myadagoat22

[myadagoat22]

Black ❤��

[myadagoat22]

Poly ghostface is back

“Final scene part 2” Poly ghostface (There’s reallly no warnings so we’re good,but it’s pretty long)

The newsvan hummed quietly in the dark, its glow coming only from the monitors Kenny hovered over. His fingers tapped across the control board like he was hacking into the Pentagon.

“So… what’s the plan?” Kenny muttered.

Gale leaned back in her seat, eyes sharp. “Prep the compact. We’ll hide it in a window and tape tonight’s festivities.”

He fiddled with the camera, small enough to hide in his palm. “Control board’s glitched. We can’t carry a live picture.”

“What’s the delay?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds.”

“As long as it records, I don’t give a shit. We’re not doing a remote.”

Before Kenny could respond, the van door slid open. Gale stepped out, heels crunching gravel—only to nearly scream when a hand touched her shoulder. She spun, heart stopping.

Dewey stood there, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Evening, ma’am.”

“Deputy,” Gale exhaled, hand pressed to her chest. “Good evening.”

They chatted—her about breaking stories, him about “keeping an eye on things”—until finally Gale snatched the camera from Kenny, winked, and followed Dewey toward the house.

⸻

Inside the kitchen things were way less tense. The microwave beeped as popcorn popped, and the air smelled like cheap beer and junk food.

Y/N leaned against the counter, half-watching as Sidney, Stu, and Tatum tore through bags of chips and candy like it was a feast. Other teens drifted in and out, the whole place buzzing with music and laughter. Randy barged in with an armful of VHS tapes, dumping them dramatically on the counter.

“I thought we’d make it a Blockbuster night,” he announced proudly.

Stu grinned, “I thought everything was checked out.”

“Nah,” Randy smirked. “Had ‘em hid in the foreign section.”

Sidney picked one up, squinting. “The Fog. Terror Train. Prom Night. Why is Jamie Lee Curtis in, like, all of these?”

“She’s the Scream Queen,” Randy said like it was gospel.

“With lungs like hers, she should be,” Stu added with a smirk.

Tatum nudged Sid. “Tits. See?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, snorting into her drink. Typical.

⸻

Later in the living room the party had hit full swing. Teens piled on couches, on the floor, basically anywhere they could sit. Y/N sat cross-legged near the TV, watching Randy try to lead a vote like he was running for president.

“How many Evil Dead’s?” he asked. Hands shot up. “How many Hellraiser’s?”

Arguments broke out—half-serious, half just drunk yelling. Y/N just grinned, sipping her drink, happy to be an observer.

The doorbell rang. Stu, already buzzed, stumbled toward the door.

“I got it! …Tatum, get me a beer. They’re in the garage fridge.”

Tatum groaned. “What am I, the beer wench?”

Before anyone could laugh, Stu’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hey, guess who’s here? It’s that chick from Inside Story!”

Every head turned. Dewey walked in first, Gale on his arm.

“Tatum,” Y/N muttered under her breath, “is about to lose her mind.”

And she did. “Shit, Dewey! What is she doing here?”

“She’s with me,” Dewey said casually. “Just checking things out.”

The guys in the room couldn’t stop staring at Gale, practically drooling. Even Stu’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights.

“Of course,” Tatum muttered, storming off toward the kitchen.

Y/N stayed put, watching the room shift instantly. Gale knew how to own a room—everyone’s attention went straight to her, even with the music blaring and drinks flowing.

“Wanna interview us?” one kid asked eagerly.

Randy jumped in. “We’ll say really nice things about our slaughtered friends. Real tragic.”

Stu smirked, “I can cry on cue.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again but made a mental note: Gale wasn’t just here to “hang out.” She was up to something.

he party kept pulsing in the living room, Randy now mid-rant about horror rules while half the crowd heckled him.

Stu suddenly leaned into the kitchen doorway, voice cutting through the noise.

“Hey, Tatum! Grab me another beer, babe. Fridge in the garage.”

Tatum shot him a glare so sharp Y/N swore it could’ve cut glass.

“What am I, the beer wench?” she snapped, but she grabbed the empty bottles anyway, muttering as she pushed past.

The door slammed behind her, leaving everyone to their chaos. Y/N stretched out on the couch, a little uneasy but chalked it up to the claustrophobic crush of bodies in the house. It’s just a party. Chill.

⸻

INT. GARAGE – NIGHT

The door creaked open as Tatum stepped inside, the flicker of a single overhead bulb casting harsh shadows on the walls. The hum of the beer fridge filled the silence.

She tugged the fridge open, cold light spilling across her face. “Beer, beer, beer… why are boys so helpless?”

The garage door behind her groaned. She froze. Slowly turned.

A figure in black stood by the steps. The mask—white, long-mouthed, hollow-eyed.

“Really?” Tatum laughed nervously, clutching the bottles against her chest. “Nice try, Randy. Cute costume, but you’re not scaring me.”

The figure tilted its head, saying nothing.

“Okay, seriously, you’re starting to freak me out. Cut it out, Stu, if that’s you.”

The figure lunged.

Bottles shattered against the concrete as Tatum stumbled back, shrieking, dodging the knife that sliced through air. She scrambled toward the garage door controls, slamming her hand on the button. The door whirred open—only for the figure to grab her, slam her down.

“Get the hell off me!” she screamed, kicking hard. For a moment, she wriggled free, sprinting toward the doggy door built into the garage door.

Her shoulders wedged through. Hips stuck.

The door clicked. Whirred.

Tatum’s head snapped up as the garage door started rising, dragging her with it. She screamed, arms flailing, but it was no use. The door lifted higher, higher, until—

SNAP.

The light bulb above flickered once. Twice. Then steadied.

Her body dangled limp, blood dripping onto the floor below.

⸻

INT. LIVING ROOM – SAME TIME

No one noticed. The movie was too loud, laughter too sharp, arguments too ridiculous. Stu howled at Randy’s “rules of horror movies” speech, Y/N burying her face in a pillow to muffle her own laughter at how worked up he got.

“Number one!” Randy shouted, holding up a finger. “You can never have sex.”

The room erupted in boos and laughs.

“Number two!” he continued, ignoring them. “You can never drink or do drugs.”

Half the crowd raised their beers defiantly, chanting “Bullshit!”

Y/N chuckled, sinking further into the couch cushions. If only you knew what’s really happening out there…

But she didn’t. Not yet.

[myadagoat22]

Make sure y’all comment

UPDATED SINNERS MASTERLIST

Please please PLEASE!

Comment below if you would like to continue being on my taglist! I’m unable to find my original taglist and I have a lot of ya’ll asking be added.

[myadagoat22]

“Final scene part 2” Poly ghostface (There’s reallly no warnings so we’re good,but it’s pretty long)

The newsvan hummed quietly in the dark, its glow coming only from the monitors Kenny hovered over. His fingers tapped across the control board like he was hacking into the Pentagon.

“So… what’s the plan?” Kenny muttered.

Gale leaned back in her seat, eyes sharp. “Prep the compact. We’ll hide it in a window and tape tonight’s festivities.”

He fiddled with the camera, small enough to hide in his palm. “Control board’s glitched. We can’t carry a live picture.”

“What’s the delay?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds.”

“As long as it records, I don’t give a shit. We’re not doing a remote.”

Before Kenny could respond, the van door slid open. Gale stepped out, heels crunching gravel—only to nearly scream when a hand touched her shoulder. She spun, heart stopping.

Dewey stood there, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Evening, ma’am.”

“Deputy,” Gale exhaled, hand pressed to her chest. “Good evening.”

They chatted—her about breaking stories, him about “keeping an eye on things”—until finally Gale snatched the camera from Kenny, winked, and followed Dewey toward the house.

⸻

Inside the kitchen things were way less tense. The microwave beeped as popcorn popped, and the air smelled like cheap beer and junk food.

Y/N leaned against the counter, half-watching as Sidney, Stu, and Tatum tore through bags of chips and candy like it was a feast. Other teens drifted in and out, the whole place buzzing with music and laughter. Randy barged in with an armful of VHS tapes, dumping them dramatically on the counter.

“I thought we’d make it a Blockbuster night,” he announced proudly.

Stu grinned, “I thought everything was checked out.”

“Nah,” Randy smirked. “Had ‘em hid in the foreign section.”

Sidney picked one up, squinting. “The Fog. Terror Train. Prom Night. Why is Jamie Lee Curtis in, like, all of these?”

“She’s the Scream Queen,” Randy said like it was gospel.

“With lungs like hers, she should be,” Stu added with a smirk.

Tatum nudged Sid. “Tits. See?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, snorting into her drink. Typical.

⸻

Later in the living room the party had hit full swing. Teens piled on couches, on the floor, basically anywhere they could sit. Y/N sat cross-legged near the TV, watching Randy try to lead a vote like he was running for president.

“How many Evil Dead’s?” he asked. Hands shot up. “How many Hellraiser’s?”

Arguments broke out—half-serious, half just drunk yelling. Y/N just grinned, sipping her drink, happy to be an observer.

The doorbell rang. Stu, already buzzed, stumbled toward the door.

“I got it! …Tatum, get me a beer. They’re in the garage fridge.”

Tatum groaned. “What am I, the beer wench?”

Before anyone could laugh, Stu’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hey, guess who’s here? It’s that chick from Inside Story!”

Every head turned. Dewey walked in first, Gale on his arm.

“Tatum,” Y/N muttered under her breath, “is about to lose her mind.”

And she did. “Shit, Dewey! What is she doing here?”

“She’s with me,” Dewey said casually. “Just checking things out.”

The guys in the room couldn’t stop staring at Gale, practically drooling. Even Stu’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights.

“Of course,” Tatum muttered, storming off toward the kitchen.

Y/N stayed put, watching the room shift instantly. Gale knew how to own a room—everyone’s attention went straight to her, even with the music blaring and drinks flowing.

“Wanna interview us?” one kid asked eagerly.

Randy jumped in. “We’ll say really nice things about our slaughtered friends. Real tragic.”

Stu smirked, “I can cry on cue.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again but made a mental note: Gale wasn’t just here to “hang out.” She was up to something.

he party kept pulsing in the living room, Randy now mid-rant about horror rules while half the crowd heckled him.

Stu suddenly leaned into the kitchen doorway, voice cutting through the noise.

“Hey, Tatum! Grab me another beer, babe. Fridge in the garage.”

Tatum shot him a glare so sharp Y/N swore it could’ve cut glass.

“What am I, the beer wench?” she snapped, but she grabbed the empty bottles anyway, muttering as she pushed past.

The door slammed behind her, leaving everyone to their chaos. Y/N stretched out on the couch, a little uneasy but chalked it up to the claustrophobic crush of bodies in the house. It’s just a party. Chill.

⸻

INT. GARAGE – NIGHT

The door creaked open as Tatum stepped inside, the flicker of a single overhead bulb casting harsh shadows on the walls. The hum of the beer fridge filled the silence.

She tugged the fridge open, cold light spilling across her face. “Beer, beer, beer… why are boys so helpless?”

The garage door behind her groaned. She froze. Slowly turned.

A figure in black stood by the steps. The mask—white, long-mouthed, hollow-eyed.

“Really?” Tatum laughed nervously, clutching the bottles against her chest. “Nice try, Randy. Cute costume, but you’re not scaring me.”

The figure tilted its head, saying nothing.

“Okay, seriously, you’re starting to freak me out. Cut it out, Stu, if that’s you.”

The figure lunged.

Bottles shattered against the concrete as Tatum stumbled back, shrieking, dodging the knife that sliced through air. She scrambled toward the garage door controls, slamming her hand on the button. The door whirred open—only for the figure to grab her, slam her down.

“Get the hell off me!” she screamed, kicking hard. For a moment, she wriggled free, sprinting toward the doggy door built into the garage door.

Her shoulders wedged through. Hips stuck.

The door clicked. Whirred.

Tatum’s head snapped up as the garage door started rising, dragging her with it. She screamed, arms flailing, but it was no use. The door lifted higher, higher, until—

SNAP.

The light bulb above flickered once. Twice. Then steadied.

Her body dangled limp, blood dripping onto the floor below.

⸻

INT. LIVING ROOM – SAME TIME

No one noticed. The movie was too loud, laughter too sharp, arguments too ridiculous. Stu howled at Randy’s “rules of horror movies” speech, Y/N burying her face in a pillow to muffle her own laughter at how worked up he got.

“Number one!” Randy shouted, holding up a finger. “You can never have sex.”

The room erupted in boos and laughs.

“Number two!” he continued, ignoring them. “You can never drink or do drugs.”

Half the crowd raised their beers defiantly, chanting “Bullshit!”

Y/N chuckled, sinking further into the couch cushions. If only you knew what’s really happening out there…

But she didn’t. Not yet.

[myadagoat22]

Poly ghostface coming soon as well

[myadagoat22]

Yes ik it’s late

🌴🏝️Day 3 of family vacation: stubborn husband and happy family

The morning started almost peaceful.

Jon and Duke were back at it—chasing each other with half-melted popsicles across the hotel suite. Stephanie sat at the balcony in a satin robe, sunglasses on, sipping orange juice like she was the queen of the resort. Jason and Connor were having a very serious debate over whether they should go jet skiing or zip-lining, while Richard scrolled on his phone and mumbled something about coordinating with the Teen Titans.

Meanwhile in the master suite…

Clark was in swim trunks, shirtless and humming while brushing his teeth. Y/N was in front of the mirror in a two-piece and sheer wrap, applying sunscreen to her glowing, fireproof skin like it was part of a goddess ritual.

And Bruce?

Fully dressed. Fully brooding. Again.

He was on his datapad. Again.

Y/N turned toward him, cocking a hip. “Babe. You’re not on patrol. It’s vacation.”

“I just need to check the Gotham intel drops,” Bruce muttered, eyes glued to something that beeped.

Clark leaned in behind Y/N, wrapped an arm around her waist, and said, “Come on, love. You haven’t even dipped a toe in the water this trip.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Y/N raised a brow. “You brought ten pairs of black swim trunks for what? To sit here and make Gotham jealous?”

That got him. His brow twitched.

Clark came around, gently took the datapad from his hands, and said with a too-sweet smile, “This is a Superman-confiscation. You can submit your appeal in writing.”

“Clark.”

“Or in kisses,” Y/N offered with a grin.

Bruce let out a long, put-upon sigh like he wasn’t already halfway to a smirk. “You two are insufferable.”

“You love it,” Clark teased, handing the datapad to Alfred who conveniently appeared like a retired ninja. “Back in an hour. You’re grounded from Bat-work.”

Bruce tried not to smile. He failed.

⸻

🏖️ At the Beach – Midday

The sun was blaring, the ocean glistening, and the Wayne-Kent family was chaotic.

Jon had somehow convinced the resort staff to host a family sand relay game. Teams were set. Stakes were high.

Team One: Richard, Stephanie, Damien, and Duke

Team Two: Jason, Connor, Tim, and Jon

Y/N and Clark sat on a beach blanket under a huge umbrella, pretending to be impartial. Bruce stood like a beach god in his black trunks (finally), arms crossed, analyzing everyone’s strategy like this was the Batcave.

Richard was leading his team with perfect precision. “Damien, you dig. Duke, you distract. Steph—look flawless. Got it?”

Stephanie posed with a peace sign. “I always do.”

Jason, meanwhile, flexed. “Let’s win this thing and then hit the buffet like kings.”

Connor looked at Clark. “Are powers allowed?”

“Nope,” Y/N shouted. “Anyone flies, they get benched!”

Jon immediately floated a few inches above the ground and got side-eyed by everyone.

“Whoops.”

The race began. Sand was everywhere. People tripped. Duke started throwing sand at Connor for “defensive tactics.” Tim tried to strategize and got tackled by Damien. Jason and Stephanie started arguing mid-sprint over “who looks cooler doing it.” Richard was the only one trying to win.

Bruce stood next to Y/N and Clark, arms crossed. “They’re terrible at team cohesion.”

Clark leaned in. “They’re literally you and me in eight different combinations.”

Y/N smirked. “And that’s terrifying.”

⸻

🌅 Later: Cool Down and Conflict

After the chaos, the family gathered around a beach firepit for roasted marshmallows. Everyone was laughing, telling embarrassing stories, making the night stretch as long as possible.

But Bruce? He had that look again.

Clark leaned in quietly. “You checked, didn’t you?”

“I just glanced,” Bruce muttered.

“You promised you’d unplug.”

“I didn’t promise. I…implied.”

Y/N turned from where she was laughing with Jon and narrowed her eyes. “I swear to the lasso, Bruce—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in. “I just wanted to make sure Gotham wasn’t on fire.”

“Gotham is always on fire,” she snapped.

The kids went quiet.

Bruce stood slowly. “I need some air.”

He walked down the beach. Not far. Just enough.

Clark gave her a look. “I’ll go.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll stay with the kids.”

⸻

🌌 On the Shore – The Heart-to-Heart

Clark found Bruce at the edge of the water, feet buried in the sand, arms folded.

“You good?” Clark asked softly.

Bruce didn’t answer for a while.

Then: “I just…don’t know how to stop. I built my life around being needed. Fixing things. Fighting things. I don’t know how to be still.”

Clark stood beside him, close. “I used to check Metropolis every twenty minutes on my first vacation. Had the same guilt. Like I’d let the city down if I blinked.”

Bruce gave a soft, bitter laugh. “And how’d you stop?”

Clark smiled. “I realized I had people to share the weight. People who loved me even when I messed up. Who’d forgive me when I tried to fix everything alone.”

Silence.

Then Bruce turned, finally facing him. “You’re talking about Y/N, aren’t you?”

“And you,” Clark said gently. “Us. All of it.”

A beat passed. Then Bruce whispered, “I’m scared of losing it.”

Clark reached up, cupped his cheek. “Then stop pushing it away.”

Bruce nodded slowly.

They didn’t kiss—not yet. But their foreheads touched. And that said more.

⸻

Back at the firepit, Y/N was sandwiched between Stephanie and Tim, roasting marshmallows and pretending she wasn’t watching every second.

She smiled when she saw them coming back, side by side.

(IK THIS HELLA LATE BUT ITS HERE AND IM GOING BACK TO REGULAR UPDATES)

[myadagoat22]

🌴🏝️Day 3 of family vacation: stubborn husband and happy family

The morning started almost peaceful.

Jon and Duke were back at it—chasing each other with half-melted popsicles across the hotel suite. Stephanie sat at the balcony in a satin robe, sunglasses on, sipping orange juice like she was the queen of the resort. Jason and Connor were having a very serious debate over whether they should go jet skiing or zip-lining, while Richard scrolled on his phone and mumbled something about coordinating with the Teen Titans.

Meanwhile in the master suite…

Clark was in swim trunks, shirtless and humming while brushing his teeth. Y/N was in front of the mirror in a two-piece and sheer wrap, applying sunscreen to her glowing, fireproof skin like it was part of a goddess ritual.

And Bruce?

Fully dressed. Fully brooding. Again.

He was on his datapad. Again.

Y/N turned toward him, cocking a hip. “Babe. You’re not on patrol. It’s vacation.”

“I just need to check the Gotham intel drops,” Bruce muttered, eyes glued to something that beeped.

Clark leaned in behind Y/N, wrapped an arm around her waist, and said, “Come on, love. You haven’t even dipped a toe in the water this trip.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Y/N raised a brow. “You brought ten pairs of black swim trunks for what? To sit here and make Gotham jealous?”

That got him. His brow twitched.

Clark came around, gently took the datapad from his hands, and said with a too-sweet smile, “This is a Superman-confiscation. You can submit your appeal in writing.”

“Clark.”

“Or in kisses,” Y/N offered with a grin.

Bruce let out a long, put-upon sigh like he wasn’t already halfway to a smirk. “You two are insufferable.”

“You love it,” Clark teased, handing the datapad to Alfred who conveniently appeared like a retired ninja. “Back in an hour. You’re grounded from Bat-work.”

Bruce tried not to smile. He failed.

⸻

🏖️ At the Beach – Midday

The sun was blaring, the ocean glistening, and the Wayne-Kent family was chaotic.

Jon had somehow convinced the resort staff to host a family sand relay game. Teams were set. Stakes were high.

Team One: Richard, Stephanie, Damien, and Duke

Team Two: Jason, Connor, Tim, and Jon

Y/N and Clark sat on a beach blanket under a huge umbrella, pretending to be impartial. Bruce stood like a beach god in his black trunks (finally), arms crossed, analyzing everyone’s strategy like this was the Batcave.

Richard was leading his team with perfect precision. “Damien, you dig. Duke, you distract. Steph—look flawless. Got it?”

Stephanie posed with a peace sign. “I always do.”

Jason, meanwhile, flexed. “Let’s win this thing and then hit the buffet like kings.”

Connor looked at Clark. “Are powers allowed?”

“Nope,” Y/N shouted. “Anyone flies, they get benched!”

Jon immediately floated a few inches above the ground and got side-eyed by everyone.

“Whoops.”

The race began. Sand was everywhere. People tripped. Duke started throwing sand at Connor for “defensive tactics.” Tim tried to strategize and got tackled by Damien. Jason and Stephanie started arguing mid-sprint over “who looks cooler doing it.” Richard was the only one trying to win.

Bruce stood next to Y/N and Clark, arms crossed. “They’re terrible at team cohesion.”

Clark leaned in. “They’re literally you and me in eight different combinations.”

Y/N smirked. “And that’s terrifying.”

⸻

🌅 Later: Cool Down and Conflict

After the chaos, the family gathered around a beach firepit for roasted marshmallows. Everyone was laughing, telling embarrassing stories, making the night stretch as long as possible.

But Bruce? He had that look again.

Clark leaned in quietly. “You checked, didn’t you?”

“I just glanced,” Bruce muttered.

“You promised you’d unplug.”

“I didn’t promise. I…implied.”

Y/N turned from where she was laughing with Jon and narrowed her eyes. “I swear to the lasso, Bruce—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in. “I just wanted to make sure Gotham wasn’t on fire.”

“Gotham is always on fire,” she snapped.

The kids went quiet.

Bruce stood slowly. “I need some air.”

He walked down the beach. Not far. Just enough.

Clark gave her a look. “I’ll go.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll stay with the kids.”

⸻

🌌 On the Shore – The Heart-to-Heart

Clark found Bruce at the edge of the water, feet buried in the sand, arms folded.

“You good?” Clark asked softly.

Bruce didn’t answer for a while.

Then: “I just…don’t know how to stop. I built my life around being needed. Fixing things. Fighting things. I don’t know how to be still.”

Clark stood beside him, close. “I used to check Metropolis every twenty minutes on my first vacation. Had the same guilt. Like I’d let the city down if I blinked.”

Bruce gave a soft, bitter laugh. “And how’d you stop?”

Clark smiled. “I realized I had people to share the weight. People who loved me even when I messed up. Who’d forgive me when I tried to fix everything alone.”

Silence.

Then Bruce turned, finally facing him. “You’re talking about Y/N, aren’t you?”

“And you,” Clark said gently. “Us. All of it.”

A beat passed. Then Bruce whispered, “I’m scared of losing it.”

Clark reached up, cupped his cheek. “Then stop pushing it away.”

Bruce nodded slowly.

They didn’t kiss—not yet. But their foreheads touched. And that said more.

⸻

Back at the firepit, Y/N was sandwiched between Stephanie and Tim, roasting marshmallows and pretending she wasn’t watching every second.

She smiled when she saw them coming back, side by side.

(IK THIS HELLA LATE BUT ITS HERE AND IM GOING BACK TO REGULAR UPDATES)

[myadagoat22]

Bucky barnes

A Rare Night Off

Even the elevator to the penthouse felt like a world away from the marble chaos of Capitol Hill. Floor-to-ceiling glass opened onto the D.C. skyline, city lights glittering beneath a dark, rain-polished sky.

You’d been here for hours, setting everything perfectly — the antique dining table Bucky insisted on keeping from his Brooklyn apartment gleamed under the golden light of the chandelier. A decanter of his favorite whiskey caught the glow, the two crystal glasses already poured.

Dinner was plated and waiting under silver domes, the scent of rosemary and butter in the air. The entire place smelled warm, expensive, and yours.

You wore the dress he liked most — midnight silk, hugging you in all the right ways.

When the door opened, you heard the quiet thud of his coat hitting the rack. He stepped into view, tie loosened, hair slightly disheveled from the rain. The sharp, composed image of Senator Barnes softened when his eyes landed on you.

“Doll…” His voice was low, tired but warm. “What’s all this?”

You smiled, crossing the marble floor to meet him. “A night without a hundred phone calls. Thought we should celebrate.”

He smirked faintly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You spoil me.”

Dinner was slow, intimate — you teasing him about filibusters he swore were the death of him, him telling you about the latest political maneuverings in that dry, sarcastic way you loved.

When the plates were cleared, you poured him another drink. He didn’t go back to his chair. Instead, he leaned against the counter, his gaze steady on you.

“You know,” he murmured, voice dipping into that private tone he never used in public, “every time I walk into this place and you’re here… it feels like the only real thing in my life.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest over the starched white of his shirt. “Then let me keep it real for you tonight.”

The city lights spilled across his face as he bent to kiss you — slow, deliberate, a claiming after weeks of distance. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in until there was no space between you.

The hum of D.C. outside was just noise. Inside, it was only him, only you, and the night ahead.

His lips lingered against yours, deliberate and unhurried, like he had all night to taste you. The warmth of his whiskey-sweet breath brushed your cheek as he deepened the kiss, the faint rasp of stubble grazing your skin.

Bucky’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, splaying wide, pulling you closer until silk whispered against the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand — the cool, steady weight of vibranium — found your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you deeper, slower.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to study you. The city lights poured in from the windows behind you, gilding the edge of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw.

“You’ve got no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth.

You let your fingers play with the loose end of his tie, your smile tilting. “Maybe I do.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Then you know I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

He took your hand, guiding you away from the counter toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the skyline into something soft and intimate. He set his drink aside and drew you in, your back meeting the cool glass as his frame surrounded you, warm and unyielding.

The soft brush of his lips against your temple sent a shiver down your spine. His hands smoothed over your hips, up the curve of your waist, pausing just beneath your ribs as if savoring the shape of you.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss turned hungrier — still controlled, but with a heat that promised the night was only beginning.

The kiss deepened until the world beyond the glass disappeared, until all you could register was the warmth of him and the way his body fit against yours.

Bucky’s voice was a low rumble against your lips. “You’ve been running this place all night like it’s ours alone.” His metal hand skimmed up your side, fingertips catching in the silk of your dress. “It is, doll. Tonight, you’re mine.”

Your breath caught as he stepped in even closer, your spine pressed lightly to the glass, his frame a wall of heat. His flesh hand slid around to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“You know how hard it is for me to stay composed in those meetings when I’m thinking about you?” His eyes searched yours — a mixture of affection, desire, and something protective. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m not the senator.”

His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping to a command. “Go to the bedroom. I’ll be right behind you.”

The words sent a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You turned toward the hallway, his gaze following every step as the lights from the city washed the room in gold.

You didn’t need to look back to know he was there, jacket already off, sleeves pushed to his forearms, ready to make good on his promise.

You started taking your dress off revealing just you bra the Bucky came up behind you kissing you neck and taking off your bra. Then he picked you up and started kissing your stomach

You giggled and he put you on the bed slowly slipping your panties off “Doll I want you screaming my name” Bucky said as he sucked on your clit

“Bucky please” you said as you started grabbing on his hair. His tongue was going faster the more you screamed “Bucky baby that feels so good” and Bucky was smiling

When the pressure was getting to much and you couldn’t hold it in you came so hard “OH GOD”

Bucky then came up sucking his fingers, “you ready Doll” “Yes baby and I want you to be rough”

He slowly pushed in and you both gasped from pleasure then he started going fast, holding your leg up to really get in there

Forever went by and all that was heard was the headboard hitting the wall and you screaming his name as you were about to feel yourself cum again

And his movement was getting sloppy so you knew he was close then Bucky put two fingers in and that’s when you came again and as soon as you were done he came inside you then started kissing you again.

Yea you were definitely gonna do this more.

[myadagoat22]

A Rare Night Off

Even the elevator to the penthouse felt like a world away from the marble chaos of Capitol Hill. Floor-to-ceiling glass opened onto the D.C. skyline, city lights glittering beneath a dark, rain-polished sky.

You’d been here for hours, setting everything perfectly — the antique dining table Bucky insisted on keeping from his Brooklyn apartment gleamed under the golden light of the chandelier. A decanter of his favorite whiskey caught the glow, the two crystal glasses already poured.

Dinner was plated and waiting under silver domes, the scent of rosemary and butter in the air. The entire place smelled warm, expensive, and yours.

You wore the dress he liked most — midnight silk, hugging you in all the right ways.

When the door opened, you heard the quiet thud of his coat hitting the rack. He stepped into view, tie loosened, hair slightly disheveled from the rain. The sharp, composed image of Senator Barnes softened when his eyes landed on you.

“Doll…” His voice was low, tired but warm. “What’s all this?”

You smiled, crossing the marble floor to meet him. “A night without a hundred phone calls. Thought we should celebrate.”

He smirked faintly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You spoil me.”

Dinner was slow, intimate — you teasing him about filibusters he swore were the death of him, him telling you about the latest political maneuverings in that dry, sarcastic way you loved.

When the plates were cleared, you poured him another drink. He didn’t go back to his chair. Instead, he leaned against the counter, his gaze steady on you.

“You know,” he murmured, voice dipping into that private tone he never used in public, “every time I walk into this place and you’re here… it feels like the only real thing in my life.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest over the starched white of his shirt. “Then let me keep it real for you tonight.”

The city lights spilled across his face as he bent to kiss you — slow, deliberate, a claiming after weeks of distance. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in until there was no space between you.

The hum of D.C. outside was just noise. Inside, it was only him, only you, and the night ahead.

His lips lingered against yours, deliberate and unhurried, like he had all night to taste you. The warmth of his whiskey-sweet breath brushed your cheek as he deepened the kiss, the faint rasp of stubble grazing your skin.

Bucky’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, splaying wide, pulling you closer until silk whispered against the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand — the cool, steady weight of vibranium — found your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you deeper, slower.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to study you. The city lights poured in from the windows behind you, gilding the edge of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw.

“You’ve got no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth.

You let your fingers play with the loose end of his tie, your smile tilting. “Maybe I do.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Then you know I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

He took your hand, guiding you away from the counter toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the skyline into something soft and intimate. He set his drink aside and drew you in, your back meeting the cool glass as his frame surrounded you, warm and unyielding.

The soft brush of his lips against your temple sent a shiver down your spine. His hands smoothed over your hips, up the curve of your waist, pausing just beneath your ribs as if savoring the shape of you.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss turned hungrier — still controlled, but with a heat that promised the night was only beginning.

The kiss deepened until the world beyond the glass disappeared, until all you could register was the warmth of him and the way his body fit against yours.

Bucky’s voice was a low rumble against your lips. “You’ve been running this place all night like it’s ours alone.” His metal hand skimmed up your side, fingertips catching in the silk of your dress. “It is, doll. Tonight, you’re mine.”

Your breath caught as he stepped in even closer, your spine pressed lightly to the glass, his frame a wall of heat. His flesh hand slid around to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“You know how hard it is for me to stay composed in those meetings when I’m thinking about you?” His eyes searched yours — a mixture of affection, desire, and something protective. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m not the senator.”

His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping to a command. “Go to the bedroom. I’ll be right behind you.”

The words sent a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You turned toward the hallway, his gaze following every step as the lights from the city washed the room in gold.

You didn’t need to look back to know he was there, jacket already off, sleeves pushed to his forearms, ready to make good on his promise.

You started taking your dress off revealing just you bra the Bucky came up behind you kissing you neck and taking off your bra. Then he picked you up and started kissing your stomach

You giggled and he put you on the bed slowly slipping your panties off “Doll I want you screaming my name” Bucky said as he sucked on your clit

“Bucky please” you said as you started grabbing on his hair. His tongue was going faster the more you screamed “Bucky baby that feels so good” and Bucky was smiling

When the pressure was getting to much and you couldn’t hold it in you came so hard “OH GOD”

Bucky then came up sucking his fingers, “you ready Doll” “Yes baby and I want you to be rough”

He slowly pushed in and you both gasped from pleasure then he started going fast, holding your leg up to really get in there

Forever went by and all that was heard was the headboard hitting the wall and you screaming his name as you were about to feel yourself cum again

And his movement was getting sloppy so you knew he was close then Bucky put two fingers in and that’s when you came again and as soon as you were done he came inside you then started kissing you again.

Yea you were definitely gonna do this more.

[myadagoat22]

Hey guys more stuff coming soon I’m working a lot this week so I’ve been busy but I promise more coming

[myadagoat22]

Clark Kent save me😞

[myadagoat22]

But still mommas girl

[myadagoat22]

Y’all want more Bucky

Hottie, it’s an expression that defines a perfectly amazing man, so I think I set Sebastian Stan

[myadagoat22]

Thinking what we all thinking

Jacob Anderson on Sinners (2025)

"Sinners is just like the perfect film-going experience. I'm sooooo in love with that film. Wunmi Mosaku, just…INCREDIBLE. And Michael B. Jordan, Ryan Coogler-- I mean, I feel like everything that could be said about that film HAS been said, but I just loved, I loved it. I LOVED IT! And I want MORE of it."

-- The 'Interview With the Vampire' Cast on Completely Changing Season 3 (Rotten Tomatoes TV)

[myadagoat22]

"Can you do me a kindness? Fuck off." -Erik Campbell.

[myadagoat22]

Sinners is back

When Trouble’s This Pretty

Stack Elias Moore x Beth(OC Black Reader)

Chicago’s Bronzeville buzzed like a living thing—horns in the air, jazz in the gutters, perfume and danger clinging to the wind like sweat on a whiskey glass.

Stack wasn’t from the city, but the city liked him anyway.

He worked numbers. Ran errands for dangerous men. Won games he shouldn’t have played. And on this night, he was posted at the bar in Miss Pearl’s, a hidden speakeasy behind a bakery, watching the crowd with half a smile and a full glass.

Then she walked in.

Beth.

Silk dress in midnight blue. Gold hoops that kissed her jaw. She smelled like coconut oil and don’t-test-me. She wasn’t smiling. She didn’t need to.

Stack watched her glide across the room like she owned the whole damn block.

“Ain’t polite to stare,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him.

He didn’t even blink. Just tipped his glass and said,

“Ain’t polite to look that good neither, but here we are.”

Beth looked sideways at him. Then at the drink in his hand.

“That charm work on all the girls?”

“Only got time to use it on you.”

She let out the kind of laugh that made men foolish.

“Slow down, country. I ain’t that easy.”

“Didn’t say you was,” Stack murmured, leaning in. “I just know what I want when I see it.”

“Mm.” She sipped her drink, eyes on him. “And what is it you see?”

“A woman with fire in her veins… and maybe a knife in her purse.”

She grinned. “Two knives, actually.”

He smiled wider. “I’m in love.”

⸻

The band started up again. Jazz slow and heavy. People swayed. Beth tapped her fingers against the bar, watching Stack like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You dance?”

“I lead,” he said, holding out a hand.

She raised a brow, but took it.

On the floor, she moved like temptation. Stack kept close, a hand low on her back, eyes fixed on her mouth like he wanted to write a poem with it.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

When the song ended, they didn’t let go.

⸻

Her apartment was small, clean, smelled like lavender and ambition.

As soon as the door closed, he pressed her gently against it.

“Last chance to tell me to go,” he murmured.

“Stack,” she said, breathless, “you got five seconds to kiss me or I’m changin’ my damn mind.”

He didn’t need more than one.

⸻

The kiss hit slow, but heavy—like thunder rolling in.

Beth wrapped her arms around his neck. Stack lifted her easy, hands on her thighs, mouth on her collarbone.

He carried her to the bed like she was scripture. Worshipped every inch.

Her dress slipped off like a secret. His shirt hit the floor. Her fingers undid his belt while kissing his neck, her breath warm and wanting.

“You always take your time?” she whispered.

“With you? I’m takin’ all night.”

He kissed her down—lips, tongue, pussy—until her back arched and her hand tangled in his hair.

“Stack—oh my god—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”

He kept sucking real slow then would go fast, then he pushed two fingers in, and Beth screamed so loud when he was done eating, he took off his pants and revealed his big cock.

He slid into her slow, thick, and deep.

They both gasped.

“Shit,” she moaned, nails raking down his back.

He started to move, slow and smooth, letting her feel every inch. He gripped her hips, eyes locked on hers, hips rolling like music made just for them.

“You take me too good,” he groaned. “You feel like a damn miracle.”

She met every thrust, fingers clinging to his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

When she came, she screamed his name—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, breath caught in her throat.

Stack followed, burying his face in her neck, voice low and broken.

“Ain’t never… had nothin’ like this.”

⸻

Later, he lay beside her, shirtless, lips brushing her shoulder.

“You gon’ vanish after this?” she asked, half-asleep.

“You want me to?”

She didn’t answer.

He kissed her temple and whispered, “Didn’t think so.”

⸻

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @coldeforprez @christinabae @harleycativy @ayeeeitsmiracle @milkywayzard

[myadagoat22]

When Trouble’s This Pretty

Stack Elias Moore x Beth(OC Black Reader)

Chicago’s Bronzeville buzzed like a living thing—horns in the air, jazz in the gutters, perfume and danger clinging to the wind like sweat on a whiskey glass.

Stack wasn’t from the city, but the city liked him anyway.

He worked numbers. Ran errands for dangerous men. Won games he shouldn’t have played. And on this night, he was posted at the bar in Miss Pearl’s, a hidden speakeasy behind a bakery, watching the crowd with half a smile and a full glass.

Then she walked in.

Beth.

Silk dress in midnight blue. Gold hoops that kissed her jaw. She smelled like coconut oil and don’t-test-me. She wasn’t smiling. She didn’t need to.

Stack watched her glide across the room like she owned the whole damn block.

“Ain’t polite to stare,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him.

He didn’t even blink. Just tipped his glass and said,

“Ain’t polite to look that good neither, but here we are.”

Beth looked sideways at him. Then at the drink in his hand.

“That charm work on all the girls?”

“Only got time to use it on you.”

She let out the kind of laugh that made men foolish.

“Slow down, country. I ain’t that easy.”

“Didn’t say you was,” Stack murmured, leaning in. “I just know what I want when I see it.”

“Mm.” She sipped her drink, eyes on him. “And what is it you see?”

“A woman with fire in her veins… and maybe a knife in her purse.”

She grinned. “Two knives, actually.”

He smiled wider. “I’m in love.”

⸻

The band started up again. Jazz slow and heavy. People swayed. Beth tapped her fingers against the bar, watching Stack like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You dance?”

“I lead,” he said, holding out a hand.

She raised a brow, but took it.

On the floor, she moved like temptation. Stack kept close, a hand low on her back, eyes fixed on her mouth like he wanted to write a poem with it.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

When the song ended, they didn’t let go.

⸻

Her apartment was small, clean, smelled like lavender and ambition.

As soon as the door closed, he pressed her gently against it.

“Last chance to tell me to go,” he murmured.

“Stack,” she said, breathless, “you got five seconds to kiss me or I’m changin’ my damn mind.”

He didn’t need more than one.

⸻

The kiss hit slow, but heavy—like thunder rolling in.

Beth wrapped her arms around his neck. Stack lifted her easy, hands on her thighs, mouth on her collarbone.

He carried her to the bed like she was scripture. Worshipped every inch.

Her dress slipped off like a secret. His shirt hit the floor. Her fingers undid his belt while kissing his neck, her breath warm and wanting.

“You always take your time?” she whispered.

“With you? I’m takin’ all night.”

He kissed her down—lips, tongue, pussy—until her back arched and her hand tangled in his hair.

“Stack—oh my god—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”

He kept sucking real slow then would go fast, then he pushed two fingers in, and Beth screamed so loud when he was done eating, he took off his pants and revealed his big cock.

He slid into her slow, thick, and deep.

They both gasped.

“Shit,” she moaned, nails raking down his back.

He started to move, slow and smooth, letting her feel every inch. He gripped her hips, eyes locked on hers, hips rolling like music made just for them.

“You take me too good,” he groaned. “You feel like a damn miracle.”

She met every thrust, fingers clinging to his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

When she came, she screamed his name—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, breath caught in her throat.

Stack followed, burying his face in her neck, voice low and broken.

“Ain’t never… had nothin’ like this.”

⸻

Later, he lay beside her, shirtless, lips brushing her shoulder.

“You gon’ vanish after this?” she asked, half-asleep.

“You want me to?”

She didn’t answer.

He kissed her temple and whispered, “Didn’t think so.”

⸻

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @coldeforprez @christinabae @harleycativy @ayeeeitsmiracle @milkywayzard