#myadagoat22

[myadagoat22]

Jim Hopper X Wife Reader

Warning: Pure Smut (This was just random from my crush on Jim Hopper)

You were on your knees on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, the heat warming your bare skin. Jim was behind you, his large, calloused hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against him. He was already buried deep inside you, his thick cock stretching you perfectly, filling you until you could feel him in every corner of your being.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated through your entire body. "So fuckin' perfect for me."

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, a languid rhythm that made you ache with need. Each drag of his cock against your inner walls sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. One of his hands left your hip, sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, gently tugging your head to the side. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his beard scraping deliciously against your shoulder.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot. "This pussy is all mine."

You could only moan in response, pushing back against him, silently begging for more. He chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. "That's what I thought."

His pace quickened, the slow, teasing rhythm giving way to something harder, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and your breathless cries. His grip on your hip tightened, holding you steady as he pounded into you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

"Jim," you gasped, his name a prayer on your lips. "Please…"

"Please what?" he demanded, his other hand snaking around to find your clit. He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with calloused fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure. "Tell me what you want, honey. You know I like it when you use your words."

"I want to come," you cried out, your body trembling. "Please, let me come."

"Come for me then," he commanded, his voice thick with authority and lust. "Come all over my cock. Let me feel you."

That was all it took. His words, his touch, the relentless pistoning of his hips—it all coalesced into a blinding wave of pleasure that crashed over you. Your orgasm ripped through you, your muscles clamping down around him as you cried out his name. He groaned, the sound guttural and raw, as your pulsing walls milked his own release from him. He thrust into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled himself deep inside you.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, breathing heavily, your bodies still joined. Then, he slowly pulled out, and you collapsed onto the rug, boneless and sated. He was right behind you, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of just moments before.

"Love you, my girl," he whispered, his voice now soft and tender.

"Love you too, Hop," you murmured back, a contented smile on your face as you drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, the firelight casting a warm glow on your tangled limbs.

[myadagoat22]

A small Drabble of poly Bruce x Clark x y/n

Warning:smut

Bruce lifted you effortlessly, his strength undeniable as he deposited you onto the cool sheets of the bed. Clark was there immediately, hovering over you while Bruce stripped off the rest of your clothes with efficient, hungry movements. When you were finally bare before them, the intensity in their eyes was enough to burn.

Bruce settled between your thighs, pushing them open with a firm grip. He didn't give you a moment to adjust before he lowered his head, his tongue dragging through your wet folds in a long, slow stripe. You cried out, your back arching off the mattress, your hands fisting in the sheets.

Clark moved up the bed, framing your face with his large body. He captured your wrists gently, pinning them above your head against the pillows.

"Let him taste you," Clark commanded, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with power. "Just relax and feel it."

Bruce groaned against your core, the sound vibrating through you as he devoured you. His tongue circled your clit with precision, alternating between soft flicks and hard suction that had your toes curling. He pushed two thick fingers inside you, curling them expertly to find that spot that made you see stars.

"You taste incredible," Bruce rasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, fucking you with his fingers in deep, rhythmic thrusts that matched the pace of his tongue.

The coil of tension in your stomach tightened rapidly, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Clark watched you with dark eyes, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as Bruce brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it," Clark murmured against your mouth. "Let go for him."

With a harsh cry, your body seized as the orgasm tore through you, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Bruce didn't stop, working you through it until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Before you could fully catch your breath, Bruce moved up your body, shedding his own clothes in seconds. His skin was hot against yours, his cock hard and heavy as he lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed in with a guttural groan, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

"God, you're tight," Bruce ground out, his forehead resting against yours. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, before he began to move.

He set a punishing pace, driving into you with deep, powerful thrusts that rocked the entire bed. Every snap of his hips punched a gasp from your lungs, the friction overwhelming.

Clark watched for a moment, his hand stroking his own length as he observed Bruce taking you apart. Then, he shifted closer to your head. "Turn your head," he ordered softly.

You turned, eyes bleary with pleasure, and Clark guided the head of his cock to your lips. You opened eagerly, taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hips shifting forward to slide deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

The dual sensation was overwhelming—Bruce pounding into you with ruthless precision while Clark filled your mouth, his hand tangling in your hair to guide your movements. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and muffled moans.

Bruce reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation sent you spiraling toward the edge again. Your eyes rolled back, your body clamping down around Bruce as another orgasm built, fast and intense.

"I'm close," Bruce grunted, his rhythm faltering slightly as he chased his own release. "Come with me, y/n."

Clark pulled back slightly to let you breathe, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Let go," he urged.

With a final, deep thrust, Bruce buried himself inside you, his body going taut as he spilled into you. The feeling pushed you over the edge, your vision whiting out as you clenched around him, riding out the waves of your climax. Bruce collapsed against you, his chest heaving, pressing you into the mattress.

Clark moved beside you, stroking your hair as you came down, his eyes heavy with desire but patient. "Good girl," he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your sweating forehead. "We're not done with you yet."

[myadagoat22]

Benedict bridgerton x Reader

This is a smut that came to me in a dream.

The heavy oak door of the master bedroom at Bridgerton House closed with a soft, definitive click, the sound echoing in the sudden, profound silence. The boisterous joy of the wedding feast, the well-wishes of a hundred guests, the lively music—it all faded away, leaving only the two of you and the frantic, wild beating of your own heart.

This was it. Your wedding night. With Benedict.

You stood by the grand four-poster bed, your fingers nervously pleating the silk of your wedding gown. The room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a dozen candles, their light dancing on the rich mahogany furniture and making the shadows in the corners seem deep and mysterious. It was a room meant for passion, for intimacy, and the thought made your knees feel weak.

Benedict stood by the fireplace, having just poured two glasses of ruby-red wine. He watched you, his gaze so intense it was almost a physical touch. He had shed his formal coat and waistcoat, standing in just his crisp white shirt and dark breeches. He looked less like a viscount's son and more like the artist he was—relaxed, powerful, and utterly captivating.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, his voice a low, gentle murmur that seemed to wrap around you.

"A little," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "It's just... so much. So final."

He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping just before you. He didn't touch you, not yet. He simply held out one of the wine glasses. "It is final," he agreed, his dark eyes searching yours. "It is the beginning of everything." He took a sip of his own wine. "But we don't have to rush. We have the rest of our lives."

His calmness was a balm to your frayed nerves. You took the glass, your fingers brushing against his. The contact was electric, a spark that shot up your arm. You sipped the wine, the rich, fruity liquid warming you from the inside out.

"I have imagined this night," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "A thousand times. In a thousand different ways. But none of them come close to the reality of you standing here, now, as my wife."

The word 'wife' sent a fresh thrill through you. "And I, you, as my husband."

He set his glass down on a nearby table, then gently took yours from your hand and placed it beside his. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

"I love you," he said, the words simple, direct, and more powerful than any declaration of poetry. "I have loved you for what feels like an eternity."

"And I love you," you breathed, the truth of it filling every part of you.

He leaned in and kissed you then. It wasn't the chaste, formal kiss you'd shared at the altar. This was a kiss of a husband to his wife, a kiss filled with all the love and longing he had just confessed. His lips were soft and sure, moving against yours with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your toes curl. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, and you opened for him willingly. The kiss became a slow, sensual dance, a tasting and exploring that left you breathless and wanting more.

His hands slid from your face down the column of your neck, his fingers tracing the delicate lace trim of your gown. He found the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back and began to undo them, one by one. His knuckles brushed against your spine, and each touch was a brand, a promise of what was to come. The gown loosened, and he gently slid it from your shoulders, letting it pool in a whisper of silk and lace at your feet.

You stood before him in your simple white chemise, the candlelight illuminating your skin through the thin fabric. He didn't speak, but the look in his eyes was enough. It was a look of pure, unadulterated reverence. He saw you not just as a body, but as his heart, his soul, his entire world.

He led you to the bed, his hand holding yours. You sat on the edge, and he knelt before you, a position of worship that made your heart ache. He pressed a kiss to your knee, then another higher up your thigh, his lips warm and soft through the chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. "A masterpiece I could never hope to capture on canvas."

He reached up and slowly drew the straps of your chemise down your arms, his fingers trailing fire in their wake. The garment joined your gown on the floor, and you were bare to his gaze. You should have felt shy, exposed, but all you felt was loved. Cherished.

He stood and quickly shed his own clothes, his movements economical and sure. The sight of him in the flickering candlelight stole your breath. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin, a study in masculine grace. And his arousal, thick and proud, stood testament to his desire for you.

He rejoined you on the bed, not rushing to take you, but lying beside you, propped on one elbow. His free hand began a slow, torturous exploration. It started at your shoulder, tracing the delicate line of your collarbone. His touch was feather-light, a ghost of sensation that made your skin pebble with gooseflesh. He followed the path down your arm, his fingers mapping the sensitive skin of your inner elbow, making you shiver.

His gaze never left yours, dark and fathomless in the candlelight. He was watching every reaction, cataloging every sigh and shiver. His hand moved to your stomach, his palm flat against the soft skin there, his thumb stroking circles just above the line of your hips. The heat from his hand was a slow burn, a promise of the fire to come.

"You have the most exquisite skin," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Like warm silk."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the hollow of your throat. His lips were a brand, his tongue a flicker of flame against your pulse point. He shifted, his mouth trailing a path of fire down to your breast. He bypassed the aching peak, choosing instead to press open-mouthed kisses to the soft swell, his tongue tasting your skin.

It was exquisite torture. You arched your back, a silent plea for more, for him to end the sweet agony and take the straining nipple into his mouth.

"Patience, my love," he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. "I want to learn every part of you tonight."

His hand continued its journey, moving down to your hip, then over the curve of your bottom. He kneaded the flesh there, his grip firm and possessive. Then his hand was sliding down your thigh, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin on the inside, so close to where you desperately wanted him to be. You could feel the moisture gathering between your legs, a slick, undeniable proof of your arousal.

His mouth finally closed over your nipple, and the sensation was so intense you cried out, your hands flying to his hair, holding him to you. He suckled gently, then with more pressure, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, his teeth grazing it lightly. The dual sensation of his mouth on your breast and his hand inching ever higher on your thigh was almost too much to bear.

Just as you thought you might combust, his hand finally reached its destination. His fingers brushed through the damp curls at the apex of your thighs, and you gasped, your hips lifting instinctively. He explored you with a artist's touch, parting your folds, his fingers sliding through your slickness.

"So wet for me," he groaned against your breast, the praise making you clench with need. "So ready."

He found the small, hidden bundle of nerves at the top of your sex and began to circle it with his thumb. The pleasure was sharp, immediate, overwhelming. It was a different kind of fire than the slow burn from before; this was a blazing inferno. He watched your face as he pleasured you, his eyes dark with a primal hunger that both thrilled and empowered you.

He slid one long finger inside you, then another, his palm still pressed against your clit. He began to move his fingers in a slow, rhythmic thrust that mimicked the act to come. The feeling of being filled, even by just his fingers, was intoxicating. Your hips began to move in time with his hand, chasing a pleasure that was building, coiling deep in your belly, tighter and tighter.

"Benedict," you gasped, his name a prayer on your lips. "Please... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he commanded, his voice a low, growling whisper. "Let go. Let me feel you."

He curled his fingers inside you, finding a spot that made you see stars. He pressed against it as he increased the pressure on your clit, and that was all it took. The world shattered. A wave of pleasure, more intense than anything you had ever imagined, crashed over you. You cried out his name as your body convulsed, your inner walls clenching around his fingers in a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms. It was a blinding, all-consuming release that left you limp and breathless, floating in a sea of bliss.

He didn't stop, his fingers and tongue milking every last drop of your pleasure until you were a quivering, sighing mess beneath him.

Only then did he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. The sight of him, so unashamedly appreciative of your body's response, sent a fresh, weaker aftershock through you.

"Exquisite," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He leaned down and kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, a musky, intimate flavor that was both shocking and deeply arousing.

You were boneless, replete, but as he kissed you, a new fire began to stir deep within you. You wanted more. You wanted all of him. Your hands, which had been limp at your sides, came back to life, roaming over the broad expanse of his back, feeling the shift and play of his muscles beneath his smooth skin. You wanted to feel his weight on you, to be completely and utterly possessed by him.

As if sensing your thoughts, he settled over you, his elbows bracketing your head, his body a warm, heavy blanket that made you feel safe and cherished. His cock, thick and hard, nestled against your still-sensitive folds, and the promise of its fullness made you ache with a renewed need.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. "Look at me," he commanded softly.

You met his gaze, and what you saw there made your soul sing. Love, passion, and a fierce, protective tenderness.

"I want to see your face when I take you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to see you fall apart in my arms."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He held your gaze as he began to push forward, a slow, relentless pressure that stole your breath. There was a brief, sharp sting, a moment of discomfort that made you tense.

"Shhh, it's alright," he soothed, stilling his movements and dropping kisses on your eyelids, your nose, your lips. "Breathe with me, my love. Just breathe."

You did as he asked, forcing yourself to relax, to trust him. As you did, he pushed forward again, sliding deeper into you. The pain faded, replaced by a strange, full sensation that was not unpleasant. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was both overwhelming and deeply intimate. He was sheathed to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, and the feeling of being so completely joined, so utterly one with him, was profound.

He stayed still for a long moment, allowing you to adjust, to become accustomed to his size. He kissed you then, a slow, deep, loving kiss that was a stark contrast to the raw passion of moments before. This was a kiss of connection, of sealing a bond that went far beyond the physical.

"Alright?" he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, unable to speak, and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. The movement was an unspoken invitation. An encouragement.

He began to move then, a slow, gentle rhythm that was designed for pleasure, not for haste. Each stroke was a revelation, a wave of sensation that built and crested, leaving you breathless in its wake. He watched you the entire time, his eyes dark and focused, as if committing every gasp, every shudder, to memory. The angle of his thrusts changed, and he brushed against that magical spot inside you that his fingers had found earlier. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through you, and you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He smiled, a slow, triumphant smile, and began to aim for that spot with every measured thrust. The pressure inside you built again, a tight coil of pleasure winding in your belly, growing tighter and tighter with every stroke. This time it was different, deeper, more intense. It wasn't just a physical build; it was an emotional one, too. Every thrust was a declaration of his love, every retreat a promise to return.

Your hands roamed his body, learning the map of him. You traced the line of his spine, cupped the hard muscle of his buttocks, urging him on. You felt the sweat bead on his brow, the strain in his arms as he held himself above you, and you were overwhelmed by a wave of love so powerful it almost hurt.

"Benedict," you gasped, your voice breaking with emotion. "Oh, God, Benedict..."

"That's it," he groaned, his voice strained with his own impending release. "Let go, my love. Let go for me."

His words were your undoing. With a cry that was half his name, half a sob of pure ecstasy, the coil inside you snapped. Waves of pleasure, more intense than anything you had ever imagined, crashed over you, consuming you, body and soul. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that milked his own release from him. With a guttural groan of your name, he followed you over the edge, his own release flooding you, hot and endless. You felt the powerful pulse of his cock deep within you as he emptied himself, a final, primal act of possession.

He collapsed against you, his weight a welcome anchor in the storm of your passion. He didn't crush you, but settled his weight carefully, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic, wild beat that matched your own.

You lay tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat and the aftermath of your lovemaking, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

After a long moment, he shifted, rolling to his side but keeping you tucked securely in his arms. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Well, Mrs. Bridgerton," he murmured, a smug, utterly satisfied smile playing on his lips. "I believe we have consummated the marriage quite thoroughly."

You laughed, a breathless, happy sound that felt like bubbles in your chest. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton. I believe we have."

He tightened his arms around you, his expression softening into one of pure contentment. "I love you," he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with an emotion that went far beyond simple words.

"And I love you," you replied, snuggling closer, your body fitting against his as if it had been made for him. "Always."

The candles burned low, casting long shadows across the room, but in the circle of Benedict's arms, there was only light. Only warmth. Only love. It was, you knew with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, the first of a thousand perfect nights. The beginning of everything.

[myadagoat22]

Wedding

🌞 DAY — "The Ceremony"

The Mississippi sun came down like a blessing and a warning.

Annie stood under the big oak near her shop, dress white but simple, veil long like a whisper behind her. Her hands didn’t shake. They never did.

Smoke stood across from her in a black suit he didn’t like wearing, collar too tight, heart tighter. Folks from the town circled around — some smiling, some side-eying, Some jealous of Annie. Some jealous of Smoke.

He watched Annie instead.

She looked like peace.

The preacher read slow. Words about unity, about God. Smoke didn’t believe in half of it — but he believed in her. That was enough.

Annie held his hands, rough and calloused and clumsy. She smiled with her eyes more than her mouth.

“Do you take this man?”

She said:

“I already did.”

They kissed under that tree while cicadas screamed and the wind held its breath. The roots beneath their feet wrapped tighter, as if the land itself was listening.

And Stack was the loudest one clapping.

🌙 NIGHT — "The After"

It wasn’t a big reception. Just soft music, cornbread, a bottle passed around, and a room full of people having fun dancing.

Annie’s laugh was soft and low as she pulled Smoke toward the dance floor.

He didn’t dance.

But he did tonight.

They moved slow. He kept looking at her like she might vanish.

“You alright?” she asked.

“I ain’t sure what I’m supposed to do with somethin’ this good,” he muttered.

“Hold it close,” she whispered. “And don’t let it rot.”

Later, when the lights were low and folks had gone home, she lit candles around their bedroom — not for romance, but for protection. Smoke sat on the edge of the bed, undoing his boots. Watching her.

She moved like ritual.

She took off her earrings. Unpinned her hair.

She turned and said, quiet:

“I need you”

Elijah gazed at his new wife, admiring the way the candlelight danced across her skin. Annie was a vision, all lush curves and beautiful hair. The sight of her made his heart race and his cock throb.

He stood, boots forgotten, and moved towards her with predatory grace. "Come here, baby," he purred, pulling her into his arms. "I need you too. More than air."

Annie melted against him, hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. "Make love to me, Elijah," she whispered, pressing soft kisses along his jaw. "Show me I'm yours."

Elijah groaned, desire surging through him. He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he backed her towards the bed. They tumbled onto the mattress together, a tangle of grasping hands and seeking lips.

He rolled them so Annie was beneath him, bracing his weight on his elbows as he stared down at her reverently. "So beautiful," he murmured, trailing kisses along the column of her throat. "So perfect."

Annie shivered, arching into his touch. "Please," she begged, fingers tangling in his hair. "I want to feel you inside me. Want you to claim me fully."

Elijah growled, hips grinding down against hers. He could feel her heat through their clothes, stoking the flames of his desire. "Patience, love," he admonished with a wicked grin. "I'm going to take my time worshipping this body of yours."

He started at her neck, lips and teeth and tongue mapping out every inch of her sensitive skin. Then moved to them big titties kissing and sucking them.

Annie, keened, back bowing as pleasure overtook her. She writhed beneath him, nails raking down his back as she tried to urge him lower. "Elijah, please," she whimpered, thighs falling open in invitation. "I need you."

"Soon," he promised, kissing her stomach then going on down to her wet pussy “Want to taste every inch of you first."

He started rubbing her clit Annie cried out, fisting the sheets as ecstasy crashed over her. He licked sucked and pushed fingers in and Annie was so close.

Elijah loved those sounds Annie was making so he went faster with the fingers then Annie finally came, squirting all over his face “you’re the best I ever had” Smoke said

“Baby you’re the best I have ever had” Annie replied kissing Smoke.

Annie whined, rocking against his touch shamelessly. "Please, Elijah," she begged, desperation clear in her voice. "I can't wait anymore. Need you inside me."

Elijah hummed in agreement, finally removing her panties and tossing them aside. He settled between her thighs, the hard length of him pressing insistently against her dripping entrance.

"You ready for me, love?" he asked, voice rough with barely restrained hunger. "Ready for me to fill this sweet cunt?"

"Yes," Annie hissed, reaching down to grip his shaft. She notched him at her opening, looking up at him with eyes hazy with desire. "Fill me up, Elijah. Make me yours."

Elijah snarled, unable to hold back any longer. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt, stretching her around his thick girth.

They both groaned at the sensation, bodies moving instinctively to join as one. Elijah set a brutal pace, hips slapping sharply against Annie's as he drove into her again and again.

"Fuck yes," he grunted, angling to hit that sweet spot inside her with every thrust. "Take it, Annie. Take my cock like the good little slut you are."

Annie keened, inner walls fluttering around him as pleasure built rapidly. She met him thrust for thrust, nails digging into his back as she urged him on.

"Harder," she begged breathlessly, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Fuck me harder, Elijah. Wanna feel you for days."

Elijah obliged with a snarl, going into her faster and deeper. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin on skin and their harsh panting, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall.

"Gonna come," Annie warned shakily, thighs starting to tremble. "Oh god, Elijah! I'm gonna-!"

She cut off with a scream as her orgasm slammed into her, back bowing sharply as ecstasy overtook her. Her pussy clamped down on Elijah's thrusting cock like a vice, rippling around him as she came undone.

Elijah groaned at the sensation, feeling his own release barreling down on him. "Fuck yes," he rasped, pounding into her erratically. "Milk my cock, Annie. Fucking take it."

With a harsh shout, he buried himself as deep as possible and came, spilling himself inside her with thick, hot ropes of his seed. Annie moaned weakly as she felt him pulsing within her, triggering another mini-orgasm that had her seeing stars.

They collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, gasping for breath as they tried to regain their bearings. Elijah pressed tender kisses to Annie's face as she shivered beneath him.

"Love you," he murmured softly, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "My wife. My everything."

Annie smiled mistily, tangling her fingers with his. "Love you too," she whispered back, nuzzling into his palm. "Always and forever."

TagList: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @harleycativy

[myadagoat22]

Take My Heart

Brahms Heelshire x Y/n

The first time you see him—really see him—it’s almost gentle.

You wake to warmth. A presence. A breath.

You’re not alone.

Your eyes open and he’s above you.

Not the doll.

Him.

Tall, real, alive. A mess of tangled hair and shadowed eyes. Shirtless, chest streaked with dirt and old scars, like some ghost the world tried to bury and forgot to finish the job.

Your lips part, breath shallow. “Brahms…?”

He freezes.

Like the name burns him.

Like hearing it from your lips makes him ache.

You sit up slowly, never breaking eye contact. He doesn't move, doesn’t speak. Just stares like you're something fragile. Or sacred.

“You’ve been watching me this whole time.”

A pause.

Then a small nod.

Your throat is dry. “Why?”

His voice—raspy, deep, like a growl soaked in vulnerability—finally breaks the silence.

“Because you’re… mine.”

He tells you, later, in halting whispers as he stands near the fireplace with his face in the shadows, that the others never kissed him goodnight the right way.

Not like you did.

You hadn’t thought much of it. A silly peck on cold porcelain lips. A joke at first.

But you’d started doing it softer. Slower. Meaning it, maybe. A little more, each time.

Brahms never forgot.

And now, standing before you—real and trembling, like a man on the edge—he leans down slowly and whispers, “Kiss me like that again.”

This time, you kiss his lips.

Not ceramic. Not cold.

Real.

Hungry.

Human.

He groans—whimpers—into your mouth, gripping your waist with shaky hands like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. You clutch his shoulders and pull him closer until there’s nothing but skin and heat and that terrifying need between you both.

His forehead presses to yours.

“I’ve waited so long.”

You fall onto the bed together—clothes shed in desperate pieces. He’s gentle but clumsy, clearly untouched, his big hands reverent and unsure.

“Is this okay?” he whispers hoarsely against your skin, as his fingers trace the swell of your thighs.

“Yes,” you whisper back, heart pounding. “I want you.”

His eyes darken. “Say it again.”

“I want you, Brahms.”

He moans like it physically hits him. His head dips between your legs—and instead of diving in wildly, he just… stares for a second.

You can feel his breath on your core.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “You smell so sweet…”

Then his tongue touches you.

And your back arches instantly.

He licks you like he’s starved. Like your taste is the only thing he’s ever wanted in this life. His moans vibrate through your entire body as he buries his face deeper, pulling your thighs over his shoulders, grinding himself into the mattress beneath him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, gasping, “Just like that—yes—!”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even pause to breathe. He eats like a worshipper, desperate and possessive, gripping your hips so tight it almost hurts.

You climax fast and hard, crying out into the room—and he just keeps going, licking up every drop like he can’t stand to waste a second of it.

When he finally crawls up over you, his lips are wet with you, and his eyes are blown wide with awe.

“Are you mine now?” he asks.

You nod, pulling him closer. “Yes, Brahms.”

“Forever?” His voice shakes. His cock nudges your entrance.

You wrap your legs around his waist. “Yes, baby. Yours. Forever.”

That’s all he needs.

He slides inside—slowly, with a full-body groan like it’s breaking him to finally feel you like this. He’s big, thick, and clings to you like you’re all that’s anchoring him to the earth.

“Is it good?” he pants. “Do I feel good to you?”

“So good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his back. “You’re perfect.”

That earns a growl.

His thrusts are deep and messy at first—years of craving boiling over—but he listens. Watches your face. Adjusts his angle until you’re moaning with every stroke.

You chant his name like a prayer.

He clutches you like you’re holy.

And when he cums, he buries his face in your neck, shaking, filling you fully with broken gasps and mumbled “mine, mine, mine” between kisses and soft groans.

Later, he won’t let you leave the bed.

He curls around you, arms wrapped tight, your scent all over him, breath even.

And you swear you hear him murmur in your ear, low and sleep-dazed:

“We’ll have a baby, yeah? A little one to play with. Stay forever.”

You smile.

And nod.

Because you knew what this job was from the moment you kissed that doll goodnight.

You were never getting out of this house untouched.

You were meant for him.

@5unnyb34chw4v35 I hope I got ur expectations

[myadagoat22]

Aaron hotchner x reader x Emily Prentiss

Warning: smut

(So um I been watching criminal minds again)

The evening had started innocently enough—a rare night off for the BAU team, gathered at a quiet bar to decompress from a particularly grueling case. You found yourself seated between Hotch and Emily, their shoulders occasionally brushing against yours as the conversation flowed around you.

As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, you became increasingly aware of the charged atmosphere between the three of you. Hotch's hand would "accidentally" graze yours when reaching for his drink, while Emily's fingers would trace patterns on your knee under the table.

When Hotch suggested continuing the night at his place, Emily's knowing glance in your direction made your heart race. Now here you were, in Hotch's spacious living room, the dim lighting casting shadows that seemed to enhance the tension thrumming between you all.

"I've been watching you both," Hotch said suddenly, his voice low and commanding as he stood before you. "The way you look at each other... and at me."

Emily rose from her seat, moving to stand behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "We've all been dancing around this for months, Aaron," she murmured, her lips close to your ear. "Isn't it time we stopped pretending?"

Your breath hitched as Emily's fingers began massaging your shoulders, Hotch's eyes darkening as he watched. "I want to see you two together," he said, his voice husky with desire. "And then I want to join."

Emily turned your face toward hers, her eyes asking permission. When you nodded, she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth as Hotch watched, his own desire evident in the growing bulge in his pants.

Hotch moved closer, his hand cupping your breast as Emily's hands began exploring your body. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.

Clothes disappeared piece by piece until you were all bare, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your skin. Emily guided you to the plush rug before the fireplace, lowering you gently before covering your body with hers.

Her kisses trailed down your neck, across your collarbones, and finally to your breasts where she took turns lavishing attention on each nipple. You arched against her, seeking more friction, more contact, more everything.

Hotch positioned himself behind Emily, his hands roaming her body as she pleasured you. "That's it, Em," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Make her feel good."

Emily's fingers found your wetness, circling your clit before sliding inside you. You cried out at the sensation, your hips bucking against her hand as Hotch continued to watch, his own arousal evident.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.

Hotch moved to your side, his mouth finding yours as Emily continued her ministrations. "I want to be inside you," he whispered against your lips. "Both of us."

The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. Emily must have felt it because she added another finger, stretching you in preparation. "Yes," you gasped. "Please, yes."

Emily shifted, allowing Hotch to position himself between your legs. He entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before beginning to move. Emily positioned herself above your face, her knees on either side of your head as she lowered herself to your mouth.

You tasted her eagerly, your tongue exploring her folds as Hotch thrust into you, his pace increasing with each movement. The room filled with the sounds of pleasure—moans, gasps, and the slick sounds of bodies moving together.

Hotch's fingers found your clit, rubbing in circles as Emily leaned forward to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. The sight of them kissing above you, combined with the sensations overwhelming your body, sent you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure so intense you thought you might pass out. Emily followed shortly after, her cries muffled against Hotch's mouth as she found her own release. Hotch thrust into you a few more times before finding his own completion, his body tensing before collapsing beside you.

The three of you lay tangled together, limbs entwined as you caught your breath. Hotch's arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer as Emily snuggled against your other side.

"I've wanted this for so long," Emily murmured, her fingers tracing patterns on your stomach.

Hotch pressed a kiss to your forehead. "We should have done this sooner."

You smiled, content in the warmth of their arms. "There's always tonight," you whispered, already anticipating what the rest of the night—and future nights—might bring.

As sleep began to claim you, you felt Hotch's hand begin to explore again, his touch reigniting the fire that had barely begun to dim. Emily stirred, her lips finding yours in a slow, languid kiss that promised more pleasure to come.

The night was young, and you had no doubt that by morning, you'd all be thoroughly exhausted—and completely satisfied.

[myadagoat22]

Polyghostface final scene part 3

Ik this is super late mb.

Billy’s voice is almost gentle when he looks at Sidney. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sidney doesn’t answer. She just stands there, forcing her breathing to slow, forcing her spine straight. She refuses to crumble in front of them.

A dragging sound cuts through the house. Heavy. Slow. All of them turn.

Stu stumbles in from the hallway, grinning too wide, hauling something across the floor like it’s a prop.

Except it isn’t.

He shoves the body forward, and it rolls onto the living room rug.

Sidney’s father.

Bound. Gagged. Eyes wide with terror—but alive.

“Daddy!”

Sidney moves without thinking, but Billy’s arm shoots out, stopping her cold.

“Close enough,” he says.

Stu crouches and slips the cellular phone neatly into Mr. Prescott’s shirt pocket, almost playfully. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore,” he says.

Sidney looks between them, then at Y/N.

Y/N stands a little apart from the boys, calmer, quieter. Watching. Measuring. “Why are you doing this?” Sidney demands. Stu spreads his hands. “It’s part of the game,” he explains.

Billy’s smile sharpens. “Guess how I’m going to die,” he challenges.

“Fuck you,” Sidney whispers.

Billy’s eyes flash. “We already played that game. You lost,” he reminds her.

Y/N steps forward slightly now, her voice cool and steady.

“You have to play, Sid. Wouldn’t want to disappoint your dad,” she advises. Sidney looks at her like she doesn’t recognize her anymore. “You’ll never get away with this,” she vows. Billy laughs. “We already did. Cotton Weary? That was easy,” he scoffs.

“We watched movies,” Stu adds proudly. “Took notes,” he boasts.

“Planned,” Y/N corrects quietly.

Sidney turns back to Billy, jaw trembling but voice steady. “Why did you kill my mother?” she asks.

Billy smiles at that—slow and ugly.

“She was sleeping with my dad,” he says. “She broke my family apart,” he accuses. The air changes. Even Stu quiets. “You took my mother,” Billy continues, “so I took yours,” he declares. Sidney sways slightly, but she doesn’t fall.

Y/N watches her closely. There’s no mockery in her expression now—only focus.

Billy glances at the clock.

“After midnight,” he says. “Anniversary time,” he announces.

He picks up the butcher knife and turns to Stu.

“Ready?” he asks.

Stu nods, but he looks a little pale. Billy plunges the knife into Stu’s side. Stu screams, He drops to his knees, blood spreading fast and dark.

Y/N moves immediately.

“Not that deep!” she snaps, grabbing Billy’s wrist before he can twist the blade further. She yanks the knife out herself, pressing her hand hard against Stu’s side to slow the bleeding.

“You’re supposed to look attacked, not die,” she hisses.

Stu blinks up at her, breathing hard. “Jesus—” he gasps.

“You stay to the side,” she says firmly. “Avoid arteries. Avoid the abdomen. Surface wounds. We talked about this,” she instructs.

Billy wipes sweat from his forehead, slightly dazed from adrenaline.

“Relax,” he mutters.

“Relax?” Y/N shoots back. “You just went straight through muscle,” she points out.

She shoves the knife back at Stu.

“Your turn. Controlled,” she commands.

Stu takes it, hands shaking. He stabs Billy—but too low. Billy doubles over with a strangled noise.

Y/N curses under her breath and grabs the knife again before Stu can make it worse.

“You two are idiots,” she mutters.

She demonstrates—slicing Billy’s arm cleanly, shallow but bloody.

“Like that,” she says. “Painful. Not fatal,” she explains.

Billy glares at her but doesn’t argue. He’s breathing too hard.

Stu is swaying now, color draining from his face.

“Okay,” Y/N says sharply. “That’s enough. No more,” she decides. “But we need—” Stu starts.

“We need to survive,” she cuts in. “You pass out, you ruin everything,” she warns. Billy looks toward the foyer table. “The gun,” he realizes.

Stu stumbles toward it.

“It’s not here,” he reports.

Billy limps over, panic creeping into his voice. “What do you mean it’s not here?” he demands.

“Looking for this?”

They turn.

Gale stands in the doorway, battered but upright, holding the gun steady. For a split second, Billy looks genuinely shocked. “I thought she was dead,” he says in an annoyed tone.

“She looked dead,” Stu mutters weakly.

Y/N’s eyes narrow. Calculating.

Gale’s grip tightens. “I’ve got an ending for you. Reporter left for dead comes back and ruins the killers’ big finale,” she declares.

Sidney steps closer to her father.

“I like that ending,” she says quietly.

Billy lunges. Gale pulls the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

Y/N’s eyes flash.

“Safety,” she says under her breath.

Billy slams the door hard, catching Gale in the face and knocking her backward onto the porch.

She goes down.

Silence crashes into the room.

Stu lets out a shaky laugh. “Cool move,” he comments.

But Y/N isn’t laughing.

She’s staring at Sidney now.

And Sidney is staring back.

[myadagoat22]

Since yall love the last one here is part 2

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

It cut through the music like a blade.

Three knocks.

Not at the front where all the party was, but at the back door. The one no one used. The one that should’ve been locked.

Smoke’s whole posture changed. His shoulders tensed. The glass in his hand paused halfway to the shelf.

You looked at him, brows drawn. “Who’s knockin’ like that?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because whatever was on the other side of that door?

It wasn’t part of the party.

When Smoke opened the door, there were three white folks. They looked clean but there was something about them that you didn’t like. One of them stood in front and center—Remmick, that’s what he said his name was, with a smile so wide it almost looked painful.  The other two behind him were also smiling.

You weren’t listening to the conversation all you remember was they wanted to come in so badly.

Then they started singing "Pick poor Robin clean. Pick poor Robin clean. I picked his head, I picked his feet. I would have picked his body, but he wasn't fit to eat."

You knew the song but how they sang it felt like they had a deeper meaning, you didn’t like them, and you could tell Smoke didn’t like them either, they finally took a hint and left when smoke closed the door you knew he needed a dance… maybe more.

When he closed the door you took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor the music swallowed you both. You pulled him in close, just enough space between you to keep it polite—but not too polite.

Smoke didn’t talk. Just moved with you, hands low on your waist, head bowed like he was trying to forget the door even existed.

“You don’t gotta tell me what that was about,” you said, “but I know you need a distraction.”

His lips quirked up just slightly. “You always were good at readin’ me.”

Your fingers slid up the back of his neck, soft. “Still am.”

He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Come upstairs with me.”

Your breath caught. But you nodded.

You followed him past the dancers, past the bar, up the old staircase to the manager’s office—still smelling faintly of cigar smoke and record sleeves. The door clicked shut behind you.

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t rushed or hungry.

It was needed.

Like maybe the world really was ending, and he just wanted to remember what it felt like to be held.

Smoke picked you up with those big arms and put you on the desk "Fuck, you're such a tease," he chided, nipping sharply at her pulse point. "Gonna make me lose my mind."

"Good," Y/N gasped, hands all over his shoulders. "Then fuck me until I can't walk straight. Show me who I belong to."

With a quickness smoke unbuttoned his pants then He shoved her skirt up around her waist and pushed her panties aside, rubbing her pussy first.

"Don’t be so loud," he warned, lining himself up with her dripping entrance. "I don’t want everyone to hear us ."

Y/N bit her lip hard, nodding mutely as she felt him pressing against her. Elijah gripped her hips tightly and pushed forward, stretching her open around his impressive girth.

"Oh god," she whimpered, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the polished wood. Elijah waited until she'd adjusted before starting to move, setting a steady rhythm that had them both panting with pleasure.

They lost themselves in the carnal dance, hands and mouths roaming greedily as they chased their release. Y/N locked her ankles around Elijah's waist, urging him deeper as she rocked against him.

"Gonna fill this sweet warm pussy up," Elijah grunted, snapping his hips sharply. "Pump you so full of cum you'll be dripping for days."

"Yes," Y/N gasped, clenching around him rhythmically. "Please, I need it. Need your cum inside me."

Smoke fucking into her harder and faster until they were both about to cum.  With a mutual cry, they came together, bodies shuddering as ecstasy overwhelmed them.

They stayed locked together as the aftershocks faded, limbs entwined and hearts pounding in unison. Finally, Smoke lifted his head from Y/N's shoulder to gaze down at her with a satisfied smirk.

"I love you," he said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Y/N never heard him say that before, it made her almost cry then she kissed him and said “I love you too Elijah”    

Smoke kissed her again and said c’mon let's go back downstairs. Y/n smiling replied “Okay Daddy” earning a smack to that big ass from Smoke. They walked downstairs together holding hands.

Not knowing this would be their last time of happiness.