Pretty as a Magnolia Masterlist
Part One
Part Two
Part Three (coming soon)
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Peter Solarz

blake kathryn
trying on a metaphor
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
NASA
art blog(derogatory)
d e v o n
$LAYYYTER
Game of Thrones Daily

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JVL
YOU ARE THE REASON

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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Claire Keane
Cosimo Galluzzi
RMH

@theartofmadeline

seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States
@sinners4ever
Pretty as a Magnolia Masterlist
Part One
Part Two
Part Three (coming soon)
Imagine the 11th Doctor finding out youâre a science geek.
You hadnât meant to let it slip.
The conversation had started innocently enough. One minute, the Doctor was waving his sonic at a wall of crystalline rock on some distant moon, and the next he was rambling at approximately a thousand words a minute about temporal radiation.
Most people would have smiled and nodded. You corrected one of his calculations. The Doctor froze. Slowly, he lowered the device.
ââŚWhat?â
You blinked. âYour estimate was off by about three percent.â
His eyes widened. âNo.â
âYes.â You pointed at the display. âThe decay rate changes because the particles are interacting with the moonâs magnetic field.â
The Doctor stared. Then his face lit up with the kind of delight you rarely ever saw when you divulged your interest in various sciences.
âOh, youâre clever.â Before you could respond, he grabbed your sleeve and practically dragged you down the corridor. âCome on.â
âWhere are we going?â
âThe library.â
âThe TARDIS has a library?â
âThe TARDIS has seven libraries, well, last I checked.â
You barely had time to process that before he launched into questions.
âNuclear physics. How much do you know? Wait, no, donât answer that. Psychology too? Philosophy? Any biology? Astrophysics? Ooh, tell me youâve got opinions about consciousness.â
You laughed. The Doctor looked genuinely excited. The kind of excitement that came from finally finding someone who wanted to talk about the things he loved. You could relate.
Hours disappeared. Or maybe days. Time got fuzzy in the TARDIS. You found yourselves sprawled across the floor of a library, surrounded by books and holographic displays. One discussion became another. Nuclear energy led to ethics. Ethics led to free will. Free will led to consciousness. Consciousness somehow led to whether the universe itself could be considered alive.
âIn my defense,â he said while pacing in front of you, âIâve only had about nine hundred years to think about this.â
âAnd yet your argument still has holes in it,â you teased.
He gasped dramatically. âHoles?â
âYou heard me.â
âRude.â
The Doctor grinned. For a moment, the endless movement stopped. No running from monsters, or saving planets, or any other crises to manage. Just conversation between two like minded individuals on topics they shared an equal amount of passion in.
The Doctor settled beside you, still smiling. âYou know,â he said quietly, âmost people think all this stuff is boring.â
âI donât.â
âNo.â His grin softened. âYou really donât.â
And judging by the look on his face, that might have been one of his favorite discoveries in the universe.
For anon
Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-ivy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @womenyesplease
Eleventh Doctor: @randomfandomimagine, @keepfloatingaway, @thegalaxysyst3m, @casserole-from-dads-asserole, @little-bean99, @littlefoxgirl-13, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @storytelling-timelord, @chaos-and-food, @callsigncrash, @mxacegrey, @itsezekielbabe, @lokabrenna0801, @m-rae23, @geekyandgay98, @magpie6322, @k-slater, @scriptershifter
I know this isnât a story but please help me out!!!
Hi, my name is Jerica, and Iâm the founder of The Divine Daughter Co., a ⌠Jerica Anderson needs your support for Help Launch Heauxasis: Fai
Iâm stepping out on faith and asking for support đâ¨
My name is Jerica. Iâm 29, a mother of two little girls, a student working toward becoming a medical assistant, and a new entrepreneur building my brand from the ground up.
I created The Divine Daughter Co. because as a mother, I know how easy it is to lose yourself while pouring into everyone else. I wanted to create a brand that reminds women â especially mothers â that we still deserve softness, confidence, beauty, rest, and self-care.
The Divine Daughter Co. will provide intentional self-care products like body oils, scrubs, body butters, candles, affirmation mugs, journals, and more. But the beginning of this journey starts with my first summer launch:
Heauxasis: Fairy Dust Collection â¨
A body shimmer oil collection created to help women feel glowing, feminine, radiant, and confident in their skin.
I started a GoFundMe to help bring this vision to life. Donations will help with ingredients, bottles, labels, packaging, product photos, vendor materials, and launch supplies.
Even if you canât donate, sharing the link helps more than you know. Every donation, every share, every word of encouragement helps me get one step closer to building something beautiful for myself, my daughters, and women who need to remember their shine.
Thank you for supporting my dream đâ¨
#TheDivineDaughterCo #Heauxasis #FairyDustCollection #BodyShimmerOil #SmallBusinessOwner #BlackOwnedBusiness #Mompreneur #SelfCareBrand #WomenInBusiness #SupportSmallBusiness
â´ď¸ GLOWING STAR DIVIDERS
ďž Please reblog & credit if you use!
For different colors just send me an ask please!
WHEAT
SHADOW
PINK SKY
SPRING TIME
ICE COLD
The Language of Love
Warning: Smut
Summary: A creature born to chains and cruelty learns the language of love through the patience of the one person who showed him kindness.
For later đĽ°
â art nouveau
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Should I write more HOTD fanfiction? Itâs been about two years since Iâve written any and I honestly miss I just lost inspiration after a while.
Audiodrama Sunday - Bit of a vampire theme today
Dracula: The Danse Macabre - This Dracula-AU has the sort of pristine sound design I expect from Jeffrey Nils Gardner and engaging storytelling I expect from Gabriel Urbina. Fans of the original will enjoy the little references and hopefully spot the nice little twist at the end, and those not familiar with the Dracula canon will get to enjoy a great horror story. Mina/Lucy shippers will find lots of fodder for your AO3 fics, and people who hate the way Mina's agency is removed by some interpretations should really enjoy this one. Score was great too.
My one small niggle is a side character (Father Sheridan) with a bit of an "Oirish" accent, which made my Salford-Irish catholic side twitch - I suspect this is because the show is a two-hander with the main VAs playing all the parts, so I can forgive this because of the constraint - not everyone can be an accent chameleon. For a full cast show though, with so many great Irish voice actors out there, it shouldn't be necessary to do this any more, especially if you can pay your VAs. If you want to know more about the diversity of Irish accents, me and my friend Niall have made this handy resource:
Not Quite Dead - More amazing work from Eira. I loved Spirit Box Radio and Not Quite Dead is equally intense and poignant. As in previous work, NQD has sensitive and gentle portrayals of queerness, anxiety and mental illness interspersed with emotive horror. I don't often see immunology references in audiodramas, nice⌠The Occurrence in River Oaks - A classic tale of "otherworldly presence invades small town America and the capitalist military industrial complex decides to try and profit from it with predictable results". The main characters are all cops, but at least they're the mostly decent local kind who have a close relationship with their community. Excellent monster sound design, very unsettling, nicely bingeable length to keep me going during my day.
Englewood After Dark - Love to see the podcast within a podcast encountering the local creeping horrors done well. The two leads playing Finn and Eve have a really good chemistry with each other too, which can make or break this sort of thing. Looking forward to the next series.
đđŻđđ đ˛đŠđ: đđŁ đđŹđłđ˘ đđŤđĄ đđĽđŹđŻđŤđ°
[Masterlist / Taglist]
Paring: Vlad, Count Dracula X Fem!reader
Warnings: Kinda enemies to lovers?, reader has a surname, angst; angst-heavy relationship conflict, mention of death, slow burn, pregnancy, religious guilt, war, mention of murder and violence, smut (specifics will be listed in each chapter) may add more as I write!
Wc: 11.2K
Status: [In progress]
Summary: Long before Vlad Tepes became the monster feared for centuries, he was a man of flesh, bone⌠and soul. A warrior devoted to God and to his homeland, whose heart burned more fiercely for vengeance and war. But his fate changed the day he saw her: a young noblewoman, indulgent and headstrong. He, a prince hardened by battle. She, a rose grown among thorns. And yet, love was born amidst the clash of steel and a court riddled with betrayal.
First things first letâs get one thing straight: this is a work of fiction. While some characters and settings may be loosely inspired by real figures and places, the events described here are not to be taken as historical fact. Iâve woven bits of history together with imagination, taking creative liberties wherever the story demanded and then some!!!
YOU DON'T LIFT A FINGER
She reached, he correctedâDiana knew better.
The house was too quiet without him.
Stack had only stepped out backâjust a minute, heâd saidâbut the silence sat heavy on Dianaâs shoulders. She perched on the velvet couch, hands folded like a child waiting for scolding. The covenâs house felt too big, too sharp, all shadows and chandeliers, and she hated sittinâ there doinâ nothinâ while he carried every burden on his back.
Her mama had raised her better than that.
So when her eyes landed on the tray by the counterâempty glasses, crumbs from Stackâs last smoke session with his menâher chest swelled with determination. Ainât no harm in cleaninâ up, right?
She slipped off the couch, skirts swishinâ quiet as she padded barefoot across the kitchen tile. Took the tray in her hands, careful as could be. Sheâd just rinse it off, set it to dry, andâ
The air shifted.
Before she could blink, a heavy hand landed on her hip. And thenâcrack!
A sharp sting bloomed across her backside, heat flarinâ up through her body so quick her knees damn near buckled.
Diana gasped, tray clattering into the sink, water splashing up her arm. âMuffin!â
His voice came low behind her ear, thick with that Southern grit, rough as gravel and sweet as sin. âDidnât I tell you, babygirl? Didnât I tell you donât lift a finger in this house?â
Her face burned, equal parts shame and somethinâ hotter, and she tried to twist in his grip. âI was justâjust cleaninâ up, Iââ
Crack! Another spank, firmer this time, makinâ her whimper.
âYou donât just nothinâ.â His palm lingered, heavy and possessive against the curve of her ass, thumb pressing into her hip like he was markinâ her. âYou think I want my baby washinâ dishes? Pickinâ up crumbs like some maid?â
Her breath shuddered out. âI was tryinâ to help, muffinâŚâ
Stackâs chest pressed to her back, solid, unmovinâ. His mouth brushed the shell of her ear, words a low growl. âYou help me by stayinâ soft. By stayinâ safe. Thatâs your job, babygirl. You hear me? Nothinâ else.â
She nodded quick, trembling under his grip. His hand slid up her spine, slow, until he had her chin tipped back, eyes forced up to his. That burninâ blue stare stripped her down to nothinâ.
âSay it,â he demanded. âIâI hear you,â she whispered.
His mouth curled, half-smirk, half-warning. âGood girl. Now keep your pretty ass where I put you. Or next time, I wonât stop at two.â
(First time posting here, fingers crossed yâall like it!)
Black Women in Period Costumes
So to everyone who is a fan of my Sinners fanfictions. I was wondering since Iâm working on a series for Stack. Should I create one for Smoke. Smoke the silent but ready for war type that I love deeply? And if so engage with me tell me some concepts youâd like to see? Iâm interested in you guyâs thoughts?
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Too many ideas, too little timeđĽ˛
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Where Thereâs Smoke, Thereâs Fire
Pairing: Elijah âSmokeâ Moore x Black Fem! Oc
Content|Warning(s): 18!Plus, p in v penetration, oral fem receiving x oral male receiving, voyeurism, cancelled date night, angst, surprise visit, rough, passion, hair pulling, conference call etcâŚ
Summary: Smoke was always a busy man, but always made time for Nalani, but something came up and there was a change of plans. That didnât sit well with her. Usually being spoiled and showered with his love she decided to pay him a surprise visit. She was going to get his attention one way or another.
Rosemary | Jealous Meanie!Price catches !reader at the bar with a guy her age.
cw: +18 mdni, smut with plot, no use of y/n, daddy kink (icky (use of daddy & dad)), softdom!Price, dad bf!Price, age gap (obvi, reader mid-late 20s, early 40s Price), jealous!Price, mating press, (lite) chocking, no protection, creampie, fingering.
In all actuality, Price didnât like being jealous. (Most people donât). In fact, he really hated it, the gross feeling, the irritation building up, his grip on the whiskey tightening. All the annoyance he felt towards the prick who was standing in front of you.
And to do it in his favorite pubâ where everyone knew him. The idiot was asking for it.
He was angled right across from you, youâd went to talk to your friend who was bartender and then this boy, walked up in a free spot beside you. And your face practically lit up when you met eyes with him, gave him a side hug and sparked up conversation.
He had to be about your age if you knew him, John couldve just waved it off as friendship, sure. Maybe hr was being to overprotective, an old jealous fuck of his baby girl. But itâs the way the bloke looked you up and down while you leaned against the bar, took in every curve, the way your shorts hugged your hips and your ass, the shirt that showed a little bit of your stomach every time you so much as shifted, the way you gave him a small smile.
You were a beautiful creature, John doesnât get surprised when men or women come to covet you. But anyone with sense knew you were Johns, everyone knew the way you looked at each other, couldnât get enough of each other. And youâre so nonchalant, quickly dissing people or rejecting them. It eased Johns quickened heart. It was just- at times like this, times when you giggled and playfully punched the guys shoulderâ Price couldnât tell if you were receiving the signals the the guy was trying to give you, properly ignoring them, or simply flirting back to piss him offâ
Jesus- no, calm down Price. He took a deep breath, eyes flickering to the tv playing a football game, but he couldnât hear the noise of the bar anymore nor the announcer breaking down the last play. Just give her time. She can handle yourself. Heâd wait.
Five minutes. Only five minutes.
You could handle yourself, Price raised you right. You squinted a few times, a confused look on your face, really trying to get a good look at your friend, Elijah. He was an old co-worker whoâd you gotten close with. But maybe his close was different from yours.
âI was thinkin [+],â Elijah starts up again, you give him a smile, âMaybe you and I, could get out of here. Really catch up. One on one.â
You blinked. Once. Twice. This was what allll those corny jokes were about. The way he kept trying to get close and whisper in your ear.
You gave him a remorseful look, pointing towards the bearded, muscular man whoâs blue eyes were already on youâ made the heat rise under your cheeks, ends of your plump lips uncontrollably curving upwardâ âMy man is over there so.â Iâm taken. Very obviously taken.
Elijahâs eyes flicker toward John, scoffs, cocks a brow at you, âHeâs a bit old for you, no? Iâm not so sure he can handle a pretty thing like yourself.â
For later lol
Mouthfuls & Moans đ°
Modern!au Elias âStackâ Moore X Maya Coleman
Word Count: 4.8k
Authors Note: While i love Uncle Stack, i had to give him some loving too. His fine ass deserves it. Smoke can't be the only one outchea gettin' some cooze. đ¤Let me know if you guys want more of Stack and Maya. (I can give her a face claim and make them a lil 2-3 part series). Gotta love Stack's slick talkin', charming ass personality. I'd allow him to talk me into some shit I won't lie to you. Anyways enjoy, my freaky frogs. Prompts and storyline suggestions are welcome btw.
The sunlight spills through the blinds in lazy stripes, wrapping the room in honey and heat. The sheets are a tangle of skin and cotton, kicked low and wrinkled from the night before. Maya stirs first, her eyes still heavy, body sore in the best kind of way. She blinks at the ceiling for a moment, the silence between her and the world thick with peace.
Stack is still asleep beside her, sprawled out on his stomach, the covers barely covering his waist. One arm hangs off the side of the bed, and the other lies heavy where she used to be. His face is turned toward her pillow, lips parted, breathing slow. Maya takes a second just to look at him. At the tattoos crawling up his back, at the way his shoulder rises and falls like heâs floating. Still, solid, and hers.
She slips out of bed as quietly as she can, the floor cool under her bare feet. Her legs ache a little when she stands â a sweet, stinging reminder of how good he was to her last night. Her lips twitch into a private little grin as she crosses the room and grabs his shirt off the floor. Itâs soft and oversized, swallowing her curves and smelling like his skin. She doesnât bother with underwear. Let him see.
In the kitchen, the lightâs a little brighter. Itâs the kind of morning where the clock doesnât matter, where the only thing she needs is something sizzling on the stove and a man watching her like sheâs the last bite of something sacred.
Maya moves like sheâs done this a hundred times â because she has. Bacon in the skillet. Eggs cracked into a bowl with a flick of her wrist. A leftover peach sliced on the counter. She hums something soft under her breath, old R&B she canât name right now, hips swaying in time. The hem of Stackâs shirt brushes against her thighs as she reaches for the pepper. The grease pops in the pan and she barely flinches.
Behind her, floorboards creak. She doesnât have to turn around.
âYou cookinâ in my shirt again?â Stackâs voice rumbles behind her and it's gravel low, thick with sleep.
Maya smirks to herself before glancing over her shoulder. âAnd? You complaininâ?â
Heâs standing there with no shirt, sweatpants riding low on his hips, his waist and v-line looking like he was sculpted by a God. His soft brown eyes locked on her like he just remembered why he breathes. His hair is slightly tousled, mouth still half kiss-swollen, and that look he gives her? It slides straight down her spine.
Stack steps behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, his chest warm against her back. She melts into him like muscle memory. His lips graze her neck, his breath lazy and hot.
âYou tryna start somethinâ,â he mutters, voice half a warning, half a promise.
âIâm cookinâ,â she says innocently.
âYou cookinâ, but you ainât got no drawers on,â he murmurs, dragging his palm down the front of her thigh, slipping it between. âSo who you tryna feed first?â
She bites her lip, grinning, but says nothing. Instead, she rocks her hips back against him, just enough to feel the weight of him thickening behind her.
âOh, aight,â Stack breathes, kissing her shoulder. âSo we doinâ this now?â
âI mean,â she says softly, âyou the one pressinâ up on me like this. Iâm just mindinâ my skillet.â
Stack chuckles low in his throat, that sound he makes when heâs halfway between amused and turned on. Mixed with Lust and Thunder. His hands dip under the hem of the shirt, thumbs brushing over her hips.
Maya gasps, caught between a laugh and a moan. âStackââ
âShh,â he breathes against her neck, guiding her forward until her hands brace against the counter. âLemme eat first.â Fumbling forward, Maya flicks off the stovetop. The burning between her legs was enough.
He doesnât waste time. One smooth motion and heâs inside her, thick and slow and all the way. Mayaâs mouth falls open, a soft cry caught in her throat. She braces herself with both hands, knuckles white against the edge of the stove as he fills her inch by inch.
âYou always so ready for me,â he whispers, teeth grazing her earlobe. âLike you waitinâ for this.â
âI was cookinâ,â she breathes, hips already grinding back against him.
âYou still are,â he says, sliding deep again, letting the drag of him make her tremble. âJust⌠different kind of heat.â
His pace is lazy but deliberate, every thrust pushing her forward just a little. Not hard, but deep, rolling into her like heâs carving his name into the place that pulses for him. Mayaâs eyes flutter shut, lips parting as she melts around him. The veins of his shaft memorizing the intricate pathways inside of her.
âElias,â she moans, head tilting back against his shoulder.
âThatâs it,â he grunts, gripping her hips tighter. âGive me that.â
He keeps one hand wrapped around her waist while the other slides between her thighs. His fingers stroke her just right, slow and steady, in sync with the rhythm of his body inside hers. Sheâs already on the edge, the way he knows her, the way he moves inside her like he owns the floor she stands on. Itâs too much and not enough.
Her orgasm crests with a soft sob, her body seizing around him. Stack curses under his breath, his own release not far behind. He presses deep, grinding into her with a final, drawn-out thrust before stilling.
They stand there for a long breath, the scent of sex and sizzling bacon wrapping around them. Maya finally breaks the silence with a breathless laugh.
âYou really let this bacon burn,â she says, looking over her shoulder at him.
Stack kisses the side of her neck and says, âIâll make pancakes. Just keep that shirt on.â
Maya finally makes it to the couch with her plate in hand, legs curled beneath her, skin still humming from earlier. Sheâs cleaned up, barely. Stackâs shirt now clings to her like itâs made for her curves, but her hairâs still wild, her neck still flushed. She donât mind. Sundays were made for this kind of softness.
The TV is on but low. An old sitcom rerun theyâve both seen a dozen times playing in the background. She laughs to herself at the jokes before they even land, mouthing the punchlines with lazy affection.
Stack comes strolling in a few minutes later, sweatpants back to riding low, a bottle of water in one hand and that smug, dimpled grin in full bloom.
âYou coulda waited on me,â he says, nodding toward her plate.
âYou coulda not bent me over the stove,â she tosses back, licking syrup from her finger.
âMmm,â Stack drawls, eyes dropping to her mouth, âbut then I wouldnâtâve started my morning right.â
He drops down beside her like he owns the whole couch. Arms stretched out, legs wide, his thigh brushing hers. One look at him and Maya already knows heâs feeling himself. Relaxed. Turned on by nothing and everything.
She keeps eating. Or tries to. But his eyes donât leave her. They flick from her mouth to her thighs to the way his shirt barely covers the place he just left.
âYou real quiet,â she says between bites, side-eyeing him.
âIâm watchinâ you,â he says, low and easy.
âFor what?â
Stack leans in slow, voice thick with syrup and intent. âTryna decide if I want dessert now or after you get done beinâ cute.â
Maya snorts. âI am done beinâ cute. Thatâs permanent.â
He grins, sliding closer. âThatâs why you got my shirt stretched out like that? Wearinâ it like it ainât doin things to me?â
She lifts a brow but doesnât back down. âYou said keep it on.â
âAnd I meant that,â he murmurs, brushing his thumb across her knee. âI just ainât say Iâd keep my hands off you.â
Maya exhales slow, her fork pausing mid-air.
Stack keeps touching, slow circles on the soft inside of her thigh, fingers trailing closer but not quite close enough. Just under the hem. Just high enough to keep her body paying attention.
âYou playinâ,â she warns softly, eyes narrowing as she tries to keep cool.
âNah,â he says, âyou playinâ. Walking âround in my shit, smellinâ like vanilla, brown sugar and sex, sittinâ over there actinâ like I ainât got a whole hand on your thigh right now.â
âYou tryna be funny.â
Stack laughs, low and rich. âIâm tryna be patient. But youâre real close to losinâ that privilege.â
He drags his fingers up just an inch, grazing her where sheâs still tender and then pulls away entirely, like itâs nothinâ.
Maya gasps and glares. âOh, youââ
âWhat?â he interrupts, stretching back with his arms behind his head like he didnât just light her nerves on fire. âI ainât do nothinâ. Just appreciatinâ my girl.â
She sets the plate down, eyes locked on him now, jaw clenched in mock offense.
âI should slap you,â she says.
Stackâs dimple deepens. âYou should thank me for the restraint Iâm showinâ right now.â
Maya doesnât answer. She just throws a pillow at him. Stack catches it mid-air with one hand, then tosses it to the floor like he got better things to hold.
âYou mad?â he teases.
âIâm heated.â
He leans in again, this time slow and low, his voice a whisper only meant for her. âGood. Stay like that for me.â
She breathes in, steady but shallow. Her skin is buzzing. Every inch of her feels stretched thin with want, and Stack knows it. He leans back again, casual like nothing just passed between them. Like he didnât just dangle her over the edge without offering a damn thing to hold onto.
âYou ever get tired of yourself?â she asks, watching him with narrowed eyes.
âNope,â he says, biting into a piece of her peach from her plate. âAnd I never get tired of you.â
Maya shifts beside him, thighs pressing together. Her lips curve upward, not quite a smile, but something softer â something that says she likes this game more than sheâll admit.
Stack notices. He always does.
âYou need somethinâ?â he asks, brushing peach juice off his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
She tilts her head. âYou know I do.â
He nods like heâs got all the time in the world. âMm. Iâma let you simmer a little longer. Make you feel it.â
She bites her lip to keep from smiling, turning back toward the TV like sheâs over it but Stack knows better. Her breathingâs changed. Her skinâs warm.
His voice slips back into the space between them like a secret: âWhen I do touch you again, I want you begginâ. Real soft. Real needy. You remember how?â
Maya doesnât answer, not out loud. But the way her hand curls into the couch cushion says enough.
Stack disappears into the bedroom for a few minutes after breakfast, claiming he needs to grab his rolling tray and decompress. Maya doesnât argue. She just curls deeper into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a satisfied little smirk on her lips. Her plateâs empty, and her bodyâs still thrumming from his hands, his mouth, his damn voice.
But now itâs her turn.
She hears the familiar flick of the lighter before she sees him â the soft click of glass against wood as he sets the tray down on the coffee table and sinks into the couch beside her again. Stack leans back, spreading out with that lazy, lion-stretch swagger, a freshly lit joint between his fingers.
âSee,â he exhales, smoke curling up from his mouth, âthis what Sundays for.â
Maya watches the smoke drift lazily toward the ceiling. âThat your way of sayinâ you tapped out?â
âNah,â Stack says smoothly, âthatâs my way of sayinâ Iâm coastinâ. Letting the day breathe.â
She hums. âMmm. So you pacinâ yourself.â
âExactly.â
Maya nods, pretending to accept that like it makes sense. But sheâs already plotting.
Stack shifts, one arm over the back of the couch, the joint between his fingers glowing soft orange. He closes his eyes for a second, lets the smoke roll out slow through his nose, and when he opens them again sheâs moved.
Not far. Just turned toward him, knees folded beneath her now, hands tucked under her thighs. The oversized shirt sheâs wearing dips low on one side, slipping farther down her shoulder. Just enough for him to notice.
She cocks her head. âYou high already?â
âNah,â he murmurs, still cool. âGettinâ there though.â
âMm,â she says, voice dropping low. âI like when you high. You get even more laid-back. But real sensitive, too.â
Stack lifts a brow at her. âOh yeah?â
She nods slowly, licking her bottom lip just a little. âLike⌠touch-starved. Always tryna feel somethinâ. Soft palms and deeper strokes. You know what Iâm talkinâ about.â
His eyes narrow slightly, amused. He drags the joint again, real slow this time, not breaking eye contact.
Maya leans in closer, voice syrupy now. âI bet you could barely hold it together if I sat on your lap right now. All warm and slick with no panties on. Just settle right over you and grind a little. Soft, slow⌠Like I ainât even tryna do nothinâ crazy.â
Stackâs jaw tightens, just for a flash. Thatâs how she knows sheâs in his head now.
âIâd sit just right,â she purrs. âChest to chest. Arms around your neck. Just rockinâ my hips real sweet. Sayinâ nothinâ. Lookinâ you dead in the eyes. Until you canât hit that joint no more.â
Stack chuckles, but it comes out rougher than usual. He exhales hard through his nose, then glances at her out the side of his eye. âYou feelinâ bold today.â
âIâm just observant,â Maya says innocently, twirling a piece of her hair. âYou get real quiet when you tryna focus. Your hand grip the couch like thisââ she imitates him, curling her fingers into the cushion between them, ââand your breathing? Whew. Starts gettinâ all shallow. Little grunts. Real low. Like you strugglinâ.â
Stack shakes his head slowly, a crooked grin starting to bloom. âI swear, you gonâ get dealt with.â
âIâm countinâ on it,â she teases, giggling now.
He brings the joint to his lips again, but his hand hovers just a second too long. Like heâs remembering how she sounded in the kitchen. How she tightened around him. How she begged in that sweet little voice she only pulls out when she wants something real bad.
Maya watches him struggle with the hit, eyes glossy from the smoke and something else.
She leans in close, whispering in his ear, âBet if I dropped this shirt right now, youâd be fully hard in ten seconds flat.â
âYou assuminâ Iâm not already,â Stack mutters, voice rough, lips curling at the edges.
She laughs loud at that, falling back into the cushion beside him, satisfied.
âAwww, poor baby,â she coos mockingly, brushing her hand down his thigh. Not close enough to touch anything vital, but enough to remind him sheâs right there.
He doesnât flinch. Just turns to her, joint forgotten now, gaze heavy and slow.
âYou like talkinâ all that mess,â he says, reaching for her ankle and pulling her legs across his lap. âYou gonâ regret runninâ that mouth.â
âPromise?â she whispers.
Stack runs his hand up her shin, past her knee, grazing the soft skin on the inside of her thigh again, not teasing this time; just claiming. His fingers press into the plush curve just before it gets good.
Maya bites her bottom lip and watches him, all that confidence flickering behind her lashes.
But Stack doesnât move further. Doesnât press harder. He leans in instead, kissing the spot below her ear, speaking low into her skin.
âIâm not touchinâ you again âtil you beg for real. And when I do⌠I ainât stoppinâ âtil your legs give out.â
Maya shivers. Real, deep, and this time, sheâs the one trying to hold still.
He grins against her skin, satisfied.
The afternoon drifts by slow. After all the teasing and playful heat, they find themselves back in the bed, tangled under the fan with the curtains drawn against the high sun. The TV is still humming in the other room, but neither of them cares. Their limbs are wrapped tight, legs overlapping, Mayaâs head resting just beneath Stackâs chin.
He dozes with one arm beneath her, the other draped heavy across her waist. His breathing is calm, warm against her forehead, like his bodyâs still claiming her even in sleep.
Maya stirs sometime after five. The light in the room is golden now, softer, slower. Her body is warm, her face pressed into Stackâs bare chest. She doesnât move right away. She just listens to the sound of his heart, steady and sure, and the faint clatter of pans in the distance?
Her eyes flick open.
Heâs not in bed.
She smiles softly before she even lifts her head. The smell hits her next; garlic, onion, something buttery and rich floating in from the kitchen. She stretches slow, sore in the hips, then slides out of bed, one of his shirts still clinging to her frame.
Maya pads barefoot into the kitchen and stops just short of the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the frame.
Stack stands at the stove, barefoot and shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His back is to her, muscles shifting every time he stirs the sauce. A large pot of pasta is boiling beside him, steam rising like mist. The whole room smells like love. Herbs and olive oil, parmesan and cream.
He hums to himself, low and off-key, flipping something in a skillet like he does this every Sunday. And truth be told, he kind of does.
Maya watches in silence, chin propped against her fist as she rests it on the doorway. Itâs the casual confidence that gets her. The way he moves like he owns the space. The way he tastes as he cooks, licks his thumb, taps the spoon against the pot. Heâs fine, but itâs the quiet care that does her in. The way he never lets her lift a finger when heâs in this mode.
He senses her before she speaks. Turns slightly and grins without looking.
âYou always standinâ there like a creep,â he says, voice soft with amusement.
âIâm admirinâ,â she replies, eyes soft. âItâs different.â
âYou admirinâ, huh?â
âYup. Lookinâ at my man makinâ dinner like he ainât just been actinâ up all day.â
Stack turns fully now, the wooden spoon still in his hand. âI was mindinâ my business. You the one crawlinâ up on that couch talkinâ about grindinâ and begginâ and droppinâ shirts.â
Maya smirks. âI ainât do none of that. I just said it.â
Stack steps forward slowly, setting the spoon down on the counter. âThat mouth is dangerous. You know that?â
âSo Iâve been told.â
He pauses in front of her, looking her over from crown to toes like he hasnât been laid up in bed with her all day. His hand comes up to her chin, thumb brushing over her bottom lip.
âI ever tell you I love how you look when you just wake up?â he says, voice low and close.
She leans into his palm. âYou told me last week.â
âI mean it every time. You look all soft. Eyes sleepy. Mouth poutinâ. Makes me wanna kiss on you slow⌠or fuck you against the fridge.â
Maya laughs, cheeks warm. âYou really canât behave for more than ten minutes.â
âI am behavinâ,â he says, pulling her close by the waist. âAinât I in here cookinâ? Feedinâ my woman? Beinâ domestic and shit?â
âYou cookinâ, but your eyes over here undressinâ me.â
âThey undress you every time I blink,â he murmurs.
She giggles again, looping her arms around his neck. âYou smell good.â
âI smell like butter and sweat.â
âYou smell like you,â she says. âAnd you know what that does to me.â
Stack hums against her neck, planting a kiss just below her ear. âSay less. After dinner, Iâm puttinâ you to sleep properly.â
âOh?â she teases. âAnd what we been doinâ all day then?â
He grins against her throat. âThat was just foreplay.â
They eat at the table like theyâve got nowhere to be. Maya swirls her fork through creamy linguine while Stack grates fresh parmesan over both their bowls like itâs second nature. The conversation is light; laughter, soft jabs, long pauses where their eyes linger too long and the air starts to shift again.
She moans a little when she tastes the sauce, just to mess with him.
Stack watches her tongue swipe the corner of her mouth, jaw tight like heâs doing his best not to respond.
âYou makinâ sounds like that over pasta,â he says, âand wonder why I be on you every five minutes.â
âCanât help it,â she says, licking her fork slow. âShitâs good.â
He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low. âYou ainât seen nothinâ good yet.â
That heat? Itâs back. Curling between them like the steam rising off the plates. Heâs quiet for the rest of the meal, but the way he watches her eat says everything. His stare doesnât waver. Doesnât blink. Like heâs been pacing himself all damn day just for this.
By the time the dishes are rinsed and the tableâs cleared, Stack moves different. Slower. Focused. No more jokes. No more teasing.
He walks up behind Maya while sheâs wiping the counter and rests both hands on her hips. But his grip wasnât playful this time. It was Firm. Possessive.
âYou done beinâ cute?â he asks, voice husky in her ear.
She straightens slowly. âMaybe.â
Stack turns her gently to face him. His mouth brushes hers once softly, almost chaste; but his hands are already sliding up the backs of her thighs, under the hem of the shirt.
âGood,â he whispers. âIâm done playinâ with you.â
He lifts her without another word.
Mayaâs legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms looping around his neck. Her back hits the hallway wall with a soft thud, and Stack is already kissing her like he needs it. Deep, slow, lips parting hers until sheâs gasping into his mouth.
He grinds into her through his sweats, the heat between them unbearable.
âYou feel that?â he murmurs, dragging his lips across her cheek. âThatâs what you do to me. Walkinâ âround talkinâ nasty, actinâ like I wonât flip this fuckinâ whole apartment for you.â
âI wasnât actinâ,â she breathes.
âExactly.â
He carries her into the bedroom, drops her on the bed with care but purpose, and yanks the shirt over her head. She lies back, fully bare now, chest rising, legs spread just enough.
Stack doesnât pounce. Not yet.
He undresses slow. Peeling off the sweats, his body hard and ready. His eyes never leave hers.
Then he kneels on the bed and grabs her ankles, dragging her to the edge like sheâs already his. Because she is.
âYou want slow or rough?â he asks, settling between her thighs.
Mayaâs voice is soft but steady. âI want you. Please I need it.â
Thatâs all it takes.
Stack pushes in with one long, punishing stroke, and Maya arches off the bed with a cry. He doesnât give her time to adjust. He sets the pace immediately, deep, measured, with just enough pressure to make her toes curl.
His palm finds her throat, gripping with just enough force to ground her. His other hand presses her thigh open.
âLook at me,â he growls.
She does. Barely. That wasnât good enough for him.
âI said look at me.â His voice rumbles as he grips her throat a bit tighter.
âMmmâŚâ She whimpers as her gaze meets his.
âYou take it so good. Always open for me. Always ready.â
Her hands claw at his back as he rolls his hips harder now, dragging himself almost all the way out before slamming back in. The bed creaks. Her breath stutters. Her voice breaks.
âElias, fuck baby pleaseââ
âYeah,â he grunts. âSay my name like that. Let me hear you when Iâm in deep. Have my name drippinâ out your mouth while I work every spot I know drives you crazy.â
His thrusts pick up, smooth and devastating, rocking her against the mattress. Sweat beads on his forehead. Her nails leave trails down his back, her legs wrapping tight around his waist.
âSlow it down,â she whispers.
Stack obeys immediately. Not because she commands him, but because he listens. His strokes slow, but stay deep. He moves like heâs memorizing her shape. His lips fall to her shoulder, her collarbone, the space beneath her jaw.
âI love how you sound,â he whispers. âLove how you look when Iâm inside you. Eyes all glassy. Mouth open like you ainât even got words.â
She holds him tighter. Her hips rise to meet each stroke now, desperate for every inch.
âYou mine, Maya,â he breathes against her lips. âEvery inch of this body⌠this mouth⌠this pussy⌠mine.â
âYours,â she chokes, her voice breaking into moans. âAll yours.â
He groans deep in his chest and grabs her thigh, bending her leg higher, angling even deeper. Her body jerks with every thrust now, pleasure thick and pulsing between them.
âDaddy Gonâ make you cum hard,â he says. âReal deep. Real slow. Like Iâm pourinâ it outta you.â
Mayaâs close. Too close. The kind of build that aches, thick and blooming behind her ribs.
âDonât stop,â she whimpers.
âIâm not,â Stack whispers. âNot âtil you fall apart for me.â
She does. Mere seconds later.
It rolls through her like a wave. Slow and devastating, her whole body trembling as she cries out his name. Her nails dig deep. Her mouth parts on a sob. Stack keeps moving through it, strokes faltering only when he loses himself, burying deep with a groan that sounds like adoration.
They collapse into each other, breathless, damp, chests rising in sync.
Stack kisses her forehead, still inside her, still holding her like he wonât let her drift an inch away.
âI meant every word,â he whispers. âYou mine.â
Maya nods, voice barely there. âI know.â
The bedroom moves into a quiet lull, save for the sound of their breathing slowing down, syncing back to normal. The sheets are a mess. The air smells like sex, skin, and a whisper of his cologne that never fully fades.
Maya lies on her stomach, face buried in the pillow, body still twitching with aftershocks. Her legs are open, lazily draped across the bed, completely spent. Stack is sprawled beside her, arm tossed across her lower back, fingers idly tracing the curve of her spine like heâs still memorizing her, like he never wants to forget what just happened between them.
âDamn,â she murmurs into the pillow.
He chuckles low. âThat all you got to say?â
âThatâs all I can say,â she mumbles, lifting her head just enough to look at him. Her hairâs a wild halo around her face, lips swollen, eyes still a little unfocused. âYou be tryna rearrange my soul, âLias.â
He smirks, leaning in to kiss the top of her shoulder. âYou was begginâ for it.â
âAnd you delivered like Amazon Prime.â
Stack laughs out loud at that, deep and full, chest vibrating against her bare back.
âYou stupid,â he says, still grinning.
She rolls onto her side to face him, cheeks glowing, body flushed and beautiful. âYou keep fillinâ me up like that,â she says casually, brushing her fingers across his chest, âand we gonâ have a lilâ somebody runninâ âround here talkinâ about âDadaâ before the summerâs out.â
Stack blinks once, then raises a brow, clearly caught off guard, but only for a second.
âOh word?â he says, smirking again. âThat what you tryna do now? Trap me with a baby?â
Maya grins, biting her lip. âYou the one who donât pull out.â
âYou the one who tell me not to,â he shoots back.
âWell,â she shrugs, turning over to straddle him, hips resting low on his waist, âI like feelinâ you stay in it. Like all the way.â
His hands slide up her thighs, gripping her softly. âYou just like temptinâ fate.â
âMaybe,â she whispers, leaning down to kiss his jaw. âMaybe I want something to show for all this lovinâ.â
Stackâs eyes flicker, something serious swimming behind all that charm. His grip on her hips tightens just slightly, just enough to say I heard you.
âYou really wouldnât mind?â she asks quietly, softer now.
He meets her eyes dead-on. âMaya. If you carryinâ it? Iâd raise ten.â
She laughs, hiding her face in his neck. âOkay, now you tryna trap me.â
âToo late,â he says, flipping her gently onto her back again, crawling on top of her with that slow, smug smile. âYou been mine.â
They lie like that for a while, chest to chest, legs tangled, breath brushing breath.
âI like days like this,â Maya murmurs, fingers trailing down his back.
âMe too,â he says against her collarbone. âAll you, all day.â
She hums, eyes fluttering shut. âDonât ever let this be temporary.â
Stack kisses her slow. Long. Like a vow sealed with his mouth.
âIt wonât,â he promises. âIâm locked in.â
ââ
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divider: @saradika-graphics
"i-i'm so scared Smoke... i love you"
"this ain't no dead body.. this Stack... he stayin in here with me.."
"the best thing about me was him.."
"and i ain't doin this shit without you... there is no me without you.."
"last time i seen my brudda.. last time i seen the sun"
these lines still hit me so hard even after watching the movie 1000 times over. like why couldn't they just stay together forever???