#black reader smut

[wisteria-bae]

When I’m reading a smut fic and tryna figure out what position they’re in

[princess-angel-23]

When you're a black girl in a mostly white fandom

[liliacsdelight]

SFL: FaceTime Filth

Whoever(Black male) x Blackfem!Reader

Your best friend calls, voice raw, and you realize he’s jerking off to you. The call spirals into a dirty, tense back-and-forth—him confessing all the nasty things he wants to do to you, you teasing between sweet and cruel, letting him see just enough to break him. He cums hard for you, then you make him listen while you play with yourself and orgasm. At the very end, you drop the sweetest bomb—and hang up, leaving him ruined, obsessed, and wanting more.

★2,827 words, old story, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), lots of dirty talk, masturbation, praise & a tiny bit of degradation, pet name/name calling (e.g, ma/mama, baby, sweetheart, honey¹, and slut¹), you're a little mean but he likes it, etc★

★18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕★

"Hello?" you call, picking up on the third ring. The room is quiet, the only light the coming from your amber lamp and the blue glow from your screen reflecting off your freshly done nails.​

"H-hey," his voice scrapes out on the other end. It’s a wrecked sound—ragged, breathless, and vibrating with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.​

Your brows pull tight, a slow worry already beginning to tug at your lips. "Are you okay? You sound... off."

​You picture him for a second. Maybe he’s sweaty from a run, his chest heaving under a thin t-shirt. Or maybe he’s been lugging another Amazon dresser for that old lady down the block—always the good guy, always helping somebody. But as you listen to the heavy, rhythmic hitch in his breathing, you realize you’re wrong.​

Right now, your best friend is laid out on his bed, the sheets a mess beneath him. His sweatpants and boxers are shoved down to his mid-thighs, his brown skin damp and glowing in the dim light of his room. His stomach is corded, muscles tightening and rippling with every long, desperate drag of his fist. His dick is a dark, heavy weight in his hand—slick, flushed, and dripping through his fingers.

He’s slowly but firmly stroking himself to the thought—and now the sweet, taunting sound—of your voice. Precum is already smeared over his knuckles, his thumb rolling lazy over his slit before pressing harder, coaxing a deep, guttural grunt from his throat.​

"Mgh—nothing. Just... talk to me," he rasps, the friction of his hand audible through the speaker.​

Your frown deepens, your heart is starting to race. "Why? What’s wrong, baby?"​

The pet name slips out easy, unthinking. But the effect is immediate—he moans low, a broken, helpless sound, like you’d reached through the line and wrapped your hand around him yourself. He lives for when your voice turns soft like this, when you stop clowning him and get sweet. His fist moves quicker now, his hips pushing up into his palm, seeking the friction he can’t get enough of.​

"I'm fine, I promise. Just keep talking. Please."

​You fall quiet for a beat, leaning back against your headboard. You listen harder. You hear the wet, squelching sounds of his grip. The sharp little hitches of breath. The low, animalistic sound he makes when his fist squeezes tighter at the base.

And it clicks.​

"...You’re jerking off."​

Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."​

Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"

​"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."

​You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."​

He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."​

"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.​

"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."​

Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.

"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."

​He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."​

You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.​

The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.​

"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.

​"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.​

He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.

​"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.

​"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."​

"I want to see."​

He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"

​"I'm not repeating myself."

​He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."​

You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.

​"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.​

Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.

​You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.

​His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.​

You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."​

His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."​

You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."​

That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."

​Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."​

He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."

​You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"​

"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.

​You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.​

He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."​

Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"​

His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."​

You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."​

His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.​

You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."

​He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."

​You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.​

"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."

​You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"​

He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."​

You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."​

His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.​

"Cum for me, baby."​

He moans, a high, guttural sound.​

"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."​

"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.

​"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."​

He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"​

"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."

​His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.

​You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."

​He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."

​You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.

​"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."

​His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."

​You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."

​He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."​

Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."​

His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."​

You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."​

His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."

​You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."

​"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."​

You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."

​Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.​

"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."​

Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."​

"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."​

A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.

​"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."​

Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."​

He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."​

Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."

​He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."​

That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.​

He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."​

You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."

​His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."​

Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.

He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"​

You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."

​The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.​

"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."​

The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.​

You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."​

And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.

★𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈★

Dividers by @sweetparty

All works © liliacsdelight 2025. Do not modify, plagiarize, repost my work, or feed it to ai.

[krematedsworld]

How it feels finding SOME x reader fics but when you start reading it's straight corny stuff

[ibuprofein]

ony accidentally being mean to reader causing her to cry nsfw

TOO SHORT

𐙚!!── possessive ony and his girlfriend

⤷ ❝ {cw: nsfw mentioned, possessive! ony, dirty talk, oral (fem rec), fingering, creampie, angry sex?} ¡! ❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“go change.”

“go where?”

onyankopon didn’t even blink. arms crossed, shoulder against the doorframe, eyes locked on the fur skirt like it owed him money. “you know where. the closet. pick sum’ else.”

“i did pick something else.” you turned back to the mirror, pressing your lips together to set the gloss. “i picked this.”

“pick again.”

“i’m good, thanks.”

“you not leaving in that.”

“watch me.”

his jaw shifted. “i am watching you. that’s the problem. i can see everything and i’m your boyfriend.”

“congratulations.” you clicked the cap back on your gloss and dropped it in your bag. “you have eyes.”

“so does every other man on the street.” his voice sharpened. “that the point? you want them looking?”

you turned around slowly. “excuse me?”

he held your gaze. didn’t repeat himself. didn’t have to.

“are you serious right now?” your voice dropped. “you’re really standing there implying–”

“i’m not implying anything. i’m asking.”

“because normal people with normal boyfriends don’t get asked that.” you laughed, short and humorless. “they get told they look nice and they leave.”

“normal boyfriends don’t have to watch their girl walk out looking like a–” he stopped.

the room temperature felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

“looking like a what?” you asked slowly.

he pressed his lips together and looked away briefly but the damage was already hanging in the air between you.

“don’t.” you hated how your voice wobbled on just that one word. “don’t you ever finish that sentence.”

“i wasn’t going to.”

“you were thinking it.”

“i’m thinking a lot of things right now.” he pushed off the doorframe and stepped in, and his voice had gone cold in a way it almost never did with you. “i’m thinking that you’ve got an attitude over a skirt. i’m thinking that you’re so busy being defensive that you won’t hear me say i don’t want strangers looking at what’s mine–”

“i’m not yours–”

“you know what i meant–”

“no, say what you mean, ony, since you’re saying everything else tonight–”

“i mean–” he exhaled hard through his nose. “i mean you look like you’re trying to prove something and i don’t know who you proving it to, but it’s not–”

“i got dressed for me.” your throat tightened without permission. “i got dressed because i wanted to feel good. that’s it. that’s the whole reason. and you–” you gestured at him, at the entire situation. “you standing there making it into something weird and i didn’t do anything–”

“i didn’t say you did–”

“you implied it!” your voice cracked and you hated it. “you literally stopped yourself mid sentence because of what you almost called me–”

“i didn’t call you anything.”

“you wanted to.”

he looked at you in silence. really looked, and something in his expression shifted when he registered the gloss in your eyes, the way your jaw was working to hold everything back.

but he didn’t say sorry because he was too stubborn.

“change the skirt,” he said quietly. “and then we can talk.”

“no.” the first tear spilled over and you turned away fast, grabbing your bag and plopping on the bed, voice furious. “we can talk when you figure out the difference between protecting me and insulting me.”

he didn’t move from the doorway and you didn’t move from the bed as the silence stretched like a live wire between you.

onyankopon’s shoulders rose and fell in stress but his eyes were anything but. they dragged down your body— over the tight crop top, the gloss still shining on your lips, and especially the skirt that had started this whole argument as the muscle in his jaw flexed again.

you swiped at the tear that had escaped, furious at yourself for letting it fall. “move,” you muttered while standing and stepping toward the door.

he didn’t move but instead he reached out, large hand wrapping around your wrist, firm enough to stop you. his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, right over your racing pulse.

“don’t,” he said, voice low and rough. “don’t walk out like this.”

you laughed, bitter. “like what? dressed like a slut?”

his grip tightened for half a second then loosened. “i didn’t say that.”

“you were gonna.”

he exhaled through his nose, then did the last thing you expected. he tugged you forward until your chest bumped his as one big hand slid to the small of your back, holding you there. the other came up to cup your jaw, thumb wiping the tear track off your cheek with a gentleness that made your stomach flip.

“i’m an asshole,” he admitted, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him. “i saw you in that skirt and all i could think about was every other nigga in the club staring at what’s mine. not ‘cause you did anything wrong. ‘cause i’m selfish as fuck when it comes to you.”

your breath hitched. “that’s not–”

“i know.” his forehead dropped to yours. “i know it ain’t fair. you look… goddamn, baby. you look good enough to make me lose my mind. that’s the problem.”

the anger in your chest cracked, heat flooding in to replace it. you hated how fast your body reacted to him— his scent, the solid wall of his chest, the way his fingers were already slipping under the hem of your tiny fur skirt like he couldn’t help himself.

“then stop trying to control me,” you whispered but your hands were already fisting in his shirt.

“i’m not.” his lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then hovered right over your mouth. “i’m asking you to let me take care of you. right now.”

you opened your mouth to argue again and he kisses you, swallowing the last of your protest. his tongue pushing past your lips like he was trying to erase the whole fight. you moaned into it, involuntary, and he used the sound against you, backing you up until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

he broke the kiss only to drop to his knees.

“ony–”

“shh.” his palms slid up the backs of your thighs, pushing the skirt higher until it bunched around your waist. he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the front of your lace panties, eyes flicking up to yours. “this what you wanted to wear? then let me see it properly.”

he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged the panties down your legs, letting the fabric catch on your skin. the second they hit the floor he buried his face between your thighs, tongue dragging up your slit in one filthy stroke.

your knees buckle as he catches you, hands gripping your ass, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder so he could eat you like a man who’d been starving for it. no teasing, just greedy slurps, sucking your clit into his mouth until your head falls back and a broken moan tears out of you.

“fuck- onyyy”

he groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core. two thick fingers pushed inside without warning, curling hard against that spot that made your mouth gape open. he pumped them in and out, tongue flicking relentlessly, while the hand on your ass kept you pinned to his mouth.

you came embarrassingly fast, legs shaking, thighs clamping around his head, and a choked cry ripping from your throat as pleasure slammed through you like a freight train.

he didn’t stop until you were whimpering, oversensitive and twitching. only then did he pull back, lips shiny, And eyes wild. he stood, towering over you, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like it was nothing.

“still mad?” he asked while rubbing the leg that was just shaking over his shoulder.

you could barely speak as you just grab his shirt and yank him down into another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. he growled, lifting you clean off the floor and tossing you onto the bed.

clothes came off in a blur, his shirt, your top, and the skirt finally shoved up around your waist because he refused to take it off. “keep it on,” he muttered against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. “you wanted to wear it? then you’re wearing it while i fuck you.”

he freed himself from his jeans, thick and heavy and already leaking. one hand wrapped around your thigh, spreading you open. the head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick from your orgasm, and he pushed in slowly at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open.

“shit,” he hissed, forehead pressed to yours. “so fucking tight. always so fucking tight for me.”

you arched, nails digging into his back as he bottomed out. the skirt was bunched uselessly at your hips, the fur rubbing against your skin with every thrust. he set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips driving the breath out of you.

“mine,” he growled against your ear, hand sliding up to wrap lightly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “this pussy? mine. this body? mine. you wear whatever the fuck you want, but when you come home, this–” he slammed in harder, making you cry out. “–pussy is what i get. understand?”

you nodded frantically, tears of a completely different kind pricking your eyes from how good it felt.

“say it.”

“it’s yours– fuck– pa. it’s your pussy!”

he rewarded you by dropping his hand between you, thumb circling your clit in perfect strokes. your second orgasm crashed into you without warning, walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper.

he cursed, hips stuttering. “that’s it, mama. milk me. let me fill you up.”

three more brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came in thick pulses that spilled deep inside you until you were dripping with it.

for a long moment the only sound was both of you breathing hard.

then he collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you, and pressed a soft kiss to your sweaty temple.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “for real. i was out of line.”

you swallowed, throat raw, and rubbing your fingers on his freshly cute fade. “you’re still an asshole.”

he huffed a tired laugh. “yeah but i’m your asshole.”

you smiled despite yourself, legs still tangled with his, and his cock still softening inside you.

“next time,” you whispered, “just tell me i look good before you lose your mind.”

he kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and sweet.

“deal. but baby?” his hand smoothed down your side, possessive even now. “you still ain’t leaving the house in that skirt tonight.”

you laughed, exhausted and stupidly in love.

“fine…..but only because you earned it.”

[atinystaypixie]

I’m legit so tired of bitches complaining about black!reader. Tfym all black!reader does is party, smoke, and strip? So many fics of black!reader being a scholar, a bimbo, ex-wife, wifey, wifey to girlfriend, girlfriend to ex girlfriend, tutor, needing a tutor, a baker- i mean the list goes on AND THESE ARE ALL FICS THAT HAVE RECENTLY BEEN RELEASED! Mind you these types of fics have also been released on black!reader tumblr for YEARS! I’ve been on this account for a few years now and black!reader is never just some random ignorant, ass shaking bitch. Even when shaking ass, all of these girlies put in so much work to give her personality, a backstory, and emotions. Not only have I seen one black fic writer write a range of black!reader, I’ve seen MULTIPLE black writers on here write a range of black!reader. It’s not just a matter of you not finding the right account, it’s a matter of you just ignoring the damn fics and not looking for them. DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE FUCKING SINNERS FICS BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT BLACK WRITERS HAVE DONE FOR BLACK!READER WITH SMOKE AND STACK?! Yea stop playing these girlies like that aint put hella time, energy, and thought into these fucking works that they do FOR FREE! Even if they want to only write black!reader as “ghetto” and as someone who shakes ass THEY HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO DO WHAT THEY FUCK THEY WANT! If you want something different WRITE IT YOUR FUCKING SELF! Everyone does this shit for FREE and for the damn love of the game. Black women can’t even create in peace without random bitches getting on their ass? Can Black women please just be left the fuck alone ESPECIALLY by their OWN FUCKING PEOPLE?! Damn yall pmo.

To every Black fic writer out there that’s creating for us to enjoy, please continue unapologetically. Please let black!reader shake ass, get degrees, get married, have kids, get divorced. I’ve seen too many black writers leave this platform and deal with constant harassment and negativity. I love you and all of us who are enjoying yout content loves you too!

[mrsicy]

im a young ho, you won’t catch me on here complaining about ‘x black!reader’ smut… GIVE ME THAT SHIT AND THEN SOME

[rumisgf]

rabbid !

college!au denki lives in my head rent free sorry

your boyfriend has the sex drive of a prime ape.

you would think him not being the most built out of all his friends would mean he has the least stamina… but boy are you wrong. kaminari can go round after round, even after he’s already came. he doesn’t feel the need to stop until there’s tears in his eyes— although sometimes, that might just turn him on even more.

and don’t be fooled, he’s the sweetest boyfriend you’ve ever had. so the only time he makes you cry? when you’re under him.

"k-kami~..! *hiccup* c-can’t take it~..!" you cry, the sound of your weeping cunt and his hips rhythmically slamming against your ass filling the room.

"said you missed me.. right baby? shitt, so fuckin’ wet.. said you missed my dick, right?"

you had to go a whole week without seeing him due to you both agreeing (more so, you insisting and him whining about it until giving in) to focus on school until the weekend since you both had exams coming up. so as soon as he got you alone, your poor self stood no chance.

"p-pleasee~..! ‘s t-too muchh~..!"

"aww, don’t cry, baby.. i got you.."

he only fucks you harder, his hand gripping your plush asscheek as try to run away. your hand comes back to weakly grab onto something— or at least plead for mercy, and his hand finds yours in a second. you don’t even know which orgasm you’re about to be on at this point… maybe your 5th?

"hold my hand.. hold my hand. yeah, stay still.. takee that shit baby, mhmm.."

all the whining and crying goes out the window when he brings you to another blissful orgasm, his dick bullying your gspot in the best way possible.

"’m cumming babyy~.. oo fuckk~!"

"fuckk that’s a good girl.. gonna make me nut in that pussy.."

xoxo, rumisgf