#❐ : ❛❛ ​🇪​​🇽​​🇨​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​​🇬​​🇪​​ » elias little.

[theethighpriestess]

Baby Doll’s Sin

A/N: Here I am again, writing stuff that I’m not supposed to be working on. But y’all love me, so y’all will let me make it, right? 🤭 This was inspired by this post from @nahimjustfeelingit-writes who also helped with this filth. Thank you again, my baby! 💛

Characters: Elias “Stack” Moore, Sammie “Preacherboy” Moore, Pearline Jones

Warning(s): 18+, MDNI, Dirty talk, Oral (female receiving), Voyeurism, Stack being nasty ass Stack. This is nasty y’all.. Like, filth. Porn with a smidge of plot if you squint.

Word Count: 5.9K

Divider By: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

GIFs By: @oneiric-wanderlust

The juke joint hummed as folks from all over the Delta flocked to the opening night celebration. The infamous Smokestack Twins had returned home and opened their new joint, Club Juke, promising a night of freedom for their people after they’d worked tirelessly in the fields from sunup to sundown. Fresh catfish sizzled in hot oil while Irish beer, corn liquor, and Italian wine kept everyone loose and on the dance floor. Still, none of that mattered to Stack. His eyes were trained on one thing: Pearline Jones.

He’d been staring at the chocolate beauty since the moment Cornbread beckoned her in. He couldn’t get enough of how her dress hugged every inch of her body while her tight curls effortlessly framed her face. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he’d seen his fair share of women from the Delta, to Chicago, and even overseas. None of them compared to her.

She moved like honey on warm cornbread. Slow, sweet, and just a little sinful. When she laughed, it curved through the air and settled right in his chest like smoke. He was familiar with her type, quiet but not timid, sweet, but not soft. The kind of woman who ain’t never had nobody tell her she deserved to be worshipped. Not properly, anyway.

And Lord, how he wanted to be the one to do it.

He watched her like a predator stalking prey as she moved deeper into the room, even ignoring the pointed stare Smoke was giving from his spot at the top of the stairs. Stack was on a mission, and if he played his cards right, it would end with his name on Pearline’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only suitor hoping for a shot with the ebony goddess.

“You made it,” he heard Preacherboy call out as she stepped into his line of vision. She didn’t respond immediately; instead, she looked around the building, taking in the atmosphere of the former sawmill.

“When they turn this place into a juke?”

“Did it today. My cousins own it, you know the Twins.”

“Heard of ‘em, of course. They your cousins? Y’all must be play cousins,” she says jokingly.

“Their daddy was my daddy big brother.”

“So y’all cousins through blood? But you seem like such a nice young man.”

“I ain’t always nice. Ain’t that young, either,” Preacherboy replies matter-of-factly. Pearline sends him a sly smirk before sauntering ahead of him.

“You gone play?” she asks, standing with her back against one of the wooden poles in the center of the juke.

“You gone sing?” Preacherboy replies coolly, causing her to shrug.

“We’ll see where the night takes us,” she said, coy and knowing.

Sammie tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling.

“Your husband coming?”

Pearline shook her head no.

That was it.

That little gesture, that tiny nod, gave both men exactly what they needed. It cracked open the evening like a peach left out in the sun. Juicy, ripe, and ready for ruin.

Stack didn’t move. Not yet. He watched Sammie lick his lips, clearly ready to make his play when—

“Shit,” Sammie cursed low under his breath.

Stack followed his gaze to the front entrance, where a woman in a pink dress stood with her hands clutching her purse in front of her, scanning the crowd like a dog searching for its bone.

Mary.

Trouble.

Stack’s estranged lover with a memory like a ledger and a score to settle. She’d spotted him at the train station and must’ve come looking for blood.

“Hold on,” Sammie muttered, already half turned toward the door.

And just like that, Pearline was alone.

Stack rolled the toothpick in his mouth and slid out from behind the bar, smoothing a hand over the front of his vest. He moved slow, like a cat with a mouse already cornered. Pearline didn’t notice him at first. She was slowly winding her hips to the music, lips pursed in thought, eyes roaming the crowd without settling.

He stepped into her line of sight just as Delta Slim let out a moan that bent the whole room in half.

“You always leave men stammerin’ mid-sentence, or just the ones that think they special?” Stack asked, voice low and full of smoke.

Pearline looked up, surprise flickering across her features before her lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue.

“Depends who’s askin’,” she replied.

“I ain’t askin’ yet,” Stack said, pulling the empty chair beside her and settling into it without waiting for permission. “Just observin’.”

She arched one brow. “And what you observed so far?”

Stack smirked, leaning back. “That you too fine to be dancin’ alone.”

“Maybe I like it that way,” Pearline said, but her voice softened as her eyes dropped to his hands, his ring, the neat press of his collar. She wasn’t dismissing him. Not really.

“Nah,” he said. “You like to be chased.”

She laughed again, soft this time, almost to herself. “Then chase, Stack.”

There it was.

Invitation folded neatly inside a dare.

The tension pulled taut between them, thick as molasses. The crowd kept moving, oblivious to the game being played just off the dancefloor. Sweat rolled down Stack’s temple, but he didn’t wipe it. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on Pearline, like if he looked away, she might vanish. Like some men had dreamt her into existence and woke up empty.

And with that, she was gone, sauntering deeper into the juke and disappearing in the sea of bodies. Stack smirked behind her, already plotting on how he’d have her wrecked by the end of the night. The crowd swayed as Delta Slim tickled the keys of the piano, pouring all of his heart, soul, and maybe some of the Irish beer he’d gotten from Stack earlier in the evening into the song. Once it was over, he took another swig, standing to the applause of the crowd.

“I been hearin’ about this one particular young man all day. He ‘posed to be a bad blues man. Preacherboy, where you at?”

The crowd cheered as Sammie made his way to the stage, his guitar in hand.

“That’s my lil cousin, y’all. Watch this,” Stack called, shooting a knowing glance at Pearline once their eyes locked. His gaze sent a chill down her spine. Sammie starts strumming the guitar before he’s interrupted by Slim.

“Hold up, hold up. Tell ‘em who you are, where you from.”

“I’m Sammie Moore,” he says between guitar riffs. “I’m a sharecropper from Sunflower Plantation. They call me Preacherboy on account of my daddy being a pastor. I wrote this song for him.”

The crowd whistled and cheered as Sammie began to sing.

Somethin' I been wanting to tell you for a long time

It might hurt you, hope you don't lose your mind

Well, I was just a boy, 'bout eight years old

You threw me a Bible on that Mississippi road

See, I love ya, papa, you did all you could do

They say the truth hurts, so I lie to you

Yes, I lied to you, I love the blues

What happened next could only be described as a spiritual experience. Not a performance, not a song, but a summoning. Sammie’s voice rolled out like thunder dipped in molasses, thick and slow, calling down something old and sacred from the rafters. It wasn’t just music, it was memory. His chords vibrated through the floorboards and shot straight up folks’ spines, rattling bone and blood like church on a stormy Sunday. The blues spilled from his throat like a prayer cracked open in a sinner’s mouth, and when he strummed his guitar, it sounded like a soul trying to claw its way outta the cotton fields.

And the people. Lord, the people answered.

Men stomped with their eyes closed, women lifted their arms like they were offering up their pain. It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from. Whether you were a field hand, bootlegger, or seamstress, you felt it. For a moment, Club Juke was holy ground.

And in the center of it all, Pearline danced.

Not like the others. Not with hurried hips or drunken sway. She moved like water pulled by the moon. Like spirit possessed her feet and told her to remember who she was before her name was Pearline. Before she was wife, woman, mortal. She danced like her bones still knew something ancient.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t break her gaze from Preacherboy, not even once. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, deep and dark and glittering like polished onyx under lamplight. Sammie saw it, too. The way her silhouette curved like a question mark God Himself didn’t have the answer to. The way she didn’t beg for attention but commanded it all the same. It was as if they were caught in their own time loop, something older than the juke, older than blues itself.

Pearline turned, arms out, and the hem of her dress caught the air like wings. When she lifted her arms to the ceiling and closed her eyes, Stack could’ve sworn the room dimmed everywhere but around her. Like the light had made a choice. She was beauty, but not the kind that belonged to man. She was the kind you worshipped. The kind you buried tokens for. The kind you wrote songs about and never survived loving.

The room was hers.

The juke was hers.

Even the music bent to her.

She was the holy spirit in a room full of sinners, and Stack was waiting for his moment to be baptized in her waters.

“Ohhhhh shiiiiiiit. Preacherboy,” Pearline moaned breathlessly as Sammie feasted from her center, licking her cooze like it was a scoop of ice cream from downtown. Just like Stack taught him. He rolled his tongue skillfully over her button, gently suckling it into his mouth like he was trying to savor her. Up and down slowly, followed by a few quick flicks against her pearl. It drove Pearline insane.

And just outside the door, Stack listened. Proud and unashamed.

“Boy found that button, didn’t he?” he muttered under his breath, voice low and begrudgingly impressed. Still, pride alone didn’t settle the ache building in him. His manhood strained against the fabric of his slacks, making every twitch of his pulse feel like a reminder of what he wasn’t getting.

It was supposed to be him in there, making her toes curl, her nails dig into the flesh of his back, her voice trembling when she said his name. But instead, it was Sammie. Sammie was the one getting her to gasp like the world might end if he stopped. Sammie was the one tasting the sweetness Stack wanted to claim as his own.

Stack’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. He’d schooled Preacherboy, and now the boy was using that same knowledge on her.

Part of him wanted to kick that door open and remind them both who the real teacher was. The other part… the other part wanted to see if Sammie could keep her there. Wanted to know if Pearline’s cries for Preacherboy would match the ones she would give him once he got her alone.

The thought burned in his chest like liquor, half pride and half something darker.

“Hey, Smoke wants you.”

Grace.

The little Asian woman appeared just as Stack was about to force his way into the room, and if he were being honest, he thanked her for it. He knew all he needed was a little patience, and he’d have Pearline on her back before the sun came up.

“Check out my little cousin,” Stack called with a devilish grin before making his way to the upper deck. Grace pressed her ear against the closed door, moving it quickly once she realized what was taking place on the other side.

“Nasty ass,” she scolded silently, as she made her way back to the kitchen to help Annie with the next batch of catfish.

Pearline and Sammie adjusted their clothes before rejoining the crowd in Club Juke. They both silently prayed no one had noticed their absence, but fate wouldn’t be so kind.

“You know I taught him that, right?” Stack purred as his lips turned up into his signature smirk. Pearline hadn’t noticed him saunter next to her, skinning and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Taught who what?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, cocoa skin glistening from heat that wasn’t from the juke joint.

“Preacherboy. I taught him how to lick cooze and find the button. Happens to be my specialty. I could show ya if ya want?”

Pearline thought long and hard before answering again.

“Show me, then.”

That was all it took.

Stack stepped forward slowly, that crooked, sly grin with a single dimple spread across his full lips. The low-hanging light swung above their heads, catching the shine on his gold tooth jewelry. That red fedora was tilted just so, but then he lifted one hand and removed it, slow and deliberate, like he was about to say grace before devouring a meal.

He licked his lips before speaking low and sultry.

“Oh, I’ma show you, alright, baby. Gon’ make you forget that old ass man you married. Ain’t no way he touchin’ all that right. I know he ain’t got a mouth like mine…”

He placed the fedora on a nearby crate, followed by his tailored, burgundy suit jacket. Then, Stack hooked his arms around her brown thighs and lifted her clean off the floor. Pearline’s breath hitched as he laid her out on top of the old yet sturdy wooden table against the wall. His imposing body loomed between her legs, those whiskey colored eyes raking down her frame like she was something decadent. And he had been starving for her ever since the train station.

“You thought you could let my lil’ cousin have some fun, then walk away like I wasn’t gon’ have mine?”

His hands landed on her knees. Pearline locked eyes with him, bottom lip dragging slowly between her teeth.

“Spread ‘em open, baby.”

It came out as a request, but it was really a command laced in sugar-sweet venom.

Pearline took her time, knees pulling into her chest as she spread herself achingly slow, teasing him. Stack leaned back a little, letting his eyes drag down Pearline’s body. Wide and deliberately open. Pliant thighs eagerly stretched. There it was. Glistening and messy from being worked over by Preacherboy’s hungry mouth not even 20 minutes prior. Stack hissed.

“Mmm…so this the pussy Sammie had his face buried in, huh? This the one had my lil cousin moanin’ like he tasting sum sweet?” He chuckles darkly, licking slow up her slit. “Bet he ain’t eat it like I’m bout to.”

Without warning, Stack pushed her thighs open further, as if she could spread wider than she already was.

“Mm, look how fuckin’ pretty it is. Sammie had his face buried in this? Lucky lil’ nigga…”

Stack leaned forward, bringing his face closer. His lips began peppering softly along her legs, traveling up. He savored each kiss, soft suck, and added tongue with deep groans.

“Bet he ain’t even know what to do wit’ it…but I do.”

Pearline shivered, goosebumps rising on her chocolate skin as Stack’s calloused hands and filthy words worked their magic. She could feel the heat of his breath on her most intimate places, making her ache with need.

“You sure talk a big game,” she purred, voice dripping with challenge and desire. “But can you back it up? Ya cousin might be a hard act to follow.”

The corner of Stack’s mouth twitched up in a smirk.

“Oh, baby doll, I ain’t just gon’ back it up. I’m bout to wreck this pussy and have you beggin’ for more. When I’m done, you won’t even remember that husband of yours’ name.”

With that, he leaned in, dragging his tongue along her slick folds in one slow, sensuous lick. Pearline gasped, her back arching off the table at the electric sensation. Stack chuckled darkly against her thigh.

“Mmm, you taste even sweeter than I imagined. Sammie did a good job gettin’ you nice and ready for me.”

He wasted no time, diving in and devouring her like a man starved. His tongue swirled around her button, flicking and suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves until Pearline was writhing and moaning shamelessly.

“O-Oh, Stack!” she moaned, heels digging deep into the top of his back. And he kept on feasting. Slow and precise licks, followed by quick flicks against her button.

“Fuck! Yes, right there!”

One thick, calloused finger slid inside her tight heat, curling to hit that magical spot that made her vision blur and tears tease the corners of her eyes. He pumped it in and out, fucking her slowly as his mouth worked wonders on that sensitive spot her husband always seemed to ignore.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled into her center. “Lemme hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Another finger joined the first, stretching her deliciously as he picked up the pace. The obscene sound of her arousal filled the air, mixing with Pearline’s cries of pleasure.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop! I’m… I’m gonna…!”

“Hold it,” he growled, suddenly pulling away, causing Pearline to whimper at the loss of the sensation of his mouth on her heat.

Stack stared down at her deviously, watching the way her chest rose and fell with breathless pants.

“Aww baby doll, you thought I was gon’ let you off easy? Nah, ya pretty ass gotta work for this pleasure.”

“Work for it?” she asked cockily. “You wanted me, now I gotta work for my release?”

“You don’t got to,” he challenged, grinning wider. “You’re more than welcome to return to the party with a wet ass and throbbin’ cooze.”

She growled low in her throat, staring up at him with narrow eyes.

“What you want me to do?”

His reply was soft, but pointed.

“Beg.”

She glared up at him defiantly, debating on whether to tell him to fuck off or give in to see exactly what was on the other side of his challenge.

“You think I’m gonna beg?” she scoffed, though there was no real bite to it.

Stack shrugged, already moving to put his jacket back on. He knew what she wanted, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she saw things his way.

"Fine,” she said, tone clipped. “If that's what you want."

She sat up slowly, sliding off the table to stand in front of him. Up close, she could see the hunger in his eyes. The way they roamed over her body like he was imagining all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. It made her shiver with anticipation.

"Please, Stack," she cooed, letting her voice go soft and needy. "I need you. I need your mouth on me, you inside me. Make me melt on your face until I'm screaming. Please, I'll do anything..."

She trailed off, biting her lip as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"Anything you want, baby. Just...don't stop. I'll beg all night if I have to, but please, don't make me wait no longer."

“Now was that so hard?” he purred, gently pushing her to lie back on the table. His fingers found her center again, carefully stroking inside her folds like he was exploring a map.

He hovered over her, dress bunched around her waist as his thick fingers worked deep and slow inside her, knuckles glistening every time he pulled out. Pearline’s breath was ragged, her hips twitching and thighs quivering against his sides. Stack leaned down until his full lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to that low, taunting drawl that always got under a woman’s skin.

“Mmm…you knew to beg for it, didn’t you? Knew to open them pretty thighs and ask real nice…like a good lil’ hussy.”

His fingers curled up into that spot that made her clench hard, his other hand gripping her jaw to keep her still.

“Yeah..that’s it. Take it. You like my fingers stuffin’ you like this, baby? Like I’m tunin’ you up for this thick, fucking pecker?”

Pearline whimpered. Pathetically. Her breath hitched. Stack smirked, his mouth brushing her cheek now.

“Tell me sum’…ever heard of the Smokestack Twins?”

His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. Pearline bucked her hips and nodded her head rapidly in response.

“Mmm…you know who you beggin’ for right now? You even know who name you ‘bout to scream?”

He pressed harder, whispering darker now. Pearline gasped.

“This ain’t Sammie, Pearlie. This here Stack. And when I’m done wit’ ya pretty tail…you gon’ remember exactly who had you beggin’ like this…”

Stack’s fingers slid out slowly, slick clinging to his knuckles as he caught her chin with his free hand and tilted her head to face him.

“Open ‘em wider for me, Pearline.”

She hesitated for half a heartbeat, long enough for his grin to sharpen. He slapped her inner thigh just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Wider. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Pearline’s breath hitched as she obeyed, spreading herself more until she could feel the air against her heat. Stack’s eyes dropped between her thighs, greedy and mean all at once.

“Yeah…that’s it. Let me see all that. Nasty lil’ thing…the more I talk to you, the wetter you get, huh?”

Stack dipped his fingers back inside in one glide, slow at first, then driving them faster. Her wetness made it easy. Too easy.

“Gahdamn…tight as hell. That lousy old nigga of yours ain’t fillin’ you up right. Prolly just pokin’ at it, leavin’ you half–starved, baby.”

His fingers curled as he locked his intense gaze on her. Pearline chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes failing her. Her eyelids fluttered while her thighs trembled.

“Preacherboy sure as hell ain’t gon’ give you that stuffin’. That stretch. He just a boy playin’ wit’ somethin’ that don’t belong to ‘em.”

Stack thrust his fingers deeper, spreading them slightly just to feel her tighten around him.

“Mmm…I’m the only one who’s gon’ pack you proper, Pearline. Fill you so deep you feel me for days. Now tell me you want it.”

Her lips trembled, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his fingers stroked deep, curling into that spot until her hips jerked without her permission. Pearline’s toes curled in her heels. Stack watched the way her eyes crossed and rolled back, like she was possessed by the sensation of being finger–fucked.

“Mm…fuck. Look at you. Tryin’ so hard not to give me what I’m askin’ for. But this pussy talkin’ louder than you, baby. She tellin’ me you need it.”

He spread his fingers inside her just enough to make her gasp sharp, then pulled almost all the way out before sinking them back in to the base. He did this over and over, eyes locked on Pearline, tongue licking his bottom lip slowly.

“Go on. Say it. Beg me like you was beggin’ Sammie… only this time you beg for a man who knows how to use it.”

She shook her head, biting her lip, but the slick squelch between them betrayed her.

Stack grinned, voice dropping to a growl.

“You want that stretch, Pearline? That stuffin’ I was talkin’ ‘bout? Then say it. Tell me you want me to fill this pretty cooze up.”

Her voice came out in a trembling whisper.

“I…I want it.”

He chuckled darkly, curling his fingers harder, “Nah. That ain’t good enough. Say it like a good lil’ hussy.”

Her breath hitched again, cheeks flushing hot, but she let go, voice coming out soft and ragged.

“I want you to fill me up, Stack…please. Please make me feel full. Stretch me good, daddy!”

That did it. Those 5 letters lit him up like fireworks on the 4th of July. He slammed his fingers deep, thumb working her clit in rough circles until her moan turned into a choked cry.

“That’s my girl. Now you speakin’ like a trained doll.”

Her breath was coming fast now, each curl of his fingers dragging her closer to something she couldn’t hold back. His calloused thumb rolled tight circles over her clit, rough but knowing, pressing down just enough to make her see stars.

Stack purred low and seductively in her ear.

“Mmh…that’s it, baby. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

His free hand slid up her thigh, gripping the supple flesh hard enough to leave bruises, keeping her spread wide as she squirmed.

“Feel how deep I’m hittin’ with just my fingers? Ain’t nobody else touchin’ you like this. Not your old man…not Sammie…nobody.”

She whimpered, hips twitching against his hand, the wet sounds between them getting louder in the cramped space.

Stack grinned, goading.

“You hear that? That’s the sound of this pretty lil’ pussy givin’ up. Drippin’ for me. Beggin’ to be wrecked.”

He hooked his fingers just right, grinding the heel of his hand into her clit until she gasped—loud, shaky, broken.

“Mm…there she go. Let it go, Pearline. Make a mess on my hand. I wanna feel you grip me.”

She cried out, her body locking up around his fingers, wet heat spilling over his knuckles. Stack didn’t slow, not until her thighs trembled so hard she tried to close them. He forced them back apart, riding her through every last spasm. When she finally slumped back against the table, chest heaving, he pulled his fingers free, glistening in the low light. He held them up between them, grinning wickedly.

“Mm…you messy…messy girl. And that’s just my fingers. Now…” he unbuckled his belt, voice dropping even lower, “…let me give you that stretch I promised.”

Pearline’s eyes widened as his manhood sprang free from his trousers.

“Don’t worry, baby doll. You can take it all, I promise,” he coaxed, stroking himself slowly. He lined himself up with her center and sank all the way in in one fluid motion.

“Shiiiiiiiiit,” they moaned in unison.

Stack didn’t move immediately. He stayed still, allowing Pearline to feel each agonizing inch of him. She gasped as he filled her, all 9 inches of his length stretching her in the most delicious way. It almost hurt; he was so big, but the pleasure quickly overrode any discomfort. She could feel every ridge and vein of him pressed against her sensitive walls, making her toes curl.

“You’re so fuckin’ big, daddy,” she whimpered as Stack started to grind at a slow, steady pace. He rolled his hips slowly, allowing them both to savor how slick and wet she was.

“You like that, Pearlie?” he growled with a smirk. “You like this fat dick stretchin’ you? Like feelin’ me deep inside this sweet little cooze?”

She could only nod, words failing her as he began to pick up speed. He pulled out slowly until just the tip remained inside her, then slammed back in, making her cry out. He set a hard, fast pace, pounding into her with relentless precision. The table creaked beneath them with each thrust, but Stack didn't seem to care. His focus was entirely on her, on making her feel good.

"Shit, baby doll," he grunted, picking up speed. "This pussy grippin’ me. So tight and wet, like you were made for my dick."

His hips snapped forward, driving into her again and again. Pearline could only hold on for dear life, her body rocking with the force of his thrusts. She'd never been fucked like this before, so hard and deep. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she chanted mindlessly, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Don't stop, Stack! Fuck me harder!"

He complied eagerly, one hand gripping her throat while the other slid between their sweat-slicked bodies. His fingers found her button, rubbing in tight circles that sent jolts of electricity through her.

"Come on this dick, Pearlie," he urged, voice strained with effort. "I wanna feel you come apart for me."

His fingers worked in tandem with his pecker, pushing him over the edge with a loud, ragged cry of his name. Pleasure consumed her entire body as her orgasm crashed violently over her. Stack didn’t let up. He kept fucking her through it as he chased his own release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and came with a groan of her name.

They collapsed together on the table, panting and shaking in the aftermath. Pearline could barely think straight, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. She'd never had sex like that before, so intense and all-consuming. She knew she'd be feeling it for days.

Stack didn’t let her come down from her climax. His hand was still between her thighs, lazily circling, drawing out every shiver until Pearline was whimpering—half pleading, half delirious.

“Messy lil’ thing,” Stack whispered against her ear, lips grazing the shell of it, “can feel you still gripping me.”

Pearline’s breath was shallow, her nails dragging down his back. The heat between them was unbearable, slick, and raw. Stack pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and daring.

“I could keep you like this all night. Split you open ‘til you forget your name.”

Her pulse jumped.

“Suck,” he commanded, catching her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him while she sucked his hand clean. She complied, eying him innocently through her lashes.

“Don’t play shy now,” he spoke low and dangerously, eyes dropping to her swollen lips around him. “You spread those pretty legs and begged me for it like a good lil’ hussy—now you gon’ take every bit I give you.”

Pearline’s thighs twitched as he pressed his other hand between them again, thick pecker sliding back inside her with no warning. She gasped, half from the intrusion, half from the slick squelch that echoed off the walls.

“Listen to you,” he taunted, working her with deliberate, punishing strokes. “Drippin’ down to my balls, twitchin’ like you don’t know what to do with yourself. That little husband of yours can’t work you like this—Sammie sure as hell can’t. But me?” He drove in deep, his lower abs grinding her clit, “I’ll keep you open ‘til you forget they even exist.”

Her head tipped back, eyes squeezing tightly shut, but he slapped her thigh sharply.

“Eyes on me,” he growled.

Stack’s grip tightened on her hips, dragging her right to the edge of the table until her ass hung off, legs spread wide. His stiff pecker slammed into her in deep, driving strokes that made the wood creak under them and scuff the floorboards.

“You hear me, Pearlie?” His voice was low, rough, words punching into her with each thrust. “Ain’t no creepin’ wit’ my lil’ cousin. You gon’ be in my bed…on my dick…with this wet cooze sittin’ on my tongue whenever I want it.”

Pearline gasped, nails clawing at his biceps as the rhythm turned punishing.

“Mmmnnn,” Stack groaned, drilling into her so deep her breath caught. “You think they can hear us over the blues?” His lips curved into a wicked smile, “Hope they can, baby doll. Let ‘em know you got the prettiest, chocolate cooze in all the Delta���sweetest, wettest thing I ever had.”

Her moans tangled with the music bleeding through the walls, but he didn’t let up.

“Say it,” Stack ordered, dark eyes locked on hers. “Say you mine. Say this body’s mine. If you need some nookie, you’ll come to big daddy.”

Pearline could only whimper, her pout trembling as she tried to form words, the table jolting with every thrust.

“Say…it.” He growled again, leaning in until their foreheads touched.

“I—”

Her voice broke into a moan, and he caught it with his mouth, pulling her into a sloppy, deep tongue kiss that swallowed every breath she had left. His hips never stopped moving, grinding her open, claiming every inch like he meant to keep her there forever.

Stack’s thrusts got heavier, deeper, each one jarring the table across the floor. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest, their bodies slick, locked in a rhythm that made her toes curl.

“You hear me, baby doll?” His voice was ragged, but laced with that dangerous hungry smirk, “I’m cummin’ in this cooze again. Fillin’ you so good you gon’ be walkin’ home wit’ me swimmin’ inside you.”

Pearline gasped, eyes wide, a strangled moan slipping past her lips.

“Yeah,” he rasped, hips grinding deeper, dragging every inch along her walls. “You gon’ go home, spread those pretty brown thighs in your mirror, and see what Daddy left behind for his baby doll. Watch it drip down that sweet little slit while you think about how only I fuck you like this.”

Stack picked her up as he slung his pecker, her head tipped back, fingers clawing into his shoulders, but he caught her chin, forcing her eyes on him.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you mine. That body’s mine. That cooze is mine. And when you need it fucked, you’ll come to me.”

She whimpered, her pout trembling, the words caught in her throat.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear, “Say it, Pearline. Or I’ll keep you here ‘til the sun comes up.”

Finally, she choked out, “I’m yours…all yours…Stack pleaseee I feel like I’m gon’ burst…”

His grin was slow and wicked. “That’s my girl.” Then he sealed her words with a deep, filthy tongue kiss, thrusting hard enough to push her another inch across the table, claiming her one last time before he spilled deep inside her, exactly like he promised.

Stack’s pace turned erratic, each thrust hitting deep, his breath breaking into sharp, guttural groans.

“Ahh—fuck—” he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping forward again and again. Pearline’s cries climbed with his, her voice catching on a needy.

“Mmm—ohhh—uhhh,” as her body fluttered tight around his thick length.

He shuddered, head dropping to her shoulder, moaning low and rough in her ear.

“Goddamn, baby doll—ahhh—mmm—fuck, you squeezin’ me so good—”

Her legs locked around his waist, heels pressing into his back, pulling him deeper until she was whimpering through her own release, clutching him as she pulsed around him.

“Yesss—” he groaned, his own climax hitting hard, his length throbbing deep inside her wetness, “Take it… take all that—ahhh—mmm—yeah…”

They stayed connected, breathing ragged, hips rocking slow as if neither wanted to let the other go. Pearline’s walls still quivered around him, milking every last drop, while his pulse thudded against her slick heat.

Their lips found each other again, a messy, panting kiss—tongues slow, mouths tasting of sweat and lust.

Then—three hard knocks on the door.

“Pearline?” Sammie’s voice came muffled from the other side, “You in there?”

Stack’s eyes opened, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he stayed buried inside her. Pearline’s breath hitched, panic flickering behind her eyes.

The blues hummed low from the other room, but all Stack could hear was the pounding of her heart against his chest…and Sammie’s voice calling for what was already his.

Tag List: @omgffs @healanette @secret89sblog @uzumaki-rebellion @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @blackpantherismyish @kumkaniudaku @youreadthatright @post-woke @chaneajoyyy @empressdede @melodyofmbaku @blktinkerbell @turbulentvoids @writerbee-ffs @jasssdee1 @cerya @hearteyes-for-killmonger @theegoldenchild @theogbadbitch @honggihwa @jackierose902109 @browngirldominion @j0ysyndr0m3 @marley1773 @theegyal @wabi-sabi1090 @thevelvetwhispers @thinking1bee @lizbehave @queenofklonnie22 @kcundercover0 @erikaintdead @underated345-blog @chrisevansmentee @wakandamama @sk1121-blog1 @juicypinksblog @adultinginheels @billyjeanonthed @ladymac82 @althegreat33 @dezzy154 @brownsuugahh @imagining-greatness @solarssins

[artisticestheticreads]

Under Their Roof| SEVEN.2 (Stack's Pov)

POV: You are a young lady in the 1930's who was hired by the Moore family to help around the house and be a nanny...but to your surprise, you may have to do more.

A/N: WAIT RIGHT THERE!!!! Did you read Part Seven... *fixes mouth like a black mom.* Go read it now. I wanted to treat ya'll with a little action but also a POV of Elias Stack Moore. I hope y'all enjoy and are ready for the next parts.

Warning: Angst. Racial Situations, N Slur, Mentions of the White Hooded Folks... and Murder.

Word Count: 2504

Pairing: Elijah 'Smoke' Moore X Annie X Black Female Reader (feat. Elias 'Stack' Moore)

The night air hit him as soon as he stepped off the porch, warm and heavy with the scent of summer grass and dust. Stack adjusted his hat, fingers brushing the brim, eyes scanning the horizon. He knew those men thought they could intimidate, thought a young lady running alone was easy prey. They were about to learn the wrong lesson.

He muttered under his breath, “Three trucks… three chances to set things straight.”

Stack climbed into his automobile, the engine purring low as he eased onto the dirt road. His mind was already running through the map of the county, every turn, every fork, every shadow that could hide those men. He had to separate them, catch them one by one, make sure each knew the cost of messing with his family.

The first truck had been the one closest to Pearline’s, the one that started the chase. He would find it along the old mill road, where the tall pines and broken fences made it easy to trap someone careless. The second had veered toward the open fields near the river—he’d need to use the moonlight and the bends of the road to his advantage. And the third… the third he had seen veering back toward the crossroads near the old church. Stack’s lips curled into a tight smirk. By the time he was done, they’d regret ever crossing paths with him.

He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, heart steady. He whispered to himself, “One at a time, Stack. One at a time.”

The rumble of the car blended with the distant night sounds—crickets, a dog barking, the faint whistle of wind through the trees. Ahead, the dirt road split. He made a turn, disappearing into the shadows, eyes sharp, senses alert, ready for the hunt to begin.

The dirt road rattled under the tires as Stack leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Moonlight skimmed the edges of the trees, casting long, sharp shadows across the path. The first truck was out there somewhere, a heavy silhouette against the faint glow of the horizon. He could almost smell the dust and gasoline lingering behind it.

Stack’s hands tightened on the wheel, thumbs brushing the leather as he plotted the trap. The road would bend sharply near the old mill, a stretch flanked by pines thick enough to hide his move until the right moment. He slowed just enough, letting the engine purr, listening for the faint crunch of gravel that would signal their approach.

Up ahead, headlights flickered—too high, too wavering. They didn’t see him yet. A sneer tugged at his lips. Careless fools. They thought they could chase a young lady through the dark and get away with it.

He remembered Y/N’s eyes, wide and terrified, clutching that purse. That image fueled him more than the moonlight ever could. Stack shifted gears, the car lunging forward with a low growl. He would corner them near the mill, trap them where the trees left no easy escape. Each one of them would know—Stack Moore didn’t let things slide.

He eased past a bend, engine quiet but ready, and slowed, letting the first truck drift into his calculated zone. Dust kicked up, wind whipping his hat back, and he grinned. One at a time, like he said. One at a time, and none of them would leave this night unscathed.

The first truck rumbled closer, headlights cutting through the night like knives. Stack kept low in his car, the engine just loud enough to mask his presence. He could see the driver shifting, thinking he had the upper hand. Fool.

Stack eased his vehicle onto a narrow shoulder where the trees leaned close, hiding him almost completely. Dust and leaves swirled in the wind as he waited, heart hammering—but steady, controlled. When the truck hit the bend near the mill, there’d be no room to turn. That was his moment.

The truck’s wheels crunched over gravel, tires slipping slightly on the loose stones. Stack’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. He tapped the horn lightly—not a warning, just a nudge of chaos, startling the driver. The man swerved, cursing, and that was all Stack needed.

Sliding out of the car, boots sinking slightly in the dirt, he moved with the precision of a man who had planned every step. A low whistle from the woods behind the truck. The driver froze, looking around, realizing too late that he was boxed in.

Stack’s shadow fell across the front of the truck, tall, imposing, hat tipped just enough to hide his eyes but reveal the set of his jaw. “Evenin’, boys,” he said, voice smooth but carrying weight. “Y’all done runnin’? Or do we need to have a sit-down?”

The truck’s engine revved nervously. Stack’s hand rested near the glove compartment where he kept a heavy wrench—simple, brutal, and very effective. The man’s eyes flicked from Stack to the shadows of the trees and back. Stack smiled just faintly, a predator enjoying the fear he inspired.

“You let a young lady run scared through my town,” Stack continued, voice low and calm, “and you think there ain’t consequences? You don’t know me, do ya?”

The men shifted uncomfortably. The driver tried to back up, but the narrow shoulder and trees gave him no room. Stack stepped closer, the crunch of gravel underfoot loud in the still night. “One move, and it won’t be just her heart racin’ tonight.”

The air was thick with tension, electric. Stack knew this first one would set the tone for the others. He let the silence stretch, letting the fear do the work. One misstep from the men, and he’d strike.

The first truck was trapped—and Stack Moore had all the cards.

Stack moved silently, boots crunching over the gravel as the truck struggled to inch forward. He circled to the side, surveying the tires. The first thing he needed was control—the truck couldn’t escape. Using a length of rope he’d brought in his coat, he looped it around a sturdy tree branch and tied it to the truck’s rear axle. A simple trick his daddy had taught him back when he was just a boy, running errands through the farmland.

The man tried the engine again. Smoke poured from the exhaust, tires spinning uselessly on the gravel. Stack circled the front of the truck, tapping lightly on the hood. “Now, see, it don’t gotta get messy. Just admit you’ve been a fool, and I’ll let you walk.”

A bead of sweat rolled down the driver’s forehead. He glanced at his companions in the cab, eyes wide, fear twisting their faces. Stack stepped closer, hands resting on the hood as if he could crush it with his mere presence. “Or we can make this… memorable.”

The truck’s lights flickered and died—the battery had been loosened just so, another simple trick. Smoke and oil lingered in the air. The men leapt out, fumbling, but Stack was already ahead. With swift, precise movements, he shoved the first man back toward the cab and let the rope pull the truck into the shallow ditch at the edge of the road. It tilted, front wheels spinning uselessly, trapped.

Stack’s eyes never left the men. “Next time you’re thinkin’ of messin’ with my people, remember this night.” He turned back to the truck, gave the rope one final tug to secure it, then disappeared into the shadows—ready to hunt the second and third trucks before dawn.

The second truck came into view just as the last moonlight slipped beneath the horizon. Its headlights cut jagged swaths across the fields, and Stack could see the men inside—shoulders broad, faces set hard, hands resting on the wheel as if daring trouble to come their way. They were bigger than the first lot, and their laughter carried a sharp, cruel edge that made the night feel tighter, heavier.

Stack crouched behind a low fence, the dirt cool under his hand and smiled faintly. Ain’t nothing gonna rattle me tonight.

As the truck rolled nearer, tires crunching over gravel, Stack nudged a plank he'd balanced over a shallow ditch. He timed it perfectly. The front wheels hit the plank, the truck jolting violently. Metal groaned, and the men cursed, their voices loud enough to cut through the night.

One of the bigger men jumped out, cracking his knuckles, eyes scanning the shadows. “Who’s there? Show yourself, boy!”

Stack stepped into the moonlight, hands resting in pockets, hat tilted low, every inch calm. “Evenin’, gentlemen,” he said, voice slow and measured, carrying just enough edge to unsettle them. “Looks like y’all picked the wrong road tonight.”

The man’s chest rose and fell, trying to intimidate. “We don’t take kindly to folk tellin’ us where to go!”

Stack’s smile didn’t waver. “Neither do I. But see… I reckon you best step out before somethin’ real bad happens.” He circled the truck slowly, eyes sharp, taking in every movement, letting them feel the weight of his presence.

The men froze, sizing him up, realizing this wasn’t a boy scared of shadows. Stack gave a small, deliberate tap on the truck with the knuckles of his left hand before placing it back in. “That rig ain’t goin’ nowhere. Neither are y’all… if you don’t get wise.”

He watched them, unflinching, letting the night stretch between them, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. 

The truck’s engine died with a growl, and three men jumped out, towering and grim, fists clenched, eyes full of menace. Stack stayed calm, just tilting his hat lower, letting them charge him first.

“Y’all really wanna do this?” he drawled, voice smooth, confident, carrying the weight of someone who’s been in tighter spots before.

Before the first man could reach him, Stack slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a glint of brass. The brass knuckles caught the moonlight, cold and heavy in his palm.

The first man swung a wild punch—too slow. Stack ducked, rolled, and brought his fist up into the man’s jaw. Crack. He hit the second man with a right hook to the ribs, then sidestepped the third’s swing, letting him stumble past. Each strike was precise, deliberate—Stack moving like a shadow, each punch landing with a satisfying thud.

The first man went down, unconscious before he even hit the ground. The second crumpled under a rapid combination, the third swinging blindly, only to catch the edge of Stack’s elbow and collapse in a heap beside his companions.

Breathing steady, Stack stood over the trio, brass knuckles still gleaming. He adjusted his jacket, smoothing the shoulders, and gave a small, satisfied nod. “Well, that’s settled,” he muttered, slipping the brass back into his pocket.

He glanced toward the dark stretch of road ahead, knowing the final truck awaited. No hesitation. No fear. Just the quiet, deadly confidence of a man who was going to make sure tonight ended on his terms.

Stack eased his car into the shadow of the tall grass, engine barely a whisper, headlights off. He peeked through the blades, eyes locking onto the final truck. The men inside were rougher, meaner, and most dangerously—they weren’t unarmed. Guns rested on the seat beside them, glinting under the pale moonlight.

He took a slow, steady breath, feeling the weight of the night pressing down. With a practiced motion, he slipped out of his hat and jacket, draping them over the seat. Muscles coiled, he crouched low in the car, every sense alert. From the floorboard, his hands closed around the cold, solid weight of his BAR—Thompson submachine gun. The metal hummed reassurance.

Stack moved like a shadow, sliding out of the car and sinking into the tall grass. He approached silently, the world narrowed down to the trio of armed men and the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then—without warning—the night erupted.

Gunfire ripped through the air, a deafening symphony of lead and terror. Bullets kicked up dirt, splintered wood from the truck, and whizzed past, but Stack moved fluidly, using the grass as cover, returning fire with deadly accuracy. The men scrambled, shouting curses and firing wildly, but each one was met with the cold precision of his BAR.

Shell casings tumbled around him, smoke curling in the air. Stack’s voice didn’t waver—only commands to himself, guiding his movements as he ducked, rolled, and shot, inching closer. It was a war of the night, the kind of fight that left the ground scarred and the air thick with tension.

Minutes passed like hours, every heartbeat sharp and relentless. And then—silence.

Stack lowered the BAR, scanning the wreckage and shadows. The truck sat abandoned, the men either unconscious, retreating, or otherwise incapacitated. His chest rose and fell steadily, adrenaline coursing, but his face remained calm, controlled. He adjusted his stance, wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow, and allowed himself a small, satisfied exhale. The night had been brutal—but he had won.

Stack moved deliberately through the aftermath, eyes sweeping the scene like a hawk. Moonlight glinted off scattered coins and the faint glimmer of gold he’d picked up from the bodies. His fingers brushed against the cold metal, leather, and tattered clothing—remnants of the fight he’d just survived. A low smirk tugged at his lips, not from victory, but from the raw satisfaction of having made it right.

He approached the white pickup, crouching beside it. The smell of dust, sweat, and engine oil hung thick in the air. Every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified: the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of crickets, the soft thump of his own heartbeat. He rifled through the cab and bed methodically, each movement careful, calculating.

Then, something caught his eye—a flash of woven, tucked beneath the jumble of debris. His chest tightened, and for a brief second, the chaos of the night melted away. He saw Y/N’s small hands clutching this very bag, her wide eyes shining with trust and hope.

He reached for it, fingertips grazing the textured stitching. The world narrowed to that single moment.

"Doll’s bag," he whispered under his breath, a soft grin breaking through the hardened tension of the night.

He cradled it carefully, almost reverently, the weight of it grounding him, reminding him of why he’d come out here in the first place. The adrenaline from the fights still hummed in his veins, but in this moment, there was only purpose and protection.

Without a second thought, he sprinted back to his automobile, heart hammering, the bag pressed against his chest. The gravel crunched under his boots as he threw open the car door, slid in, and started the engine. Tires kicked up dust, but he barely noticed, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He gripped the wheel with one hand, the bag with the other, each turn bringing him closer to the Moore house, closer to Y/N, closer to making sure she knew—everything would be alright, as long as he was around.

-Sweet Babies-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface @cchampangemammii @brownskincheyenne @zunibugsiren @mimi2618 @amor33 @swatson06 @lovesbysblog @dollys-world224 @mbjswife @l-u-xwrites @itsspixiedusst56 @loveabledovee

[mialenka]

Magnus archives S1 characters!!! (My friend @denrite got me into this, and we've been listening to it every other day tehe)

So far, i have finished seasons 1 and 2, so please dont spoil me 😭🙏

ANYWAYS i wanna write about the thought process i had for each character design so allow me 🤭

Jon: I saw that the fandom already had a very distinct design for Jon, and i didnt wanna change much about his appearance. So i just drew him in a classic office look. Made his hair a bit short but didn't wanna give him too much of a clean look even though he's been so.... uptight, i suppose 😭

Martin: Same case here! Decided to draw him all lovely, bubbly, and i wanted to go for a more blonde hair color for him. Idk i just envisioned him like this since i heard him LOL. Also, im sadly not as good when it comes to drawing plus size people, but Martin was a very good practice, and i really like how it looks, i hope you guys do too!

Sasha: Ever since i heard her, i immediately thought of a woman who gives off all the cool vibes! I wanted her to look very casual but clean and classy for the archival look if that makes sense 🤩. Also fun fact while i was drawing her i didnt know she had glasses and then as me and denrite were progressing in the story i learned she had them so i had to change up her look a little. Ngl her with glasses... it's growing on me!

Tim: When i heard Tim, i knew he was wearing floral shirts... and so did the fandom, apparently! I am glad we are all on the same page! Also, I imagined Tim as wasian or asian, super charismatic, and I WANTED HIM TO HAVE DIMPLES!! It definitely suits him, and yall can fight me on that ‼️‼️ Also denrite suggested i give him earrings... for extra spicyness >:)

Elias: I imagined him as old, clean looking and now that i know what kind of person he is i dont wanna talk about him further 🙄

Jane: WORM WIFE WORM WIFE!! I am SO SURPRISED THAT SHE GOT LESS FANARTS THAN SO MANY OTHER CHARACTERS. She is literally one of my favourites! I decided to give her blue eyes, almost off-white to give her that sickly look and the idea of worms coming out of her eyes while they are still intact made me cringe more than actually taking one of her eyes out so enjoy the body horror ig 🤩

Michael: i have nothing else to say bro is smexy and i love this drawing

Gerard: For some very weird reason... i wanted to give him shoulder-length hair even though it's described as him having long hair. I dont know. I just thought it suited him. Also him and i are matching snakebites!

But ye let me know what yall think! I will try to finish s2 characters whenever i can! For s2 i sketched 12 characters so far and i cant wait to color them ‼️

Also heres a second version to this drawing!

Its just Michael with a different background lol

[blackberreh-art]

I have such a clear image of how Michael Shelley and OG Elias became friends. They bumped into each other in the institute one day, a little packet falls to the ground and it's literally that one family guy scene.

"My pot!"

"Your pot?"

Instant palls.

LMAOOOOO I LOVE IT

(real talk tho at least for the au and stuff in my head Michael was FAR too neurotic to try pot and has done his best to not do anything that could be deemed illegal or could bring any attention his way LOLOL Elias asked him the first time if he wanted to share a joint and Michael just fucking folded instantly because he was crushing BAD)

[d-choppy]

Bunny vs Bunny !

Elias WeasterStorm VS Agdon Longscarf DnD illustration ! With friends we do the The Wild Beyond the Witchlight campagn, and we have to fight Agdon and his henchmen, it was complicated ..... (yeay a lot XD) but ! we did it Elias my character (who I did well to make a rabbit ! heheheh) had a "little" interaction in the past with Agdon and we had another one during the campaign !

A fight that was difficult to win and that I illustrated in a serious and more humorous way, because two rabbits fighting is still cute XD My Beautiful wizard ~

[leondxs]

Leondas purred even louder at the term 'sweetheart'. He pressed his cheek firmly against Dwight's head, as if to demonstrate and reinforce the witch's claim. Though his eyes would snap open in a scowl when Elias spoke up. Tiny pupils fell on the offending finger jabbed his way. His teeth grit, imagining how satisfying it would be to bite it clean off.

He tensed when he grew bold enough to approach them. Bristling he began to growl again, the volume growing as he felt his own anger begin to boil. His lips twitched repeatedly before pulling back. But just when he felt the urge to lash out, Dwight lunged for his father instead. Leondas quickly quietened again, watching the reprimanding with mild amusement. A smug grin wormed its way across his lips, before fading when his mate would then address him.

Pointed ears wilted, despite the gentleness of the witch's words. For once, he seemed somewhat meek and apologetic. While not regretful of or even sorry for his actions, he did not want to upset his lover. Though his ears would snap back up in alarm when an apology was recommended.

For a moment he considered doubling down. He was not guilty of anything other than tending to his own needs. How could he have known this was his partner's father? Not to mention, it was Elias who had continued to goad him. His eyes narrowed and he frowned, but ultimately he relented... sort of.

A deep breath and he forced a sickeningly sweet smile, looking back to Elias. He supposed he might as well go first, perhaps in the process earning Dwight's favor for being 'the bigger person'. While his aggression was hidden, it was clear it bubbled delicately beneath the surface. It lingered in the depths of his amber hues.

❝ I would not have hunted you had I known your relation to my mate, ❞ he began, speaking slowly and deliberate. ❝ For that, I apologize. ❞

He gave a little bow of his head at the last word, making sure to keep his condescending smile. His brows raised expectantly at Elias, patiently awaiting his own 'apology'.

Dwight’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by Elias outburst. The witch shrinks back, leaning against Leondas. Well, he wasn’t expecting that…to be honest, the witch wasn’t sure what he was expecting out of Elias. The mage was still new in Dwight’s life after going all of this time without even knowing he existed. It was safe to say that while Dwight was working on building a relationship with his father, he wasn’t overly concerned about Elias’s approval.

“Elias, it’s fine, Leondas is a sweetheart.” Dwight simply dismisses it, waving off his father. Maybe Elias was simply being protective? Although, it made Dwight feel a little strange if he was. Elias wasn’t around long enough to form opinions about Dwight’s dating partners, and coming from a man who’s dated a demon, Elias had no room to talk.

“A sweetheart- HE WAS TRYING TO EAT ME BEFORE YOU GOT HERE!” Elias squawked, pointing at the fae, much like a child. “He was totally ready to eat you too when I mentioned you!”

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Leondas would never eat me.” Dwight again, dismisses Elias’s claims. It was easy to do so, especially when Leondas was being this affectionate towards him. It was easy to melt the witch, turn him into butter. “Well, I suppose I do feed him from time to time, but we never go too far and I pack a snack nowadays to perk myself up from the blood loss.” Dwight says as if this is completely normal. Elias wants to tear his hair out.

“You’re just- you’re really- ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Elias gets a little closer, weapons now forgotten, but an irritated look still on his face. Dwight might trust this guy, but Elias wasn’t born yesterday. He’s been around some Fae before.

“What do you want with my kid, douche? Huh? You can play nice all you want but- OW!” Elias winced when Dwight grabbed him by his ear, tugging on it. The sweet witch suddenly looks very serious. His quiet and timid demeanor has morphed into something more firm and angry.

“Elias don’t talk to him that way, Leondas has been good to me.” Dwight scolds. He lets go of Elias, before turning his attention to the Fae. He looks…less angry at him, although his face is still hardened. “I know it’s only natural for you to eat, and you couldn’t have known it was my father, so I won’t be upset about you for that. However, he’s still my father, so of course I care.”

“Maybe you two should apologize.” Dwight finally says, arms crossed. The wolf sniffs at Leondas’s feet, watching him carefully.

[gunstellations]

Panopticon

[kapptto]

took a while to find a haircut and outfit for this weird little freak that walks the fine line of cunty and servant of eldritch horror

bonus, edited to silly size

[saewokhrisz]

colour practice

[whatdoyouseemartin]

do y'all think jonah magnus picked elias bouchard to body hop to solely because he had the most disney villain name ever. like the elias/alias pun was so on the the nose i bet jonah was giggling and kicking his feet thinking 'this is going to be SO funny in 20 years time when the archivist figures it out'

[strangefa11]

you guys cool if I’m cringe for a minute?

tma fnaf au

(edit: fixed some silly mistakes that I missed because I posted too soon)

[joneevarts]

I just want to be happy but rusty quill said no.

Elias' version

Edit: y'all this is Peter Lukas not Martin lmaooo (tho they do look alike, plus I didn't made his white hair strands visible enough so my bad)

[artisticestheticreads]

Under Their Roof | Seven

POV: You are a young lady in the 1930's who was hired by the Moore family to help around the house and be a nanny...but to your surprise, you may have to do more.

A/N: Okaaaaay, so this was gonna to be a small series that was inspired by a dream I had BUT this maybe a tad bit longer than planned.

Warning: Heavy smut, Domination, and Submission. Angst. Racial Situations, N Slur, Mentions of the White Hooded Folks

Word Count: 3818

Pairing: Elijah 'Smoke' Moore X Annie X Black Female Reader (feat. Elias 'Stack' Moore)

The morning after crept in quietly, the dim blue of dawn spilling through her curtains. Y/N’s alarm rang sharply at five on the dot. She lay there for a moment, still and heavy, her body reminding her of the night before—her throat raw, her lower back aching in a way she couldn’t quite ignore. With a slow breath, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into her worn house shoes.

Pulling her robe tight around her, she padded softly to the bathroom. The chill of the tiled floor nipped at her toes as she began her routine—brushing her teeth, washing her face, though she couldn’t help pausing at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, and in the silence, flashes of last night flickered uninvited. She gripped the porcelain sink longer than she meant to, then forced herself to finish up and leave the room.

That’s when she saw it—an envelope propped against her bedroom door, her name scrawled across the front. She opened it with slow fingers, the soft crinkle of paper loud in the early quiet. Inside was the promised money, all in worn ones, the bills smelling faintly of tobacco. She stared at them for a moment, feeling the weight of what they meant—what she’d done. Her stomach turned, but she slipped the envelope into her robe pocket. Family came first.

Downstairs, she set a kettle on to boil for tea. Her eyes wandered to the calendar on the wall—it was Saturday. That meant her father would be home, no work to do but putter around the house. Without thinking twice, she reached for the phone, dialing the number she knew by heart.

“Carter residence,” came her father’s warm voice.

She smiled despite herself. “Hi, Daddy. It’s me.”

“Awe, my sweet, sweet baby. Happy Saturday. How are you, baby?”

“I’m good… and how are you and Faith doin’?” Her voice caught slightly, but she pushed past it.

“Oh, we makin’ it any way we can. Are you okay? You sound like you’re catchin’ a cold,” he said, concern already creeping in.

“I’m okay, Daddy. Just woke up. Weather keeps changin’—I’m waitin’ for my tea to boil.”

“Good, good. How’s Sammie boy doin’?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “He’s good. Actually doin’ music now.”

“Little Sammie boy? Well, I’ll be. That boy always had pipes like he was born with his balls dropped.”

They both laughed quietly at that. She held the phone tighter, her chest aching with homesickness. “Daddy… I miss y’all so much.”

“Awe, baby girl. We miss you too. But we gotta do what we gotta do to help the family. Speaking of—how’s the new job treatin’ ya?”

Wet and sore all over. She swallowed down the truth. “The Moores are treatin’ me fine. Their little girl’s babblin’ a lot now, and she’s eatin’ solids too. Smart baby.”

“That’s good, real good. Y’know, honey… I worry about you sometimes.”

Her spine straightened. “What you mean, Daddy?”

“Well, you’re a young, pretty woman with so many good things about you. Educated, can cook, clean, bake, independent, got all your pretty teeth, and a big ol’ heart with hips to match. I just hate that you never settled down and started your own family. Sometimes, I think it’s my fault.”

She leaned back against the kitchen wall, staring at nothing. Truth was, she had imagined by now she’d be married, maybe with a little one or two running around. But life had been about her father and her sister—there’d been no room for anything else.

“Don’t blame yourself, Daddy. I’m still young. I’ve got plenty of time. You’ll have grandkids to spoil soon enough.”

He chuckled softly. “That’d be nice. But I’ll let you go—gotta make breakfast now.”

“Me too. I’ll send the money today—you should get it Monday morning.”

“Thank you again, baby girl. I love you.”

She looked up at the ceiling, fighting the heat in her eyes. “I love you, Daddy.”

They kissed into the receiver, laughing at the childish habit, before saying goodbye. The moment she hung up, the silence closed in. She stood there for a long moment until a few hot tears slid down her cheeks.

Soon, her tea with honey was ready. She cradled the cup in her hands for a moment, letting the steam rise into her face, then headed back upstairs to finish getting ready for the day.

By six forty-five, she was dressed in her crisp nanny attire, thick hair pinned neatly at the crown of her head the way Mrs. Moore liked. She came back down with little Angelina balanced on her hip, the child wide-eyed and curious.

“Now, Miss Angelina,” Y/N said, settling the baby into her high chair and planting her fists on her hips, “would you like eggs with scrambled sausage, or grits with just a tad bit of sugar?”

Angelina blinked up at her, lips working as if forming a reply, then blew a spit bubble and babbled happily.

“Grits with sugar it is,” Y/N chuckled. “And I’ll make yours extra special.” She kissed the baby’s soft curls and moved to the stove, the familiar comfort of breakfast-making settling over her hands.

She was stirring the pot when the sound came—slow, heavy footfalls on the kitchen floor. Without turning, she knew who it was.

“Good mornin’, Mr. Moore,” she said, reaching for his mug and the fresh pot of coffee. She placed the cup by his hand and poured without meeting his eyes.

Smoke was already seated at the table, his paper open, though his attention strayed. He watched the shape of her moving back toward the stove, the hum of the skillet and Angelina’s babble filling the otherwise quiet kitchen. His mind wandered to the night before—the way her gaze had lingered on him, heavy-lidded, the heat in her eyes. He remembered the glisten of her lips, the way she’d looked beneath him, and felt his breath grow heavier.

He took a long inhale, willing his pulse to settle, then glanced at his daughter. He leaned over, kissed the crown of her head, and murmured, “We’ll be back.”

The chair scraped against the floor as he rose abruptly. In two strides, he was beside Y/N, turning the burners low with a twist of his hand before catching her wrist in his grip. Her body tensed as he pulled her from the stove, guiding her quickly across the kitchen.

The oversized coat closet door shut behind them with a soft click before the lock slid into place.

“Mr. Moore—”

“No talkin’. Now, get on ya knees and put this dick in ya mouth, Miss Carter. We have five minutes.” Y/N did what she was told, for her family, and sat on her knees. She unzipped his pants, pulled his penis out, and before she could even put her mouth on him, he grabbed her wrists, held them up against the wall above her head and pushed himself down her throat. He started to pump in her mouth, reminiscing about the warmth of her throat, and began to grunt. He pounded her mouth, thinking of how he made her take every inch. The way his sack smacked her on the chin repeatedly made him want to release on her face.

The way she gagged and her throat hugging his member made him start to sloppily thrust in her mouth. When he finally looked down, flashes of her came back. The fire in her eyes, the tears that fell, and the way the bubbles escaped her mouth… he couldn’t take it anymore. He groaned loudly in the closet, released down her throat and coating every wall. He panted as he pulled her head off him and tucked himself back into his slacks. He stood up and left her coughing on the floor of the small closet and in her thoughts.

Breakfast was soon ready—steaming bowls of grits, scrambled eggs, sausage, and thick slices of toast, with coffee for the adults and juice for the little one. The scent of butter and pepper hung in the air as the family gathered at the dining room table. Annie sat beside Smoke, Angelina in her high chair between them, and Y/N stationed herself close enough to feed the baby without intruding.

“Angelina, you like your grits, huh?” Y/N asked with a soft smile. The baby babbled in reply, cheeks puffing as a bit of food slipped past her lips. Y/N caught it with the spoon and tucked it back into her mouth, coaxing her to swallow.

Annie’s eyes lingered on the tender exchange—until she noticed Smoke’s gaze was fixed not on his daughter, but on Y/N.

“Y/N, how did you sleep last night, darlin’?” Annie’s tone was light, but her glance was deliberate.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, careful to keep her voice even. “Fine, and yourself?”

“I slept lovely, thank you,” Annie replied, biting into a piece of toast.

Y/N gave a small nod before lifting Angelina from the chair to help her sip watered-down apple juice from her bottle. The baby’s soft gulps filled the brief silence.

“Did you get our pay on your door?” Smoke’s voice cut through, low and casual.

Y/N met his eyes, choosing her words with care. “Yes, Mr. Moore. I did. Thank you.”

“If you need a ride into town to send it, I’ll give you one,” he said, glancing down at his coffee.

The offer made her pulse hitch—she had no desire to be alone with him. But before she could speak, Annie stepped in smoothly, “Honey, we’ve got to get the juke joint ready for tonight.”

Smoke nodded. “Okay, but we can drop her off and pick her up when we’re finished.”

Annie turned to Y/N, her brow arched. “What do you think?”

Y/N hesitated, then looked into Annie’s eyes. “I wouldn’t mind. I can walk back home too, if you like.”

“No,” Smoke said sharply. “Those folks over there ain’t friendly.”

Her gaze flicked from Annie to him, then back. “Well… can you drop me at that shop Stack told me about? He says it’s close, so I won’t get into any trouble.” She softened her eyes just enough when looking at Smoke, and the effect was immediate—his expression eased, and he gave a short nod before returning to his plate.

Annie caught Y/N’s eye, a knowing smirk curling her lips before she winked.

Moments later

The Moores were waiting for Y/N to come to the car, and when they saw her, she wore a pine-green dress suited for the weather, white gloves, and matching white heels. She carried her mother’s purse, the check tucked safely inside.

“Now, Miss Carter, every dress you wear is just lovely, darlin’,” Annie said, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Y/N smiled and guided her toward the car. “Thank you, Miss Annie. Theresa is settled in with Angelina.”

“Alrighty, let’s go on ahead and head out,” Annie said, watching Y/N slide into the backseat and settle in.

Smoke waited until everyone was in place before pulling off. Adjusting his hat in the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Y/N leaning on her hands, the wind teasing her hair. The way she gazed out at the land—so innocent, so unknowing—made him study her for a moment before fixing the mirror back to the road.

They soon reached the post office. Y/N stepped out, promising she’d be right back, and surveyed the two lines before joining the one marked “Colored.” She adjusted her dress as she waited, but then felt eyes on her from the other side.

Her father had taught her to stand tall no matter what, but the group of white men across the way made their intentions clear with each crude call: “Hey, colored girl.” “You real purty for a nigger.” “Hey, nigger girl.”

She kept silent, knowing full well what white men were capable of. Relief swept through her when she finally stepped up to the counter.

“Hello, I’m sendin’ this mail out,” she said.

“And is this the right address, lovely?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s for a James Jethro Carter.”

“Alrighty, suga. They’ll be gettin’ this by Monday morning. Is that okay?”

“Sounds fine to me. Thank you very much.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too, ma’am.”

Y/N headed for the door, but quickened her pace when she heard footsteps behind her. She made it to the car and climbed in. “Sorry it took me so long. It was real busy.”

As Smoke started the engine, his eyes cut to the men still staring at the car. “Miss Carter, did those men talk to you?”

“What men?” she asked, trying to sound clueless.

“The men over there. Those white men.”

She told him no. He clicked his tongue but kept watching them in the mirror as they pulled away.

Down the road, they came to a shop with lilac-purple lettering across the front. Y/N read the sign aloud. “Pearline’s.”

“Mhm,” Annie said, “she’s a family friend. She sings at the juke joint from time to time.”

Smoke handed Y/N some cash. “Go ahead and buy a dress or two. Can’t have you lookin’ like you don’t belong.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moore. I’ll see y’all tonight. Be safe.”

Inside, the boutique gleamed with mannequins in the finest women’s fashions—like something straight out of the city.

“Y/N, hey! What you doin’ here?” came a familiar voice from behind.

She turned to see Sammie, jacketless, smiling. “Stack told me about this place. What you doin’ here?”

“This is my lady’s shop.”

“Ya lady? Little Sammie got a lady?” Y/N teased with a grin.

That’s when she emerged—head to toe in red plaid, dressed to impress. “Hello, hello. Welcome to Pearline’s. I’m Pearline. How can I help you, beautiful?”

Y/N returned the smile. “My friend Stack told me I’d find the best dresses here for parties.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve got everything for every occasion. Since you’re a family friend, I can even alter it for you. What’re you lookin’ for in particular?”

“Well, somethin’ not too fitting. The Lord blessed me a little too much,” Y/N said.

Pearline laughed, hand over her chest. “Oh, darlin’, I know the feelin’. I’m a tiny thing with hips and a behind so wide I gotta walk sideways.”

“I ain’t complainin’,” Sammie chimed in, biting his lip.

Pearline smirked. “Careful, honey. We have company. I’ll handle you later.”

She linked arms with Y/N, guiding her along the racks. “I can tell you love color. What about a nice blue or red?”

“Those could work. But would they fit for the juke joint?”

“Oh, honey, there’s no dress code for that. But we can look at more colors.”

They stopped in front of a cream satin gown, knee-length and smooth under Y/N’s fingertips. “I love this. I don’t think I have anything like it,” she said, eyeing the same style in deep mauve. “I don’t know which one to choose.”

“I’ll take both—if I can?”

“Of course. Now let’s measure you. Sammie baby, watch the store for me while I take her back.”

“Of course, my sweet Pearline.”

In the back, Y/N stood in her undergarments while Pearline measured. “Bust, 38. Waist, 29. Hips… a good 42. Girl, you were right—the Lord blessed you mighty fine. Since the gowns are sleeveless, no major changes needed. You can dress now, honey.”

As Y/N slipped her dress back on, Pearline asked, “So, I hear you’re the nanny for the Moores. How’s that goin’?”

“It’s nice. I get to do what I love and help others who need it.”

“Good. And I hear you’ll be at the juke on weekends. Sammie says you can sing, too.”

“I used to, but he keeps pushin’.”

Pearline laughed. “Oh, I know. He made me sing my first night here.”

“Did you?”

“Took some convincin’, but I did. And I’m glad. Made me realize a lot needed to change. When I met Sammie, I was unhappily married. The juke joint showed me a whole ‘nother world—freedom to be who I wanna be.”

Pearline’s eyes narrowed playfully. “What’s stoppin’ you from singin’?”

“I haven’t in so long… since I can remember.”

“Think about it. You may regret it if you don’t.”

She winked. “I’ll have your dresses ready by next week. And whenever you need another or just wanna say hi, you come on by.”

They hugged, Y/N thanked her, and she made her way back to the house.

The sun was sagging low, bleeding gold and red across the dirt path as Y/N made her way home. The air was heavy, the kind of still heat that stuck to the skin and made every breath thick. Pearline’s words still echoed in her head—Maybe you’ll sing one day, sugar. She thought of her daddy’s old guitar, the way her mama used to hum while stirring a pot, and before she knew it, the tune rolled off her lips.

Mmm… you my midnight dreeeeam… and my mornin’ liiiiight Yes, you my midnight dreeeeam, baaaaby… and my mornin’ liiiiight Hold me close, don’t let me go… we gon’ be alriiiiight…

Her voice was low, almost a whisper meant only for herself. So caught up in the memory, she didn’t hear the rumble of a truck until a voice cut through the evening like a blade.

“Hey, colored girl. Want a ride?”

Her feet kept moving, faster now. She clutched her mama’s purse close, staring straight ahead, pretending the words hadn’t been said. The truck’s slow crawl beside her made her skin prickle.

“Don’t you hear us talkin’ to you, nigger gal?”

A laugh followed—sharp, ugly. She could feel their eyes on her, their smell of tobacco and liquor wafting in the thick air. The memory of the post office incident came rushing back. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She glanced to the right—nothing but tall grass. No houses. No help.

Run.

Her grandmother’s voice in her head. Then her mama’s.

Run, baby, run.

She bolted into the grass, heels snapping against the hard ground, skirt hiked high in one hand, purse in the other. The sound of another truck engine roared behind her, the shouts chasing her through the field.

“Get that nigger gal!”

Her breath tore in her throat. The grass whipped against her legs. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she had to keep moving. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t stop until she spotted it—the Moore house in the distance, porch light glowing faint in the coming dark.

Her knees nearly buckled in relief… until she saw the car in the drive.

Stack.

He was leaning against the hood, hat tilted back, a grin curling on his lips—until she got close enough for him to see her face. The grin dropped. He was running toward her before she could even call his name, meeting her halfway.

“Doll, what’s wrong?”

She fell into his chest, trembling, words tripping over themselves. He cupped her head, looking around like he was expecting trouble to come charging out of the grass. Pulling back, he framed her face in his hands, his thumb swiping at the wetness on her cheeks.

“Doll… breathe. Tell me what happened.”

“They—” Her voice cracked. “They almost got me.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Without another word, he wrapped his arm tight around her and hurried her toward the house.

Inside, the sound of babies babbling filled the living room—Theresa and Cornbread sitting with the twins and Angelina. Stack settled Y/N at the dining table, disappearing into the kitchen before returning with a warm towel and a glass of water.

“Here. Sip this.” His voice was low, steady, but his jaw was tight. He began to gently wipe her face with the towel, making sure not to pull at her skin. He placed the towel on the counter before turning back to her and asking, "Take ya time, and tell me what happened."

“I was walking from Pearline’s to the house and these men in a white pickup, were catcallin’ me. I ain’t answer though and they called me a nigger and colored and…and I just started to run then two more started chasing me and I think I lost my momma’s purse. It was her favorite bag… and I lost it but I ran as fast I could and I lost the bag.” Y/N looked in her lap as she cried and Stack held her close to his heart to comfort her.

“You did right, doll. You ran. That’s what matters.”

But when he looked away toward the window, his eyes were hard.

“Theresa,” he called, “Sister, I need a favor and I’ll pay you. Watch the children. Cornbread, stay here with the girls. Help Y/N to her room and if Smoke tries to make her work tell the nigga what happened. I’ll be back.”

Cornbread frowned as held Y/N up.. “Where you goin’?”

Stack grabbed his hat. “To make this right.” And just like that, he was gone, the rumble of his automobile fading into the distance.

Later That Night

The house was quiet. Y/N sat in her room, clean and dressed in soft pajamas, still shaken. The faint scent of soap clung to her skin. She was about to crawl into bed when a gentle knock sounded at the front door downstairs. Footsteps came up, slow but certain, and then—three soft taps at her bedroom door.

She tightened her robe before opening it. Stack stood there, tall and worn from the day, hands behind his back.

“Miss Doll,” he said softly, “come on out a second. I wanna check on you.”

She hesitated but stepped into the hall.

“How you feelin’?” he asked, searching her face as he was in a new suit, different from the one earlier, and no hat.. “You look calmer, but I know you still rattled.”

“I am,” she admitted, arms folding across her chest. “But… thank you for checkin’ on me.”

He smiled faintly. “Family looks after each other.”

Her eyes flicked to his still-hidden hands. “What’s behind your back?”

The smirk returned, slow and boyish. He brought his hands forward—her mama’s purse.

Her gasp broke into a laugh. “Stack! How—?”

“I went lookin’,” he said simply. “Got it back. And those men… well, let’s just say they won’t be botherin’ you again. Not as long as I’m breathin’. Like I said before— as long as I'm around, you ain't gotta lift a pretty finger.”

Her chest swelled with relief. She stepped closer, the words catching in her throat before she finally managed, “Thank you.”

Stack nodded. “Cornbread and I gotta head to the juke joint soon. Theresa’s still here, so you get some rest. Need anything else before I go?”

Instead of answering, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging tight. Then, standing on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I hope I see you later,” she whispered.

His eyes softened. “It’d be a pleasure, doll.”

"G'night, Stack."

"G'night, Miss Doll."

She smiled and slipped back into her room, closing the door gently. Out in the hall, Stack pressed a hand to his chest, leaning back against the wall, feeling his heartbeat slow. He walked down the steps with a quiet smile, looking once over his shoulder at her door before heading out into the night—knowing that he brought a smile to his Doll's face.

-Sweet Babies-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface @cchampangemammii @brownskincheyenne @zunibugsiren @mimi2618 @amor33 @swatson06 @lovesbysblog @dollys-world224 @mbjswife @l-u-xwrites @itsspixiedusst56 @loveabledovee

[meo-eiru]

I’m alive only when you look at me

[inkstxinz]

evil rat man

[mxflowercheck]

So, I'm listening to TMA (ep 93) and well, the whole "You are tied to the Institute, and the Institute is tied to me" revelation from The Rat Bastard (Elias) happened recently And I'm just getting into the lore, I don't know shit, so when I had a silly idea, I asked my friend: "Hey, Elias is the heart of the Institute or whatever he is , will it hurt him if you kick shelves or slam the door on purpose?"

They said no (sad), but that doesn't stop from thinking about a crack fic like this? Like:

Elias, with a slightly twitching eye: everyone stop. Immediately. Melanie, scribbling on the table with a knife: stop what? Daisy, methodically breaking the corner of the baseboard with her heel: don't know what you're talking about Basira, forcefully throwing a tennis ball at the wall: we're just having our lunch break Martin, stumbling and spilling boiling water on the floor (again): Yeah, I was going to make us some tea.… Elias: I would advise you to come to your senses and- Tim, actually returning from lunch and slamming the door so hard that plaster falls from the ceiling: hi everyone! Elias: Murderous eldritch screeching

also I like the headcanon that Jon has a cane. So in this lil au I imagine him taking his cane, walking around the Archives and hitting the shelves with it, whe he's particularly annoyed by Elias