,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, like wheels grinding on gravel. “You tryin' to kill me?�� 

“Mm-mm. Just tryin' to bring you back to life, nigga.” 

He huffs a half-laugh, his voice loose now, lazy and southern, no longer clipped by stress. 

“Damn...I ain't even know how much I needed that,” he mutters without thinking. 

You still.

And so does he.

His eyes flick up, startled, like his words broke through his armor and he's afraid they'll cause irreversible damage. 

But you don’t tease him. You don’t flinch.

You just kiss his cheek again, more softly now, and whisper, “I did.”

He looks at you like he's not sure how to survive being seen this completely. His fingers trace up and down your spine now, slow, and reverent. 

"You always this sweet after you take a nigga soul?" He questions, smirking just a little, but there's that tiny ache in his voice again. That ghost. 

“Only for you,” you reply honestly. 

You stay like that for a while. Rocking slowly. Breathing together.

Eventually, you peel yourself off him with some effort and a giggle. 

“Damn,” you say, walking gingerly to the bathroom, his warm cum slowly seeping out of you and down your thigh, “you really did try to put a baby in me.” 

“Don't tempt me,” he calls after you, his voice hoarse, amused. 

But when you return with a warm rag, kneel between his knees, and start to clean him with slow, gentle thoroughness?

He goes quiet again.

He watches you with that same overwhelmed look like you are a hymn he doesn't understand how to sing.

You kiss his thigh.

Then his stomach. You feel it flutter.

You stand and lean down to kiss his lips.

“Next time,” you whisper as you knead one of the knots in his right shoulder, “I want you to beg before you fill me like that.”

“Yes, ma'am," he says without missing a beat then laughs at how quick it was to come out. "Goddamn. You really had me."

"Took your black ass long enough to figure that out."

Without warning he pulls you back into his lap, and you let out a small squeak as you giggle and settle back into his lap. He’s still rock hard, and you’re still a soaked mess.

Smoke grunts softly as you sink down on him again and admits, “I like the way you handle me. Do it again.”

You moan a giggle, teasing, “Mmm…you tellin’ me or askin’ me?”

He pauses.

Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on yours. Still buried deep.

Then he says, quiet, rough, but honest, “I’m askin’.”

Your breath catches.

He’s still strong. Still big and very dangerous.

But right now? He’s yours.

All pride stripped. All power offered. Not taken.

You lean in, kiss him much sweeter this time, and whisper against his lips, “Good, ‘Cause I wasn’t finished with you anyway.”

And then you move with intentional precision.

And boy does he let you.

He groans, head falling back, voice wrecked as you swirl in his lap, clenching around the tip of his dick when you bounce up, “Fuck… you gon’ break me tonight, huh?”

You push him down so his back is against the bed, your palms flat against his chest as you bounce harder and moan, “That’s what you want, right?”

He nods, smacking your ass as hard as he can, “Mhm, that’s what the fuck I need, baby. Don’t stop.”

And of course you don’t stop.

[cocooned-butterfly]

Testing a Theory

Summary: After a rough night, Smoke finally gives in physically and emotionally, revealing his submissive, breeding-obsessed desires.

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black!Fem!Reader

Warnings: smutty smut, breeding!kink, sub!smoke, praise kink, slight daddy!kink and use of the n-word

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Writer's block has been beating my ass, but I finally fought back!! I hope y’all enjoy the read 🫶🏾

Three times now.

Three times Smoke has come to you with bloodied fists and cracked knuckles, teeth clenched as if to swallow fire.

Three times, he’s taken you with that kind of trembling, unspoken longing that says I shouldn’t be doing this but I need you more than air.

And he has pulled out every time.

Even when his hands shook. Even when he groaned your name, like it was an apology and a prayer.

He wanted to finish inside you. He just…wouldn’t.

That’s when you start to wonder:

Maybe he’s scared of what it would mean.

Maybe he’s punishing himself.

Maybe he wants to take what you offer, surrender to you but not unless you make him.

You’ve also noticed something else.

Past the gruffer edges and biting teeth, there’s something tender. Something quivers.

When you praise him? He shudders.

When you say good boy in that low, honeyed tone? He grips the bed sheets as if he’s about to confess a war crime.

“Soldier in the streets,” you murmur to yourself, leaning against the window that bobs and fogs from your breath. “But a whole sub in the sheets…”

And tonight?

Tonight, you’re gonna put that theory to the test.

It’s Thursday and this is the night Capone usually has the twins doing unspeakably foul shit that Smoke has refused to talk about.

You hear him before seeing him.

Heavy boots pounding up the steps. A pause outside your door. A soft grunt as he exhales as if just being near you is undoing him.

Then two knocks, slow.

You leave the door unlocked. Just like you always do.

"Come on in, Eli."

He steps inside.

And damn.

He looks like sin on two legs. The kind of sin God warns you about but never rescues you from.

He is tall and broad, his frame soaked from the rain, shoulders rounded from exhaustion. His brown skin glistens coppery in the amber lamplight, and he smells like wet tobacco, gunpowder, and cheap motel soap. That sharp Mississippi drawl clings to him even in silence.

You watch his intense acorn brown eyes pull over you, bare legs, silk nightgown, the curve of your body softened by the candlelight. His gaze gets stuck on your lips, then your chest, then further south.

He is already breathing heavier.

"Rougher night than usual?" you ask softly, knowing the answer.

He nods. Drops his coat. Doesn't say anything.

He still has that damn shoulder holster strapped under his vest. Still has dirt underneath his nails. His mouth is set tight, jaw clenching like he is chewing gum with a bitter aftertaste.

You take a step toward him, slow.

"You need to come down, baby. Let me help."

He does not move.

So you gently cup his face, rough stubble and skin chilled from the rain and tilt it toward yours.

"You ever gonna let go with me, soldier? Or are you too scared of what it will mean?"

That is when his eyelids flutter just for a second.

Got you.

You back him up until the backs of his knees hit your bed.

"Take off your shirt, Eli."

He hesitates for a moment, but then he literally peels the shirt off.

You notice how his thick chest rises and falls as he breathes, muscles tight with tension. A faint scar crosses his right shoulder, and another, lower, covers his ribs. His arms flex as he pulls his shirt over his head, skin slick with sweat and moisture.

He sits on the bed like he is in trouble.

Good. Because he is.

You take that as your cue to straddle him, soft thighs settling over his lap, nightdress creeping up as you lean in close.

"You know I have been thinking 'bout you," you murmur, trailing your fingers over his bare chest. "Thinking 'bout how good you feel inside me. And about how every time, you pull out like a coward ass nigga."

His whole body tenses.

"I know you want to," you whisper, your lips brushing against his jaw. "I know you want to fill me and watch me walk away with your cum runnin’ down my thighs."

"D-don't," he breathes. "Don't say shit like that, Y/N."

You smirk.

"Why not? Cause you won't be able to hold it back?"

A deep growl escapes his throat.

"I'm tryna be good now, Y/N," he mutters. "You know I can't—"

"You can. You just won't."

He doesn’t respond. He just helps you pull your gown over your head and tosses it to the floor. 

You grind down slowly and can feel the hard, pulsing length of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.

"You always tryna protect me. Protect yourself. But you ever think maybe I want you to lose control, Eli?"

He lets out a shaky breath. His hips jerk up instinctively, grinding against you. His hands hover over your thighs, shaking like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch.

"You know what I think?" you ask, your tone light but darkening. "I think the man that kills for Capone every night, the man that breaks bones like glass, the man who shoots first and asks questions later is really just a messy little submissive when the lights go out."

His breath hitches in his throat.

Bingo.

"You like it when I ride you 'til your voice breaks, huh? You like when I tell you you're doing good. You cum harder when I tell you you're mine, don't you?"

"Fuck—" he gasps, biting his bottom lip.

You lean in, your lips grazing his.

"You like it when I call you daddy too, don't you?"

He groans. His head falls back like he can't take it. His thighs flex hard beneath you.

"Say it," you demand.

He clenches his jaw. Stubborn as per usual. You slap his chest.

"Say it, Eli."

"...Yes," he finally chokes. "I-I fuckin' love it, Y/N. Please—"

"Please what, daddy?"

He whimpers.

"Please let me cum in you."

"Are you gonna be a good soldier for me tonight?"

He nods like he's being drafted into a war.

He pulls his trousers down and you take his cock out of his boxers and stroke him a few times before lining yourself up, sliding down slow. So damn slow and his whole body goes rigid.

"Fuuuuck," he moans, already breathless. Your wetness and heat damn near sending him over the edge. 

“Shit,” you whimper as his grip on your hips tighten while he fills you with every inch. 

You ride him slow. Tortuous. Deep.

"You're so thick, Eli. Stretching me like you were made for it."

"Don't— don't say that—baby, I can't—”

You dig your nails into his chest, letting out breathless curses and moans as you bounce harder on his fat dick.

"You can. You'll stay right there and take it. You'll let me fuck you 'til you lose every bit of that control you hold on to so tightly."

He nods wildly, hips thrusting up mechanically in rhythm with your grind.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me. My perfect little soldier."

"I'm I-I... oh shit— I ain’t gon’ last," he gasps. "I swear to God—"

You grab his throat, not too tightly but enough to make him notice. He moans, a deep, breathless whimper.

"Quit talkin’ about it and do it, Elijah."

He gasps, eyes flying wide open. 

You squeeze a little more.

"Be a good soldier and cum inside me like you always wanted to."

That's it.

He lets out a whimper so filthy that it takes the air right from your lungs. His whole body jolts. He grabs your waist like he's drowning, and he just erupts inside of you with a guttural cry. You can feel hot thick pulses filling you deep, his hips twitching as he tries to ride the high.

"Shiiit—Y/N—fuck—fuck—"

You don't let up even when he starts twitching from overstimulation. You slowly shift your grip on his throat while leaning in close to him, lips against his ear.

"Look at that. You came so fast. So messy. You really are my little sub, huh?"

He nods, chest heaving, still hard inside you.

"Say it, Eli."

"…Y-you mine," he whispers. "I'm yours."

You're still straddling him, bare and full, hips flush to his as the rain patters against the window like a lullaby.

The room is soaked in sex, skin, and tobacco… the real stuff, earthy and weighty. His breath is slowing, but his arms are still around your waist, like he doesn't trust the air between you enough to let go. 

Your arms drape sweaty and lazy around his thick, muscly neck, fingers curling into the damp curls at the base of his skull. He trembles faintly still, the aftershocks rippling through him like he'd just survived a war. 

And you? 

You are calm. Soft, brown skin glowing. Pressing sweet, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of his cheeks, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. Each time he flinches just a little, like he forgot how it felt to be loved on like that. It’s been a while. Years.

“Breathe, baby,” you murmur against his temple. “You're safe.”

His chest rises and falls under your arm, broad, solid, scarred, and beautiful. His arms are like steel cables wrapping around you, but the tension is finally bleeding out of them. He melts into you inch by inch, right there in your arms. 

Kissing his forehead. His dimple. That special spot behind his ear that always makes him groan when you suck on it.

“You did so good for me, Eli.”

A soft hum vibrates in his throat—less a sound, more a feeling that escaped.

You kiss the corner of his mouth and rock your hips just a little. He shivers. Still inside you, overstimulated and raw. 

“Sensitive?” you tease gently. 

“Hell, yeah,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, like wheels grinding on gravel. “You tryin' to kill me?” 

“Mm-mm. Just tryin' to bring you back to life, nigga.” 

He huffs a half-laugh, his voice loose now, lazy and southern, no longer clipped by stress. 

“Damn...I ain't even know how much I needed that,” he mutters without thinking. 

You still.

And so does he.

His eyes flick up, startled, like his words broke through his armor and he's afraid they'll cause irreversible damage. 

But you don’t tease him. You don’t flinch.

You just kiss his cheek again, more softly now, and whisper, “I did.”

He looks at you like he's not sure how to survive being seen this completely. His fingers trace up and down your spine now, slow, and reverent. 

"You always this sweet after you take a nigga soul?" He questions, smirking just a little, but there's that tiny ache in his voice again. That ghost. 

“Only for you,” you reply honestly. 

You stay like that for a while. Rocking slowly. Breathing together.

Eventually, you peel yourself off him with some effort and a giggle. 

“Damn,” you say, walking gingerly to the bathroom, his warm cum slowly seeping out of you and down your thigh, “you really did try to put a baby in me.” 

“Don't tempt me,” he calls after you, his voice hoarse, amused. 

But when you return with a warm rag, kneel between his knees, and start to clean him with slow, gentle thoroughness?

He goes quiet again.

He watches you with that same overwhelmed look like you are a hymn he doesn't understand how to sing.

You kiss his thigh.

Then his stomach. You feel it flutter.

You stand and lean down to kiss his lips.

“Next time,” you whisper as you knead one of the knots in his right shoulder, “I want you to beg before you fill me like that.”

“Yes, ma'am," he says without missing a beat then laughs at how quick it was to come out. "Goddamn. You really had me."

"Took your black ass long enough to figure that out."

Without warning he pulls you back into his lap, and you let out a small squeak as you giggle and settle back into his lap. He’s still rock hard, and you’re still a soaked mess.

Smoke grunts softly as you sink down on him again and admits, “I like the way you handle me. Do it again.”

You moan a giggle, teasing, “Mmm…you tellin’ me or askin’ me?”

He pauses.

Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on yours. Still buried deep.

Then he says, quiet, rough, but honest, “I’m askin’.”

Your breath catches.

He’s still strong. Still big and very dangerous.

But right now? He’s yours.

All pride stripped. All power offered. Not taken.

You lean in, kiss him much sweeter this time, and whisper against his lips, “Good, ‘Cause I wasn’t finished with you anyway.”

And then you move with intentional precision.

And boy does he let you.

He groans, head falling back, voice wrecked as you swirl in his lap, clenching around the tip of his dick when you bounce up, “Fuck… you gon’ break me tonight, huh?”

You push him down so his back is against the bed, your palms flat against his chest as you bounce harder and moan, “That’s what you want, right?”

He nods, smacking your ass as hard as he can, “Mhm, that’s what the fuck I need, baby. Don’t stop.”

And of course you don’t stop.