Selena.

twenty , bipoc.

[corsetdevious]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ corsetdevious™

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⁀➴ ABOUT ME, selena, brazilian and trinidadian, she/her, twenty, november scorpio, finance student, part time nail tech, handball player, short ladies president—5’1, proud black woman, multifandom writer for black/brown women. ⠀ ⠀ nanami kento & eren yeager’s darling wife.

MASTERLIST. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ TAGLIST. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ RULES.

dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps & @pixopix

[h3avenlyglory]

Beware Of The Plastics

ℛ𝓊𝓁ℯ𝓈 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒱𝒶𝓊𝓁𝓉 𝒯𝒶ℊ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉 ℰ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉

ℳℯℯ𝓉 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁

𝒩ℴ𝓌 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃ℊ: 𝒫𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒟𝓊𝓉𝒸𝒽

𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁༯ 𝒩𝒶𝓂ℯ: ℋℯ𝒶𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓁𝓎, 𝒩𝒾𝓃ℯ𝓉ℯℯ𝓃, ℰ𝓉𝒽𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎: 𝒮ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒶𝒶𝓃, 𝒯𝒶𝓁ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈: ℳ𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓇, 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃ℊ, & 𝒸𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃ℊ, 𝒫𝓇ℴ-𝒞𝒽ℴ𝒾𝒸ℯ & 𝓅𝓇ℴ-𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓌ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓃

ℳ𝓎 𝒲𝒾𝒻ℯ𝓎༯ @corsetdevious༯

ℳ𝓎 ℬ𝒶𝒷𝒾ℯ𝓈༯ @aizawash0e @jellywrites1218 @mtcloudsworld༯

@heav3nlyglory༯ 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓃𝓉/𝒽ℴ𝓇𝓇ℴ𝓇 𝒷𝓁ℴℊ.

[grannypantiesnchill]

[corsetdevious]

now tell me roadman!connie isn’t a good idea, im listenin.

[jellywrites1218]

an. hey here's a on the whim Father's Day drabble. had to write for my baby daddy... also heard there was an only drought.

cw. i didn't proofread sorry... p in v cowgirl, reader and only are married with two daughters, also chubby reader was in mind when writing, uh I feel like this is pretty tame, creampie? slightly sub. ony, I just like men slightly submissive can you tell lol?

Onyankopon was the richest man on earth. Maybe not financially but spiritually? He was full. He had his dream career, two precious baby girls, and he had you. The one who’s been with him through thick thin. The one that loved him at his lowest. The one that was willing to go through the trials of pregnancy and birth–not once, but twice. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his family and he’d do anything for his girls.

So, when father’s day rolls around easily you go above and beyond for your beloved. Your two girls are more than eager to do things for their daddy who spoils them absolutely rotten. You guys started with breakfast in bed. Your daughters, doing their best to stay quiet while they helped you make breakfast. Later on, Ony hears hushed voices outside of the door but he pretends to still be asleep–like he does every year. The door creaks open and he hears little footsteps and then the bed shifts under the weight of two little children.

“Daddy… Daddy, wake up…” Arya, who is seven, whispers.

“Yeah, wake up, Daddy,” Ayla, who is four, whispers after her older sister. Ony smiles before peeking one eye open. The girls squeal and giggle.

“Happy Father’s Day!” They exclaim in unison. Ayla plops down on him to give him a big hug while Arya showers his face with kisses. He chuckles deeply, taking the affection happily.

“Thank you, babies,” He says with a grin. You stand there with the tray that has his breakfast on it. Watching him lovingly listen to your daughters yapping about the plans for the day fills you with a love that’s so strong it makes your heart pound against your chest. You can’t help but think about everything he does for your family. The sacrifices, the late nights, and the undying patience. You couldn’t have picked a better man. 

After a day full of fun activities, you come back home. The girls absolutely tuckered out. The usual bedtime routine is much easier with the girls so tired. Onyankopon kisses both of their foreheads, sweet and gentle. Ayla is seconds away from slumber, eyes fluttering shut.

“Goodnight, Daddy. Hope you had a good day,” Arya, mumbles before yawning. Onyankopon smiles big.

“I had a great day. Goodnight, love ya’ll,” He replies, Ayla mumbles something incoherent. He chuckles as he quietly makes his exit and shuts the door. You’re in the bedroom ready for bed. Well… ready for Ony. You can’t let him end Father’s Day without his very deserved and final gift.

So, yes you push on his favorite nightgown you owned. Lilac, borderline sheer and loose in a way that leaves just enough for the imagination. So when he steps foot inside of your shared bedroom, he's pleasantly surprised to see his wife. Freshly showered and dressed in his favorite sleepwear (It could be considered lingerie in his eyes). “What’s the occasion, Baby?” He asks with a slight grin. Eyes gleaming like a kid in a candy store. You saunter your way over to him, hands sliding up his shoulders and back down to his chest.

“You’re such a good daddy to our girls… thought you’d like another gift before bed,” You reply. You swear you hear him stifling giggles. He's so giddy. 

“Yeah? For me?” He asks, smiling wide and already starting to undress. You playfully roll your eyes. The way he’s acting, you would think he never gets any.

“Yes, Onyankopon,” You chuckle, He pulls you in close. 

“Just don’t take this off,” He mumbles, tugging lightly on the fabric. You nod, feeling up his abs and chest before kissing your way down his neck. His hands circle your waist, gently squeezing before his ducks his head to kiss you deeply. He breaks the kiss. “You know what else I want?” He asks and you hum leaning in for another kiss.

That gets you here, on top of him, riding him like your life depends on it. Ony is in paradise unable to take his eyes off of you. So pretty, tits bouncing underneath sheer fabric and your pussy squeezing snugly around his thick length. You both try to stifle your moans. Your pace only building and building. 

“Oh fuck, don’t stop, baby. Riding my shit just right,” He groans as quietly as he can manage and you let out a choked whimper.

“Yeah, you deserve it, daddy,” You reply, breathless and whiny. He groans louder, you shove your middle and ring finger in his mouth to muffle the sound. “Shhh, gotta stay quiet, baby,” You mutter. He nods and sucks on your fingers. Laying back and taking what you give. Building him up and up until you feel the familiar twitch and his face screws up. “You gonna cum? Do it, baby, cum inside me,” You encourage with a breathless moan. That he does spilling inside you, hot and thick. His hands hold your hips for dear life until you stop. You giggle as you watch him pant heavily around your fingers that you so gingerly pull out. You grace him with a gentle kiss and smile.

“Happy Father’s Day, Ony,”

taglist: @aizawash0e @callmemckenzieee @princesstiti14 @trduwu @childishbimbino @slut4michaelbakari @h3avenlyglory @dolluxeee @plan3tch1ld @chunkyblossomberry @chubbyblackhottie @corsetdevious @amayapanda569

Wanna join the taglist? Click here

This is my original works do not copy or feed into ai

[corsetdevious]

DADDY ONY

[h3avenlyglory]

Doubtful Beauty

wc-3.157k

Summary- Race is a confusing topic for most, conflicting even but Nanami? He took the time to understand you and your culture as best as he could, the same for your children. He moved you and your children to a nice suburban neighborhood after he fell head over heels in love with you, he wasted no time to take care of you all. He was the perfect father your children originally didn't have but his perfection was questioned when his twins came home from school asking if they were beautiful, questioning their hair and skin, questioning if he could really be their father.

Pairing: Husband! Nanami x Wife! Black fem reader

Taglist: @corsetdevious, @jellywrites1218, @sexychickenmagnet, to join taglist fill out this form or comment under this post.

A/n: @/dividersnook11 for school divider. Happy slightly belated Juneteenth y'all!!! Hope y'all like this one, it has some sensitive topics (lowkey my trauma) but is super fluffy. Me and my moots was in our group chat yapping so much about our husband, I just had to write for him. I actually didn't have a choice, y'all. Anyways enjoy!

CW- Emotional fluff, diabetic fluff, explicitly black reader(I mean it, if you're not black, you won't get it or relate), microaggressions & mentions, racial discrimination, lots of racial mentioning, Kento cries, pet names(e.g., baby, my love, etc), praising(non-sexual), kisses, etc.

Education on race is a powerful thing, but no matter how educated you are on a person's race— you'll never understand it.

Kento was a good man, there was no denying it. When he met you— a beautiful black woman who was struggling because you quit your job because of the unbearable and constant racial discrimination. Something about you, maybe empathy, maybe admiration, maybe just care but something made him determined to help you. He hired lawyers from the best law firms he could find and helped you sue your boss. After the success, you couldn't be more grateful for him, and also couldn't help but have a growing love for him.

It was something right out of a rom-com— a struggling single mom meets a handsome single man willing to help. It was your rom-com, your love for each other was undeniable and his love for your children was unmatched. He didn't just take care of them, no, he cherished them and claimed them as his own.

Just when you thought, there was nothing more to ask for he moved you into a new neighborhood, a nice and gated neighborhood. It was beautiful and surrounded by nature, full of children and activities, and it was safe. At least he thought so.

He should've assumed what would happen when that morning while he was dropping his kids off, he was questioned by a mom.

“Are you their nanny? Never seen a male nanny.” The woman said, her judging eyes following Kento as he said goodbye to his kids.

“They're mine, my children.” He simply replied, confused by the woman’s words.

“Adopted or step-children?” She led the conversation on, asking for more than she should've.

“They're mine, ma’am. As I said before, they are my children.” He stood his ground and ended the conversation before he had to get rude with the woman.

You taught him about microaggression and judgment, he should've been familiar but he wanted to give the neighborhood and its people a shot. So, he ignored the woman, leaving himself with “maybe she was just curious or concerned” and moved on with the day.

Kento pulled into the pick line at the school, looking around for his twins on the bench. The sounds of kids screaming and giggling were so loud you could hear them a mile away, it was a hot day which meant Kento was wearing a plain white short-sleeved shirt with his favorite jeans and his ‘cool dad’ glasses.

The twins spotted their dad and immediately ran towards the car but not in excitement, in a rush. Like they were hurrying to get to the car or running away from something. The normal joy in their face had diminished, their heads were dropped and their faces were full of dismay.

“Hey, kiddos, how was school?” He looked at his twins through the mirror, waiting for a smile or talking full of excitement, but instead he got,

“Can we just go home, Daddy?” Zion, his young boy spoke up. Zion was a cheerful kid, social and full of energy, the sudden shift in his behavior made Kento's brows furrow in confusion.

“You don't want ice cream, I promised I’d get you some.” He thought his words would gain some excitement but they didn't, the twins' heads were still down, their eyes were distant, it was like his babies were zoned out in a memory that was hurting them.

“Let's just go home, I wanna see mommy,” Zara told her father, they weren't requesting and wanted nothing more than to go home.

“Well, Teddy, Mama isn't gonna be home until the evening but Daddy is here.” He pulled forward and drove away from the school, eyes glancing behind the road and them sitting in the back seat.

Zara's head was against the window, her adorable face gloomy even as she drove past the things that would bring a smile to her face. Zion was lying on his sister's shoulder, face nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

His babies were always full of bliss and light, to see them gloomy made his heart ache.

He couldn't help but wonder—who hurt them?

—

“Alright, kiddos, let's see what you ate.” He grabbed their lunchboxes and attempted to pump them up with excitement, which was failing.

The kids sat at the counter, pouty faces and staring away from their father. He blinked in concern— the first day of school was never easy, it wasn't going to be, maybe things didn't go how they believed they would. That was okay—he’d make everything better, he was the best father after all.

“Zara, you ate all of your lunch?” Kento's head tilted—she never ate all of her lunch, she’d always say, “My tummy is too tiny for all that food.” It was out of character but so was their behavior, maybe something changed.

“No.” Zara vaguely replied.

“Who ate it?” He questioned further.

“The kids at school.” That was odd, why would she let them do that? She knew better.

“Teddy, you know, you're not supposed to give them your food.” He gently replied, going to open Zion’s lunch.

“I didn't let them have it, they took it.” Zara looked up at her father, who had paused in his actions and stared at the cabinet in confusion.

“Yeah, mine too. Said people like us don't deserve lunch.”

He didn’t want it to be that, it didn’t have to be that, why did it have to be that? He wanted to have hope in the new neighborhood and the people there—he couldn’t.

“People like you?” Kento repeated his son's words. Did he hear correctly? Maybe it was a slip-up and he said something else.

“Yeah, people who look like us.”

“People with our weird hair and ugly skin,” Zara added to her brother’s words. The teary-eyed twins stared at their father in despair, questioning in their precious eyes as if they no longer believed they were beautiful.

Kento made his way out of the kitchen and sat on the living room couch and the children followed suit.

“Who told you your hair was weird?” Kento began a conversation he knew would hurt.

“The kids put sticks and dirt in our hair then said it was a bird's nest.” Zara’s lip quivered and a small sniffle followed. If he could take all the pain inflicted on his babies that day he would but he couldn’t, so he did the only thing he knew how to do.

“And told you that your skin was ugly, they told you that?”

“Yeah, they called us names and told us we’re hideous.” Zion walked between his father's legs, squeezing his knee, desperate for his father’s comfort. Kento picked him up and sat his body on his leg, Zion’s afro full of dirt rubbed against his face and Kento's eyes shifted between his kids and slowly he realized— he had no power here.

He didn't know what it was like to be discrimination because of his hair or skin. He was acceptable in society, hell he was blond for God's sake.

Remembering the tears on his wife's face as she sobbed because of the racism in her workplace and now, his babies, sniffing with tears racing down their puffy cheeks because of racism in school— a place that was supposed to keep them safe.

He didn't understand it, he couldn't give advice or tell a meaningful story for this problem—he was helpless. His babies were hurting and he didn't know how to fix it.

That is what broke him.

“Listen to me when I say this, ‘kay? Your hair is beautiful and so is your skin. You see mommy’s beautiful hair and skin?”

They nodded.

“It's gorgeous and so is yours. Those kids are influenced by evil and jealousy, don't let them hurt you. Your skin, your hair, it's precious and tells a story of resilience that those kids don’t have. I never want you two doubting yourselves like that again.” The kids listened to their father's words and broke down, sobbed, and sniffled while they embraced the warmth of their father's presence and arms—his safety.

“Daddy?” Zion's voice perked up when everything began to calm.

“Yes, bud?”

“The kids also said, that you couldn't be our father because your skin doesn't look like ours.”

“Are you really our daddy?”

Doubt, all in their eyes. Doubtful if he was their father and if they were his children, if he wasn't already broken— he was now.

“What did I tell you, mh?”

The kids thought for a second before thinking about their father's words.

“Blood doesn't define family.” Zion smiled when he said the words, a sense of serenity washed over him.

“Exactly, we may not look like each other or share the same blood but I am your father and you are my children. There is no question about that.”

They smiled and wrapped their small arms tight around their father.

“We love you, daddy,” Zara whispered in his ear a small peck following behind it.

“I love you more.” He kissed both of their cheeks and embraced their affection.

“Alright, go get cleaned up. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay!” They exclaimed, running upstairs for showers before TV and playtime. A few words and they were smiling once more, it should've been reassuring.

But, he was still hurting.

—

“Baby?!” You called out for your husband, walking in the house with the takeout he requested.

Usually, the house was filled with Kento's and the kids' laughter. Kento would be roaring pretending to be a monster, the kids squealing and running away so they won't get tickled.

It was unusually quiet, just the sound of the TV in the kids ' playroom, the hum of the AC, and the soft breeze outside.

“Hi, my love.” You stepped into the kitchen and set the food on the counter, where you were met with Kento sitting at the counter, a drink in hand.

He didn't drink, he wasn't a drinker. The kids hated it because of all the things they heard about alcohol so he didn't do it.

Something was wrong.

“Baby, what's wrong?”

“The kids came home from school day and uhm…You remember how excited they were this morning?” He started, voice shaky and broken.

‘Yeah, but Kento, what’s wrong?”

“You also remember teaching me about micro-agressions, right?”

Was that what this was about? He should’ve been familiar with them after everything he knew. No, it had to be deeper than that, something else happened.

“Hell, they weren’t even micro-aggressions, it was blatant racism. They came home from school today, saying the kids told them their skin was ugly and hair was weird. Ate their lunches because people like them didn’t deserve it, called them names, and put dirt in their hair. They were broken, adorable faces full of doubt and pain. Then Zara asked if I am really their father and,” His voice was getting weaker by each word but he gave out at the last sentence sobs erupted while he broke down.

You rushed over to your husband, whose head was dropped down as he cried—it broke you. You gently grabbed hold of his face and brushed away his tears, fighting to hold back yours, witnessing your husband’s breakdown.

“I-I just realized I couldn’t help them,” His arms wrapped tight around you for closure and his sobs grew louder, “I don’t get it, what you go through everyday, what they’ll go through. I don’t understand it, I-I couldn’t help them.” His words made your heart twitch, every break and crack in his voice pained you further.

He wasn’t wrong. He would never understand it, he couldn’t relate, there was no possible way he ever would. He could try his best and give his encouragement but he couldn’t relate or understand it to it’s full capacity. Kento was set on being the perfect father, so set on it he forgot about that strong difference between him and his children—culture and race. He couldn’t help them with that because when he walks into a building, he’s respected and not a threat, for his wife and children it was the opposite. It pained him, it broke him to sit with it but he wasn’t helpful in that situation.

“It’s okay, my love. I’m sure you did your best but…This isn’t your situation to handle, m’kay?”

—

Hi, mommy’s babies. Can we pause the TV for a moment?” The kids paused their show and put their toys down, walking towards you after.

“What happened mommy?” Zara asked, sitting down in front of you.

“Yeah, why was daddy crying?” Zion’s voice followed.

“I think daddy was crying because of mommy.”

“What’d you do?” They exclaimed in sync.

“Daddy tried to take on a responsibility that wasn’t his to take on and mommy should’ve took on this responsibility a long time ago. I’ve been so worried about your innocence that I forgot how painful this world is and how quick it’ll snatch your purity.” You didn’t want to. No parent does, the conversation was heavy and hurtful but unfortunately they were at the point where you couldn’t keep holding back.

Slowly, you started, “I know when you're little, you want to believe everyone is your friend and everyone is kind. They’re not.” 

Their faces dimmed. It was like popping the biggest and prettiest bubble- kids' view on the world was beautiful. You had to love it, how they imagined everything and the beauty and happiness they saw in a world haunted with cruelty, if only you could keep the vision forever. But you’d be wrong to let them imagine the world to be something it’s not, you already had for far too long.

“Not everyone, especially the people who looked like the kids at your school like you. A lot of them are cursed with hatred and jealousy and will hurt you purposely,” the hard part, “because of your skin. It pains me to say it but our people-black people and other brown people face discrimination from people like them everyday.”

“All because of skin?” They both asked, eyes full of disappointment.

“All because of skin. Not all of them but a lot of them don’t like us, they hurt us all the time. When they see you,” you looked at Zion, ‘they see a danger, a threat, a theif, even though you would never hurt a fly. When they look at you,” you looked at Zara, “they see an angry, bitter, un-professional, distracting, black woman even though you’re the sweetest thing in the world. Those are what you stereotypes and unfortunately we will have to face them almost everyday.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just staring as they processed your words. You remembered you had to have this talk, it hurts because when you're little you want to believe in dreams and happiness but the reality for children of color was far from that and much darker. You held off telling them for so long because you wanted them to have the childhood you didn’t have but that was only hurting them further.

“Have you been hurt because of your skin mommy?” Zara asked.

You sighed, “Almost everyday, baby. I hate it, it’s wrong and I wish the world was sweeter but it’s just how it is here.”

“Even though other people don’t like my skin, I like it. Daddy said it’s beautiful and tells a story of resilience, that’s so freaking cool!” Zion exclaimed, he was a big ball of positivity. 

“Yeah, daddy told us we’re beautiful.” Zara smiled. Hearing what Kento told your children made warmth flow through you, sometimes you asked yourself how’d you end up with someone so perfect. He tried his best and that was enough- enough to bring confidence and happiness back into your children, even after the conversation they still smiled brightly.

“I think if people don’t like other people because of their skin, they’re just mean. So, anybody like that is meanie who need to be nice to people.” Zara nodded proudly after her words.

“And speaking of your father, he’s not just your father because that’s the man I love or because he takes care of you. It’s because he claimed you two, you are his children and he has nothing but pride for you both. That’s what makes him your father.” They nodded happily and ran into your arms making you fall back onto the mat.

“I love you mommy and I love daddy even if he has white skin.” Zara said, squeezing you tightly.

“Yeah!” Zion squealed.

You simply giggled, pressing kisses all over their faces. Oh, how you loved your perfect and precious little family. It was chaotic, or painful, or full of bliss but you loved it and all of the phase you had to go through to grow as a family.

-

Later that night, you had just climbed in bed and wrapped yourself in your smooth sheets and blanket when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“I married an amazing woman,” you smiled, feeling his warm breath and soft lips brushing your ear lope, “ an amazing wife, mother, and most importantly an amazing person.”

Before you could cut in, he continued his praise. 

“A strong, sweet, intelligent, stunning black woman and I couldn’t be more proud of…myself for having amazing taste in women.” You giggled and playfully hit his arm, gaining a chuckle from him.

“I married a flattering and incredible husband. Y’know the kids told me what you said, that you told them their hair and skin tells a story of resilience.”

“Mhm,” He murmured , expecting you to continue.

“You told them more than enough, Ken. That was a beautiful thing to say, stop doubting yourself.” You kissed his cheek and made a soft blush grow on his cheeks from your sweet words and actions.

“I guess I wanted to be the perfect father so bad, that wasn’t enough. Y’know I normally can give them a sweet story and example because usually I can relate but when they said that, I just broke and I didn’t know what to do.” He whispered, nuzzling his nose in your neck.

“You did more than enough Kento and I love you and all the effort you put in to take care of me and our children.”

“I love you.” You turned off the lamp, ready to go to bed when you felt his hands creep under your shirt then suddenly- “Kento, stop!” You exclaimed while your husband tickled, laughing as you tried to escape his grip.

The world is cruel and heartless, colored men and women go through countless things because of racism. It’s wrong and shouldn’t have to be this way but it is, you had to sit with it and grow bigger than it. You had to find your peace, your safe space, your beauty in the cruel world.

You found yours.

© All Rights Reserved to @h3avenlyglory, don't not copy, steal, translate, or feed my work to AI.

[corsetdevious]

Oh I love you Heavenly

[owwllly]

gojo and his miiuse

[corsetdevious]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ONE OF US! JUNETEENTH SPECIAL.

jabber wonger x suburban!black!reader

summary: you got lost in the hood, far from your perfect suburban neighborhood! But guess what ? a hot boy with locs comes to your rescue!

cw: reader has a silk press, fluff?¿, reader with adoptive white parents, readers struggles to fit in and struggles with her blackness.

a/n: shoutout to the black girlies from the suburbs/upper class like me (bel air lol) ! the one that had silk presses to fit among white kids! the black girlies adopted by white parents & the one who didn’t feel black enough for the crowd!

The afternoon sun hung low over the cracked sidewalks of the neighborhood, casting long shadows across rows of faded brick houses and chain-link fences. You had taken a wrong turn after leaving the train station, your phone battery dead in your pocket, and now the streets looked nothing like the clean, tree-lined blocks you were used to back home. Your silk press lay flat and neat against your shoulders, catching the light as you walked faster, trying to keep your white sneakers from scuffing on the uneven pavement. A group of kids on bikes rode past, yelling to each other, and you clutched your bag tighter, wishing you had just stayed in the car with your adoptive mom instead of insisting on exploring the city alone.

You rounded another corner and stopped short when you saw the small corner store with its metal gate half open. A tall guy with long locs tied back in a loose ponytail leaned against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling while a couple of his boys stood nearby laughing about something on their own screens. He wore a black hoodie and baggy jeans, the kind of fit that screamed he belonged here. You hesitated, then stepped closer, clearing your throat. "Excuse me, do you know how to get back to the train station from here?"

Jabber looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing as he took in your clean clothes and the way you stood like you were afraid the sidewalk might bite. "Train station?" he repeated, voice low and laced with that hood cadence. "Shorty, you lost as hell. What you doin' walkin' 'round here lookin' like you 'bout to sell Girl Scout cookies?" One of his boys, a shorter guy named Trey, snorted and elbowed him. "Man, she probably from them rich suburbs. Look at them shoes."

Your cheeks burned, but you squared your shoulders. "I just need directions. I don't need commentary on how I look." You crossed your arms, silk press shifting slightly with the motion. Jabber pushed off the wall, tucking his phone away, and stepped closer, his locs swaying as he moved. "Aight, calm down. You from the burbs, huh? Can tell by the way you talkin'. All proper and shit. Bet your folks got you out here thinkin' the world all nice and clean." He jerked his chin toward the street. "Come on, I'll point you the right way before somebody else decide to mess with you."

You followed a few steps behind him as he started walking, the other guys calling out jokes that made Jabber shake his head. "Don't mind them," he said over his shoulder. "They just never seen somebody like you 'round here. All silk press and suburban vibes." You bristled at that. "Somebody like me? What's that supposed to mean?" He glanced back, one eyebrow raised. "Means you walkin' like the block 'bout to eat you alive. Relax. I ain't gon' bite." The two of you passed a row of stoops where older men sat playing cards, their laughter mixing with music drifting from an open window. You kept your distance, but Jabber slowed his pace so you could keep up.

"So what you doin' in the hood anyway?" he asked, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. "Field trip or somethin'?" You sighed, adjusting your bag strap. "I was trying to find a record store my friend told me about. Thought I'd take the train and walk a bit. Clearly that was a mistake." Jabber chuckled, the sound rough around the edges. "Mistake is right. This ain't no tourist spot. You lucky you ran into me and not some fool who don't care 'bout givin' directions." He stopped at an intersection, pointing left. "Head that way two blocks, then right. Station's right there. Easy." But when you started to turn, a car pulled up slow, windows down, and the driver—a guy with gold chains—leaned out. "Jabber, you good? Who this?"

Jabber waved him off. "She lost. Headin' back to the train. Mind ya business, Mike." The car rolled away, but the interruption made you pause. "Thanks for the help," you said, though your tone stayed cool. "I can take it from here." Jabber studied you for a second, locs falling forward as he tilted his head. "You sure? 'Cause you still lookin' like you don't know which way is up." You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm sure. And for the record, not everyone from the suburbs is clueless. Some of us just don't spend our days hanging on corners." His mouth twitched, half smirk, half challenge. "Aight then, princess. Go on. But don't come cryin' if you get turned around again."

You started walking the way he pointed, but the streets twisted again, and before long you realized you'd gone in a circle. Frustrated, you turned back and spotted Jabber still near the corner store, now talking to a woman carrying groceries who nodded at something he said. You approached again, this time with less attitude. "Okay, maybe I need a little more help. The streets here don't make sense." Jabber looked over, arms crossed. "Told you. But aight, come on. I'll walk you part way so you don't wander off again." The woman smiled at you. "Don't let him give you no trouble, baby. He all bark." Jabber rolled his eyes but started leading you down another street, past kids playing double Dutch and a man washing his car with a hose.

As you walked, the conversation picked up again. "So you really from the suburbs?" Jabber asked, kicking a pebble. "White parents and everything?" You nodded, keeping pace beside him. "Yeah. Adopted when I was little. Grew up with mostly white friends, went to schools where I was one of the only Black kids. It's just how it was." He glanced sideways, dreads moving with the turn of his head. "That explain why you sound like you readin' from a textbook. No slang, no flavor." You frowned. "There's nothing wrong with how I talk. Not everyone has to sound the same." Jabber shrugged. "Ain't sayin' wrong. Just different. Bet you don't even know half the music or food from 'round here." He pointed to a small restaurant with steam coming from the door. "Like that spot. Best jerk chicken you ever had, but you probably never tried it."

You both paused as a group of teens ran past, one of them bumping Jabber's shoulder on accident. "My bad, J!" the kid yelled. Jabber waved him off with a laugh. "Watch where you goin', lil man." Then he turned back to you. "Anyway, you ever even been to a cookout? Or you just doin' the whole suburban barbecue thing with potato salad and hot dogs?" His question hung there, and you felt a strange mix of irritation and curiosity. "I've been to cookouts," you said defensively. "Just not the kind you're thinking of." Jabber smirked again. "Figures. Well, if you ever wanna see the real deal, you know where to find me. Not that you would." The two of you reached another intersection, and he stopped, pointing again. "Straight shot from here. Don't get lost this time."

You thanked him once more, but as you walked away, something about the encounter stuck with you. The way he moved through the neighborhood like he owned every block, the easy way he talked to everyone from the kids to the older folks. It contrasted so sharply with your own quiet life in the suburbs, where everything felt polished and distant. You made it to the train station without further incident, but on the ride home, your mind kept drifting back to Jabber's dreadlocks, his blunt words, and the neighborhood that felt both intimidating and alive. Back in your room that evening, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, silk press still perfect, wondering why his comments about your background had hit a nerve you didn't even know was there.

The next weekend, curiosity got the better of you. You told your parents you were meeting a friend in the city, but instead you found yourself on the train again, heading toward the same stop. This time you brought a charged phone and a small map, but you still ended up near the corner store where you'd first met Jabber. He was there again, leaning against the wall with Trey and another guy named Marcus, all of them laughing about a basketball game from the night before. When Jabber spotted you, his expression shifted from easy to guarded. "You again? Thought you said you wasn't comin' back."

You approached slowly, bag over your shoulder. "I didn't plan to. But I wanted to check out that record store my friend mentioned. Figured I'd try again." Jabber pushed off the wall, dreads swinging as he walked toward you. "Record store? On this side of town? Girl, you really don't belong here." Trey chuckled from the side. "She back already? Must've missed your pretty face, J." Jabber shot him a look. "Shut up, Trey. She just lost again, that's all." You crossed your arms. "I'm not lost. I know where I'm going this time. Just... needed a quick direction to the store." Jabber studied you, then sighed. "Aight. It's two blocks that way, but the owner closes early on weekends. You might've missed it." He paused, then added, "Or you could come with me to the court. Some of the homies playin' ball. Might see somethin' real instead of chasin' records."

You hesitated, the offer hanging between you like a challenge. "Why would I do that? We don't even know each other." Jabber raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. So why you keep comin' back? Curiosity? Or you just like arguin' with me?" Marcus laughed and clapped Jabber on the back. "She got you talkin' more than usual, man. Go on, show her the court." You rolled your eyes but fell into step beside Jabber as he started walking, the other guys trailing behind. The streets felt different this time, less scary and more like a living thing with its own rhythm. Kids still played, music still played from windows, and people nodded at Jabber like he was family.

"So what's your name anyway?" Jabber asked as they neared the basketball court where a game was already in full swing. "Or you gon' keep it mysterious?" You told him your name, and he repeated it, testing the sound. "Fits you. Proper. Like everything else about you." You shot back, "And yours is Jabber? Sounds like you talk a lot." He grinned for the first time, a real grin that showed teeth. "Nah, it's a nickname. From when I was lil and couldn't shut up. Now I use it 'cause it fits." At the court, the game paused as people noticed the newcomer. One of the players, a tall guy named Deon, dribbled over. "Jabber, who you bringin' 'round? New girl?" Jabber shook his head. "Just showin' her around. She from the suburbs. Don't scare her off." Deon laughed and went back to the game, but the stares from others made you feel exposed. Jabber led you to the sidelines, hands in pockets. "See? This is real life. Not no movie set or whatever you used to. People here live, love, fight, and play. All in one block."

You watched the game for a while, noticing how the players moved with a certain energy, high fives and trash talk flying back and forth. Jabber stood close enough to point out who was who. "That one's my cousin. The short one with the quick moves. He always steals the ball like it's his job." The cousin made a shot, and the group erupted in cheers. You found yourself smiling despite yourself, but when Jabber caught it, he nudged you. "See, even you can enjoy it. Bet your suburban friends don't hoop like this." You turned to him. "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean my life is less real. We have our own things. Just different." Jabber nodded slowly. "Different. Yeah. But you ever wonder what you missin' by stayin' in that different? Like the music, the food, the way folks here stick together?" His words hung there, and you felt a small crack in your usual defenses. The game continued, and Jabber cheered when his cousin scored, pulling you into the moment with his enthusiasm.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to lower, and the players started wrapping up. Deon came over again, sweating from the game. "Jabber, you bringin' this one to the cookout next weekend? She look like she need some real food." Jabber looked at you, waiting for your reaction. "Up to her. She might be too busy with her white friends to come hang with the real ones." You met the challenge in his eyes. "Maybe I will. If only to prove you wrong about a few things." Jabber's grin returned, this time softer. "Aight, bet. I'll text you the details if you give me your number. Don't worry, I ain't gon' call you every day." You exchanged numbers, the exchange feeling like a small bridge between your worlds. Trey and Marcus waved goodbye as you headed back to the train, Jabber walking you to the station entrance this time. "Don't get lost again," he said, dreads catching the evening light. "And think about that cookout. Might open your eyes a little." You nodded, feeling the weight of the day settle in your body as you boarded the train. The ride home passed with thoughts of dreadlocks, basketball cheers, and the way Jabber's words had started to poke at something deep inside you.

Over the next few days, texts started flowing between you and Jabber. At first they were short, like "You make it home safe?" or "Record store still closed?" but they grew into longer exchanges about music recommendations and small stories from each day's events. You told him about your adoptive parents' quiet dinners, and he told you about the block parties that lasted until dawn. One evening, you found yourself on the phone with him, lying on your bed with the silk press fanned out on the pillow. "So what you doin' tonight?" Jabber asked, voice crackling slightly. "Watchin' some show with your white friends?" You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "No. Just relaxing. And you? Hanging on the corner again?" Jabber laughed. "Nah, at home. Ma cookin' dinner. Smells like heaven. Bet you never had collards like my ma makes." You smiled despite the jab. "Collards? Sounds familiar, but maybe not the way you mean." Jabber's response came quick. "See? That's what I'm talkin' about. Come to the cookout this weekend. See for yourself."

The cookout arrived faster than you expected. You told your parents you were going to a friend's event, but actually met Jabber at the train station as planned. He wore a fresh hoodie and clean jeans, locs pulled back tighter this time.

Look at you, comin' all the way back," he said, walking up with a smile that softened the usual edge in his eyes. You adjusted the strap of your bag and tried not to stare too long at how his locs caught the afternoon light, tied back neat but still hanging heavy down his back. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," you replied, keeping your tone light but guarded. Jabber chuckled low and turned toward the street, motioning for you to follow. "Aight, come on then. Cookout's at my cousin's spot a few blocks over. Whole block gon' be out there. Food already smellin' up the place."

You walked beside him, sneakers tapping against the sidewalk while his stride stayed easy and confident, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. The neighborhood buzzed with life around you—music spilling from open windows, the smell of charcoal and spices drifting on the breeze, kids chasing each other between parked cars. A woman on a stoop called out to Jabber as you passed. "J, you bringin' company today? She look new." He nodded without slowing. "Yeah, Ms. Lena. She from the other side. Tryin' to show her how we do." Ms. Lena laughed and waved at you. "Don't let these boys run you off, baby. Food worth stayin' for."

Jabber glanced sideways at you, dreads shifting with the movement. "See? Already gettin' the welcome. You nervous or somethin'?" You shook your head, though your fingers tightened on your bag strap. "Not nervous. Just... not used to this many people outside like this." He smirked but didn't push it. "You'll get used to it quick. Cookouts ain't quiet. Folks talk loud, eat loud, laugh loud. That's the point." The two of you turned a corner and the smell hit stronger—smoke from grills mixing with sweet barbecue sauce and something fried. A big yard opened up ahead, chain-link fence around it, tables set up with folding chairs, coolers stacked on the grass. People filled the space already, some playing cards at a table, others standing around the grills where a tall man in an apron flipped burgers and ribs.

"That's my uncle Ray on the grill," Jabber said, nodding toward the man. "He don't let nobody else touch it once he starts. Says we burn everything." Uncle Ray looked up and spotted you both, wiping his hands on a towel. "Jabber! Bout time you showed. Who this pretty thing?" Jabber introduced you quick, and Uncle Ray gave you a warm smile that crinkled his eyes. "Well welcome, welcome. Grab a plate when it's ready. Plenty for everybody." You thanked him, feeling a little out of place in your clean jeans and neat silk press while everyone else rocked hoodies, braids, and graphic tees. Jabber must have noticed because he leaned closer. "Relax. Nobody here care how you dressed. Just here to eat and vibe."

A group of guys near the fence started up a game of spades at a folding table, slapping cards down and yelling at each other over bad plays. One of them, a guy with a fade and gold chain named Marcus, spotted Jabber and waved him over. "J! Get over here and lose with me. Trey already cheatin'." Jabber looked at you. "You mind if I jump in real quick? Or you wanna stick close?" You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Go ahead. I'll watch." He nodded and headed to the table, dreads swinging as he sat down. Marcus dealt him in and immediately started trash talking. "This the girl you been textin' about? She too clean for you, man." Jabber shot back without missing a beat. "Shut up and play your hand. She just here to see how real folks get down."

You stood a little off to the side, watching the game and the way everyone moved around each other like family. A woman with long braids came over carrying a tray of cornbread, smiling at you. "You Jabber's friend? I'm his cousin Keisha. Grab some of this before it gone." You took a piece and thanked her, the warm bread smelling like butter and honey. Keisha lingered a second. "He don't usually bring nobody new around. Must see somethin' in you." Before you could answer, Jabber called from the table. "Keisha, stop scarin' her off. She already think we all loud and crazy." Keisha laughed and walked off, leaving you with the cornbread and a strange warmth in your chest.

The game at the table got heated fast. Trey slammed a card down and pointed at Jabber. "That's how you do it! Pay up, fool." Jabber shook his head, dreads falling forward as he leaned back in the chair. "Y'all always teamin' up. One day I'ma bring somebody who can actually play." Marcus grinned at you. "Maybe your new friend can learn. She look smart." You raised an eyebrow. "I don't know spades, but I know when someone's bluffing." Jabber looked over at you, something like approval flickering across his face. "See? She got some fight. Might fit in after all."

Food started coming off the grill soon after. Uncle Ray piled ribs, chicken, and links onto plates while people lined up with sides—mac and cheese, collards, potato salad that looked nothing like the kind your adoptive parents made. Jabber came back from the card game and handed you a plate. "Try the jerk chicken. Told you it was different." You took a bite and the flavor hit hard—spicy, smoky, nothing like the mild stuff you grew up with. Jabber watched your reaction. "Told you. Real food got flavor." You swallowed and nodded. "Okay, you were right about that one. Don't let it go to your head." He smirked and took his own bite, juice running down his fingers before he wiped it on a napkin.

People started dancing when someone turned the music up louder, old school tracks mixing with newer beats. A couple of kids ran through the yard playing tag, nearly knocking over a cooler. Jabber's mom appeared from inside the house, a short woman with kind eyes and her hair wrapped. She spotted you and came straight over. "So this the girl from the train station? Jabber told me about you. I'm his mama, Denise." You shook her hand, feeling suddenly shy. "Nice to meet you, ma'am." Denise smiled wide. "Call me Denise. And don't let my boy give you no mess. He all talk." Jabber rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Ma, we good. She just tryin' the food."

Denise pulled you into a quick hug before moving on to help with more plates. Jabber watched her go, then looked back at you. "She like you already. Can tell." You shifted your weight, plate still in hand. "Why? Because I ate the chicken?" He laughed, the sound low and real. "Nah. Because you showed up. Most folks from where you at wouldn't even come this far." The words sat between you for a second, heavier than the usual back and forth. You looked around at the yard full of people laughing, eating, moving to the music. It felt alive in a way your quiet suburban dinners never did. Jabber must have seen something shift in your face because he nudged your shoulder lightly. "Told you. This the real deal. No filters, no pretend. Just us."

You spent the rest of the afternoon drifting between the card table, the grill, and conversations with people Jabber introduced you to. Trey tried teaching you a quick spades hand while Marcus kept making jokes about your silk press staying perfect in the heat. Keisha brought you more sides to try, and Uncle Ray kept checking if your plate needed refilling. Every time someone asked how you knew Jabber, he answered before you could, saying you met when you got lost and he had to save you from wandering forever. You shot back each time that you would have found your way eventually, and the back and forth made the group laugh.

As the sun started dipping lower, the energy in the yard stayed high. Someone brought out a speaker and old R&B filled the air while couples danced slow near the fence. Jabber leaned against a tree, dreads loose now, watching everything with that easy stance. You stood next to him, the plate long empty in your hands. "So?" he asked after a minute. "Still think your suburban life got everything figured out?" You met his eyes, the challenge there but softer now. "Maybe not everything. This... it's different. Loud. But it feels real." Jabber nodded, like that was enough for now. "Aight. That's a start. You can come back next time if you want. No pressure." You nodded back, the silk press shifting as you turned to watch a little girl dance with her mom near the music. The day had stretched long, full of new faces and flavors and words that poked at parts of you you hadn't looked at in years. Jabber stayed close, not pushing, just there as the cookout kept going around you both.

pt 2 or do i leave it there?

# cred @/bbyg4rlhelps , @pixopix .

@corsetdevious all rights reserved. i don’t want my work to be copied/plagiarized/stolen, fed into ai, or translated without my permission

TAGLIST to get tagged in my works — @aizawash0e , @h3avenlyglory , @animegamerfox

[amourflores]

happy juneteenth to all my soulaan sisters and brothers and those in between, this about you today but it’s just always been about you . you are so strong, so beautiful and most importantly : you are excellence . thank you to the black writers on tumblr for including such diversity, such imagination on a platform where any other black individual never felt like belonging . this is so important in a way a lot of people could not get .

[h3avenlyglory]

GOOD MORNING GORGEOUS!!!

Happy Juneteenth to all of my beautiful Black Americans! I am so proud of us and how far we have come — this is what our ancestors died for, sacrificed, and fought for: to see future generations empowered and united, proud of our beauty and strength. May our ancestors be blessed in the afterlife and rest peacefully, watching down on us with a smile. Being Black will never be easy (cause we come from greatness, duh), but we make it inspiring and full of light! Bless all my Black writers, the pen game is elite, brothers and sisters. Bless all my Black people in music, theater, film, acting, etc. Our talent and beauty are unmatched. Never question yourself or your worth — Black is beauty. Once again, happy Juneteenth, everyone!

[corsetdevious]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 2 BAD BITCHES.

pornstar!arthur morgan x pornstar!plus-size!black reader x pornstar!joel miller

summary: porn, all the way up. getting railed by two buff older men.

cw: p in v, p in a, double penetration, fingering, oral (males receiving), unprotected sex.

The set lights hit warm against your dark skin, catching on the soft sheen already starting to form along your collarbones. Arthur Morgan’s broad chest is right in front of you, thick with muscle and scattered with coarse hair that trails down to the heavy cock already half-hard in his fist. Joel Miller stands just behind, his rough palm sliding over the curve of your ass, squeezing once like he’s testing how much give there is. The director’s voice is still droning about angles and marks, but none of you are really listening anymore.

You drop to your knees between them, the floor cool under your skin. Arthur’s cock twitches when your fingers wrap around the base, and you lean in, tongue flicking over the head before you take him deeper. A low groan rolls out of him. “Fuck, that’s it…” Behind you Joel’s hand moves lower, two thick fingers sliding between your folds, finding you already wet. He pushes one inside, slow, and your hips rock back without thinking.

The camera is rolling. You know it is. But when Arthur’s hand settles on the back of your head and he starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts, something shifts. Joel’s finger curls, finding that spot that makes your thighs shake, and you moan around Arthur’s cock, the sound wet and needy. Arthur’s hips stutter. “Jesus, darlin’… you’re really—fuck.”

Joel pulls his finger free and replaces it with the blunt head of his cock, pressing forward until the stretch makes your breath catch. You’re still sucking Arthur, spit running down your chin, when Joel sinks in the rest of the way with one steady push. The slap of his hips meeting your ass is loud in the quiet between takes. slap… slap… slap… Your walls flutter around him and he grunts, hands gripping your waist tighter.

They move you like you weigh nothing. Arthur pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop and hauls you up, spinning you so your back meets his chest. He hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts, spreading you open. Joel steps in close, guiding his cock back inside you while Arthur’s length presses against your ass, slick from your spit. You feel impossibly full when they both push in at once—Arthur stretching your ass, Joel buried deep in your pussy. The stretch burns sweet. Your head falls back against Arthur’s shoulder, a broken moan spilling out.

“Goddamn,” Joel rasps, voice rough. “She’s so fuckin’ tight like this.”

Arthur’s breath is hot against your ear. “Takin’ us both so good, girl. Look at that pretty pussy stretchin’ ‘round him.

They start moving, finding a rhythm that has you bouncing between them. Every thrust sends slick sounds echoing—schlick, schlick, schlick—mixed with the wet slap of skin. Your dark nipples are tight, rubbing against Arthur’s chest hair with every bounce. Joel leans in and sucks one into his mouth, teeth grazing, and your whole body jerks. Arthur’s cock drags over that spot inside your ass that makes your toes curl.

They fuck you standing like that until your legs start to shake too hard. Arthur lowers you onto the bed, flipping you onto your hands and knees. Joel stays behind you, sliding back into your pussy with a low groan while Arthur moves in front, feeding his cock between your lips again. You suck him greedily, cheeks hollowing, while Joel’s thrusts shove you forward onto Arthur’s length. Spit and precum drip from your chin onto the sheets. Your ass ripples every time Joel slams home, the contrast of your brown skin against his pale, scarred hands stark under the lights.

“Fuck, look at her,” Arthur mutters, thumb brushing your bottom lip where it’s stretched around him. “Mouth full and still pushin’ back on him like she can’t get enough.”

Joel answers by reaching under you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. Your moans vibrate around Arthur’s cock and he curses, hips jerking. You pull off just long enough to gasp, “Don’t stop—please don’t stop,” before swallowing him down again.

They switch. Arthur takes your pussy this time, driving in deep while Joel claims your mouth. Your tongue works over the underside of Joel’s cock, tasting yourself on him. Arthur’s pace is relentless, the head of his dick hitting that perfect spot over and over until your vision blurs. Joel’s hand fists in your braids, guiding your head, and the little sting only makes everything sharper.

You end up on your back, legs spread wide. Arthur is between your thighs, pounding into you with heavy thrusts that make your tits bounce. Joel kneels beside your head, feeding you his cock while his fingers pinch and roll your nipple. Your dark skin is flushed darker now, sweat making it glisten. Every time Arthur bottoms out you let out a broken little “ah—ah—ah” that Joel seems to like, because he pushes deeper into your throat until your eyes water.

“Gonna cum if you keep doin’ that,” Joel warns, voice strained. You hum around him in answer and he groans, pulling back just enough to paint your tongue with the first hot spurt. You swallow what you can, the rest dripping down your chin onto your chest. Arthur watches, eyes dark, and fucks you harder, chasing his own release.

He pulls out at the last second, stroking himself fast over your stomach. Thick ropes of cum land across your dark skin, stark white against the deep brown of your belly. He rubs the head of his cock through it, smearing it, and you whimper at the filthy sight.

The director’s voice cuts through the heavy breathing. “Cut! That’s a wrap on this scene, guys. Great energy.”

None of you move.

Arthur’s hand is still on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles. Joel’s cock, still half-hard, rests against your cheek. You look up at them through your lashes, lips shiny, and the air shifts again. Arthur’s eyes flick to Joel, then back to you. A slow, dangerous smile tugs at his mouth.

Joel’s voice is low. “You heard him. Scene’s done.”

But Arthur is already pushing your legs wider again, lining himself up. “Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart.” He sinks back into your cum-slick pussy in one smooth thrust and you cry out, back arching. Joel watches for a second, then moves behind you, lifting your upper body so your back rests against his chest. His fingers find your clit again while Arthur fucks you slow and deep.

They keep going like the cameras aren’t even there anymore. Arthur rolls you onto your side, hooking one of your legs over his arm so he can drive in at a new angle. Joel presses in close behind, the head of his cock nudging at your already stretched ass. You’re so wet and open that he slides in easier this time, both of them buried inside you again while you moan and shake between them.

slap… slap… slap… The sound of their hips meeting your ass and thighs fills the room. Your pussy clenches around Arthur, fluttering, and he curses. “She’s close—fuck, she’s squeezin’ me so tight.”

Joel’s teeth graze your shoulder. “Let go, baby. Come on our cocks.”

You do, hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your whole body locks up. Your walls pulse around them, slick gushing out around Arthur’s cock. They don’t stop. Arthur fucks you through it, pace turning sloppy, while Joel’s fingers keep working your clit until you’re shaking and oversensitive. Another orgasm crashes over you before the first one even fades, leaving you gasping and limp between them.

Arthur pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. He slams back in, chasing his own release now. Joel moves in front of you again, and you take him into your mouth without being asked, sucking messily. Arthur’s thrusts shove you forward, making you take Joel deeper. The wet sounds are obscene—gluck, gluck, gluck—mixed with Arthur’s low grunts and Joel’s rough breathing.

Arthur cums with a guttural groan, burying himself deep, filling you until it leaks out around his cock. He stays there, grinding slow, while you keep sucking Joel until he spills down your throat again. You swallow every drop this time, tongue lapping at the head when he finally pulls free.

The three of you collapse in a sweaty, sticky tangle on the bed. Your dark skin is marked with fingerprints and smeared cum, braids messy, lips swollen. Arthur’s hand rests on your waist, Joel’s fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh. None of you reach for robes or call for the crew.

Arthur’s voice is rough against your ear. “Round two?”

Joel’s low chuckle vibrates through your back. “She ain’t tapped out yet.”

You push up on shaky arms, turning between them with a small, wicked smile. “Not even close.”

# cred @/bbyg4rlhelps , @pixopix .

@corsetdevious all rights reserved. i don’t want my work to be copied/plagiarized/stolen, fed into ai, or translated without my permission.

TAGLIST to get tagged in my works

@aizawash0e , @h3avenlyglory

[corsetdevious]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ BE A GENTLEMAN!

nanami kento x wife!black!reader

summary: nanami is a good father and husband, of course he’ll teach the art of gentlemanly behavior to his five years old son.

cw: established relationship, mom!reader, dad!nanami, implied biracial!son, coily hair!black!reader, brown!skinned!reader, fluff!

a/n: something nanami would definitely do 🌝

You were in the kitchen one Saturday morning, the smell of fresh pancakes filling the air as you flipped another one onto the plate. Your coils were still a little damp from the quick shower you'd taken earlier, framing your face softly against your warm brown skin. Little footsteps padded in behind you, followed by your husband's calmer ones.

"Alright, champ," Nanami said in that steady voice of his, kneeling down so he was eye level with your five-year-old son. "Today we're learning how a gentleman treats the ladies in his life. Starts with simple things, like helping mom with her chair."

Your son tilted his head, his small hand gripping Nanami's sleeve. "Like this, daddy?" He tried to pull out one of the wooden chairs at the table, but it scraped loudly against the floor. You couldn't help but smile, turning off the stove and walking over.

Nanami chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. He guided your son's hands. "Gentle now. We don't want to scratch the floor. Watch." He stood and pulled out your chair with ease, the legs gliding smoothly. "See? Now you try for mom."

You sat down after they both insisted, feeling the light touch of your son's tiny fingers on the back of the chair as he pushed it in a little too eagerly. It bumped your knees, but you laughed anyway. "Good job, baby. You're getting it." Your son's face lit up, his cheeks rounding out in that adorable way that always made your heart squeeze.

Nanami took the seat across from you, his eyes meeting yours with that quiet affection he rarely showed in big ways but always made you feel. "Next up is saying please and thank you. Even for little things." He passed the syrup to your son first. "Son, would you like some?"

"Yes please!" your boy chirped, reaching out with both hands. Nanami poured a careful amount, then looked at you. "And for you, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you," you replied, playing along. The whole thing felt sweet, like he was turning an ordinary breakfast into something special. Your son watched closely, mimicking the words with extra enthusiasm. "Thank you, daddy!"

After eating, Nanami suggested a walk to the park nearby. He helped your son into his little jacket, showing him how to hold the door open for you. "Ladies first," he said gently. Your son stood on his tiptoes to reach the handle, swinging the door wide with a big grin. You stepped through, the sunlight warming your skin as you all headed out.

At the park, Nanami found a bench and sat with your son on his lap for a moment. "A gentleman offers his arm when walking with a lady," he explained, standing up and linking his elbow with yours. Your son copied him right away, reaching up to hook his small arm through yours on the other side. The three of you strolled along the path like that, your son's steps bouncy and excited.

"Mommy, am I doing it right?" he asked, looking up at you with those big eyes.

"Perfect," you told him, giving his hand a squeeze. Nanami smiled at the sight, his usual serious expression softening around the edges. Later, when your son got tired, Nanami carried him on his shoulders, but not before teaching one more thing—offering a hand to help you up from the grass where you'd been sitting.

Back home, it was time for lunch. Nanami set the table with your son, showing him how to place the napkins neatly. "And remember to wait until everyone is seated before starting," he said. Your son nodded seriously, like this was the most important lesson ever. During the meal, he kept glancing at his dad for cues, saying "pass the bread please" in his high little voice. It was impossible not to melt at how hard he was trying.

By evening, after baths and stories, Nanami tucked your son into bed with one last tip. "Always kiss mom goodnight if she's there. Shows you care." Your boy leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek, then did the same to Nanami. You lingered in the doorway together, watching him drift off. Nanami's hand found yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

"You're a good teacher," you whispered. He just shrugged, but the way he looked at you said everything. The house felt peaceful, full of those small moments that made your little family feel complete.

# cred @/bbyg4rlhelps , @pixopix .

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call me crazy but KC from love island s8 is exactly how i see modern days!onyankapon physically irl frrrr, @h3avenlyglory pls agree with me baby 😩

[aizawash0e]

Hun, Just Let Me Finish

Boyfriend!Clark Kent x BlackFem!Reader

☆┇a taste of the story: Clark has been working hard to get his paper on the front page of the Daily Planet, he wants the story to be perfect, only problem is he doesn't realize how perfect he is and you are willing to show him, just how perfect he is.

☆┇ingredients & calorie count: this sweet treat includes 2.4k+ word servings, hints of dom!fem!black!reader, girlfriend!reader, a bit of sub!clark, clark not knowing how perfect he is, boyfriend!clark, focusing on clarkie’s pleasure, hand job,use of nicknames (hun,honey,baby and princess), male receiving 18+ MINORS THIS IS NOT THE BAKERY FOR YOU!

☆┇mika's notes: hi my loveliesss, i am slowly making my return and I HAVE MISSED YOU ALL!! I kinda like the way this turned out, but as always y’all let me know! alsoooo big shoutout to my lovely @liliacsdelight for beta reading and always lending a helping hand 💗!!

One thing about Clark is that he is determined, determined to help people any way he can, always there just on time and recently he's been working on a paper for Daily Planet for weeks.

And just like any other night, there he sits on the couch, laptop resting on his lap. Hunched over with his eyebrows furrowed, his fingers click away on the keys, a box of half-eaten Chinese food sitting on the table.

He mumbled to himself about the paper, he's been talking about this paper for a while and he wanted it to be perfect. This was going to be his 5th big paper and he wanted it front page on The Daily Planet.

You check the time and it's 11:45pm. He has to wake up early in the morning tomorrow for work. "Baby, maybe you should get some rest, the paper will be there tomorrow morning."

Clark nods, but still typing."I know hun, I'm almost done."

You look at him, and you can't even begin to imagine how many night's you've heard those exact words— how many nights you've gone to bed alone, only to wake up to a note on the fridge and flowers in one of your favorite vases. how many nights you've heard that and went to bed alone and woke up to a letter on the fridge and fresh flowers, because he woke up early to get to work.

You scoot over next to him and your hand finds the back of his neck, caressing it and running your fingers through his hair. That motion always brought him peace, causing him to let out an audible sigh. The kind of sigh that sounds like he is finally letting go of the weight of the world. His broad shoulders visibly drop as he leans back into the cushions, sinking into the space next to you.

"You've been working so hard, Clark," you whisper, shifting closer so your shoulder brushes against his. "But look at what you've already put together tonight. It's incredible."

Clark closes his eyes briefly, letting his head rest back against the couch, soaking in the comfort of the room. "I just need this to be perfect," he admits softly. "The people deserve to know the truth about this story."

"They will, cause' you're the one telling it," you say, your fingers moving to the back of his neck to knead out a knot. "I mean it. I am so incredibly proud of you. Not just for the big headlines, but for how much heart and time you put into this, don't even get me started. You care so much about helping people, Clark. It shines in literally everything you do. And that's not even going into you being the best boyfriend ever or you being Superman."

The sharp frantic clicking of the keyboard hasn't returned as Clark's laptop was on the coffee table

A soft, warm smile spreads across Clark's face, the stressed-out reporter who just sat beside you slowly easing away . You lean into his warm palm.

You begin to lean in close and pepper light, gentle kisses all over his face. You press a soft,sweet kiss on his temple whispering to him,"Such a smart man," As you press another kiss to his cheek,"So handsome and kind."Finally, you press another kiss to his forehead where the stress lines usually gather.

Clark lets out a low, rumbling laugh, his eyes closed with a smile plastered on his face. With every soft press of your lips, you see the tension in his shoulders soften a bit.

You kiss him softly, smiling as you pepper his face with kisses until he tries to pull away. "Hun, I still have more to—"

You cut him off gently, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, silencing him successfully.

When you pull back just an inch to see him, his eyes are a bit tired behind his glasses, the detailed reporter energy now completely derailed. He blinks, as if he had something on his mind but forgot, but you can't help but smile at him, staring into his brown eyes,as your hand runs through his hair.

"Guess what? The work you are doing now will also be there tomorrow and the day after that, baby," you say softly, you say softly with your voice leaving no room for argument. "The deadline isn't even for a couple of days, and look at this—you're already almost done anyway."

Clark opens his mouth to protest again, but you place a hand over his mouth, giving him a knowing look.

"I believe you deserve a break," you insist, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his cheek, slowly moving down his jawline. You move your hand away from his mouth.

"You've been so busy, baby," you kiss under his chin, shaking your head to yourself. You don't think he understands how perfect he is.

Your lips slowly press onto his, moving like a slow dance with his, lips sucking one an other. He groans into the kiss, your hands find his face as you nuzzle your face into his neck, leaving soft kisses and love bites along his neck and jaw and begin to leave kisses and love bites on his neck.

Clark's glasses begin to slide down slightly and over your shoulder he sees the computer the document he has been working on for hours, the one he is honestly nervous to publish and give to Perry. You feel his throat bob as he swallows.

You pull away from his neck, to get a good look at his face. You can see the tension and him shifting in his seat, which was sign he was getting hard. Now you don't know if it is from your kisses or your praises but whatever it is, it is working, causing you to smile.

"Baby, if you could just let me finish—," he tries to argue.

But your lips and hands are faster, your hand covers his mouth, and you leave a sweet kiss on his nose. "You are still thinking about work, and you still don't see how much you've accomplished, don't you see the problem with that, baby?"

Clark shrugs lightly, causing you to look at him.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you," you whisper, kissing his cheek once more. "You are so worked up, Mr. Kent, I have a question, hun who got employee of the month three times in a row, hm?"You ask as you begin to unbutton his white shirt that began to wrinkle the longer he sat there.

He shrugs off his shirt, placing it on the ottoman, revealing his toned chest and abdomen, just sitting before you perfectly.

Clark let out a shaky breath. You leaned towards the laptop, saving his file and powering it off. You heard a sigh leave Clark, as if he wanted to go back and continue writing. But you couldn't let him get sucked back into the loophole he so easily got lost in. You needed him to know that he had been working hard and that he, and the story he was writing for the Planet would be perfect—just as he was.

His eyes were on you fully as he adjusted his glasses which had began to slide slowly.

You face him and your lips crash once again, but this time with more force and passion behind the kiss. Clark groans as he leans in, and his hands find your hips, resting there like he knows where home is.

"You ain't answered my question, baby? Who got Employee of the Month three times in a row?" you repeat, this time holding his jaw so he has to look at you.

Clark shivers, causing his hips to shift just a little bit. And now you know why. You feel it between your legs, the tent straining against his pants, aching to be released.

"Me, I-I got Employee of the Month," Clark mumbled.

"And you don't even know how hard you work, or you think no one sees that, but I see that. I see you, baby," you whispered.

You tilted your head down, looking at the brown belt buckle that tightened his pants. And you began to undo his belt. Clark's hands circled around your wrist, pausing your movements as his breath hitched.

"My love, I-I- are you sure? Y-you don't have to if you don't—."

You smiled lightly at him and his cute gesture. It’s funny that he thinks you don't want to do it, yet so sweet that he is checking on you.

"I want to," is all you said.

You unbuckled his belt, feeling his dick already twitching against his briefs.

You slid your hand into his boxers, feeling him pulse around your fingers as you held him from the base of his shaft.

You couldn't help but smile, he was just so handsome and sensitive when he got like this.

"Relax, baby. I got you. You always working so hard for the paper, for us, and as Superman. I think you deserve some release."

You kiss his cheek, as your hand strokes him lightly, feeling the heft of his dick. You run your thumb over his tip, collecting just a bit of pre-cum on your thumb and licking your finger.

He watches you letting out a moan as he watches you just lick his pre-cum off of your finger, he can't help but let choke out a moan.

"Baby, you can't do that-ya can't just, i- gah i need you to to touch me" He whispers as he spreads his legs even more, giving you more room to work .

"I will," you reassure him softly.

You begin to stroke him and shower him with praise.

Your heart can't help but spike as you feel him growing harder and throbbing for you. His hips begin to move, even if your hands haven't, he is chasing the feeling he yearns for. He is chasing his release.

"Princess, please move your hand," he practically begs as one of his hands clench the couch pillows.

You watch him closely. You watch the way he is looking at you with complete need, almost a distraught, desperate look on his face.

You like hearing his moans, you like the way he sounds and looks in this moment.

So, you tighten your grip and stroke him, watching him closely, what causes his breath to hitch and him to whimper and moan.

When you twist your hand slightly at the base of his dick and rub your thumb on his mushroom tip, it causes him to moan and sink further into the couch as his hips begin to meet your movement.

You loved this, seeing him completely give everything to you. Watching him get off was pleasure to you; this is what you wanted in this moment.

Your hands repeat the movement now in a rhythm and flow, up and down, as you rub his tip. His hips buck to meet his release, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead as his glasses start to hang low on his nose.

You kiss his cheek, as you put your face cheek to cheek with his and just watch your hand move around his thick dick. It felt heavy in your hands, throbbing in your hands.

"You are so handsome, baby, so smart too, gosh my smart journalist boyfriend who is so stressed about things that he’s gonna ace? Ain’t that right Clark?"

He whimpers "Gah, g-gah,".

"You're so good for me, baby, you just really need to cum by the way you are moving your hips, just so handsome" you whisper as you lick the shell of his ear and kiss it.

"I wish you could see how you look, so perfect, your stomach tensing every time I stroke you, it's like you are waiting permission to cum, is that what you are doing honey are you waiting?"

Clark moans , his cheeks completely flushed as cum slowly begins to seep from his tip sliding down to your hand, he can't help but let out breathless moans and his mouth agape.

He nods feverishly.

“Fuckkk honey, you’re so perfect for me, ugh everything to do is just-ughh fuck I needed this, I-I thank you" he says desperately as his hand comes up to your jaw holding your face. His hand slides to the back of your head and pulls you closer to him, and he kisses you fervently, moaning into the kiss and slipping his tongue inside.

His hips never stop jerking, he pulls away from the kiss, moaning "Can I cum? I swear to God I’ll be good for you just let me cum, let me finish,"

He whimpers your name.

His thrusts into your hands grow sloppy and convulsive.

You pepper a kiss on his neck and whisper in his ear, "Cum for me, honey. You deserve it, baby. You’re so hot for me, you're so hard for me. So prove it, show me how bad you need this."

"Fffuuuuckkkk, I’m cumming, ah. Y/N,baby. I’m gonna make a mess, princess. I-“ Clark's body jerks as his dick twitches, and finally, he cums, hips sloppily thrusting.

"That's it , Clark. Let go for me."

His mouth agape, panting, and head thrown back with pleasure, causing you to kiss his soft lips.

You stroke him slowly as his cum splashes onto his laptop and notebook, hitting some of the coffee table. He's panting and moaning .

You watch him, panties soaked and thighs clenched, as you feel the wetness between your thighs as you watch your boyfriend cum to the thought of you, cumming right into your hands.

Clark catches his breath, swallowing slowly as he turns his head towards you with a lopsided smile.

You lick your hand, and he groans, chuckling a bit. "You are unbelievable. You know that?"

You smile as you taste him. He tastes sweet and strong at the same time.

"Feel better?"

He nods and smiles as he fixes his glasses.

“See, you did finish, honey." You smile as you plant a sweet kiss to his cheek with the most mischievous smile playing onto your face as Clark sits, catching his breath, legs still spread as his breathing begins to return to normal.

"You finished, just not your paper." You smile as you lick the cum off your hands.

"Like I said, unbelievable." Clark shakes his head with a tired smile on his face.

"Thank you, hun." As he kisses your lips once more.

 

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— mika’s notes: thank you for reading lovelies, please reblog, comment and let me know what you think!! 💋💋 i’ve miss you all, also thank you to @heav3nlyglory @jellywrites1218 @mtcloudsworld for listening to me yap about this fic <𝟑 .ᐟ

۶ৎ if you’d like to continue to become a regular at my bakery, join my taglist to place your order! 🍮🥄 ˚₊‧

╰┈➤ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Here is the other baked goods you might want to taste. Check out my masterlist!

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[corsetdevious]

hear me out on chav!connie & armin YALLL??

[corsetdevious]

cw: smut(mdni), p in v, sub!grayson & dom!reader, handjob, praise kink, oral (fem receiving), ect..

ceo assistant!dick grayson x ceo!black!reader

You lean back in your leather chair, the one that costs more than most people’s cars, and let your eyes drift over Dick Grayson standing across from your desk. The late afternoon light cuts through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your corner office, catching on the deep brown of your skin and the sharp lines of your tailored black blazer. Your coils are pulled into a sleek high bun, a few strands framing your face, and the gold hoops at your ears glint when you tilt your head. You’re the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech firm, and everyone downstairs knows you run a tight ship. Everyone except Dick, who stands there in his crisp button-down and slacks like he’d drop to his knees if you so much as snapped your fingers.

He’s been your assistant for eight months now. Loyal doesn’t even begin to cover it. The man practically lives to make your day easier, staying late, handling the smallest details, remembering how you like your coffee and which meetings you hate. It’s almost pathetic how eager he is, but you like it. You like the way his blue eyes follow you when you walk past him, the way his hands flex at his sides when you praise him. Tonight you decided he deserves more than a bonus or a pat on the back.

"Close the blinds," you tell him, voice low and smooth. "And lock the door."

Dick moves without hesitation. The soft whir of the automatic blinds fills the room as they slide down, cutting off the city skyline. The click of the lock echoes. He turns back to you, cheeks already a little pink, breathing a touch faster.

"You’ve been good," you say, standing slowly. Your heels click against the marble floor as you round the desk. "Very good. I think it’s time I rewarded you."

His throat works as he swallows. "Anything you want, ma’am."

You stop right in front of him, close enough to smell his cologne—something clean and woodsy. Your fingers trail up his chest, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric. "Take off your shirt."

Dick obeys instantly. Buttons come undone one by one until the shirt hangs open, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, the faint scars from years of being Nightwing. You run your palm over his abs, nails scraping lightly, and he shivers.

"Good boy," you murmur. The praise hits him like a drug; you watch his pupils dilate. "Now the rest."

He strips efficiently, folding each piece and setting it on the chair beside your desk. When he’s naked you take your time looking. His cock is already half-hard, thick and flushed, curving slightly upward. You reach out and wrap your fingers around it, giving one slow stroke. Dick’s breath hitches, hips twitching forward before he catches himself.

"Stay still," you order, voice firm but not unkind. "I’m going to enjoy this."

You stroke him lazily, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of precum that leaks out. Dick’s hands stay at his sides, fists clenched, but his breathing grows ragged. "Please," he whispers after a minute, voice cracking. "I—fuck—I want to touch you."

"Not yet." You let go and step back, shrugging out of your blazer. Underneath you’re wearing a silk blouse the color of deep wine. You unbutton it slowly, letting him watch as more of your rich brown skin is revealed—the swell of your breasts in a black lace bra, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. You let the blouse fall to the floor, then reach behind you to unzip your pencil skirt. It pools at your feet, leaving you in matching lace panties and thigh-high stockings. Your heels stay on.

Dick’s cock twitches visibly at the sight. You smirk. "On your knees."

He drops immediately, the sound of his knees hitting the carpet soft but clear. You step closer until your lace-covered pussy is inches from his face. His breath ghosts over your thighs, warm and shaky.

"You can touch now," you allow. "But only with your mouth."

Dick leans in like a man starved. He presses open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh, tongue tracing the edge of your stocking. His hands come up to grip your hips, steadying you as he mouths at the damp lace between your legs. The fabric grows wetter from his saliva and your arousal. He nuzzles in, nose brushing your clit through the material, and you let out a soft sigh.

"That’s it," you encourage, threading your fingers through his dark hair. "Show me how grateful you are."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs. You step out of them, spreading your stance a little wider. Dick doesn’t waste time. His tongue drags a long, slow stripe through your folds, tasting you properly now. A low moan vibrates against your pussy as he finds your clit and sucks gently. Mmmph. The sound is muffled but filthy.

You rock your hips against his face, using him for your pleasure. Dick’s tongue works in steady circles, occasionally dipping lower to fuck into you before returning to your clit. His grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. You can feel the heat building low in your belly, the familiar tension coiling tighter with every flick of his tongue.

"Good," you breathe. "Just like that. Don’t stop."

Dick doubles down, sucking harder, tongue pressing flat and broad. Your thighs start to tremble. You tug on his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans into you again—the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Your free hand braces against the edge of your desk as your orgasm builds, fast and hot.

When it hits, your head tips back, a broken moan slipping out. Your pussy clenches around nothing, pulsing against Dick’s tongue as he keeps licking through it, drawing it out. Wet sounds fill the office—slck, slck, slck—as he laps at your release. Your legs shake, but his hands hold you steady.

You pull him back by the hair once the aftershocks fade, looking down at his wet chin and glassy eyes. "Stand up."

Dick rises, cock now fully hard and leaking, the head shiny. You wrap your hand around it again, stroking firmly. "You did well," you tell him. "Now I’m going to fuck you."

His breath catches. "Yes, ma’am."

You guide him backward until his ass hits the edge of your desk. You push on his chest and he sits, then lies back when you press again. His cock stands proud against his stomach, twitching with every beat of his heart. You climb onto the desk, straddling his hips, the cool wood under your knees. Reaching between you, you line him up and sink down slowly.

The stretch is perfect. You take him inch by inch, feeling every ridge and vein as your pussy opens around him. Dick’s head falls back, a long groan tearing from his throat. “Fuuuuck.” When you bottom out, you both pause, breathing hard. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to the thickness.

You start to move—slow, deliberate rolls of your hips. Dick’s hands find your waist, but he doesn’t take control. He lets you set the pace, lets you use him. The wet sound of your pussy sliding up and down his cock fills the room, obscene and slick. Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.

"Look at me," you order. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and ride him harder. Your ass slaps against his thighs with each drop—pap, pap, pap—the rhythm steady and filthy. Dick’s mouth falls open, eyes half-lidded, completely lost in the feeling of your tight heat gripping him.

"You’re so fucking good," you praise between breaths. "So loyal. So eager. Taking whatever I give you."

Dick nods frantically, hips bucking up to meet you on every downstroke. "Yes—yes, anything—fuck, you feel so good—"

You slow down again, grinding in tight circles, clit rubbing against his pubic bone. The new angle makes you gasp. You reach down and rub your clit in time with your movements, chasing another orgasm while Dick watches with hungry eyes. His cock throbs inside you, so close already, but he holds back because you haven’t given him permission.

"Don’t come," you warn, voice breathy. "Not until I say."

He whimpers—actually whimpers—and the sound goes straight to your core. You speed up again, riding him with purpose now. Your breasts bounce with the motion, nipples tight against the lace of your bra. Dick’s hands slide up to cup them through the fabric, thumbs brushing over the peaks. You don’t stop him; the extra stimulation feels too good.

The desk creaks under you. Papers scatter to the floor, forgotten. Your moans mix with his—low and throaty from you, broken and desperate from him. “Ah—ah—ah” every time you drop down fully. Dick’s fingers tighten on your hips, leaving red marks on your brown skin.

You feel the orgasm building again, slower this time but deeper. You lean down, capturing Dick’s mouth in a messy kiss. Tongues slide together, teeth clash. He tastes like you. You bite his lower lip, tugging, and he moans into your mouth, hips jerking up harder.

Pulling back, you rest your forehead against his. "I’m close," you tell him. "Make me come and I’ll let you finish inside me."

Dick’s eyes widen, the offer clearly affecting him. He plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up to meet you, taking some of the control while still letting you lead. The angle changes, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. Your vision blurs at the edges. You clench around him, walls fluttering, and then you’re coming again—harder this time. Your pussy spasms, milking him, a gush of wetness soaking his cock and the desk beneath you. Squish. Squish. The sounds are loud and wet.

Dick groans, long and low, but he doesn’t come yet. He keeps thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re shaking and oversensitive. Only when you slump forward, breathing hard against his neck, does he slow down.

"Good boy," you pant. "Now you can come."

Permission granted, Dick flips you both with surprising ease. Suddenly you’re on your back on the desk, legs spread wide around his hips. He drives into you with deep, powerful strokes, the desk shaking with the force. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in. The new position lets him go deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust.

Plap. Plap. Plap. Skin on skin, wet and loud. Dick’s face is buried in your neck, breathing ragged against your skin. "Thank you—thank you—fuck, thank you," he chants, voice wrecked. His loyalty borders on worship, and it only makes you wetter.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. "Harder," you demand, bratty even now. "Don’t hold back."

Dick obeys like the good assistant he is. He fucks you with everything he has, hips snapping forward, the desk creaking dangerously. One of your hands slides between your bodies to rub your clit again, chasing a third orgasm while he chases his own. The overstimulation borders on too much, but you crave it.

"I’m—gonna—" Dick warns, voice strained.

"Inside," you order. "Fill me up."

He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a broken cry. Hot pulses of cum flood your pussy, thick and endless. You feel every spurt, walls clenching around him to milk every drop. Dick’s whole body shakes, forehead pressed to yours, whispering your name like a prayer. Nngh—ah—fuck—

You come again from the feeling of being filled, a smaller, sharper orgasm that makes your toes curl in your heels. Your pussy flutters around his cock, squeezing out more cum with every pulse. The mess is obscene—cum and your arousal leaking out around his cock, dripping onto the desk and the carpet below.

Dick stays inside you as you both come down, breathing hard. He presses soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Gentle. Reverent. When he finally pulls out, a thick stream of cum follows, running down your ass and onto the wood. He watches it with dark eyes, then drops to his knees again without being asked.

His tongue cleans you up, lapping at the mess he made, tasting both of you. The sensation is too much and not enough. You thread your fingers through his hair, guiding him, letting him worship. Slurp. Lick. Slck. The sounds are filthy in the quiet office.

When he’s done, Dick rests his cheek against your thigh, looking up at you with those devoted blue eyes. "Thank you," he says again, voice hoarse. "For letting me serve you."

You smile down at him, fingers stroking through his hair. "You earned it. Now help me clean this up before the cleaning crew comes."

Dick stands, helping you off the desk. He finds your panties and helps you step back into them, cum already soaking the lace. You don’t mind. You like the reminder. He dresses himself quickly, then gathers the scattered papers while you fix your hair and blouse.

Before he unlocks the door, you pull him in for one last kiss—slow and deep. "Good work today," you tell him, patting his chest. "Same time tomorrow?"

Dick’s smile is bright and eager, almost boyish despite everything you just did. "Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here."

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. Your office smells like sex and his cologne. You sit back in your chair, legs still a little shaky, and smile to yourself. Loyal assistants are hard to find. You plan to keep this one for a very long time.

@corsetdevious all rights reserved.

inspired by this:

EGGSY LAWWWD 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩