🎀

22💝

[btcilovemj]

wait .. hot take but I feel like fanfics shouldn’t make Michael Jackson gay(mlm) because of the allegations of him being gay over the years and him constantly denying being homosexual.. I understand it’s fiction but I do think it’s kinda disrespectful.

don’t not come for me in the damn comments .. the fuck because I’ll argue every hoe down who has a fuck ass problem with my hot take .

[angelstarosix]

Is anyone else really into bishop or just me?

[kodakbesos]

and yall better be nice to my girl chase. let’s keep it REAL cute

[thetestaments]

CHASE INFINITI The MET Gala

[gyattttsblog]

DO NOT sit up here and have me aka “ black!reader” be disrespected in your fic because I wouldn’t allow ts. lmao fuck I look like ?!

[midnightmemoirsofher]

Roses in a Locked Room

Series: Kingdoms of Smoke and Gold

Timeline: Post-Chapter 4 (one week after the cheek kiss)

Summary: One week after a quiet kiss in the dark changes the air between them, Elijah does something dangerous—he tries to be soft. Aaliyah finds two dozen roses in her private space and a blunt confession written in his hand. He doesn’t know how to do romance. She knows exactly how to make him sweat. Elias ruins everything. As usual.

Warnings: sexual tension, suggestive content, chaotic in-law energy, soft-but-still-street Elijah, teasing that borders on foreplay.

Valentine’s Day arrives without announcement.

A week after the night she rolled over in the dark and pressed a quiet kiss to his cheek.

A week after he laid there stunned, half hard, staring at the ceiling like she’d just pulled a trigger he didn’t know she was holding.

No discussion.

No expectation.

No reminder on a shared calendar.

They never talked about that kiss.

But it’s been sitting between them ever since.

Aaliyah only clocks the date because the house feels different.

Not softer.

Not warmer.

Just charged. Like something shifted that night and never quite settled back into place.

Elijah left early that morning. Earlier than usual. No speech. No explanation. Just a nod, a quiet “lock the doors,” and he was gone.

He’s never been the flowers-and-chocolates type.

He’s the type that built an empire with his hands.

The type that learned quick that feelings get used against you.

The type that puts money first. Business first. Survival first.

Softness?

Softness wasn’t in the blueprint.

Aaliyah knows that.

She grew up around men like him. Men who were raised in noise and blood and pride. Men who speak in action because words feel like exposure. She knows how they move. Knows the way their shoulders tense when something matters too much. Knows how to read the silence between what they say and what they don’t.

Elijah isn’t cold.

He’s just not trained in gentle.

And that makes this interesting.

By late afternoon she drifts into her cubby space, her claimed corner of the house. The one place that answers to her. The air smells like lavender and warm electronics. Her monitors hum low. Everything in here makes sense.

When she opens the door that evening, she freezes.

Roses.

Two dozen.

Deep red. Almost black at the edges.

They’re not thrown around carelessly. They’re placed with intention. Along her desk. Near the window. Beside her monitors. He didn’t touch anything that mattered. Didn’t rearrange her system. Just added himself to it.

He was in here.

That alone does something to her chest.

On her keyboard sits a folded piece of black paper.

Her name written in his handwriting. Sharp. Straight. No curves.

She unfolds it.

The words are simple. No metaphors. No fake romance. Just him.

You don’t bow.

You don’t play small.

You don’t wait for permission.

I respect that.

You walk into rooms like you belong there.

Like you already know how it ends.

You think before you move.

You don’t scare easy.

You don’t flinch when men test you.

You don’t need saving.

You don’t ask to be carried.

You stand on your own.

I respect that too.

I’m not good with soft words.

So I’ll keep it simple.

I see you.

I want you here.

I chose you.

— E

Her throat tightens.

Chosen.

Not traded.

Not offered up.

Not negotiated like property.

Chosen.

Her fingers brush a petal. Real. Soft. Alive.

He bought these himself. She knows it. Elijah doesn’t send assistants for things that matter.

The door opens behind her.

She doesn’t turn right away.

“You moved my office clock,” he says.

Her lips twitch. “It was ugly.”

She turns.

He’s leaning in the doorway, black sweater, sleeves pushed up. Dark jeans. Fresh Air Forces clean enough to reflect light. Gold chain resting against his chest. One shoulder against the frame like he owns the whole damn house but isn’t rushing her inside it.

There’s that Mississippi swagger in him. Slow. Easy. Like nothing rattles him. Chin slightly lowered, eyes lifting when he wants them to. Calm. Controlled.

But she sees it.

The tightness in his jaw.

The way his thumb hooks under his chain.

The way he shifts his weight like he’s bracing for impact.

He’s uncomfortable.

Not weak.

Not unsure.

Just… exposed.

“You write poetry now?” she asks.

“It’s not poetry.”

“It looks like it.”

“It’s words.”

She steps closer.

“You bought flowers.”

“I own businesses.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His gaze flicks to the roses, then back to her. “I don’t do soft.”

“I know.”

“But I remember dates.”

Straightforward. No apology. No over-explaining.

He did it because he wanted to.

That’s it.

“You chose me?” she asks quietly.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No performance.

That answer hits harder than anything in the letter.

She steps into his space.

Close enough to feel his body heat.

Her fingers press lightly against his chest, testing him.

He doesn’t move back.

He doesn’t move forward either.

He just watches her.

Breathing even. Jaw tight once.

She smiles.

Teasing him is too easy.

“You’re tense,” she murmurs.

“I’m good.”

“You look like somebody handed you a loaded gun and told you to handle it gently.”

His mouth twitches.

Her fingers trail lower. Not innocent. Not explicit. Just enough.

He inhales slow.

She leans in, lips hovering near his jaw.

“Relax,” she whispers. “It’s just me.”

“Yeah,” he says low, that Mississippi drawl slipping out. “That’s the problem.”

She almost kisses him.

Almost.

Stops.

Lets her breath brush his skin instead.

His hands flex at his sides. He wants to grab her. Pull her in. Do something decisive.

But he’s holding himself back.

Because this isn’t the streets.

This is his wife.

And he’s still learning how to touch her without turning it into war.

The kitchen door slams open.

“YOOOOOO— why the hell it smell like a florist got assassinated in here?” Elias yells.

They separate fast.

Elias stands in the doorway, eyes wide, grin reckless.

“Oh nah. Oh hell nah.” He points between them. “Y’all was about to do some married-people freak shit without me present? In this house? Disrespectful.”

“Elias,” Elijah says flat.

“Don’t ‘Elias’ me,” he shoots back. “You bought flowers? For real? My brother? The same nigga who said romance is a liability? Who are you?”

Aaliyah bites back a laugh.

Elijah glares. “Leave.”

“I can’t leave,” Elias says, already grabbing a taco. “I live here spiritually. Emotionally. Financially. This my house when it’s convenient.”

“If you pull your phone out,” Elijah says calmly, “I’ll break it.”

“Worth it.”

Aaliyah laughs.

Not polite.

Not careful.

Real.

Elijah looks at her.

And that’s enough.

Elias squints. “Why y’all standing six feet apart like y’all just got caught dry-humping in church?”

“Get out,” Elijah repeats.

Elias backs out laughing. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sis-in-law. You got that man sweating.”

Door shuts.

Silence settles again.

Elijah exhales.

She lifts the note slightly. “You’re still bad at poetry.”

“I know.”

“But you tried.”

A beat.

“Yeah,” he says. “I did.”

And for a man like Elijah Moore, that’s bigger than roses.

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @mwahkae  @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @jeandoll@bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl @floralistic @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675

[gyattttsblog]

OMGGGGG

[theegoldenchild]

are we back on punishment?

No? Should I put you guys back on punishment???

[gyattttsblog]

I’m pouting like a kid being left home when they momma get her taxes BOOOO

[theegoldenchild]

Keep pouting and I’m doubling the punishment! 🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

[gyattttsblog]

[theegoldenchild]

are we back on punishment?

No? Should I put you guys back on punishment???

[gyattttsblog]

I’m pouting like a kid being left home when they momma get her taxes BOOOO

[milyillustrates]

HIM (2025)

Tyriq Withers/Cameron Cade

Dir. Justin Tipping

[kia-not-soul-deactivated2026042]

obsessed with this pic of him, his smile is too cute

[lalaleeiillaa]

“yeah i read a lot!”

“oh awesome! What books do you read?”

[kennaskorner]

No lies told

[iam-whoyouwantmetobe]

This is who is writing yall stories btw 🤭

[gyattttsblog]

[gyattttsblog]

Can someone pls write about Pearline like all I’m seeing is Annie 🙄. Did y’all not see that fine sexy ass feline eyed women ?!!!!!!

[consrkive]

finally edited stack 🙂‍↕️ bo is next

[gyattttsblog]

[lieutenantmilishepard-deactivat]

Pearline appreciation post because my girl hasn’t been getting enough attention.

Sammie really bagged a baddie for one night and made sure her memory lived on.

They would’ve been an awesome couple but unfortunately Sammie can’t have the woman of his dreams because FUCK YOU REMMICK.

[gyattttsblog]

LAWD

[gyattttsblog]

Can someone pls write about Pearline like all I’m seeing is Annie 🙄. Did y’all not see that fine sexy ass feline eyed women ?!!!!!!

[honeyybeyy]

“Don’t Get Cute, Baby.”

Smoke x blk reader

She could always tell when he was about to leavel.

It’d be subtle. He’d start locking eyes a little longer, holding her a little tighter. The touches didn’t disappear—they just got longer. Like he was saying sorry with not words but actions.

Marie hated it. Hated how he never said “I’m going.” He’d just disappear. No note, no message, no word. Three damn days this time. Three. No word. Nothing.

So, she waited. Nurtured the plants. Lit her incense. Curled her hair. Prayed. Then prayed harder. The last two nights she slept with one of his shirts, burying her face in it when she cried quiet tears she’d never admit to.

She wasn’t needy. She was devoted.

But by the time she heard his key turn in the lock, her hurt turned to anger and it had already settled in.

She didn’t get up from the couch. Didn’t turn down the music. Didn’t even glance his way.

Let him feel the quiet.

Let him earn his way back in.

“Elijah,” she said, finally, her tone like honey with a blade in it. “Three days?”

He paused in the doorway. She didn’t have to look at him to know how he was standing: tall, shoulders loose, like the devil never touched him. He’d probably just come from wherever he went when he was being ‘Smoke’ instead of her Elijah.

“Had some business,” he said.

Marie turned her head now, real slow. “You got fingers, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Watch it Marie, you know I have to handle business”

“It don’t take nothin’ to let me know you still alive.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You got time for all that shadow business but not even a text?”

He stepped further in, dropping his jacket on the arm of the couch.

“You gettin’ worked up over nothin’.”

“Oh, so I’m dramatic now?”

He looked at her, that signature calm settling behind his eyes. “I ain’t say all that. But you trippin.”

Something in her snapped.

“I’m trippin because I wanna know if my man is alive?.” She stood now, the scarf falling from her shoulder, curls bouncing with every word. “You walk in here like I’m supposed to open my arms and kiss you and forget that I was out my mind thinkin’ maybe you were dead. That somebody finally got the drop on you. That you weren’t comin’ back.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Calm. Dangerous.

And maybe that’s what did it.

“I don’t wait around for no man like I don’t got nothin’ else goin’ for me. I chose to be here. Chose you. But if this is how it’s gon’ be—”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Because Elijah crossed the room in three slow steps, and suddenly she was staring up at him, chest rising and falling, heart pounding. And his hand came up—not rough, not soft, but firm—gripping her jaw just enough to stop her in her tracks.

“You done?” he said, low.

Her breath caught. She blinked.

He leaned in, his voice brushing against her ear like silk. “You wanna be mad, be mad. I get it. But don’t you ever raise your tone at me like that again.”

She shivered.

“We talk, Marie. You mad? You tell me. But don’t get cute with me. You forget who you talkin’ to? I’m not gonna argue with you, you say you want me to check in that’s what I’ll do.”

His thumb dragged along her bottom lip, slow. She felt herself melt, hated it, loved it.

“Say what you need to say. But keep it real. You start actin’ brand new, we gon’ have a different kind of night.”

Marie looked up at him. The tears she fought were close, but she wouldn’t let them fall.

“I just missed you,” she whispered.

His expression softened, only a little.

“I know,” he said. “But don’t let that turn into you talkin’ reckless. You too good for that.”

He kissed her—deep and slow and anchoring. She gripped the hem of his shirt, grounding herself in his presence.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “You got a smart mouth, baby. I let it slide ‘cause you soft everywhere else. But don’t push it.”

“I wasn’t tryna be smart,” she said, quietly. “I concerned.”

That got him.

He wrapped her up in his arms, tight, like he was trying to erase the space between them. She curled into him, fists pressed against his chest.

“I’ll do better,” he murmured into her curls. “But don’t ever think I ain’t comin’ back to you.”

She sniffed. “You promise?”

Elijah pulled back just enough to look in her eyes.

“I don’t promise. I prove.”

And somehow, Marie knew—that was the closest he ever came to saying “I love you.”

[gyattttsblog]

I’m mugging tf outta him and giving him the silent treatment! Bcuz the nerve of this nigga.