#l-auteuse writings

[miyuhpapayuh]

before work.

Bright rays of sunshine cast through their maroon drapes, causing her to squint her eyes and turn her body. However, her movement is halted by Michael bringing her body back into his.

He groans softly in his slumber, wrapping his arm around her bare waist. She sighs and looks over at the clock; it reads five minutes after eight.

She groans, shutting her eyes in frustration. She peers over her shoulder, watching him sleep like a baby. She rolls her eyes and pushes at his arm, trying to get up.

"Michael," she pushes at his arm again but, he doesn't budge, "Michael... I have to get up."

He shifts slightly before wrapping his arm tighter around her, "whyyy? Stay here with me."

"I can't. I've already been late once, this week." She chuckles, thinking back to a couple days ago. She practically raced to work and barely made it.

"Come on baby," he moves her wild hair away from her neck, "stay with Daddy." He places soft kisses on her skin.

"Baby.... hmm, I can't."  Instead of pushing him away, she reaches back to run her fingers through his thick hair. Her body is betraying her, big time.

"You don't seem like you wanna leave, mama." He chuckles and lifts her right leg up, rubbing her bud. She jerks, placing her hand on top of his.

"I do... I have to— ohh shit" she throws her head back, feeling his long fingers push into her wetness.

He removes his fingers and places them in his mouth. He dips his length into her, causing her back to arch.

"Michaeeel! I'm gonna be laaate!" He hooks her leg onto his waist and continues to slowly thrust into her.

"The more you fight it," he grunts and tightens his grip on her waist, "the longer you'll be here."

She grips his thigh, pulling him deeper into her. He smirks against her neck, continuing to pump into her.

Her shallow breathing turns into sporadic moaning. He quickens his pace, feeling her walls tighten around his swollen member.

"Fuck! Ohhhh fuck!" She digs her nails into his thigh, biting her lip harshly.

"What was you sayin'?" He growls in her ear.

She scratches at his arm, trying to push him away. He grunts and pulls her right leg over his shoulder, getting in between her legs.

"Answer me, baby." He hovers over her, gyrating his hips into hers. She places her hands on his chest, arching her back off the bed.

"Unh! I'm gon—ooh shit," he digs deeper into her, causing her to wrap her legs tightly around him. He buries his face into her neck.

"Stay with me, baby..." she grips his back and lets out a strangled grunt.

"I c-can't! I wish... I wish I could but, I can't!" He pulls off the bed and sits her in his lap, gently rocking back and forth into her.

"Come on, baby." She can feel herself caving. She's bound to explode at any moment.

"I'm gonna cum!" She squeals, gripping at his shoulders and throwing her head back.

He grips her waist firmly, thrusting upward into her. She loses her mind.

"Fuck, Michael!" Her back arches and her legs begin to shake. She places a hand on his knee to balance herself.

"Ah shit! Oh my—" her sentence gets cut off from the jaw dropping orgasm, washing over her.

"Fuck," he grunts lowly, filling her up. She groans and looks over at the clock.

It reads forty-five minutes past eight. She rolls her eyes and looks at Michael.

"You made me late, again." He chuckles, placing kisses all over her sweaty skin.

"I made you cum, though."

@soufcakmistress @504queen @ghostfacekill-monger @hearteyes-for-killmonger @uzumaki-rebellion @l-auteuse @blowmymbackout @supersizemeplz @chaneajoyyy @captainsaveasmut @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @daddy-killmonger @twistedcharismaaa @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @headcannonxgalore @quietstorm-thundathighs @sheabuttahwrites @thegifstories @michaelmajors @becauseimswagman1 @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @xsweetdellzx @blackburnbook @darqchilddaydreamz @killmongerdispussy @brattyfics @sadthotsonlylove @emjayewrites

#michael b jordan #michael b jordan smut #miyuhpapayuh #blackwriters #poc writers

[megamindsecretlair]

Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?

A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?

Blackbird, Part 1: Lust

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?

Word Count: 10,810k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby

Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection. 

The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you. 

“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now. 

Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death. 

The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around. 

He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile. 

Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy. 

Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something. 

Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record. 

“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.” 

“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair. 

They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered. 

You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck. 

“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack. 

You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.

One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.

You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood. 

One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you. 

You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them. 

“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you. 

Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled. 

He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him. 

“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt. 

“You heading inside?” He asked. 

“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.

The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face. 

Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.

“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both. 

“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not. 

You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense. 

“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth. 

You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said. 

“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.

“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.

“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin. 

“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.

“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.

“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous. 

You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.  

You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.

“Probably,” you said. 

He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.

You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.  

“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.

“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him. 

“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish. 

“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup. 

You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.

You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours. 

Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club. 

You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number. 

Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.

“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror. 

“Another day?” She asked.

“Another dollar,” you said back. 

You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations. 

The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.

You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time. 

They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever. 

Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up. 

You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley. 

Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top. 

So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”. 

You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas. 

As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine. 

You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.

The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”. 

Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples. 

“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!” 

You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain. 

“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you. 

“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted. 

Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies. 

“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said. 

“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips. 

“Sheeit, this is better,” he said. 

You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.

“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes. 

A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.

“Your turn,” you said.

“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.

“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark. 

“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”

“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said. 

“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”

Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.

Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires. 

Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head. 

You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.

“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms. 

Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.

“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.

“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact. 

You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news? 

“Moved up how?” You asked. 

“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma. 

“I cannot with you,” you said. 

Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but. 

He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.

“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said. 

“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins. 

“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building. 

“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door. 

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile. 

His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.

You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up. 

But, but, but.

“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said. 

“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said. 

You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it. 

“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer. 

The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life. 

If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.

You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.

So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close. 

That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.

You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said. 

Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body. 

Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger. 

“Would you like to continue?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”

Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all. 

After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit. 

There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans. 

You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.

Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate. 

But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too. 

He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down. 

Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it. 

When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you. 

And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting. 

Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door. 

Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore. 

As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy. 

Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles. 

“Hey you,” you said. 

“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said. 

“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked. 

“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth. 

“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you. 

But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you. 

“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked. 

“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach. 

“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be. 

When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.

It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now. 

Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.

It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous. 

Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside. 

“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.

“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed. 

“You really do look good,” you said. 

“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom. 

“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute. 

“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word. 

Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself. 

Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you. 

As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee. 

You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses. 

“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.

“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless. 

“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.

“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute. 

Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.

Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked. 

“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.

“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said. 

“I do not! Just answer my question!” 

Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams. 

“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”

He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it. 

“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.

When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear. 

Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.

Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes. 

You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.

It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room. 

With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up. 

You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.

You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it. 

There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway. 

Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started. 

She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free. 

You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then. 

There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers. 

Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy. 

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.

You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.

You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.

“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this. 

After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here. 

Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said. 

You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to. 

You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.

“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth. 

“Fontaine?” You asked. 

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat. 

“Delicious,” he said. 

He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties. 

“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.

“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat. 

“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.

In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.

He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you. 

“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.

The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction. 

You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.

It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back. 

“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Where we going?” He asked.

“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone. 

You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything. 

The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera. 

“Forreal this time!” You giggled. 

Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes. 

You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them. 

“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked. 

“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips. 

“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said. 

Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you. 

His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way. 

The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them. 

Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee. 

Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it. 

You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him. 

But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade. 

You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure. 

Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer. 

He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.

He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.

You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.

You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said. 

“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire. 

You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck. 

You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down. 

“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.

You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.

That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips. 

You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you. 

You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.

You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.

He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing. 

Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.

You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?” 

You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that. 

Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.

He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth. 

His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips. 

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking. 

He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.

“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer. 

“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.

“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.

He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him. 

He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.

You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.

He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.

You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!” 

He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you. 

You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”

“Fon-tai–” you moaned.

“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.

He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes. 

He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned. 

Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself. 

“You-you didn’t…” 

“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.

He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you. 

“Fuck!” You moaned. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.

He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.

“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.

You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm. 

“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned. 

“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie. 

Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move. 

Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.

“You’re so damn cute,” he said. 

“You are,” you said and smiled.

“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked. 

You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said. 

“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.

You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.” 

The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Only if you want to,” you said.

He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.

He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him. 

“I want you to stay, please.”

He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else. 

Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.

Me and you. 

You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.

You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight. 

There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.

Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files

Graphics by saradika-graphics

#Megaminds Secret Files #Megaminds Asks #They Cloned Tyrone #Fontaine x Black!reader #Fontaine x Black reader #x Black reader #Fontaine x Fem!reader #Fontaine x Fem reader #x Fem reader #Fontaine x reader #Fontaine x you #Fontaine fanfic #Fontaine fan fic #Fontaine fanfiction #Fontaine fan fiction #John Boyega fanfic #John Boyega fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction

[twistedcharismaaa]

Pleasure...

Summary: Two souls indulge in the act of pleasure.

Author's Note: Hi guysssss! Happy New Year! I hope this year has been kind to you all thus far and will continue to be kind to all of you. I have missed you guys sooooo much. I'm here with something new! I haven't written in awhile so I may be a little rusty! I hope you all enjoy nonetheless! I love you guys and don't forget to leave a comment for ya girl cause you know I liveeee for the commentary! Love you! Enoy!!!!

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her pleasure was just too much. Bursting, bubbling, itching to tumble over. Desperate pleas departed from her lips and was greeted with deaf ears. Relentlessly, he sank deeper inside of her. Almost as if he was trying to give her all of him. His hands gripped her hips as he licked up her sweaty spine. Soon after, she blessed him with the purest rain. He watched her leak all over him. He watched in amusement and admiration. What a beautiful mix of emotions.

“Mhm, that’s right,” he uttered. “Taste that shit for me,” he commanded.

Her back was still fully arched and her hands still rested on the mattress beneath her. Her lips were wedged between her teeth while her pretty face laid on her silk pillow. She felt almost paralyzed with delight. But again, her lover was relentless.

Slowing his pace now, teasingly sliding in and out of her, he leaned forward and spoke again. This time softer.

“Taste that shit for me,” he whispered.

She whimpered.

Gradually her right hand left the residence of the mattress and moved towards her sensitive bud. Gradually, her fingertips delicately danced over her flesh forming small circles. Her pleasure now growing self-indulgent. She twisted her hips as she met her beloved thrust for thrust as she simultaneously massaged her clit. Progressively, he quickened his pace. His hands wrapped around the base of her neck as he crashed into her. The room now echoed that familiar sound. The sound of praise, the sound of ocean waves, - the sweet sound of lovemaking. It filled their ears pleasantly.

Soon after, she removed her hands from her honeypot to taste its candied nectar. Now all 5 senses have officially awakened. She was utterly sent into overdrive or maybe into outer orbit? Pressure was building between her thighs yet again. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she clenched around him. The feel of that embrace automatically rewarded her with a moan from him. Then another. Within seconds, those moans graduated to curses through gritted teeth. He was getting close and she wasn’t playing fair. It was the most gratifying revenge.

They pushed each other equally until they both fell over the edge. And like a gentleman, he blessed her back filling her womb with the most divine intentions. As the day collapsed into night so did they. Breathless, sweaty, and joyous. Gentle kisses were exchanged as their eyes both grew heavy. He cupped her face and spoke to her tenderly.

“I love you,” he finally admitted.

Instantly, her eyes stretched wide with glee. Quickly, she wrapped her hand around his and spoke lightly.

“I love you too,” she confessed.

In all the delight that was shared between the two, there was nothing more pleasurable than them both knowing that they were loved and in love.

——-

@sapiosexuallywise @ghostfacekill-monger @l-auteuse @isisafrofairy @blackburnbook @sheabuttahwrites @neeville @nelleana @chaneajoyyy @angelsuni-ficwrecks @id-rather-be-an-outsider @thadelightfulone @madamcjda3rd @themajesticnigerian @nzia-writes @just-peachee @theycallmechanty @brwn-recluse @mooon-berry @theboldlady @geriixox @soulfuljas @19jammmy @shewrites02 @sapphichottie

#black original characters #original story #black lovers #black romance

[uzumaki-rebellion]

1st off I love your writing style smut with a great story line. I’ve been looking for stories similar to this ( not necessarily Bp universe) but I think I’ve gotten to all the good ones. Do you have any book recs or authors that fit this style? I’ve been trying out kindle unlimited but nothing great yet. Hope you’re doing great 😊

It's rough out there in those romance streets! A lot of things I've run across in the non-fanfic world have been corny. A lot of trad pub pushes mainly tame stuff for my tastes, however, the Black indie writers are doing some fun stuff. I put out an indie book last year on Amazon called "Faded" under my Lisa B. Trinidad name. You can also check out Rilzy Adams, Christina C. Jones, Bella Jay, and Kema B for some quick, fun, smutty reads with interesting storylines. I had kindle limited for a minute, and one of the hardest things for me to find also was good smut with a good plot line. A lot of writing out there on KU is heavy on the sexy times with a paper-thin story. Good luck with finding some gems. If you do, please share them with me because I love a sexy romance with heart!

Have you checked out @chaneajoyyy list of fic recs? She has been the resident BP plug for years now.

A lot of folks have become inactive and stopped putting out BP content in the last year or so, but @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @soufcakmistress @tchallasbabymamaa @l-auteuse @cecereads209 are still putting out stuff.

[sheabuttahwrites]

WIP game

thanks for the tag, @royallyprincesslilly 🥰

rules: write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line.

from “in the Morning”: Neither my guard nor my clothes had ever come down so easily.

tagging: @twistedcharismaaa @blackburnbook @cecereads209 @tgigoldie @passionatewrites @lemmewritesomeish @aureahope @berberriescorner @soufcakmistress @l-auteuse @ghostfacekill-monger @essaysbyciara

#WIP game

[laketaj24]

Clingy: Henry Cavill

Author’s Note: I wanted to write a little drabble while I had some time! Domesticated, kind of size kinky fluff! Lol, Hope you enjoy it! I tried to add everyone who asked to my taglist; if I forgot, hit my inbox.(gif via google search)

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Henry Cavill Masterlist

“You want to watch a few movies today?”

Silence. Henry cocked his brow and continued into the kitchen. He’d been awkward ever since he came from your bedroom.

Unbothered, you took the warm clothes from the dryer and peeked your head into the kitchen. “Is that a yes? They have like three new movies on Prime?”

“Again, he did not answer you. The pots clanged in the sink, water started, and the mumbling emerged from the kitchen. What in the fuck was he mad about?

“You can ignore me if you want; I really don’t give a damn.” You slammed the door to the dryer and pressed a few buttons to get the cycle started.

Henry rarely got mad, but you had to play detective to find out the reason when he did. He had no issue ignoring you, and more importantly, he was better at remaining quiet than you. You tended to talk to over him instead of waiting for his response; therefore, you always won the arguments.

The investigation began in your room; everything seemed to be in place except your phone. The iPhone lay on your bed, the screen still lit, and messages even up.

Ariyah: Girl, you should come over tonight. Leave H and bring tea.

You: Girl, you know I can’t leave this big baby anywhere. Plus, we have plans.

Ariyah: Fine, I don’t understand how a man that sexy can be that annoyingly clingy.

You: He’s my Henry, it ain’t for you to understand. lmao

Ariyah: Girl Bye.

You laughed silently. Ariyah and Henry never got along. This definitely seemed to be the reason he was ignoring you. It takes a few minutes, but you change, sliding on his jersey and the boy shorts underwear that fits you just right. You had no intentions of allowing him to mope around the entire evening.

“Henry.” You smile, rounding the corner with a smile on your face. “You read my messages?”

“Yep, that’s what your clingy boyfriend does.” He refused to look back, but you didn’t really care as you moved across the floor and wrapped your arms around Henry’s toned waist.

Lightly your hands travel up his pecs to his arms, and you rest your head on his back, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne. “Ignore Ariyah.”

“I do not like her.”

“I know, but she’s my best friend, and you are too, so you two are gonna fight. It’s normal.”

“am I clingy?”

How did you answer this without hurting his feelings? You breathed and turned him towards you. You’re met with the longish brown curls falling to his face and the rigid jawline that clearly gave away he was not amused by you in his jersey.

“No, you are attached, but I am too.”

The dramatic roll of his eye is paired with a slightly more dramatic walk out of the kitchen into the laundry room. The blue tank top hung from his body, revealing those muscled arms and flexing neck veins. He was sincerely upset.

“I do not think you are clingy, Henry. There, I said it, not to suffice you but to let you know that I am sincere in my thoughts and I love you.” You grinned and caught up to him with a few skips. You hold your hands up and guard the washer. “You are not washing these clothes until you forgive her or me.”

“How about neither?” Henry lifted you up and set you aside as if you weighed nothing. “Let me start this laundry; we start filming tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna leave home upset with me?” You pouted, pooching your bottom lip out and folding your arms across your chest. “Fine.” You attempt to march past him, but he holds his arm out and looks down at you. “What?”

“I am only clingy because I am gone three weeks out of the month, and dreaming of you is not quite the same as feeling you next to me. Hearing your laughter in my dreams sounds nothing like you right beside me. Picturing you beneath me moaning is nothing like the real thing. I am clingy because I love you.” Suppressing the smile is impossible as he crowds your space pinning you closer to the wall. “So the next time she calls me clingy, just remember it’s because I can’t have you any time I want.”

  Henry Cavill Taglist: @oddsnendsfanfics @my-rosegold-soul @taytayize123 @iloveyouyen @honeychicanawrites @thickemadame @fallslikefeather @blackmissfrizzle @isthat-tyra98 @titty-teetee @yeet-me-out-tonight @inforapound @supernaturalvikingwhore @l-auteuse @alwaysadreamingoptimist @chaneajoyyy @october505 @boomhauer @sciapod @abrokencondomiswhyimalive @littlefreya @bianaguipa @therandomthoughtsofmsparker @therealcalicali @twistedcharismaaa @singeramg @angreav @magdelen69 @madbaddic7ed @pocimaginesaesthetics @ajspencer1892 @jovanaprime @zejess93 @sapphirescrolls @sparklemichele @justgrits @persephones24 @ieshaa96 @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @mereka18 @cass-the-mess @angelic-kisses13 @sprinklesandsugarcubes @two-unbeatable-beaters @peakygroupie @sincerelysinister @rhys108​   @madbaddic7ed

#henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill imagine #laketa j writes

[blowmymbackout]

BTS pics of Jonathan Majors on the set of Creed III 🥵🙏🏾

@wakandama2 @l-auteuse @nayaxwrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @soufcakmistress @bakarilennox @ghostfacekill-monger @honeyandpeaches

#me #post

[cosmiclunarprincess-fanfic]

The Professor Part.7 (SNIPPET)

A/N: Guys don’t hate me I know this has been a VERY long time coming but I didn’t forget about my Professor lovers I got you! I was hit with major writer’s block for months but I’m back and better than ever! The full part is almost done but I couldn’t wait to share this little snippet with you guys I hope you like it. Also, this isn’t edited yet so there might be some mistakes. 

Tags: @namelesslosers @blackchunkyqueen@panthergoddessbast​ @forbeautyandlife @cancerianprincess@shegoego @soulsparker@iamrheaspeaks @blq-gyal @ashrae720 @chaneajoyyy@loosewindmill @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @txmellayella @tiava143 @ohshititslezz @sheisexcellent @sydneebleu @blackpinup22 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @whoramilaje @izraahh1 @cocooned-butterfly @ soulfulbeauty19 @ honeytoffee @ l-auteuse 

Pairing: Erick x Aniya

Characters: Erik Stevens 

Fandom: Erik Stevens, Killmonger 

Warnings: I’m not the best when it comes to following writing rules. I pretty much write how I want to, so if you’re a stickler for grammar and what not just ignore it or don’t read loll (I’m nice I promise.) 

Word Count:  

 His words hit hard. I had no idea he felt this way about me. It kind of made me want to be nice to him. Almost. I still had to teach him a lesson for trying to get back at me and I intended to do just that. I zapped him again and a frustrated hiss came from him. I giggled, seeing him getting all bothered was something that was very entertaining to me. He gives off this nonchalant and unbothered vibe in everyday life, but I was able to get under his skin and I knew it. 

“Of course, I have a hold over you, have you seen me? You’d be dumb not to want me baby.”

“Aniya yo-” 

I zapped him again before he could finish his sentence.

“Did I say you could speak?”. He shook his head no.

I went to the best and picked up the burgundy red shibari rope before turning back to him. I put my index finger under his chin, prompting him to stand up. He sighed as I walked around him allowing the rope to gently rub against his skin. The rope hit the floor with a light thud when I unraveled it. Once I had Erik securely tied to my liking, I tugged the rope to ensure there was no escape for him, before leading him to the bed and guiding him to sit down in the middle with his back resting on the headboard.

 He didn’t protest when I placed the blindfold over his eyes. Stepping back I took a moment to admire my handy work. Seeing him sitting their hands and arms tied in front of him. I left his legs and feet free to give me easy access to his manhood. I must've been standing there silent for a good amount of time because he started to move his head around as if he were trying to decipher where in the room I had gone. 

“Aniya?” He called out and waited for my response but there was none.

I let him sit for a moment more before walking to him and removing the hair tie that held his dreads in his signature hairstyle. I loved when they fell covering his face a little. It made him look less polished, less like a professor and it was also easier to pull them this way. I climbed onto the bed next to him, putting my face dangerously close to his. We were so close his breath was warm on my face. He must've sensed how close I was because he tried to kiss me. I pulled away, watching him move his head around searching for my lips. His chest heaved in and out with his heavy breath. It had been two weeks since the last time we had sex and I knew he was hungry for me. After waiting a moment, I did it again. He tried to be faster this time, hoping to steal a kiss with speed but I was prepared for it and dogged again.

TO BE CONTINUED ....

#Erik Killmonger #killmonger #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger x reader #Erik Stevens #Sub!Erik #the professor #the professor series #professor!erik #michael b jordan #erik stevens series #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens x you #erik stevens smut #killmonger imagine #killmonger smut #black panther fanfiction #black panther killmonger #micheal b jordan fic #micheal b jordan smut #micheal b jordan x reader #marvel smut #killmonger fandom #erik stevens fandom

[emjayewrites]

Just For Tonight (Oneshot)

Synopsis: Yahya finally gets the chance to spit game to a fellow actress. 

Pairings: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Zenaida “Zen” Christoph

Taglist: @tgigoldie @wakandalivesforever @anonymousmadame2911 @write-fromthe-start @sheabuttahwrites @chaneajoyyy @ororowrites @royallyprincesslilly @soufcakmistress @shaekingshitup @kumkaniudaku @l-auteuse @areubeingserved @blackburnbook @raysunshine78 @reignandrain @winchwm @ghostfacekill-monger @essaysbyciara @twistedcharismaaa @miyuhpapayuh @cecereads209 @mauvecherie @my-rosegold-soul @honeydulcewrites @iwrite4poc @blackmissfrizzle @blowmymbackout @minton131 @mochachocolatteyaya @roxyfan14-blog @naturalspice28 @eerythingisshaka @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @alwaysenjoythelifeyoulive @here-for-your-bullshit @thefantasyride @vikkidc @infintywhore @soulfood-fics @toni9 @kiabialia @afriendlyblackhottie @qveenmelanink @ljstraightnochaser @uzumaki-rebellion @kittehkwrites @bugngiz @cecereads209 @cydhouseofgryffindor​ @smollettmajors​ @earl-aive​ @retro-rezz-the-est​

A/N: I do not know Yahya or his family personally. This is solely fiction and any similarities are coincidental. Enjoy the drabble.

P.S. this may or may not be the start of a short series....

Although Yahya craved attention, so much so that some even complained that he had a borderline excessive attention-seeking disorder, he loathed talk shows. And as often as he would smile, joke, laugh, and play the mind games for the audience, he did not enjoy repeating the same story again and again nor did he like being called a ‘sex symbol’. To his family and close friends, he was just Yahya, simple as that, however, this whole concept of being famous warranted unwanted stress and constant spotlight. 

That was the downside of making a name for himself in Hollywood: the stress and spotlight. Yes, he loved interacting with fans, but the paparazzi was doing too much at times. Nevertheless, he was grateful for his immediate success and momentum, not to mention the opportunities that were presented to him. 

Overall, fame came with a price to pay, yet the perks were worth it in the end. For months, there have been rumors swirling around social media about a possible Netflix series in the works with a new starlet, Zen Christoph. Little mamas have been making a name for herself in the independent film circuit and were even nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Safe to say, Yahya fancied her a bit; she was easy on the eyes, smart as a whip, and quite witty. 

A fellow New Orleanian, Zen was raised in the Tremé neighborhood before moving with her mother to live in Chicago. Even though they followed one another on Twitter and Instagram, they never had the chance to truly speak to one another face-to-face, at least not until tonight. 

He has seen her around at afterparties and she was friends with Candyman co-star, Teyonah Parris. Despite this, they still never managed to link up once. Amid a promotion tour for Aquaman 2 and post-production for Matrix 4, Yahya finally had time for some much-deserved R&R as well as to peruse scripts for potential projects. This downtime was the opportune moment to catch up and perhaps even spit game to a lovely woman. 

He busied himself with his iPhone as he waited for James Corden to finish his monologue. Once the host of The Late Late Show introduced him, Yahya slowly walked down the steps with a wooing swagger, high-fiving guests as he passed them. Men cheered, women ogled wantonly and chanted his name like a lustful litany; he was in absolute heaven. 

The corners of his mouth lifted into a wide, dimpled grin, a fan favorite that caused the female audience to go wild with hormonal hysteria. James shook his head at the scene then prompted Yahya to take a seat on the couch. 

“Let’s calm down now, let’s calm down,” James instructed, gesturing with his hands. The mania soon dissolved into silence and he let out a huff of air. “I don’t know how you do it, man.” 

Yahya shrugged as he tugged his left ear nervously. “Me neither, honestly, but I take it in stride.” And this was the truth. As previously mentioned, he loved attention, but it still made him a bit taken aback that women found him attractive. He knew that he was handsome, however, having so many women in his DMs was as endearing as it was off-putting. Sometimes, the thirst truly ran free and the sheer nastiness of their messages was astounding. 

James and Yahya fell easily into lighthearted conversation, discussing a myriad of topics before James eventually announced that Zen will be making her debut on the show. At the sound of this, Yahya’s posture instantly straightened and he adjusted the collar of his shirt. In a matter of seconds, the audience and himself were graced with the presence of Zenaida Christoph. 

Dressed in a strapless black dress with a slit up to her upper thigh and strappy stiletto heels, Zen was a sight for sore eyes and garnered all the male attention at the venue. Ever the gentleman, Yahya immediately got up to escort her down the stairs and he inhaled deeply at the scent of her deep, smoky perfume. 

“Thanks,” she muttered appreciatively to him when they sat down, adding a toothy grin for good measure. 

“Anytime, mamas,” he responds, licking his lower lip. The motion made her divert her eyes to his full lips and he swore that he heard her sigh in admiration. 

“First things first, welcome to The Late Late Show, Zen,” greeted James with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. Do you know Yahya?” 

Zen throws her hair back over her shoulder in a sexy manner before giving Yahya a thorough once-over. “I am familiar with him, yes.” She shot him a dazzling smile, which made Yahya’s lower region stir within the confines of his pants. Her sultry voice paired with that seductive smirk of hers made him arouse like no other. Zen was Aphrodite incarnate, sexy beyond comprehension, and truly irresistible. “I’m a big fan.” 

“Same here, mamas,” he retorted, patting her bare leg affectionately. Yahya was just going with the vibe they initially set, and he hoped that he wasn’t being offensive. Nonetheless, his worries subsided when he felt the gentle brush of her leg against his. 

Oh, so it’s like that, huh? Say the fuck less. 

“Really? What’s your favorite role of mine?” she taunted him, making both the audience and James gasp in shock.

Yahya, completely unaffected and refusing to waver, chuckled at her words. “You’re putting me on the spot, eh?”

“Sure am,” countered Zen proudly. 

“Well,” he drawled, facing Zen to give her his undivided attention, “if you must ask, my favorite role of yours has to be Kivah in Searching Somewhere, yet I am partial to your feature in Insecure.” 

Zen smiled contently as memories began to flood her brain of her time as a reoccurring character on Insecure. “I love that show and everyone involved.” 

“Now, what ‘bout me?” 

It was her time to chuckle. “Watchmen, hands down. You were amazing as Dr. Manhattan, not to mention your notable nude scene. It made me....well...I don’t think we can discuss alladat on television.” 

The audience hooted at the exchange and if it was possible, Yahya’s sable skin would redden at this moment. Suffice to say, he was grateful for his melanin, yet it did not stop the warm flush to his cheeks. Zen’s cocky smile never faltered and James blinked in surprise, his mouth agape. 

“You two are going for it, my goodness!” he screeched, glancing back and forth between them. “I can’t believe it.” 

Both Yahya and Zen shared a unisonous laugh then dismissed James’ comments, yet it was no denying the instant chemistry they had nor the rapport. 

“So...the nude scene did it for you, huh?” he asked, eyes narrowing into an intense gaze. Yahya could not help himself; he needed more clarification in regards to the provocations she felt while watching that particular scene, and when James brought it up once again, he decided to divulge in the query. 

Zen’s brows lifted in amusement. “Feeling bold, sir?” 

“Hell yeah,” he retorted without a second thought, prompting everyone to chuckle. Yahya relaxed his arm over the back of the couch, trapping Zenaida in a hazy bubble of lust. His hand slowly began to reach to her to caress her neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles in her soft skin. 

He was putting on the charm heavy, and Zen lapped it up like a lovesick puppy. She taunted him by leaning backward, pressing up against his hand until he wrapped his fingers around her neck for a light chokehold. 

“Do it,” pantomimed Zen, egging him on to apply some pressure. Shocked, and overwhelmed with obvious arousal, Yahya did as he was told, squeezing slightly to give Zen a nice choke. Her eyes drooped and she let out a huff of air. 

Biting down on his bottom lip, Yahya increased the pressure on her neck, cutting off some of her air supply. To his surprise, no one seems to catch on to what they were doing, for Zen carried on with the conversation as if nothing was happening. Yahya easily noted that Zen had a freaky side to her that was just waiting to be released. 

They played this game for the remainder of the interview, teasing each other mercilessly with double entendres and soft caresses. Casting directors and producers could see the potential of their light bickering and teases, so much so that they could be love interests for a film or series. And with that, and eventual follow-up on flirtatious exchanges via Twitter, Zen and Yahya were soon cast in an upcoming paranormal/sci-fi film from Netflix. 

#Yahya Abdul Mateen II #Yahya Abdul-Mateen II #yahya abdul mateen ii fic #yahya abdul mateen ii fan fiction #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction

[miyuhpapayuh]

We don't even have to take our clothes off.

Thank you @lemmewritesomeish for tossing this one liner in my inbox! I actually dusted off a two year old draft for this one!

“Lift ya dress up, baby.,” he lowly slurs in her ear, the liquor running through their systems heavy.

“What if we get caught?” She asks, lifting it up anyway.

“Ain’t nobody watchin’.” Pulling up a chair behind him, he sits down and pulls her into his lap, his hands roam her inner thighs.

Just a couple feet away, an entire party is taking place on the beautiful, larger than life balcony of an even larger house.

After three shots of rum, the pair had moved to a half secluded area off to the side of the function. Touchin’ on each other like horny teenagers.

“Come on, vie.” His lips trail kisses along her neck.

“It’s just you and me…" the strap of her dress follows his lips down her shoulder, a shiver crawling up her spine.

Her hands rests on his, assisting in pulling her dress completely up on her hips, his hand going straight for her wet set of her lips.

“No panties again, huh?” His long, skilled fingers work against her slicked slit, her head laying on his shoulder as she stares up at the sky.

“Better access, yeah?” She moans, leaving his lap to undo his pants, pulling them down to his thighs, along with his underwear.

“Poke it out, babe.” Putting a dip in her back, she slides down onto him, the both of them groaning upon contact.

“Fuuuck, I love this dick.” She moans, grinding against him.

Grabbing her breasts into his hands, he kneads them like dough, turning her on.

“This dick love yo ass too, baby,” he mumbles, biting into his own lip as she begins to bounce on him.

Her curses hit the damp air as she looks to her left; the party is still alive and jumpin’ as their connection gets steamier.

A gasp leaves her as he moves to bend her over the large chair and face it towards the party, shielding them behind it.

His pants are now around his ankles and his hips relentlessly fuse with her ass, making it hard for her to keep quiet.

“Shhhhit!” She whines, gripping the chair for dear life.

“Fuck baby,” his hand comes down on her ass in rhythmic time, making her even wetter.

Her toes curl into the bed of her sandals. She makes sure to keep her head down, concealing her wild moans as he turns her inside out.

He can still hear her whines over the swelling music, making him twitch within her tugging heat and grip a hold of her neck, gripping her hip with his other hand.

Dipping his head into the crook of her neck, he mumbles against her heated skin.

“You cummin’ on this dick,”

“Yes,” she gasps, gripping the hand at her neck, “don't s-stop!”

Her bottom lip is roughly bitten into as he continues digging her out.

Her hand slips from the top of the chair to its arm, gripping until her fingertips bruise white.

“Oh fuck!” She cries out, as she quivers and clamps down on his dick, drowning it in her cream.

He shakes his head at her like she can see, throwing his head back as the urge to release deep inside of her becomes too much to bear.

His strokes get rougher, making her see stars and cum once more, knocking him off the deep end with her.

He bites her neck and groans, soothing the area with sweet kisses afterward.

Coming down from such a high, the satiated pair fix their clothes and steal glances at each other.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she giggles.

“Round two gotta be in the room.. I gotta hear them sounds again.” He shamelessly says, making her blush and walk ahead of him, back into the crowded area.

“You are something else.” She shakes her head at him, as he grabs her left hand and twirls her around.

“Mmhm, I love that about you, too.”

Enjoy :)

@soufcakmistress @ibeoutchea @thegifstories @chaneajoyyy @sheabuttahwrites @supersizemeplz @nayaxwrites @cecereads209 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @killmongerdispussy @ghostfacekill-monger @blowmymbackout @quietstorm-thundathighs @twistedcharismaaa @uzumaki-rebellion @daddy-killmonger @hearteyes-for-killmonger @l-auteuse @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @headcannonxgalore

#smutty smut smut #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers

[megamindsecretlair]

Wrong For It

Pairing: Toxic!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Corruption kink if you squint. ONE SHOT.

Summary: Follower Celebration: You voted for Slice of Life with a Toxic Tyrone! While hanging out with your best friend, her big brother Tyrone comes home unexpectedly. You've had a terrible crush on him for as long as you could remember. You're both a little tipsy and feeling each other. You absolutely shouldn't....right?

Word Count: 6,014k

A/N: Happy Follower Celebration!!!!! It's because of YOU that I've enjoyed (19!!!!) Tyrone fics! Not including the multiple parts. I've written sweet, toxic, disrespectful, AU, and spooky Tyrone fics and ya'll still want more! I LOVE YA'LL FRFR!!!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Special, special shout out to @planetblaque! I could NOT have finished this without you, ILY!!! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui

“Girl, you never want to hang at my place anymore,” your best friend, Camille, said. 

You sighed and switched your phone to your other ear, grateful that she can’t see your guilty eye roll. “That’s not true, I was just over there…” You trailed off, trying to think of when you were last over there.

Fourth of July. She had a small party, which of course meant that everybody and they mama was invited. It was easy to disappear during the party. Easy to dodge Tyrone, her brother. He wasn’t a bad guy, he was just the neighborhood fuck boy and you had a terrible crush on him.

You’d known Camille and Tyrone all their lives, having grown up right next door to them. You never stood a chance when it came to what type of guy you were interested in. Camille spent many a day complaining about her annoying older brother and how women always tried to be nice to her in order to get to him.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that during puberty, when you really started to notice boys, you had the misfortune of seeing Tyrone workout with his shirt off. Your summers were spent looking out of your bedroom window and into their backyard where he often hung out with friends. The no shirt/black shorts/towel hanging out of his back pocket combo unlocked something in you. 

You’d been changed. Altered. The fabric of your mind had been ripped apart and you spent the rest of your days trying to find someone who held a candle to Tyrone. None ever did. 

“That’s right, yo bitch ass don’t even remember when. Please? I got the house to myself for once,” Camille said. 

You sighed through your nose and looked at your phone. It was late in the afternoon and you didn’t have anything to do. Still. There was always the possibility of running into Tyrone. 

“You sure you got the house to yourself?” You asked.

“Yes! Now come on! We can make fun of that new movie on Netflix,” she said. 

“Let me get decent and I’ll be over,” you said. You held the phone away from your ear as Camille squealed loud enough to be heard around the corner. 

“Bring snacks!” She said. She signed off and you groaned, flopping back onto your bed. You were an adult. Tyrone came home later and later and sometimes not at all. He was either lamped up with his latest conquest or he was out selling weed. He still sold premium shit compared to the shops and you had no idea where he got it from. 

You got yourself together and raided your pantry for your favorite snacks. Chips, cookies, and pieces of candy. You were going to have a terrible sugar rush but fuck it, it was the weekend. 

Soon, you were locking your door behind you and crossing the dry lawn towards Camille’s house. You checked her driveway. There was only her busted Toyota Camry out front. You could breathe easier. Eventually, you’d have to get over him. Eventually, you’d have to stop letting your avoidance of him get in the way of your friendship with Camille. You just needed more time.

You shivered with the roaring wind outside. You hadn’t expected to go to her place tonight and you were comfortable in the heated house with your shorts, long sleeved shirt, and fuzzy socks. Outside though, you were exposed to the elements. Once it dropped below 70 in LA, it was freezing.

Camille finally opened the door, her deep ebony skin almost a match for her brother’s. She had thick, curled hair that was tied up into a high ponytail at the moment. She wore a tie-dye graphic tee with the sleeves cut off and gray joggers.

She squealed when she saw you and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a big hug. You giggled and braced yourself from the added weight of her. “You act like I died,” you said.

“I thought you did. How you still live next door and I, like, never see you unless we go out?” She asked. She took some of the snacks from your hands and let you into the house. You followed behind her, closing and locking the door, and moved into the living room. Since no one was there, you had the chance to watch TV on the big screen. 

You always loved being at their house. It wasn’t much. And it was just as grungy as your place growing up, but it was clean and full of love. Their mom was like a second mom to you, always making sure you were fed and gave you dolls on your birthdays. 

Camille already had an assortment of liquor lined up on the table like you were pre-gaming back during your clubbing days. “Damn girl,” you said, noticing it. 

Camille dumped the snacks onto the table and grinned at you. “Been so damn long, I forgot what you drink!” 

“Stop. We talk all the time,” you said.

Camilled sat down on the brown, weathered couch with a big sigh. She avoided looking at you and picked at something on the cushion. “Don’t feel like it, is all,” she said.

Shit. Now you were feeling guilty. You sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. “I just been busy at work, bestie. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA,” you said.

She grinned and shrugged. “I get it. Work is a bitch! Now let’s get drunk like we used to!” 

You shook your head and again, something was telling you to throw caution to the wind. Before long, she was queuing up a movie on Netflix. She popped the top to the tequila and lined up two shots for you and two for her. 

You both shot it back, howling at the burn of alcohol. “Gahh damn!” You said when your throat calmed down enough. 

“Woo! Shall we play a game?” Camille lowered her voice and waggled her eyebrows. You laughed and shoved her away.

“The last time we played one of your drinking games, I was up till 3am puking my guts out!” 

“That was on me. We probably shouldn’t have taken a shot every time that man licked his lips. Trevante is sex on a stick!” Camille said and cackled. 

The sweet burn of alcohol dropped to your stomach and warmed you up from the inside out. You only shook your head and agreed. 

Soon, you both were falling back into your normal routine. You laughed, made fun of the trash ass movie, and drank and ate your way through the night. You yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes. Fuck, you missed this. You missed hanging with your best friend. 

Guilt wrapped an icy tentacle around your gut. It was your fault that you hadn’t had many times to unwind and catch up with your bestie. You had been so focused on work, so focused on keeping your mind busy, that you hadn’t realized just how long it’s been. 

You vowed to change it. You were not going to let some man get in the way of your friendship. No matter how fine he was.

Camille’s soft snores made you turn towards her. You giggled and shook your head. She always fell asleep first. And she fell hard. It would take an earthquake to wake her up. And even then, you both were desensitized by them by now. The rough rocking was akin to being rocked as a baby at this point.

You were sleepy but not ready to fall asleep just yet. You decided to help her clean, not wanting to be a pig in someone else’s house, best friend or not. You swept up crumbs, wrappers, and carried shot glasses over to the kitchen. Fuck. Everything was still familiar to you.

The light over the stove was on so you didn’t turn on the overhead lights. An ache beat in your head and you didn’t need the extra tension. The kitchen had peeling sky blue paint, tile countertop, and there were clean cups and bills overtaking the counter top. 

You hummed slightly as you cleaned up, knowing exactly where they kept everything. You set the shot glasses upside down on the drying mat. The humming was just loud enough to not hear the door open and close. Or hear someone approaching behind you.

The circle of arms around your waist made you squeal in fear and tense up, throwing your elbow behind you. You connected with something soft but solid, and there was a tiny “oomf”. 

You moved away and turned around, chest on fire. You held up your hands. You couldn’t fight worth a damn but whoever it was didn’t need to know that.

“Damn girl, watch where you throwing them elbows!” Tyrone groaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Tyrone?” You asked.

Tyrone winked at you and smiled. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. It took a few, deep breaths for your body to catch up to the fact that you weren’t in danger. Not physical danger anyway. You placed your hand over your heart and the rapid thumbs began to slow down. 

Tyrone leaned back against the counter and shoved his hands into his oatmeal colored hoodie. He wore a matching beanie and the hood was pulled up, hiding his beautiful hair that he lovingly took care of. You were brought back to plenty of days spent on their porch while Camille braided his hair and he talked shit. 

He considered himself an expert on relationships, despite never really being in one, and he never wasted an opportunity to educate you on men. He always told you that niggas weren’t shit and you were better off getting in, getting off, and getting out. 

Tyrone licked his lips and looked over your body, tilting his head. He grinned as he did so and you suddenly felt naked. Like he stripped you with his eyes and you were now exposed. Of course, it only got you thinking about being naked with him. Of being underneath him while he did all kinds of nasty shit to you. 

You cleared your throat, thankful that your rich brown skin didn’t show when you were embarrassed or flustered. The tips of your ears did burn something fierce though. “What are you doing here?” You crossed your arms. You sounded a little breathy, but that was okay. You were still trying to calm down from being scared.

“Live here,” he said. 

You sighed. Yes, you walked into that one. “Camille said you were gone tonight,” you said.

“Decided to come home early. Guess I just knew that yo pretty ass was in my kitchen,” he said.

No, no, that did not make your stomach flutter. That did not have an answering throb in your pussy. You shifted from one foot to the other, nails digging into your sides. 

“More like you got in a fight with your latest squeeze,” you said. You huffed a laugh, trying to break the sudden tension. Their kitchen wasn’t that big and Tyrone had a habit of making it seem like he was the only person in the room. He approached you, getting into your personal space. You tried to lean back, but your back was already against the counter.

Tyrone’s eyes were at half mast, likely high. He shifted closer until you were nearly chest to chest. He leaned down. Your lips parted. What was happening right now? Was he going to kiss you? Right now? Right here? With Camille in the next room? 

He reached out his hand and you did your best to prepare. You pinched your side. Were you really going to let this man kiss you? 

He reached next to you and grabbed one of the shot glasses you just cleaned off. He grinned. “Jealous?” He asked. He moved away, opening a small pantry next to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of Hennessy. 

“No,” you scoffed, injecting enough venom in your voice to fell an elephant. Your chest hurt for entirely different reasons now, a type of burning working its way through your lungs. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to slap that smug grin off of his face. 

“Who still says ‘squeeze’? When did you turn into an old lady?” He asked. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back. You were a fool but you watched the way his throat worked down the liquid. You wanted to lick him. Wanted to plant your nose right at the hollow of his throat and kiss him. 

You rubbed your head and moved away from the sink. “I’ve always been an old soul,” you tossed over to him as you passed him. He tugged on your long-sleeved navy shirt, pulling you back into the kitchen.

“Hol’ up, where you going? Shit, I ain’t seen you in a cool minute,” he said. 

You shrugged out of his embrace and refolded your arms. As long as you had a barrier against Tyrone, he couldn’t see how fast you were breathing. You were thankful for the low light as well. That he couldn’t see the way you followed his every move. That your eyes darted to his lips whenever he spoke. 

 “I been around,” you said and shrugged. 

“Naw, you were, like, always over here. Then you up and dipped, what’s that about?” He asked. He poured himself another shot and knocked it back, eyeing you over the rim. You held eye contact for a beat, perhaps two, before grinning and shrugging once more.

“Been busy. Why you giving me the third degree?” You asked.

“Damn, can’t a nigga make conversation?” He asked.

The giggle left you before you had a chance to snatch it back and hold it inside. Giggling would lead to flirting, which would lead to dangerous thoughts. You were a bit tipsy, feeling loose and unencumbered. It was a dangerous position to be in. Especially around Tyrone. 

“I better go wake your sister up before she go looking for me,” you said. You smiled and moved past him once more. Again, he grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you back in front of him.

He invaded your space, moving closer. Close enough to smell the Henny on his breath. “Why you keep trynna escape?” 

“I’m not,” you said. 

“You look too damn good in them shorts,” he said. He tilted his whole body to the side, exaggerating his movements to look at your legs. You laughed and shoved at his shoulder. 

“You need to stop!” You said. Any minute now, Camille was going to wake up. The last thing she needed to see was you flirting with her damn brother in her kitchen. You came over here to hang out with her, not make googly eyes at Tyrone. 

That color looked damn good on him though. It stood stark against his dark skin, but it suited him. It was rare that you saw him in bright colors, and the muted oatmeal color just worked on him. Everything worked on him. He was one of those annoying men that never had a bad day.

“Why I need to stop?” He asked. He straightened up and tugged on the front of your shirt, pulling you closer. You were trying to resist, trying to tug yourself backwards. But he was stronger. He pulled you forward and you braced yourself by grabbing his upper arms. You were chest to chest now, staring up into his dark eyes. 

“You’re Camille’s brother,” you whispered. 

“You’re Camille’s best friend. Fuck that mean?” He asked. 

You grinned but immediately squashed it, poking the sides of your cheek with your tongue. You mentally slapped yourself, knowing full well you should not be enjoying this. Should not enjoy the way he grinned slowly, hand still clutching your shirt to keep you in front of him. Like he wanted you there.

“Tyrone…”

“Shhh,” he said. He licked his lips and leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against yours. You sighed. He had a bit of prickly stubble there and it felt good against your smooth skin. He kissed your cheek. “Let me kiss you.” 

You shook your head, looking down at his hand on your shirt. “We shouldn’t…”

“You say ‘should or shouldn’t’ one more time and I’ma kiss you anyway,” he said.

You shook your head, looking back up at him. “Tyrone, Camille will kill us,” you whispered.

“All you gotta say is that you don’t wanna kiss me. You just keep giving me bullshit excuses,” he said.

“Fine, I don’t wanna kiss you,” you said.

“Bullshit,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed you anyway. You squealed and gripped his arms harder, intent on pushing him away. But his lips were warm and wet. Sexy. He kissed like he walked; lazy, smooth, in control. 

The kiss made your pussy flutter, growing wetter by the second. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. It was like you weren’t close enough or something because he pushed you against the countertop. He ground his hips into yours and you moaned quietly, feeling something hard press into your belly. He grabbed two handfuls of your ass and squeezed.

His tongue explored your mouth, licking along your bottom lip. You hissed and ended on a sigh. When there was a natural break, you took the opportunity to pull back. Tyrone opened his eyes and grinned.

“Tyrone! You know we shouldn’t–”

Tyrone’s lips found yours once more, hands gripping your hips and digging in like he was looking for lost treasure. You moaned, gripping onto him just as hard. You finally got to taste him, that subtle hit of Henny on his breath, and it was everything you pictured it to be. Only better. It was real. It was magical. 

He pulled away and tilted his head at you with a grin. You bit your lip to keep from saying what you should or shouldn’t do. You were torn between two places. On the one hand, you felt so guilty kissing Camille’s brother. Everybody grown, but it still felt taboo. Like you were breaking a sacred girl code. On the other hand, you were selfish and greedy for more.

Tyrone grabbed your hand and began to tug you into the other room. You dug your heels into the hardwood floor, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing?” You asked. 

“‘Bout to get into some fun with you,” he said. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting you.

“Oh, no, no, no. A kiss is one thing. I’m not going to your room,” you said. You had to draw the line somewhere. No amount of good dick was going to mess up your friendship. 

Everyone’s had a spin on Tyrone’s dick. And it was just your luck to fall for the resident fuck boy who handed out orgasms like Halloween candy. There had been plenty of times that you and Camille were minding your sweet business when a group of girls would suddenly break out into an argument about who hopped on Tyrone’s dick last. You were not going to add yourself to that long list. 

Tyrone sighed and hung his head, grabbing your hips and pushing you deeper into the kitchen. You were out of sight of the living room by now, but he didn’t stop until you were at the farthest possible point, leaning against the door that led to the side porch. You yelped, not used to being manhandled quite like this. 

Tyrone dropped another kiss to your lips, hands roaming under your shirt and fiddling with the swell of your breasts. You just wanted to point out once more than you were expecting to hang out with your best friend, so no bra was required. 

Tyrone kissed your neck, warm lips pressed to your pulse point. You sighed, gripping the sleeves of his hoodie. He moved one hand lower, reaching under your shorts slowly and giving you enough time to stop him. You didn’t. 

He slipped beneath your panties and he ran his fingers through your wet slit. He hummed in the back of his throat. He kissed his way up to your ear. “I just want a little taste. There’s no harm in that right?” 

You tried to form words to tell him that there was harm. There so was. But then he planted the visual of him tasting you there. You leaned up on your tiptoes the further he explored your damp curls, dipping a long finger into you. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loud. You were so damn afraid of getting caught that it was a weird mix of fear and arousal that kept you rooted to the spot. 

You wanted to resist him. You wanted to be strong enough to move his hand and keep him wanting more. Instead, all you could do was enjoy his fingers playing with you. “Please? Just a little taste?” He asked.

He lifted your leg to give him better access and your head thunked against the door. He had the perfect mix of pressure and rhythm that it was driving you crazy. Making your knees wobble.

You sighed choppy, breathy sounds and nodded. One little taste wouldn’t hurt that much. He grinned, kissed your ear, and then removed his fingers. He licked them while he looked you in the eye and he moaned around his fingers. 

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the kitchen. You tried to tiptoe around a sleeping Camille but Tyrone stomped his way through the living room. Camille snored and jerked in her sleep but made no indication that she was close to waking.

Inside Tyrone’s room, you smelled a subtle weed scent. He closed the door behind you and turned on the light. It only turned on his ceiling fan, so he worked with muted lighting. He tossed off his hoodie and beanie, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. He took that off as well and he wore a white tank underneath.

Fuck, he was so hot. You watched as his arms moved and muscles bunched beneath his skin. He moved a blanket off of his bed and then grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the edge. Before you could sit, Tyrone pulled down the sides of your shorts and revealed your racy underwear. You had plans to wash today and these were all you had in the meantime.

Tyrone grinned. “I like these,” he said. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you groaned. You covered your face, burning cheeks scalding your hands.

“Why not? Been checking you out for a while,” he said.

He ran his fingers along the gusset of your panties and you bit back a moan as his knuckles ran up against your pussy. “Liar,” you sighed.

He grabbed your hand from your face and pulled you forward so that you could cup him through his sweatpants. “This feel like I’m lyin’?” 

Your eyes widened and you lightly shook your head. No, no it did not feel like he was lying. There was still that needling thought though. “Fuck boys aren’t usually picky ‘bout who they get with,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled and shook his head. He got to his knees and released your hand. He moved in between your legs, pushing them wider around his broad shoulders. He flipped his hand and started playing with your pussy in earnest. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” he whispered. “You must not be that picky neither then.”

“Maybe I’m just horny,” you said. 

Tyrone chuckled and bit your thigh. You whined, loving the bite of pain. “We gon’ see ‘bout that,” he said. 

He moved your panties to the side and kept eye contact with you for as long as he could. You watched his tongue flick out and push past your pussy lips. You moaned, grabbing onto the back of his head. 

“Mm, don’t you taste so good,” he whispered against your pussy. This was wrong. On so many levels. But you couldn’t resist as he continued to tease you, flattening his tongue against your clit but not moving it. 

Your thighs twitched and tingled, needing him to move or do something besides be evil. You moved your hips, silently pleading with him to get a move on. You whined more, moving your hips. Tyrone chuckled, and sucked on your clit.

“Oh shit!” You said. 

“Impatient ass,” he said. 

He continued to tease, suckle, and please you until you were a whimpering, sopping mess. You’d definitely have to wash these panties immediately. They were soaked with your juices. While making out with your pussy, he pulled your panties in between your pussy lips and pulled. Your pussy lips were wedged on the outside of your panties and you leaned up in time to see a feral look cross Tyrone’s face. 

In all of your fantasies, you never quite imagined him looking so enamored with your body. “Anybody tell you that you got a fat ass pussy?” He asked. 

He licked your pussy through the fabric. All you felt was his hot tongue and your back bent off of the bed with a ragged moan. The edges of his tongue hit your lower lips and you cried out. You were ready to burst. You felt like your bones would melt. 

He moved your panties once more and swirled his tongue in the mess you were making. You licked your lips and looked at him. He was focused on some type of demon time you weren’t privy to. 

Right when you were feeling the beginnings of your orgasm, Tyrone pulled away. You huffed and got to your elbows to glare at him. He only grinned. “You said I could have a taste right?” 

You coughed and sputtered as a hundred sentences tried to leave your mouth at once. “You better not leave me like this,” you said. 

“If I did?” Tyrone asked. He tilted his head and looked at you, all hint of playfulness gone. He…wasn’t serious, was he? You stared at him and he stared at you. You were sure that if this were a meme, you’d be laughing your ass off but this was far from funny. You were unbearably wet and uncomfortable, and you needed relief now. 

“I’ll finish myself off, then,” you said. Your hands moved to your pussy so that you could get yourself off. Not like you hadn’t had plenty of practice getting yourself there. Fuck him. Sex god, pft. What a joke. You finally got a chance to hop on community dick and all he was interested in was fucking with you. 

This, you would take to your grave. You’d never fess up to this embarrassing shit. Your fingers barely grabbed your panties to move them when he grabbed your wrist painfully. You cried out and looked up at him. 

“Don’t you ever try to get yourself off when I’m standing right here,” he said in a near growl, voice low and his lip curling in absolute disgust at the thought. 

“But–” 

“I asked you a question. I ain’t say you can play with yourself,” he said. 

You gulped and sank back onto the bed. He released your wrist, tossing it away from him. It flopped onto the bed. You stared wild eyed at Tyrone, not understanding what the fuck was going on. Mark you down as scared and turned on. 

He pulled roughly at your panties, tearing them down your legs with an excited rush. Your body twisted as you wiggled your thick legs out of them. Next went your shirt and his eyes widened seeing your titties. 

He palmed them briefly, testing the weight between his hands and grinning. Then he tugged down his own sweats, freeing his dick. Shit. He was so big. Huge. He lowered his pants just enough to be able to move and then he was leaning forward, running his dick through your folds to get him nice and wet. 

“Ty-”

“Shh, I’m gon’ fit, don’t worry,” he said.

You turned your head to the side, not able to stand him. “Look at me,” he said. 

You shook your head. If you looked at him, you’d lose your damn mind. “Look at me,” he commanded, voice deeper. 

You whined and looked at him. He ain’t even do nothing yet! You only hoped that it wasn’t so obvious that you’d been in love with him forever. That he couldn’t read it all over your face. Surely, you could have this one night. This one night to torture yourself with for the next fifty years as you tried to find a suitable replacement for him. 

“I finally get in this pussy and I want you to see me do it,” he said. 

You nodded. “I see you,” you whispered. 

He placed one hand near your head to steady himself and then slowly pushed inside you. You cried out, back twisting, and he cooed at you. “You can take me,” he said. It was a matter of fact for him. Not up for debate. He said you can take him and so your body welcomed him eagerly. 

He worked his tip in and you pushed against his chest. He was too much. “I ain’t even in yet, gorgeous,” he said. 

“Too much…” you cried. 

“No, it’s not,” he said. He slowly worked himself inside, pushing deeper and deeper until you were full of his dick. He adjusted himself before moving his hand to push down on your stomach. 

Air whooshed out of you. You felt him from both sides. How did that feel so damn good? He worked his hips, giving you deep and long strokes that made you see the heavens and the earth. 

“That’s right, open up this pussy for me,” he groaned.

He leaned down over you and suckled a nipple into his mouth. Your knees pressed against his waist, pushed back by the sheer size of him. You gasped and sighed in tandem with his strokes. It was like he was feeding you the air you needed and taking it away. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Shh, we ain’t wanna wake Camille,” he said. He pulled on your nipple with his lips and you whined, slapping at his shoulders. 

“That hurts!” You cried. 

He only licked away the sting and did the same to your other nipple. “Shit, shit,” you said and slapped at his shoulders again. He licked all around your areola and sighed, fanning his warm breath across your wet nipple.

“Next time, I’ma tie yo ass up,” he said. 

“Next time!” You squealed. 

He thrusted and hit a sweet spot deep inside. You croaked, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It was like he hit a reset button. He hit it again and again until you were screaming and crying, twitching on his dick with the force of your orgasm. 

“I’m stretching this pussy out, huh?” He asked.

Your mouth worked but you couldn’t make any kind of coherent word come out. You could only hiss and moan with every deep stroke. “Sh–, sh–.” 

“Got this dick all up in yo stomach,” he said.

You jerked and twisted on your way down from an intense orgasm. Tyrone grinned. “Oue, give me another one.”

You hiccuped and shook your head. You couldn’t give him another one. You were only allowed one reset per day, right? 

Tyrone grabbed your ankles and straightened your legs out. He stood up and placed your legs on his shoulders. He kissed your ankle, rubbing the arch in your foot. Your back arched and your mouth dropped open. 

“Ohh, I hit a good spot,” he moaned. He increased his pace. At this angle, he felt bigger. He felt close. Like he truly was digging your stomach out. He adjusted his hips, pushing your thighs against your stomach.

Your hand flew to his arms, trying to push him away. “Why you trynna escape? Huh?” 

“Too. Much,” you said. 

“Aw, my dick too much?” He asked.

You looked at him and nodded. Yes, it was too much. You weren’t used to accommodating someone of his size.

“This dick too much? You sure? ‘Cause I feel pretty good fuckin’ you,” he said, continuing to pound into you. He was relentless, taking pleasure from your body any way he could get it. 

Tyrone licked his thumb and rubbed circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled back, seeing the depth of the universe behind your lids as you came once more.

“There it is, don’t that feel so good? Ain’t you needed that?” Tyrone pulled your legs apart so that he could look at you more clearly. He rutted into you a few more times before he pulled out and fisted his dick, stroking furiously and cumming with the most beautiful, pained expression on his face.

The moan that escaped him was low, guttural. The hot splashes of his cum painted a pretty picture on your stomach. You looked down to stare at that particular artwork. 

Tyrone dropped your legs around his hips and panted. He dug his phone out of his pocket and took a quick picture.

“What the fuck, Tyrone!” You yelled.

Tyrone grinned and put his phone away. “Don’t worry, I won’t show nobody,” he said. “Need something to get off to until I get in this pussy again.”

Your mind went blank trying to comprehend what the fuck he just said. He moved away and cleaned himself off with a red towel that was draped over his chair. He left the room and returned with a wash rag, cleaning his cum from your skin. You were still trying to compute that he wanted to do this again.

“We can’t do this again, Ty,” you said. You got up and found your shirt, pulling it over your head. You fished around his room for your panties. The floor was clean so where…?

Tyrone cleared his throat and held your panties and tiny shorts in his hand. He held it out to you and you reached to snatch it from him. He lifted it above you, way out of reach, and leaned down.

“Give me a kiss before you escape,” he said.

“Ty, no! Give me my panties!” You wanted to shout, but you were ever cautious about waking Camille. Oh god. You weren’t exactly quiet here. Did she hear? Was she outside his door fuming? 

Tyrone turned his cheek towards you and waited. You rolled your eyes and pecked him on the cheek. “Now the other side,” he said. He turned his other cheek towards you. A laugh escaped you and you huffed with the effort of trying to pull his arm down. He wouldn’t budge. So you sighed and kissed his other cheek. 

He slowly brought your clothes back down. You looked up so he was able to swoop in and steal a kiss. He grinned as he pulled back. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said.

You snatched your clothes and hurriedly put them on while Tyrone stared at you. He was so annoying! And you just had sex with him. Amazing, mind-blowing sex but still. 

Dressed, you pushed away from a laughing Tyrone and back into the living room. You sat on the couch and accidentally bumped into Camille. She yawned and stretched out on the couch. “Damn, how long we been asleep?” 

“I don’t know. I think Netflix was watching us for a minute,” you said. You chewed on your nail. You were so sure that she’d read it all over you.

“You cool to stay over like always. I’m taking my ass to my bed,” she said. She yawned again and got up from the couch, tapping your shoulder and headed towards her room. You stared at the light under Tyrone’s door and let your mind wander. 

Ultimately, you followed Camille to crash in her bed like old times.

Lordy! Yes, I said 19! You can find them all here! The Secret Tyrone Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #x Fem reader #Tyrone x plus size reader #Toxic!Tyrone #They Cloned Tyrone #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #John Boyega #John Boyega fan fic #John Boyega fanfic #Megaminds follower celebration #follower celebration #Thank you to absolutely every single one of you who have read and loved my Tyrone fics! #Thank you thank you thank you #I cannot thank you enough for all the love

[twistedcharismaaa]

Lost & Found: Lost Files Pt. 2

General Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Summary: An “outside looking in perspective” of Charisma and Masego’s continued night.

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! I’m back with a little update! I hope that you guys are all doing well as always! I’ve missed you guys! This is a continuation of “Lost & Found: Lost Files Part One”. I hope that you all enjoy!!! Please leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary!!! Enjoy! Enjoy!!!

Laying flat on her back taking him like a pro. Her mouth open. His teeth gritted. The moans. Him, furrowed browed engraving his vows in her womb. Her back was arched as she loudly sang praises to her king. Her legs rested around his shoulders like fine drapery. He placed his hand around her neck and gave it a subtle squeeze. And she wore his hand around her neck proudly as if it was the finest jewelry. Sweat fell from his chest as he crashed into her like a summer’s rain. He grunted like a beast as he ran his tongue up her leg looking her wickedly in her eye. 

“Sweet,” he breathed along her dewy skin. Relentlessly, he plowed into her and drilled into her, totally fertilizing her soil. Her unsteady hands wrapped around his wrists as her eyes fluttered like a caged bird’s wings. Visions blessing her eyes and running down her cheeks. He elevated her to higher heights. And little did he know, she was somewhere along the stars now. He painted her like a canvas - marking her with his lust and his revere.

Like a comet falling from the sky, she crashed back down to earth and was instantly greeted with his lips. His tongue sparred with hers as his restless hands explored her body. Soon after, he flipped her like the other side of the pillow and worked her ten times over. Her bottom lip was wedged between her teeth as her hands now gripped the cotton sheets as if they held an undeniable solidity. Her chest danced like ocean waves caving in and out as he slid in and out of her. He spread her wider so that he could dig deeper as he planted kisses along her curved spine. He filled her ears with profane words ever tantalizing her. And to her, it was the prettiest sonnet.

And as the early sun greeted the sky once more, they finally collapsed. Joyfully falling into each other arms until they both drifted off into the sweetest of dreams. But there was nothing sweeter than this. That beautiful blooming and budding new love. She loved him and unknowingly to her he loved her too. 

—---

Lost & Found: Lost Files Pt. 1

@ghostfacekill-monger @chaneajoyyy @l-auteuse 

@soloperator @19jammmy @soulfuljas @sheabuttahwrites @thadelightfulone

@isisafrofairy @blackburnbook @neeville @nelleana

@theboldlady @geriixox @errin261 @mooon-berry

@just-juicee @teardropzih @highasfantasy

@savagescorpion @xxariaxxaxx

@themajesticnigerian @miyahmaraj @theholytrinity

@theconsciousrebel @squigglyemotions

@theycallmechanty @satabandO @gbdinfinitedrill

@nzia-writes @justanothernerdgirl @pinkthongs @mindnmybidness @tgigoldie @charismablu  @fendionmyfeet @iamrheaspeaks @shewrites02

#masego x black reader #Masego #masego fanfiction #masego music #masego imagine #masego x black!reader #masego x !blackreader #uncle sego #micah davis #Studying Abroad #loose thoughts #lady lady #mystery lady #tadow #sax fifth avenue

[imagineredwood]

Black writers to support ❤️

@blackmissfrizzle @crushed-pink-petals-writes @honeychicanawrites @avintagekiss24 @breanime @blackwomanwriter @shaekingshitup @royallyprincesslilly @thotgomery @dangerouslovefanfic @xxshewritesinblacknwhitexx @munteanhore @night-of-the-living-shred @muse-of-mbaku @periodtcevans @nickysurfer28 @beautifullmelodyxx @melinaasap1 @lady-olive-oil @write-fromthe-start @laketaj24 @l-auteuse @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @twistedcharismaaa @ghostfacekill-monger @soulfood-fics @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @cicici03 @thadelightfulone @dreamingofmilk @artsninspo @alessiaase @thotmendes @uzumaki-rebellion @kumkaniudaku @teakturn @essaysbyciara @sarcastic-sunshines @xxdearlybeloved @persephones24 @marvelmaree @fumbling-fanfics @goddessofthundathighs @princessstevens @hearteyes-for-killmonger @theegoldenchild @sparklemichele  @carisi-dreams @imaginetrahs  @justniaaa @xxonoiroxx  @queenreignsempire @kayah16 @lavitabella87 @amethyst09 @bakarilennox @blackgirlimaginesmarvel @chaneajoyyy @daddy-killmonger @eye-raq @greezyscumbag @plussizeappreciationfics @thehomierobbstark @wakandamama @crxptidwater @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @celiaoday @undertakerandstephanie @superrezzy00 @bookscommaelle @charcoocheurie @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes

 @blackgirloneshotsmain  @ctrlsznwrites  @calif0rnia-lovers  @cinewhore  @softpedropascal @tomhardydallasstarsgirl 

And not to pick favorites from this list or anything but also everyone go and tell my wife @breanime ❣️ how much you love her and appreciate her. Read all of her work. It’s all amazing. Reblog, comment, interact. Tell her she’s a cutie. You can find her masterlist here.

Please add on and tag any other black writers from fandoms that you’re in (or that you know of) so that we can send more readers and love their way 🥰

Edit: I went in and added the tagged writers on this original post so that I can get everyone in one spot and no one gets lost in the notes. I don’t mean to annoy anyone with another mention, just trying to get everyone their exposure  💗 Updated on 2/14/21

#support black writers #support black creators

[chaneajoyyy]

BLACK WRITERS WHO WRITE FOR BLACK CELEBS/MEN (PART 2)

@judymfmoody

MICHAEL B. JORDAN

- @plussizeappreciationfics

- @wakandanblogger

- @sheabuttahwrites

- @mermaidchansons

- @savagesugaqueenxx-writes

- @mauvecherie-writes

- @writerbee-ffs

- @tgigoldie

- @erikismybitch

- @lady-love-and-glitter-roses

- @bakarilennox

- @ororowrites

- @ghostfacekill-monger

- @lionheartsthings

@hearteyes-for-killmonger

- @wickedgamesfanfic

- @aspacefork

- @unabashedlyawhore

- @stripper-patrick

- @calif0rnia-lovers

- @brownsugarcoffy

- @michaelbwriting

- @kumkaniudaku

- @rxxicole

YAHYA ABDUL-MATEEN II

- @kumkaniudaku

- @deliciousstreetkidcroissant 

- @theghettomisfit

- @l-auteuse

- @write-fromthe-start

- @plussizeappreciationfics

- @nayaxwrites 

- @kittehkwrites / @kittehkwrites-backup

- @lemmewritesomeish

- @twistedcharismaaa

- @ghostfacekill-monger

- @tgigoldie

- @melaninfalconbucky

- @eerythingisshaka

- @ororowrites

- @essaysbyciara

- @emjayewrites

- @sheabuttahwrites

- @blackburnbook

- @miyuhpapayuh

- @cecereads209

- @cocobwrites

- @theficplug

- @royallyprincesslilly

#the plug #librarian at your service #let’s chat #sip tea #talk fanfiction #black writers who write for black celebs/men #black writers #fanfiction

[laketaj24]

Distraction

A/N: Quick little piece for yall, I’ve been slacking on Henry – call me unmotivated to write him. I’m sorry. But I had a spark of it today and hopped on in it. Taglist and requests are open! Thanks for reading.

Pairing: Henry X Black!Reader

Warnings: Pouty Henry, lol

My MASTERLIST

Every paper you owned was sprawled across the table; the upper-level courses didn’t have tests every week, just detailed reports due. And here you were on the third one of the week thinking about calling it quits for college altogether.

“Henry, where is my Social Diversity book?”

“I don’t have it.” His glasses were on the tip of his nose, curls hung wet from his shower, and the tight black tank accentuated all of his muscles. “You left it on your desk in there yesterday.” He raked the white towel over his head and draped it over his broad shoulders. “You should clean…”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He held his hands up. “You are so uptight-.”

“Henry, get the hell out.” You stared at him.

“I’m not dressed.”

“The neighbors don’t care if you’re naked. Get out.”

“How about… I will be quiet and go to my study.”

“Yes, do that and shut up.”

He laughed under his breath, taking his towel and the hot cup of coffee from the table. Henry left without being noticed, though usually, he was loud and abrasive; his large stature didn’t help him in gracefulness.

You found the book, resting it in front of you, and you started your paper – one thousand words later and a headache you were ready to drink and fall into a slumber so deep you didn’t wake until the following afternoon. You drug yourself across the hall, noticing Henry’s eyes locked on the screen. His games were going on mute, which was not even half of the experience, and then his eyes shift to you.

“Finish?”

“Yes.” You smiled. “What are you doing in here?”

“Research.” Henry pointed to the game. “I figured since we were going to battle, I might learn some moves that will help me.”

“We are not battling; I kicked you out because you have a smart mouth.”

“You told me to shut up?’

“I told you-,” You paused. You definitely had told him to shut up and get out. You swallowed. “That was mean, huh?”

“It was rude.” Henry’s cocked brow made you laugh, but he hadn’t taken his eye off the game. “So I don’t want to be a  distraction to you, do be one to me… get out.” He sat up and paused the game. “ It’s hard to play the game with all this beauty in the room.” Even his insults were sweet. “Out.”

“Fine, I’m leaving.” You said, tossing your hands up at him. “I’ll be in bed.”

“Bye.” He waved and closed the door to his room.

 Silence irked you more than you wanted to admit, so you peaked in the room, still playing and focused on the TV screen as if you didn’t exist. You had a plan though, you showered quickly and slipped into the maroon silk lingerie set. Now you were to be the distraction and level the playing field. If it was even possible. He sat concentrating on the game, his muscles somehow flexing even though he was doing nothing besides pressing those buttons. You walked in, flaunting the mahogany curves against the maroon, and stopped.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Cavill.” You whispered.

“And I can’t decide if I strip before or after I kneel for you?” You watched his eyes dance with amusement as he stood and tossed the controller to the couch. “I don’t want you kneeling.” He smiled. “I just want you to calm the hell down and maybe not walk around naked with the curtains open.” Henry flourished the open curtains. “Mr. Silva is probably dying over there.”

“You wanna give him a show?”

“No, I don’t share, not even with the elderly.” He smiled. Henry picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder and gently tapping your ass. “Come on.”

Henry Cavill Taglist: @oddsnendsfanfics @my-rosegold-soul @taytayize123 @iloveyouyen @honeydulcewrites @thickemadame @fallslikefeather @blackmissfrizzle @isthat-tyra98 @titty-teetee @yeet-me-out-tonight @inforapound @supernaturalvikingwhore  @l-auteuse @alwaysadreamingoptimist @chaneajoyyy @october505 @boomhauer @sciapod @abrokencondomiswhyimalive @littlefreya @bianaguipa​ @therandomthoughtsofmsparker @therealcalicali @twistedcharismaaa​ @singeramg @angreav @magdelen69 @madbaddic7ed @pocimaginesaesthetics @ajspencer1892 @jovanaprime @zejess93 @sapphirescrolls @sparklemichele @justgrits @persephones24 @ieshaa96 @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @mereka18 @cass-the-mess @angelic-kisses13 @sprinklesandsugarcubes @two-unbeatable-beaters @peakygroupie @sincerelysinister @rhys108   @madbaddic7ed​ @utterlyhopeful-fics​

#henry cavill fics #henry cavill oneshot #laketa j writes #Henry cavillx reader #henry cavill x black reader #Henry cavill

[blackmissfrizzle]

Frizzle’s 2K Follower Celebration & Bad Bitch Challenge

Thank Cardi B and Megan thee Stallion for WAP for this fabulous idea for my first challenge! 

In celebration for my 2,000 followers and all these bad ass female rappers I decided to make this challenge.  So, for this challenge all fics are to be based/inspired by a female rapper’s lyric. Under the cut will be some of my favorite songs, but don’t feel obligated to just choose from those.

Here are some requirements:

Deadline is October 10, 2020. (Honestly, I’ll probably I’ll accept it after the deadline since I’m bad at deadlines myself.)

In thee tags use #frizzle 2k celebration & #bad bitch challenge

Since it is my challenge, please tag me in your fic.

There’s no limitation to any fandom. Write for whoever you want to!

No maximum or minimum word count. It can be a headcannon, a drabble, or a one-shot. Whatever you fancy.

I know these lyrics are naturally smutty, but you can make it angsty, fluffy, all three, or whatever combination you want.

Dark fics are allowed but make sure to write the warnings.

Since its a song challenge please be sure to mention the song and the artist

The lyrics/song can be a feature from the rapper

Please nothing from an existing series.

Here are some of my favorite songs:

WAP- Cardi B & Megan thee Stallion

Look Back At Me- Trina

Monster- Kanye West ft. Jay-Z & Nicki Minaj

Savage Remix- Megan thee Stallion ft. Beyonce

Girls in the Hood-Megan thee Stallion 

Send the Addy- Flo Milli

Bitch from da Souf- Mulatto

Tap In- Saweetie

Bussin 2.0- Tay Money ft. Saweetie

Captain Hook- Megan thee Stallion

Phone Sexx- Trina

Runnin’ Up Freestyle- Megan thee Stallion

Cum and Get It- Tink

I Like Him- Princess Nokia

Lick- Cardi B

Finesse Remix- Bruno Mars ft. Cardi B

Backin’ It Up- Pardison Fontaine ft. Cardi B

Act Up- City Girls

Rules- Doja Cat

And too many to name lol. I’ll probably add some more later

Tagging: @marvelmaree​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @l-auteuse​ @hihellogoodbyebruh​ @hibiscuswrites​ @starrynite7114​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @deansblackbeauty​ @sadeyesgf​ @woahitslucyylu​ @putas-in-suffering​ @munteanhorewrites​ @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​ @honeychicanawrites​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @lotusss-flowerbomb​ @angrythingstarlight​ @sapphicseekingsapphic​ @royallyprincesslilly​ @avintagekiss24​

If you know any other writers you can tag them as well!

#frizzle 2k celebration #bad bitch challenge #erik killmonger #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #frank castle #billy russo #rio #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #clark kent #chris evans #Sebastian Stan #henry cavill #marvel #geralt #the witcher #supernatural #angel reyes #miguel galindo #ez reyes #mayans mc