꒰ 🌞 ꒱ thinking abt deacon w a reader who goes a little nonverbal after sex, and how patient and tender he’d be w them during it 🥹
in the golden evening light streaming in through the gaps in the bedroom curtains, deacon thinks you might just be the most gorgeous thing he’s ever laid eyes on.
it doesn’t matter that you’re sheened in sweat and arousal, breathless and still with your underwear knotted around one ankle - if anything, it only makes you look more and more beautiful to him with each passing second. knowing you as well as he does, he’s aware that voicing that belief while you’re in such a vulnerable state will have the complete opposite effect that he wants it to - so he settles for tugging you a little closer to lay against his chest, and showing you his adoration in a different way for the moment.
“you took me so well, baby.” deacon murmurs in a gravelly voice, in between kisses to your still-flushed forehead. his hand finds purchase in the curve of your hip, where he idly traces shapes into the soft skin there as he awaits your response.
when one doesn’t come, he gingerly draws away from you. it’s barely any distance at all, just enough to allow him to tilt his head down and cast a look at your sweet face, but he feels you reactively tighten your grip on him like he’s at risk of reeling away from you altogether. he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t a factor in him lowering his voice an octave or too, and curbing the flirtatious quality of his words in favour of a cautious one as he speaks again. “hey, you hear me?”
a soft, murmured noise of acknowledgement is all you manage in reply. the arm of yours that’s draped over his bare hip curls a little tighter around him, and the way you choose possessiveness to prove you’re paying attention to him makes deacon smile to himself.
“poor thing.” his broad chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle that holds nothing but fondness. pinned as his other arm is with you laying atop it, he shifts only minimally to be able to stroke the side of your head as he rest his chin lightly on your crown. “how about a nod, sweetie? d’you think you can manage that for me?”
under his hand, he feels you nod your head briskly. assured of your awareness, deacon relaxes a touch and moves his hand down to your thigh where he starts gently massaging the tensed muscle there - and is more pleased than he’ll let on when he feels you slowly hook your leg over his in response.
“that’s it.” he affirms, soothing his hand patiently over your hair as the sun just starts to dip below the horizon outside. “are you feelin’ okay?”
“nothing’s too sore, you don’t need anything right away?”
an agreeable shake of your head. against the skin of his collarbone, deacon can feel your lips start to tilt up at the edges in a smile.
“well done, pretty.” he tells you, through a growing smile of his own as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “you’re doing so good.”
like a silent thank you, you nestle your face tighter into his chest and press a kiss to the ripples of muscle there. a warm combination of pride and affection floods deacon’s chest, and he has to bite back an outrageously big grin at the feeling as he continues on. “now, you feel like letting me clean you up and grabbing something to eat?”
he registers the feeling of you bristling against him almost right away, and nods himself in acknowledgement.
“or, you wanna stay here for a little longer?”
your agreement, though silent, is known to deacon almost immediately. you squeeze his hips lightly a second later, a silent can we?
“there’s nothing i’d like more.” deacon responds warmly, if only to an otherwise quiet room and his very content sweetheart as he reaches for the covers at your feet. “let’s get you warmed up, angel.”