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thealchemistbae · 1 month ago

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Fama Persona Chart: Rising Sign & Its' Degrees🤩

The Rising Sign in your Fama Persona Chart is SO important because it reveals the first impression of your fame energy. It's how the public perceives you, what kind of iconic image you radiate, and what draws people into your world of fame.

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thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

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SIGNS:

🎆: Aries Rising -> Fame hits you fast and loud. You're known for going after what you want with zero hesitation. You're recognized for your courage and originality. People remember your confidence, style, and how you always seem one step ahead.

🎆: Taurus Rising -> You exude luxurious, grounded energy. Your fame comes from your beauty, voice, or consistency. You might be known for a signature look, a calming presence, or material success. Fame finds you slowly but sticks. You age like fine wine and may be a beauty or fashion icon.

🎆: Gemini Rising -> Famous for your voice, ideas, or versatility. You're the social butterfly, trend chaser, and smart mouth. Witty, multi-talented, and always booked. You may become well known for your interviews, public speaking, or playing multiple roles across different industries.

🎆: Cancer Rising -> You're adored for your softness, intuition, or emotional depth. People see you as relatable and nurturing. Your fame may start young or be tied to your vulnerability. You're known for emotional connection and maternal/family themes.

🎆: Leo Rising -> This is star quality incarnate. Big hair, big presence, big energy. You shine naturally and crave the spotlight, and people love to give it to you. You're instantly seen as a celebrity even before you're famous. People treat you like royalty.

🎆: Virgo Rising -> Famous for your brain. precision, and aesthetic. You give polished and practical. You may be known for attention to detail, beauty, and discipline. Quietly powerful, consistently respected.

🎆: Libra Rising -> This is the classic beauty/fame rising. You're known for grace, charm, and balance. People admire your looks and diplomatic vibes. You're famous for your appearance, relationships, or branding. You may be the face of a generation.

🎆: Scorpio Rising -> You're mysterious, magnetic, and unforgettable. You draw fame with your intensity. You gain fame from powerful transformations, a signature look, or emotional depth. People are obsessed with figuring you out.

🎆: Sagittarius Rising -> You're the wild card. Your fame is global, big, and full of personality. You're known for being free-spirited, adventurous, and unfiltered. Fame might come from travel, education, or just being you loudly.

🎆: Capricorn Rising -> You're a boss from day one. People recognize you as serious, iconic, and timeless. Your fame builds with age and respect. You're a legend in the making; classic, clean, and career driven.

🎆: Aquarius Rising -> You're famous for being different, futuristic, and innovative. You're iconic for breaking the mold. Fame may come through activism, uniqueness, or standing for something powerful.

🎆: Pisces Rising -> You exude ethereal, dreamlike energy. Fame often feels destined. You're known for your mystery, art, and emotion. People project fantasies onto you, and your presence feels otherworldly.

DEGREES:

✨: 0° -> Fresh, bold energy; fame often hits fast and strong. You're seen as a pioneer, known for starting new trends or movements.

✨: 1° -> Magnetic and noticeable; your public image has an undeniable pull. Fame comes through leadership or being first in your scene.

✨: 2° -> Creative and dramatic; your presence demands attention, and you're often known for your flair or performance style.

✨: 3° -> Ambitious and energetic; you're viewed as a hustler or go getter. Fame arises through visible hard work and determination.

✨: 4° -> Charming and diplomatic; people love your approachable vibe, which helps your fame grow steadily and warmly.

✨: 5° -> Social and communicative; you gain fame through your artistic talents, children, networking, or media presence. Leo degree - short term fame or fame as a kid/ surrounding children.

✨: 6° -> Balanced and stylish, you're known for grace and good taste, building fame through refinement and aesthetics.

✨: 7° -> Dynamic and expressive; your fame is linked to your ability to entertain and connect emotionally.

✨: 8° -> Bold and authoritative; you project power and command attention, often seen as a natural leader.

✨: 9° -> Optimistic and friendly; your public image is sunny and inviting, drawing people in effortlessly.

✨: 10° -> Polished and professional; you gain respect and fame in traditional or prestigious arenas.

✨: 11° -> Creative and inspiring; your fame is tied to original ideas or artistic vision.

✨: 12° -> Focused and intense; you're known for determination and depth; your fame often tied to serious or meaningful work.

✨: 13° -> Expressive and magnetic; your personality captivates crowds, giving you a strong public appeal.

✨: 14° -> Responsible and reliable; your fame builds slowly but surely, thanks to consistency.

✨: 15° -> Passionate and vibrant; you stand out in crowds for your energy and enthusiasm.

✨: 16° -> Mysterious and intriguing; your fame often has an enigmatic quality, drawing a devoted following.

✨: 17° -> Creative and intellectual; people admire your originality and wit, making your fame both thoughtful and engaging. Leo degree - long term fame.

✨: 18° -> Powerful and confident; your public persona commands respect and attention naturally.

✨: 19° -> Friendly and approachable; you're well liked and known for your warmth.

✨: 20° -> Authoritative and commanding; you project strong leadership, and your fame often relates to positions of power.

✨: 21° -> Optimistic and charismatic; your sunny disposition wins hearts and builds lasting fame.

✨: 22° -> Wise and experienced; you're respected as a mentor or elder figure, with a solid reputation.

✨: 23° -> Energetic and innovative; your fame is connected to new ideas and forward thinking.

✨: 24° -> Confident and regal; you carry yourself like royalty, and your fame is grand and noticeable.

✨: 25° -> Charming and balanced; your fame comes from your ability to connect with many different people.

✨: 26° -> Creative and passionate; your public image is colorful and inspiring.

✨: 27° -> Mysterious and intense; your fame often has depth, attracting a loyal niche audience.

✨: 28° -> Magnetic and legendary; people remember you for your unique presence and lasting impact. Household name.

✨: 29° -> Sophisticated and refined; your fame is timeless, marked by elegance and distinction.

What is your FPC rising sign and degree ? Mine is Taurus rising at 28 degrees. I am a beauty/fashion influencer on Instagram.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at [email protected] or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

✨

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cerisereids · 2 months ago

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𝗖𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗜 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗔𝘁 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁?- 𝗦.𝗥. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟭]

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Bombshell!Reader

WC- 5k and this is only pt 1 belle shut up challenge

Summary- The BAU receives an invitation to the annual FBI gala. Spencer can't seem to handle the amount of attention you get.

Contains- icky men flirting a lot with reader, avoidant attachment!Spencer, spencer low-key gets in a cockfight with another guy at the event, fight, angsty, fluff in pt 2, reader's dress is inspired by sabrina's grammy dress, only kind of proof read, ending heavily inspired by ness in the new girl ep where cece almost marries shivrang

A/N- first time doing a multi-parter Spence fic in so long!!! I hope everyone likes!! I once again cannot find where I got this divider from I'm so sorry everyone

Part Two

Your fingers delicately grasp your pink perfume bottle, the floral scent falling over you like fresh rainfall. The scent ends up mixing with all the others taking space in Emily's expansive apartment. Your coworkers whiz past you in all directions, J.J., Tara, Penelope, and Emily scattering to get ready. Emily's kitchen island and master bathroom are now transformed into a provisional beauty parlor, endless arrays of lipsticks, eyeliners, and mascaras littering every inch of counter space.

The infectious beat of ABBA's Dancing Queen floats through the room, seeping its way into your veins. You can't not dance along as you aimlessly finagle your gold hoop into your earlobe. Penelope catches you, moving swiftly into your stride as she dances alongside you. Her own wine glass is perched in her right hand as her left offers you a fresh one. You gladly accept, toasting Penelope's glass before taking a sip.

The acidity tickles your throat, the alcohol oozing into your bloodstream in record time. You make your way to the kitchen island in search of your favorite lip gloss, settling on a stool. You study the rest of the group in your moment of solitude. They're all still frantically puzzling each piece of their intricate looks into place. You've already accomplished your hair, makeup, and now accessories- a routine that's as easy for you as the ABC's. So, you're left alone to revel in the chaos that is the BAU's first annual FBI charity gala.

You're not alone for long, of course, as Emily and Penelope quickly find you, taking their own breaks in your makeshift reprieve. You can tell exactly what's on their minds by the sinister smiles stretching their lips.

"Sooo..." Penelope drags out, taking another generous sip of wine. "How are things going with The Good Doctor?" Emily can't help but nod, enthusiastically supporting Garcia's question.

They're the only ones who know you've been seeing Spencer. Well, if you'd consider three dates and an absolutely incredible kiss seeing each other. You hope he does, though he's still a bit standoffish. You've been telling yourself that he's just readjusting to life outside of prison, but you can't help the small, petrified feeling resting in the pit of your stomach.

"Good, I think..." you snap out of your daze, cheeks heating to an uncomfortable temperature. Your eyes dart anywhere but the women in front of you, and you know it's a dead giveaway, but you can't seem to care.

They squeal, and you self consciously hush them, cheeks now ablaze. Your eyes dart to the other two ladies on the other side of the room, seemingly unphased by the shrill giggles emanating from the kitchen.

They only screech higher, louder, when you smile like an idiot. You can't help it when it comes to Spencer. Your forefinger and thumb find your temples as you hide your face with your hand.

"Oh, you like him!" Emily scoffs, lightly shoving your arm. Penelope nods emphatically, gulping down the rest of her drink.

"It's still so new, I'm not quite sure what I feel yet." It's not totally a lie. You're completely head over heels. You're just not sure he feels the same.

Emily's brow raises, immediately clocking the way your face falls. "But...?" She questions, and you roll your eyes at her all-knowing gaze.

"I'mjustnotsurehowhefeelsaboutme."

It jumbles together on its way out of your mouth, clouded by a deep sigh.

"What?!" Both women exclaim at the same time. Your stomach sinks, and you bury your face in both hands with a dramatic groan.

"He's just so...closed off. Like, when I try to get to know him more, he shuts down. It's like he wants to open up, but all of a sudden can't at the last minute. I just don't know if things are moving too quickly since his release," you confess, biting your lip. You're shocked by how much lighter you feel getting it off your chest.

You were hired on the team while he was behind bars. You served as an extra set of analytical eyes as the team worked night and day to free him, along with any other cases that came across Emily's desk. You remember the moment you first saw him, could never forget it, really.

He was dysregulated, almost unengaged from the world around him as he walked into the BAU for the first time post-prison. You remember the peculiar, distrusting look in his big, gorgeous eyes. The fear in them, the hurt. It took him a few weeks to warm up to you, a new member of the team disjointing the routine he knew prior.

Once he did, though, one of many doors opened in The Mystical World of Spencer Reid. You'd gotten to know each other slow but sure, Chinese takeout in the break room, hunching over case files until early morning. Each time, you fell harder for Spencer Reid.

It's a delicate situation, not only his emotional state, but yours as well. You like him, more than you've ever liked anyone. You will not let yourself throw it all away by being too bold, too brass. Though you know he'd never say that, you'd been told that too many times by too many men. It lives within you like a bad habit.

"Oh!" Penelope lilts. "Well...maybe you can put some feelers out tonight, y'know? See if he wants anything more than just casual dates?" Her brows raise inquisitively, and you sigh.

"I don't know, I'm not sure if tonight is the most appropriate night for that..." you trail off, but you know it's a crock of shit. The proof is hanging on the door directly parallel to you.

As if on cue, Emily furrows her brow, her classic 'yeah right' face penetrating through each one of your walls. "Uh-huh..." she trails, her tongue tapping the roof of her mouth. "So that gold, sparkly number is, what, for fun?" Her gaze is pointed, cocking her head towards the long golden dress that hangs from her closet door.

Your spine straightens, eyes flitting to the fridge behind the interrogating women. Yet, there's that smile again. It's impossible to keep it at bay when it comes to Spencer.

"Is a lady not allowed to look like a smoke show at a work event?" you're sly, slinking off the bar stool with your glass perched in your fingers. You reach for the dress, sauntering into the bathroom, fully aware of the show you're putting on for your friends.

It took a total of four women to help you get into the dress that now adorns your figure. Glittery gold fabric cinches and flows around your waist and hips, a tight corseted bust accentuating your chest.

You're no stranger to having all eyes on you, and tonight is no different as you enter the dimly lit ballroom. Round tables with black cloths take up most of the space, with a dance floor at the front. Men from other units scan your frame as you walk through the space towards your team. You ignore them, the only eyes you care about are the brown ones you found the second you entered the room.

Spencer stands slightly off to the side, his free hand shoved into his pocket as he watches you greet the rest of the team. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, the heat of his gaze searing right through you. When you finally turn to him, those godforsaken doe eyes light up. It's like your eyes make him feel whole again. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you finally greet him. You take him in, a black suit fitting him snugly. You can't help but swoon. It's not often you get to see him in such formal regalia, and you're going to soak up every second you can,

He opens his arms to you, pulling you in for a sweet hug. His hand splays across the expanse of your back, his fingers lightly grazing your exposed skin.

"Hi," he whispers in your ear, his lips barely grazing the skin there. You shiver at the slight contact.

"Hi," you respond, tightening your grip around his broad shoulders.

The hug lingers just a bit longer than what is deemed professional, but you can't seem to care. His cologne is intoxicating, infiltrating your brain at a rapid speed. You stay in his arms even when you pull out of the hug, resting in the crook of his elbow.

His large hands find your waist, splaying over the fabric covering it. His fingers dig in ever so slightly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles where it rests. You settle into his even further, ignoring the knowing glances and smirks Penelope and Emily wear.

"It's good to see you," he mutters, lips now pressed to your temple. "You look phenomenal," he punctuates with the softest kiss to your hairline.

"Thank you," you turn in his arms, hands fastening on his bow tie. "You don't look so bad yourself."

You shoot him a siren's gaze, hooded eyes peering up through thick lashes. He avoids eye contact almost immediately, a telltale sign you've already gotten under his skin. It's only 7:15. A glimmer of satisfaction beams in your stomach. You're only getting started.

"May I say, you ladies look phenomenal," Luke lifts his glass in salute that makes you playfully roll your eyes. "Where did you get this?" He turns to you, referring to the gold dress that has already drawn the eyes of half the people in the crowded room.

You flip your hair over your shoulder, confidence on full display. "Just something I had lying around in my closet, y'know?" You respond playfully, receiving a mix of chuckles from your team.

"Well, you look incredible," he says, and it's not creepy or forward, just kind. It doesn't stop Penelope, though.

"Stop trying to get us to fall in love with you, Alvez, and get me a drink," she quips, turning him by the shoulders towards the bar.

You chuckle at the scene, but a peculiar feeling strikes your chest when you feel Spencer tense behind you. His hand freezes where it rests, his spine straightening. His hand now hovers over your back now, and the break in contact makes you ache.

"Do you want to go with them? I can come with you to get a drink?" he clears his throat as he speaks, another giveaway. This time, of discomfort, uncertain. You haven't been seeing each other for long, but you've made it a habit to memorize him a long time ago,. His ticks, quirks, the cadence of his voice. They all tell you something new about the elusive man before you.

"Yeah!" You say, your mood perking up ever so slightly. "That's a great idea."

You link your arm through his as you make your way to the bar, a clear sign to anyone- any man- whose eyes tend to linger.

You lean your elbows on the bar as you wait for the bartender, eyes scanning over the menu on the screen above. Spencer’s beside you, facing away from the bar, though his body turns into you all the same. You’re contemplating whether or not you’re in the mood for a dirty martini or a cosmopolitan, when another black suit saddles up on the other side of you. You can tell, just from the acrid stench of his cologne, that it’s nobody that could possibly interest you.

“What’re you drinking tonight, gorgeous?” the man next to you crooned, and you can barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Nothing you need to know about, thanks,” you’re polite, but firm all the same. This isn’t your first rodeo.

“Playing hard to get, I see,” the man chuckles as he waves two fingers at the bartender, almost like he’s calling a dog. It makes your stomach turn.

You feel Spencer tense beside you, much like he did when Luke complimented you. You rest a delicate hand on top of his. The thought of this absolute fool making Spencer upset shakes you more than anything.

“Yeah, definitely,” you respond, a sugary sweet cadence lacing your tone, “because when women show you clearly that they’re not interested, as they’re standing with someone else, that obviously means they’re playing hard to get. You nailed it! It’s no wonder you made it to the FBI!” Sarcasm pokes through as the bartender finally comes over to you. You hear a small chuckle from Spencer behind you, and you stand five feet taller

“I’ll take a cosmopolitan. He’ll take nothing,” you smile as if you’re Medusa, and could turn him to stone with just one look. “There’s plenty of girls here tonight. Try it on them.” You pat his bicep in a placating manner, and he walks off before you can shame him even more. You hear him scoff, muttering a low ‘bitch’ under his breath. You roll your eyes, placing a soothing hand on Spencer’s forearm as he stands taller, away from the bar.

You can tell by the wild look in his eye that he's not happy. His lips are pressed in a straight line. He creates another inch of space between you two. Your heart cracks ever so slightly.

"I'm okay, just let him go," you croon, a desperate attempt to calm him.

His muscles relax only slightly. He rests against the bar once more, tension now thick in the air.

You give a polite smile to the bartender, now offering your drink. You accept gleefully, your glossy lips wrapping around the edge of the glass and taking the first sip. The acidic, fruity flavor coats your tongue, tickling your throat on the way down.

You turn, mirroring Spencer as you now lean back on the bar. You rest your head against his shoulder, a bold move given his rigidity. Each of you taking frequent sips from your respective drinks as you silently people watch. You both know you should be networking, but you can’t seem to care that much. Not when he’s in such a fantastic suit. Soft jazz music floats through the dimly lit hall, mixing with clinking glasses and rich laughter.

“Do you want to dance with me, Spencer?” You ask, and he looks at you, almost surprised.

“Yeah,” he answers, a sly smile painting his lips, “yeah, that sounds nice.”

He leads you to the floor, and your hand finds his shoulder, your free one lacing with his. He sways you to the soft, lucrative beat, and you settle into a familiar rhythm, like you’ve done this a hundred times. Really, though, it’s the first time you’ve held each other like this, so intimate in a room full of people.

“You really do look incredible,” Spencer mutters, before spinning you out and pulling you back in. You smile up at him and he chuckles, his eyes flitting to the floor, the disco ball, anywhere but you. It kills you now, when he’s so close. You can see the small freckles painting his nose, the various scars he’s collected from over a decade on the job. From prison. You see all of him, even in the low light of the ballroom. But he can’t see you. He’s choosing not to, and you don’t know why.

Your heart drops at his avoidance, sinking slowly into your stomach like a rock in the ocean. You have an idea of what might be going on, considering the context of both times he’s tensed up on you. You’re desperate for it to be untrue, though, so you continue to sway with him, squeezing lightly on his bicep to redirect his eyes back to you.

It works, his honey brown irises piercing straight into yours. His gaze is different now, though. Intense and fervent, almost possessive. It makes the hairs on your arms stand, a shiver unzipping your spine. He feels it, you can tell by the way his eyes immediately soften, the comfort of his hand splayed against your back. His fingers rub soothing patterns along the bare skin left by the scooped back of your dress.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his regard for you gentle now, as if he could read what’s been on your mind in the past two minutes. “You look so beautiful. C’mere.” His voice is nearly strained as he pulls you even closer to him, now chest to chest.

Your chin rests on his shoulder, your temple meeting his jaw as you continue to sway to the music. He leaves the most delicate kiss to your temple, and you close your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. Your heart beats impeccably fast, and you know he can feel it against him. He spares you some dignity in not mentioning it. You bury your face ever so slightly in the crook of his neck, a pathetic attempt to ingest more of the woodsy cologne he put on for tonight. You can just feel the smirk on his lips, though the soft chuckle shaking his chest gives him away regardless.

The intensity of the moment is broken by the end of the song, a brief moment of silence cutting through. It’s probably a good thing. The things you want to do to him in this suit are…unprofessional to say the least. He pulls back, holding you at arm’s length so he can look at you again. Your face heats under his pointed gaze, like he’s inspecting every part of you, committing it to memory. Not that it’s hard for him to do, anyway.

The band shuffles off the stage as a stuffy looking man in a tailored black suit takes their place. You recognize him, just briefly though, from similar events to this. The head of the bureau itself, someone so high up the ladder you couldn’t reach him in six inch heels. You don’t move from Spencer’s arms as the man begins to speak, oblivious to the other people staggering off the dance floor.

“Good evening, everyone,” he begins. “My name is Benedict Carter. Thank you all for joining us tonight in the name of Care For All. This is an organization that speaks deeply to me, and I hope it reaches all of you as well,” his voice is low, sharp, and succinct. It cuts through the room like glass, and you can’t help but let out the smallest scoff at his clearly scripted words.

You regret it almost instantly, though, and not for the fact that this man is a mere five feet away. No, you regret that it calls attention to your position with Spencer, attention he skirts away from almost immediately. He nearly jumps from you, as if you’re repelling magnets. You can’t really blame him too much for it. You’re the only people left on the dance floor. Still, it doesn’t ease the dull ache in your chest from the sudden release of contact. He does gently take your hand as he leads you back to the table, where you’re greeted by the knowing eyes of your team.

You lock eyes with Emily and Penelope, once again regretting your choices immediately. They’re staring daggers at you, playful ones, but daggers all the same. Daggers that say ‘oh my God, tell us everything ASAP’. You shyly tuck your hair behind your ears as you get comfortable in your seat.

“Dinner tonight is provided by La Città. Please give them a round of applause for their gratitude,” Mr. Carter continues, and a scattered applause responds to him.

His voice drags you from your addled mind, so induced in the mere idea of Spencer that you hadn’t realized he was still speaking. You flinch ever so slightly, the dose of reality splashing you like cold water. Cream colored plates fill the table, the steaming smell of various entrees filling the air, beef, chicken, fish.

The clinking of silverware fills the room shortly after, and it’s not long before plates are empty, with multiple glasses of wine consumed. You’re the perfect amount of tipsy, now waiting at the bar in hopes of prolonging that feeling. Your face heats when you feel a large hand on your back, a familiar warmth enveloping you from behind.

“I think you owe me at least one more dance,” Spencer whispers, his lips pressed against your temple.

It’s flirty, makes your brows raise. You squeeze his hand before nodding. “Let me get a drink first?” You’re not asking permission, more so making him aware of your plans. He nods, of course he does, moving to wait for you at the team’s table. You fiddle with your hands as you wander towards the bar, wringing them together in anticipation.

Nerves bubble in your gut like a witch’s brew, popping and simmering until your insides are singed. The mere thought of Spencer, waiting there, to dance with you, it makes your heart skip a beat. You rest your chin in your palm, gold nails tapping lightly on the bar as you order another glass of the delicious wine you consumed at dinner.

You wait for a moment, caught off guard when you feel another figure in your close proximity. It’s foreign, that much you know. Definitely not Spencer. You sneak the smallest peek through your peripheral to find a man with blonde shaggy hair. His suit is tailored to perfection, you can tell that much even from the limited view you have. He’s way too close for your liking, so you inch away ever so slightly, desperate for him to get the hint.

He just slides closer. Whether he didn’t pick up on the boundary or he just didn’t care, you’re not sure. You straighten your spine all the same, undeterred by the strange presence. You know how to handle yourself.

“What’re you drinking tonight?” he asks, a pathetic attempt to appear nonchalant as he trains his gaze on the bar menu.

You roll your eyes. Of course he doesn’t have the audacity to look you in the eye.

“Is that the only line men have?” you scoff, rolling your eyes before moving away from the bar completely.

You're completely shell shocked when this man’s arm wraps around your waist, spinning you back to face him. You waste no time ducking out of his arms, appalled at the sheer gall of this man.

“Leave me alone.” You’re firm, not an ounce of playfulness in your tone or gaze. You leave no wiggle room for interpretation. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. It’s potent, musky in a way that has you turning away from him on instinct.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch-”

He doesn’t get much further than that before you’re shoving him off completely. If he wants to get physical, you can too.

“Back up,”calls a voice from behind you, one you know immediately to be Spencer’s. He wedges his way between the two of you, your brows knitting in confusion at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Back up before I have my entire team here with me. I’d rather not ruin this entire night, though. So, if we’re in agreement, you’re going to turn around, leave, and not bother her for the rest of the night.”

Your stomach sinks at the sheer brutishness on display before you, eyes going wide at a side of Spencer you’d never seen before. Your insides twist when a sickly smile forms on the blonde man’s face.

“Aren’t you the one who just got out of jail? Spencer Reid, right? The ‘genius’?” Air quotes surround that last word, and your heart sinks even further, your temples resting between your forefinger and thumb. “I’ve heard some things, so I guess I’ll try my luck elsewhere.”

He finally saunters off, not before shooting you a long, slimy glance before fully turning away. Spencer doesn’t even look at you before he gears toward the exit. You’re hot on his heels, thankful the spat didn’t draw too many eyes. The ones from your team follow you out, staring in shock at the altercation. Your face burns as you catch up to him in the ballroom lobby, a cool draft coming in from outside.

You shiver, whether from the breeze or from the sheer anger radiating through your veins, you’re not sure.

“Spencer!” You exclaim, turning him to face you. “What was that? Are you a caveman?” Your voice is hushed, though your tone is sharp as a blade. “I can handle myself!”

Your blood is boiling, your nostrils flared as you breathe heavily through them. Your chest heaves up and down, and you have half a mind to slap him right across the face when his eyes flit down to your cleavage.

“You clearly couldn’t. He was huge, and continuously overstepped your boundaries,” he spit, his voice a harsh whisper, fire in his eyes.

“Do you think that’s the first man who’s ever flirted with me?” you throw a hand out in frustration, your other hand resting on your popped hip.

He flinches at that, and you roll your eyes.

“Spencer, you’ve been shoving me back and forth all night. You dance with me, then you avoid me. You take me out on dates, yet you can’t seem to ever open up to me. And now this,” your lip wobbles ever so slightly, your teeth sinking in so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood.

Spencer runs a hand down his face, an exasperated look dancing across it. He shakes his head, and the bitter look in his eye makes your stomach sink.

“I just-” he starts, “Admit that part of you thinks this is a mistake. You and me.”

The statement tilts your world on its axis. Your vision goes fuzzy for a moment, and your eyes drop to the floor. Bile creeps up in the back of your throat. The fear that you’ve so desperately tried to repress springing to the surface, exploding like a pipe bomb.

“Yes,” you murmur, “part of me does.”

His face falls even more, the confirmation of your fears the final nail in the coffin. A single tear rolls down your cheek. You’re unable to stop it. You swipe it away with a manicured finger, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then, let’s call it,” his voice is high, almost like he doesn’t mean it. You can’t get your hopes up when it comes to Spencer, though. You’re learning that the hard way. “Y’know, we had a few nights. Maybe that’s all it should be.”

“Great, that feels great. Do you feel great about that?” your voice is shaky, almost sarcastic. He nods, and it’s firm, matter of fact.

“Great,” you whisper, turning to make your way back to the ballroom. You brush a tear from your cheek as you walk away.

That sickly feeling boils in the pit of your gut. You surrender to the funny, familiar chord you’ve been fighting all night. You know it all too well from boyfriends past. He is jealous. Jealous of the attention you’re getting, of the stares, the whispers, and just like everyone else before, he's punishing you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid series

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quarterlifekitty · 7 months ago

Note

A crumb of attention por favor

Your thoughts on which of the boys have a praise kink vs degradation kink vs general voice kink vs none of the above? Giving or receiving, I leave it in your capable hands

you do not want to know how much planning went into this post

cw: degrading dirty talk, daddy dom type dynamic

Gaz is very into giving praise. He loves seeing you light up. That's a must have for any sexual encounter for him. Like you could literally be giving him a really quick and dirty wank in a public bathroom at a gas station and he's still be like "god, you're so good at this-- I love you, babe". He could be convinced to be degrading, but it's never something really mean. If he calls you a slut, it's because he's saying "I love that you're such a slut for me, love". And he likes a bit of praise! Just affirms for him that you feel for him the way he feels for you. Doesn't really like to be degraded, it's too easy for him to take it to heart.

Soap wants to give all of it and he wants to get all of it. He's addicted to feeling you clench around him when he says that you're so cute and tight and wet and perfect. He likes calling you his dirty fuckin' slag as well-- he knows you're multi talented like that, and he wants you to know it too. It's all said with reverence, he loves that you match his freak. And I have said many times that this man is a dog. As such, he loves praise. Call him a good boy and he's gonna jackhammer you. Call him a naughty slut and he's gonna jackhammer you. He has a major voice kink, sometimes he gets hard when you call him on the phone for a completely mundane reason because he just likes hearing your voice. He could jerk off to you giving a lecture.

Ghost is a hard man to earn approval from. He hates that about himself once he realizes it. Giving praise just doesn't come very naturally to him, but he can spit absolute vitriol like it's his mother tongue. If you can handle it, he's going to ask if you like the way he's abusing your cunt. You'd better-- it's the only thing whores like you are good for. And he's the same way receiving. Praise makes him freeze up if it's laid on thick, he just doesn't know how to handle it. But he loves to be degraded. He knows he's a bastard, and he wants you to remind him while you milk him for all he's worth.

Price will give anything, and take nothing. It's all about what you deserve! And when he fucks you, he wants you so utterly deconstructed that you can barely speak. He wants you to be blubbering and crying and whining, you don't need words to serve beneath him. Your utter inability to string together a sentence is the best praise you could give him, really.

König is a somewhat insecure man. And once you get under his exterior, he's incredibly clingy, and can say some incredibly sappy things when he's going crazy from how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. Quite honestly, he loses composure if you're someone he really likes, so a lot of his praise and degradation is in German, but the tone is easily identified. His beautiful girl, his perfect angel, the deliverance of heaven onto earth. And much like Gaz, his degradation is mostly just assurances about how desperate he knows you are for him, how you'd do anything for this thick fucking cock, wouldn't you? But don't worry, liebe, I'll never deny you what your body was made for. And fuck yes he wants your praise. He wants you to tell him how good he is at fucking you. He wants the most detailed performance report you can give. Oh, and to tell him you love him. He has a voice kink, and is extremely weak to your dirty talk. You can render him non-functional by whispering to him, no matter where you are.

Nikolai lives to praise you. You just have to deserve it. And he has a very specific brand of degradation. He likes to condescend you. My malyshka is just so needy for my cock, isn't she? Poor thing, just doesn't know how to survive without it. And he also likes to tell you to do something he knows you're too fucked stupid to do, then tease you for not being able to do it, or for being to little to struggle. Zoloste-- there's no getting away from your papochka, my love. And there's no way I'm letting this sweet little pussy escape me. And in terms of praise, he likes when you're sweet. When you treat him well. When you're kissing up and down his shaft with wet lips, telling him how much you love his cock, how thankful you are that he gives it to you and uses it to love you the way you need.

And if you did for some reason want to see how much planning went into this, this is how much:

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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"business or pleasure?"

pairing: gojo x fem!reader summary: the gojo clan decides it’s time to secure an heir… and you’re the lucky woman selected for the job… content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lil’ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo. wc: 3.7k a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I haven’t posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way that’s real 😭 Anyway, I’ve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. You’re welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

It’s only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girls’ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure.

You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice… You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, then…

You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadn’t stopped hovering until the moment you’d escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm.

You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didn’t recognize. At least your groom wasn’t shy.

A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those… squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a… sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America you’d come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. There’d been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, they’d settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, you’d been an suitable pick. It didn’t hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile.

Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clan’s proposition. The Gojo heir’s power hadn’t been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised you’d been chosen considering all of the options there must have been.

Satoru seemed… fine, you thought. You hadn’t had much time to talk with him privately. The first time you’d met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night he’d asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and he’d been a rather good dancer. Other than that, you’d been pulled apart at all odds and ends until you’d come back here: his apartment.

You’d expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and… squishmallows.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product.

A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower.

A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like it’s just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.

You’d known your new husband was beautiful but you’d never imagined he’d be so… so goddamn seductive.

Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes… he was the image of a god.

“Sorry for making you wait. I really needed that.”

Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. You’d heard of this problem from the clan. He hadn’t worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him.

“No problem.”

A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment.

“You hungry?”

You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago.

“Can’t say that I am.”

“Hm.”

He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

“So, uh-” You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. “You really wanna do this?”

You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. He’s standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.

“You don’t?” you ask.

All that gets you is a shit-eating grin.

“Never said that.”

You can’t help the smirk that crawls across your lips.

“Well, we might as well get it over with, no?”

Another flash of pearly whites.

“Get it over with, hm?”

You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread.

“It shouldn’t take much effort. I’m on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and I’d get pregnant.”

You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize it’s one of those strands that’s infinite.

“That so?”

You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than he’d been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet?

Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. He’s so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze.

“Yes.” You swallow. “It was part of our prenup.”

Dazed. You’re absolutely dazed.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?”

Closer. He’s coming closer. Too close.

You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you.

Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesn’t stop, not until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close.

You’d thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste.

“You say stop,” he breathes, “and we stop.”

He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again.

A breath, a pause.

“Stop?” he asks. His eyes are piercing.

You shake your head.

“Go.”

Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment you’re too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then you’re kissing him back.

A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in.

He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all.

Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away.

His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.

“Have you-” a kiss to your collarbone. “Done this before?”

You freeze.

“What?”

Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips.

“Don’t know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?”

You shove his head back down.

“Shut up.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin.

“Okay, sp no need to go slow then…”

His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Oh? What’s this?” His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. You’re just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. “Ah, ah. No need to be so hasty.” Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you don’t fight it.

Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh.

“Gojo-” you breathe, squirming.

His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. “Satoru when I’m about to be inside you, baby.”

He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh.

His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug.

You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. It’s a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. He’s grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a bracelet– no, like a trophy.

“Thanks for the present.” He’s still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “How attached are you to this dress?” he asks.

You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. It’s too strong, too mesmerizing. “Not… attached at all,” you manage. It’s true. Somebody else picked it out, and you’ve only been wearing it for about an hour– and it’s not like you can’t just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts.

His grin somehow grows even wider. “Good girl. Just what I wanted to hear.”

There’s a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. It’s slow and controlled and you wonder if he’s practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping it’s the latter.

The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it.

You’re bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that you’re now half proud of and half embarrassed by.

Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. “Damn, baby. Why’d you keep all this hidden for so long?”

You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, Toru.”

The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.

“Hmm…” is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until they’re dipping beneath the band of your panties. It’s somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. “Ah, ah. Hold still for me, now.” He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes.

He chuckles. “Little needy, aren’t you?” His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper.

With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten.

“S-Satoru!” you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be.

His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. “So wet already, baby…” He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. “Let’s get these out of the way…” Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoru’s thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time there’s no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.

“Satoru…” you breathe. “Kiss me…”

That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. “As my wife wishes.”

When lips meet yours it’s hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and you’re sure you’re leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesn’t show it.

His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it he’s adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high.

“God, you’re so wet.” he whispers against your lips. True to his word, he’s been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. “Bet you taste like fucking heaven.”

You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. “G-Gonna… I’m–”

He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling back– “Nuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.”

Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. You’re not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll pull away and leave you wanting… or maybe you just want to please him.

You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoru’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge.

You can’t help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away.

“Good girl,” he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you.

You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight.

His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “Heaven.”

He’s back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed.

“On to the main event, yeah?” The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, it’s gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation.

Your jaw drops lower, if it’s even possible. He’s… huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready.

“Satoru, it won’t–”

His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. “It’ll fit, baby.”

He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time he’s finally lining himself up, you’re practically begging.

The first push is heaven. You’re both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and you’re gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until he’s pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks.

The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.

“Sooo… f-ahh-ucking t-tight…” he whispers.

A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice.

“F-Fuck, princess.”

His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake.

“Atta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.”

You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. It’s all too much, too good.

“Satoru…” you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest you’re afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if you’re burning, as if you’re going to snap– and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. You’re still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. You’re still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoru’s still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasn’t going to be so bad.

You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. There’s a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round.

“Think it stuck?” he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh.

“Don’t know.” Silently, you think that there’s no way it didn’t. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and there’s just so much of it.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. “Guess we’d better make sure.”

With the rate at which Satoru fucks you it’s no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while he’s drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoru’s lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasn’t so bad.

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#jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #tw: breeding #bree’s fics

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selenepsyche · 17 days ago

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Your Venus Sign as an Iconic Female K-pop Visual

Hello everyone! Here's another fun post for y'all! Let me know which female you got in the comments down below! Also please know that the Venus sign won't be the idol's actual Venus sign (if it is then it's coincidental). But this is based off of my own observations.

Aries Venus - CL

CL (2NE1) is the perfect example of the Aries Venus. Her fashion style has always been bold, raw, unapologetic, and was one of the first female idols to fully own a "bad bitch" aesthetic. 2NE1 invented the "Girl Crush" concept but CL fully owned it. The main colors of most of her outfits consist of black, red, gold, and silver colors or jewelry. She can rock lace, leather, fur, or multi-patterned clothing. She absolutely rocks avant-garde and streetwear fashion. She has always been full of confidence and swagger, which makes it easier for her to rock those type of clothing.

Taurus Venus - Wonyoung

Wonyoung (IVE) has a fashion sense and visuals that are so Venusian to me. She always seems comfortable in her own skin. No matter what she's doing, she always looks composed and unbothered. Her fashion is elegant, fairy-like, and classy. Her signature style consists of ruffled skirts or dresses, lace or plain stockings, satin, Mary Jane shoes, ribbons, bows, vintage button up shirts or sweaters, and silver jewelry. She has innate and effortless beauty. She doesn't have to chase attention because she naturally gets it. She is always glowing and a true divine feminine.

Gemini Venus - Soyeon

The main thing I love about Soyeon (I-dle) is how she fits any concept that I-dle does. Whether the era consists of Y2K, burlesque, or streetwear fashion, she wears it with ease. She has changed her hairstyles many times as well. She can pull off anything and wears pretty much anything, so because of this I don't know what signature style to give her. She is like a fashion chameleon. She is also very charismatic, confident, and unpredictable.

Cancer Venus - Mina

Mina (Twice) has been seen in different types of fashion, but the one that suits her best is her soft, elegant, Old-Hollywood style of clothing. With this style, she usually wears satin or vintage style dresses, stiletto heels, long boots, lace, silver jewelry, or a casual blazer and skirt set. It's similar to Wonyoung's, but their vibes are different. In my opinion, Mina's beauty is more Cancerian because she looks and feels more gentle and mysterious, with soft expressions that pull you in. She is graceful with a dreamy aura and gentle movements.

Leo Venus - Jennie

Jennie (Blackpink) is a great example of a Leo Venus because she radiates main character energy without effort. Ever since she debuted in Blackpink, she has been seen as the it girl of her generation and has always been the most popular member. Even when she's not doing much, her presence is always felt. Jennie always wears outfits that are memorable, stylish, expressive, and statement-making. No matter the style, she always owns her outfits.

Virgo Venus - Yoona

Yoona (Girls' Generation) is a perfect example of a Virgo Venus. She wears clothes that are clean, refined, and minimalistic. She doesn't overdo her outfits nor her makeup. She embodies quiet elegance and grace. She doesn't really experiment with her style, just keeps it consistent and simple. She is known for being private and poised, which fits how Virgo's are usually full of dignity and subtly. She wasn't the original "Nation's Center" for no reason.

Libra Venus - Tzuyu

Tzuyu (Twice) has beauty that is harmonious, symmetrical, and effortless. Tzuyu has the kind of beauty that looks like she is a living art piece. Her presence feels peaceful and balanced. She usually wears flowy dresses, brighter colors, and gracefully tailored outfits. Her outfits don't ever feel out of place even if it's a style she rarely wears. But she definitely excels at wearing more formal, romantic, and elegant styles.

Scorpio Venus - Sunmi

I just love Sunmi. She has released versatile comebacks, but most of them still always carry a sensual and magnetic undertone to them. Her gaze and body language is always powerful. She always makes deep and powerful love songs (Heroine, Gashina, Tail), while releasing music videos with important and even darker messages (Noir), which is very Scorpio Venus coded. In her fashion, she usually wears black and red clothing, and sometimes floral patterns in short, flowy dresses.

Another thing I noticed is how she also wears florals a lot and even has flower visuals in some of her music videos. It's ironic because Scorpio Venus represents transformation and duality, which flowers perfectly represent. Flowers are beautiful and on the outside, but represent life, death, rebirth, and desire, which aligns with Scorpio's themes of transformation and and emotional depth. A flower can be crushed, plucked, and left to wither, which is similar to Scorpio's feelings of attachment and loss.

Sagittarius Venus - BIBI

Similar to Gemini Venus, I've noticed that Bibi's outfits are versatile, but a bit more experimental. One minute she's wearing a tightly fitted leather black dress with fish nets, the next minute she's wearing a big fluffy, multicolored dress. Then she gonna be wearing a bright and bold outfit with mismatched patterns and colors, then gonna hop in a simple cotton romper with only one or two colors on it. She is an absolute wild card and even knows how to blend certain styles, materials, and colors together to create a unique outfit.

Capricorn Venus - Krystal

Krystal (Fx) radiates an energy that is cool, composed, and chic. Her beauty reminds me of the old money aesthetic. She's luxurious and sophisticated. Her energy and fashion gives off quiet superiority and elite taste. She usually wears outfits in neutral and darker colors, such as brown, beige, white, black, dark blues, dark reds, and grey. She usually wears simple midi skirts, tailored women's suits, high heels or long boots, long and simple satin, cotton, flowy dresses, and occasional denim jeans with a simple shirt. She shows how less is more.

Aquarius Venus - Ningning

I feel like I can put Aespa as a whole group, but I decided to put Ningning because I feel like her outfits suit Aquarius Venus the most. Ningning's outfits are innovative, unique, and trend-setting. In my opinion, her stage outfits are some of the best out of all of Aespa's comebacks. Not only that, but the way she evolves in her fashion is amazing. One day, she could look cute and casual, then the next day she may look bold and glamorous, then after that she may look futuristic, and it'll all feel and look natural. Her beauty and style is unconventional and original.

Pisces Venus - IU

IU truly embodies everything about a Pisces Venus. She's like poetry in motion. Her beauty is soft, mystical, dreamy, and ethereal. She usually wears outfits that seem like they're straight out of a fairytale book. She wears pastel colors, lose and sheer fabrics, short dresses with detailed cuts and jewels on them, florals, and silver accessories with heels or short boots. She radiates a beauty that attracts many people, yet is subtle and bittersweet.

Thank you all so much for reading this post! This was very fun to make, especially since I love fashion a lot as well. I hope you all enjoyed this and if you have any question, leave them down in the comment section!

dividers: @uzmacchiato & @anitalenia pictures: Pinterest

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heartavenue · 2 months ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚ Y2K Princess: London Tipton Inspired Things To Script ⋆౨ৎ˚

this post was heavily inspired by @premiumbitch-deactivated2025040. this post is not me trying to be a copycat or anything, I just love London and wanted to make a things to script based off her!

ᯓ★ Spoiled Rotten

Obviously your rich, and I mean rich. Several vacation homes that spans across numerous continents, twelve car garage, custom designer, multi-million dollar mansion that sits upon acres of land, black card toting, trust fund having, rich. Due to your silver spoon upbringing, you have the tendency to be a tad bit spoiled. Now this isn't necessairly a bad thing as you always get what your heart desires. Whether it's that new Channel bag you've been eyeing or just a quick trip to Paris, you always get it. And the best part about it? People adore you for it, you have your parents wrapped around your finger just like that. They give you every single thing you want, and then some.

ᯓ★ Iconic Fashion Style

From a Juicy Couture tracksuit (for whenever you're feeling bummy) to that custom made Versace dress, you are the moment. As soon as you walk into a room you turn heads, people practically break their necks trying to get a glimpse of who you're wearing. You have a sixth sense when it comes to fashion. You know exactly how to style something, it just comes to you. Everything you wear gains traction, people try to copy your style but they just can't because they are not you. Designers wish they could capture your natural sense of style. You were made for the runway. You have brands constantly calling you begging you to wear their work, because you are their stamp of approval.

ᯓ★ Timeless Beauty

Your face is pure perfection, no everything about you is perfection. Your face, your body, your aura, your personality is like you were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Your beauty rivals no one. All day long you catch people admiring your beauty. Your beauty stands the test of time it spans from generation to generation. Everyone is just so captivated by you, so captivated it is like they are under your spell. They are hypnotized, hooked, longing for your every move. Your beauty transcends this Earthly realm, it is like you are an angel that fell down from heaven. You are constantly bombarded by compliments, not a day goes by without someone just telling you how beautiful you are.

ᯓ★ It Girl Status

There is not a single soul who doesn't know your name. Everywhere you go you hear whispers of people telling others about your arrival. You enter a room and you set the tone, people quiet down anticipating your every word. People move out of their way when they see you, they dare not make eye contact with you. You are beyond respected, no one ever thinks about crossing you. People don't know if they want to be with you or with you. Your presence is well known, and for anyone who doesn't know you...oh they will. Something about you makes people want to follow you around like a lost puppy, they wait in anticipation for your next move. If you say jump, they immediately leave the ground. You have an entourage, fan clubs, and people live for you. They're always wondering what you're going to do next. There isn't one person who's not completely and utterly enamored by you.

ᯓ★ Princess Treatment

You have a commanding yet subtle aura, anywhere you go that places automatically conform to your needs, to your wants. That restaurant you've been eyeing? As soon as you enter their doors they greet you automatically offering their best table, waiting on your hand and foot like the princess you are. When you go into your favorite store the attendants are rushing to your side, offering whatever they have just to please you. No matter where you go people are devoted to you. People give up their seats for you, they clear a path when they see you, if you're thirsty everyone in the vincinity offers you their water. You are the people's princess, it is like it is everyone's life duty to serve you, to live you, to breathe you. This is YOUR world, and you just allow them to live in it.

#reality shifting #desired reality #shiftblr #shifting realities #things to script

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divinit3a · 4 months ago

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oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette.

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines.

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms.

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets.

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day.

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen.

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade.

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together.

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical.

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert.

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder.

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy.

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all.

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive.

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks.

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles.

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly.

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium.

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty.

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops.

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward.

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion.

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort.

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift.

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic.

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath.

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out.

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange.

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards.

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex.

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head.

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that.

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum.

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard.

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away.

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear.

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste.

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed.

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being.

The siren lurches toward you.

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion.

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges.

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain.

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause.

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world.

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

#fnaf #dca community #dca fandom #moon fnaf #ao3fic #ao3 link #dca x reader #dca x yn #dca fanfic #moon x yn #mer moon #catfishing au #mer animatronic moon #pom writes #:D weee

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 17 days ago

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♡ [MULTI] DRUNK DATES WITH MEGATRON(s)!

scenario: what it's like to get a drink with the warlord himself. enjoyed only by his beloved , i.e., you. usually one of you (its you) gets knocked out.

including: TFA, TFP, Armada, ES, WFC, BW.

warning: slightly suggestive, getting drunk

TFA Megs:

There are certain rare occasions when Megatron feels like spending some time with the finest luxuries— company and heavy refuelling. And what better company can he ask for in his habsuite than that of his most competent soldier and lover?

Megatron just flat out invites you for a ‘chat’ and it turns out to be a date.

He usually thinks that heavy refuelling is very crude and that it's just vulgar but sometimes, he really really needs a strong and heavy drink. Especially since he’s stuck on a warship with Starscream, Lugnut and Blitzwing.

TFA Megatron is a connoisseur when it comes to drinks. Every solar-cycle, he has at least one glass of high grade energon or refined oil in a wine glass as he monitors the Warship activities on his throne.

Megatron isn’t a simpleton. He has all the regal and luxurious types of drinks. If it isn’t high grade energon, refined oil, highly distilled petroleum or finely aged engex, Megatron won’t even touch the drink. It's not that his tanks can't handle cheap fuel, it can but he'd rather not.

This version of Megatron literally has a personal collection of the finest oil and energon, his intoxication tolerance definitely exceeds yours by a longshot and he is probably the Megatron with the highest tolerance out of them all. He will not lose himself. That means, by the time you get completely drunk, Megatron is only slightly intoxicated.

Also, this Megatron is probably the most romantic out of all of them. He’s old but he’s still a really smooth talker and as he gets more drunk, his occasional words of affectionate teasing and taunting throughout your conversation will just begin to get even more suggestive and seductive.

The two of you often dwell into more philosophical subjects, Megatron likes these conversations. He finds them quite meaningful and it gives him a wider view about your perception of things. Megatron often enlightens you with wisdom, he may be a warlord but he still has millions of years worth of life experience on his processor.

Sometimes, you share the more casual happenings on the ship and in your life. Things like Blitzwing’s antics, receiving a second opinion from Megatron about Blackarachnia’s face-plate care advice (TFA Megs would def be a expert on stuff like beauty care), Lugnut’s embarrassing speeches about Megatron’s glory (Megatron finds them downright embarrassing) and of course, Starscream’s devious plots you overhear when the mech is busy rambling to himself, thinking that nobody can hear him. Everyone can.

It's just you talking as the warlord listens. You don't even realise that you’re snitching on Random’s numerous pranks on Lugnut to Megatron.

As much as Megatron doesn't approve of tomfoolery amongst his underlings, he does find these things amusing. He even chuckles at them. Sometimes, the way you describe things pulls out a genuine laugh out of him. Megatron’s rarely ever even smiled since the defeat of the Decepticons.

He’s glad that he’s got someone like you to crack him up. Megatron would not vocalise much about it but he absolutely adores your company. The words that roll off his glossa may be only teasing, taunting and sexual innuendos but behind his optics is just pure adoration for you.

These wonderful times usually end with you getting blackout drunk and Megatron generously letting you recharge on his berth, he will literally tuck you in his bed and give you a soft kiss on your helm if he’s in a rally good mood. You’ll have to sneak out without the other ‘Cons noticing the next morning though. There are some occasions where things do take a more romantic turn though but it never exceeds you sloppily kissing his helm and smothering his face in kisses as he tries to get you to bed (he will not return the favour even if he does find your affections utmost pleasurable).

If you’re lucky, things can get a bit more sexual. You have to initiate though, as in, straight out say it. Megatron loves being aware of the fact that he can get you off.

None of the other Decepticons are aware of your late drinking sessions with the leader himself so they’re just confused as to how Megatron is so up to date about the latest mischiefs and mishaps.

He definitely wants to do this more often with you.

TFP Megs:

Only behind closed doors is this version of Megatron affectionate albeit in a very tame way and when he’s drunk, Megatron is almost the same except it’s in a more impulsive way also he does get slightly more aggressive. Megatron definitely does lose himself completely in his drink, he loses all sense of rational thought and is up to do anything he and you want to.

This Megatron rarely gets the chance to indulge himself in the pleasures of high grade energon so his tolerance pales in comparison to TFA Megatron and a few of his other counterparts but still is far more impressive than most.

He probably would just blare the ship’s speakers and order you to come to the control bridge which is near to his quarters. Asks you to follow him. He just flat out leads you to his habisuite. Not a lot of explanations are given but once you see the drinks, its clear what he’s called upon you for. Megatron flat out expects you to just obey cause he’s too embarrassed to ask.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to get drunk, he does but he’s just too busy like most Megatrons. He just doesn’t have the time and Piranha faced Megs ain’t like TFA Megs who sips out high-grade out of a wine glass whenever he feels like it.

Also, Megatron really doesn’t care what kind of drinks there are. He’s fine with anything that can make him reach a high. Megatron is not picky.

The two of your drinking activities usually include whatever goofy shit you and him want to do. Megatron loses himself and he just follows your orders, he does often retort with formal snarky remarks but he’ll still be down for it. He’s extremely complicit.

With TFP Megs, drunk antics take place. It's not just drunk conversation or affections, there’s more action. It’s more activity oriented. Like singing stupid songs. It’s embarrassing but Megatron secretly likes the more upbeat pop songs and two of you just sing your sparks out to said songs. One time, the two of you dueted Aqua’s “Barbie Girl”.

The two of you duet songs while drunk or hold silly poetry competitions. Yes, writing while drunk, you can imagine how disastrous the results were.

Sometimes, the two of you watch some human movies together (Only when he’s drunk, Megatron will only touch human media if he is drunk. Try this with him when he’s not and he will laugh at your face for even suggesting the idea) and Megatron is the type to ruin the whole thing by babbling about inaccuracies and how stupid the plot is.

He will end up in a fight so you better prepare yourself. This is one of the reasons why the two of you only drink in his quarters, the door is locked to make sure nobody walks in on Megatron and you, sitting on the floor as you paint each other’s servos. He gave you a Decepticon themed servo-paint with the insignia tattered across your servos. It sort of looks like those wallpapers that you’ve seen in human phones but very very messy. Starscream walked in on you two singing ‘Barbie Girl’ and proceeded to record the whole thing, ever since then, Megatron has been more discreet.

Megatron chugs down like a pirate so he’s usually the first one to get blacked out even though he has high tolerance. Like, he can down a whole barrel in one go. You end up having to haul his giant frame onto his berth.

Once Megatron wakes up, he has a painful hangover. It’s all worth it though. He got to make some real memories that he can smile back onto. But that thought runs away as cringe overwhelms his frame the second he sees his drunk poetry.

He’s ashamed of himself for ever agreeing to do even half of the embarrassing stuff the two of you did. Then again, the two of you were totally wasted. None of you had any idea what you were doing. Just purely acting on impulsive thought.

He isn't that angry or embarrassed about it as you would expect him to be though. Megatron is always busy, it's always nice to finally get some time to spend with his beloved. Even if the things you did together were cringey.

He’s a total dork when he’s drunk. A massive shift of demeanor.

Armada Megs:

I’ll be real with you, not happening. Never happening. If it did, it would be because he’s finally had enough of everything and genuinely doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

Cause, this Megatron is probably the most smug, snarky and prideful out of the bunch and that’s something cause he’s against TFP and TFA here. The chance that he would even let you s t a n d right next to him is a big question. He’s gotta be really really into you for that or he’s just flat out desperate for someone to talk to. The relationship between the two of you isn’t the healthiest. This mech has no soft spots.

This Megatron needs the best— no questions asked. If there’s no refined high grade, he doesn’t want it. He’s picky and he’s a big baby about it. Say that to his face though and it would be a full-on ride to blaster-ville.

Since y'all are on the moon, there’s not a lot of places to have drinks privately. So, Megatron usually plans this beforehand and selects whatever location he wants. He also informs you about such. He’s ridiculously formal about it too. He tells you which time, which spot and all in his usual commanding voice. It’s his weird version of a date.

Megatron says that he wants to have a private chat with you in front of you and the others. They buy it all the time. Nobody knows what the two of you are up to. Cyclonus and Starscream are very curious and Demolisher is theorizing what's happening. A relationship is the last thing they could thing of— But Starscream (intially) will be sort of jealous that you seem to have Megatron's recognition more than he does.

At the start, drinking with him is just the two of you sitting down as you listen to Megatron blabber about whatever he wants to talk about. Usually, it’s about his day and how incompetent his lackeys Cyclonus and Demolisher are or he’s gonna rant about how he’s going to destroy Optimus Prime as if he hasn’t said the exact same things a bajillion times. But if the beetle-head is feeling a little better, he might praise you for being a really reliable soldier.

Megatron here is embarrassingly a lightweight drinker. His tolerance is below average. Tell anyone and you will be demoted. Three small cubes are enough to get this ‘Con tipsy.

His gait gets all messed up when he’s drunk and he gets wildly unpredictable so you just appease your lord with what he wants to hear. Megatron is a real douche and if you piss him off, he will verbally destroy you. He’s like Eminem if he was a poet. He might feel slightly bad afterwards but will not apologise. He’s a jerk.

Things do take a turn and the leader of the Decepticons himself might end up being just spontaneously affectionate out of nowhere when he’s fully intoxicated. Full on love bombing you and kissing you. Telling you how much he loves you, praising you and such. You can’t tell if he’s being flat out manipulative or if this is genuine.

In contrast to his loud and commanding way of speech, Megatron mumbles a lot when he’s drunk.

He also gets extra handsy when he’s drunk. Megatron needs to have his hands occupied for some weird reason. Sometimes his arms would be wrapped around your shoulders or maybe even your waist. He won’t think much of it though.

Show him any signs of affection and he will be caught off guard. First time you did it, he was genuinely flustered on the inside even though he repeatedly denied your allegations. The next time, Megatron will be ridiculously smug about it after the slight shock.

He’s the first to pass out. You have to put him on his throne, his berth or the berths on the med-bay; if you leave him on the floor, he will be pissed. You have to haul him back. You usually cook up a story like the Autobots attacked the two of you or something by those lines. He has mixed feelings about it... considering how it seems as if he lost against the Autobots in your cooked up story but it did cover him well so he didn’t mind it entirely.

It's not really fun hanging out with him but he’s your pathetic yet lovable... warlord and loser.

Earthspark Megs:

This Megatron is kind of like a dad except he doesn’t make dad jokes like Optimus would try to. You can rely on him, he’ll take care of you, he would be really respectful and overall just a gentle-bot. He’s far more sentimental and romantic than the other Megatrons.

Megatron would love to have a drink with you because he thinks it would be nice. No ulterior motives, nothing to vent out and not out of frustration and desperation for relaxation.

He’s really casual about this and will ask you face-to-face. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”— simple yet formal. A yes or no question, something which the other Megatrons would try to avoid.

Megatron is really fine with drinking any type of intoxicating forms of energon as long as it doesn’t come with major health risks. He isn’t picky at all.

He was a heavy drinker back in the day and still is, he can last for ridiculously long. Longer than even TFA Megatron. He is supposed to be a cannon deviant timeline of the OG show, that means he’s technically good guy G1 Megs (i think, im not sure) and that mech chugged down those energon in glass cubes like it was his last day alive. You can’t tell me that he doesn’t have the highest tolerance out there.

A conversation with him while being intoxicated is actually really fun unlike with Beetle-Bot or Piranha Face. The two of you talk and listen to each other. There’s more mutual conversation and laughter. He doesn’t really have a good sense of humour but you make him laugh uncontrollably. Both of you usually discuss your day, your hobbies, your interests and just the randomest topics possible. He’s incredibly sweet.

Megs is a sweetheart. He would treat this more like a date than any of the other Megatrons. He would make beforehand preparations, picking out locations and even picking your favorite kind of drink.

The two of you usually do this in the woods, away from all the noise of the city and away from all prying human eyes as well as optics.

He would include human drinks as well if you like them— wine, vodka, beer, whiskey, brandy; you name it. This Megatron is much more open to trying new stuff. He likes wine and beer a lot. Even if both of your frames struggle to combust it.

Megatron might share old war stories of his. He doesn’t share them with a happy face though, Megatron here is ashamed of who he once was and truly resents the things he’s done. He wants to change for the better. It’s best if you don’t mention his past during these wholesome times with him.

Affectionate. Behind his gaze is just pure love-struckness when his optics land on you, this only gets amplified when he’s drunk.

He verbally shows this love through mild teasing.

He’s really old and he’s ridiculously mature now. Megatron wouldn’t get into any drunk antics unfortunately and he will drink only to a certain limit. He is not getting blacked out.

Will definitely accompany you back home. Megatron will make sure that you’re safe and sound before he returns to the GHOST headquarters

He’s so babygirl.

WFC Megatron:

This mech is probably the most unstable Cybertronian out there.

All the other Megatrons have at least some sort of time for you but this guy? He’s planning, surveying and assessing the Decepticon army and assets. Making battle plans, coming up with formations, interrogating Autobot POWs, reading reports sent from the scouts and spies. In other words, this Megatron is a pure workaholic and he barely gets any time with you.

Which is why he so happily (even if he doesn't look like it on the outside) acceots your offer to drink with you.

Megatron in this universe, while drunk, just begins venting and ranting. He’ll even maybe shed tears, if he was capable. The only time he’ll ever openly discuss how he feels about things entirely is when he’s drunk. Intoxication with him is purely emotional.

Megatron has done a lot of downright devious and heinous scrap which he justifies by convincing himself that it was for the ‘greater good’. He does feel bad for doing so, he even envies Shockwave to an extent as he doesn’t feel any emotion. Megs knows he’s doing it wrong but he just can’t see another way for it to work.

Energon shortages make it difficult for drinking sessions but he does have a small stash of engex he’d kept safe long before the war. Megatron isn’t picky at all here. If it works, he’ll have it. He had stolen some from a random upper class bot back during his gladiatorial times. You also have your own private stash.

Megatron will drink until he feels entirely numb, devoid of all emotion. He had insanely high tolerance and doesn’t black out. If he wasn’t the leader of the Decepticons, he would’ve been the Cybertronian equivalent of an alcoholic.

Him getting drunk with you is just him pouring out all of his emotions to you. Megatron is not alright in the processor and he desperately needs a hug. Whenever he needs a drink, he just needs comfort.

And he does find comfort. Not just in the drink but with your company as well. You’re the one ‘Con he knows that will never betray him and he loves you, you’re the only one he trusts. Megatron really does. He even smiles at you often when its just you two. You’re the Elita to his Prime. Cybertron is in ruins, it's uninhabitable, it can’t even be called his home. A home is somewhere where you can live respectably, Cybertron was anything but that. The only real home to Megatron is your embrace.

He’s sacrificed nearly everything for Cybertron. For his quest to fulfil the Decepticon cause and bring forth a just Cybertron. Megatron absolutely dreads the day where he will have to sacrifice you as well for the cause and for Cybertron and he will have to do it, he knows. He knows that he won’t have a choice.

So he tries his very best to spend the limited quality time he gets with you to the fullest. He desperately wants to detach from his reality but he doesn’t have a choice— he has to stay strong for all the other Decepticons. He wants this war over as much as any other Cybertronian does but only until Optimus admits defeat.

You do try to make the situation less dark by trying to squeeze in a light hearted joke or two. They do make him smile, rarely.

Do not ever bring up Optimus Prime in any given situation. Megatron gets drunk to detach himself from reality. Bringing up the bot that ruined his life from Megatron’s perspective will just make him sour.

He loves you, he really does. Megatron would mourn you in silence for the rest of his lifetime if you were to be terminated, it would damn near break him. He’s surprisingly the most sentimental and emotional out of all the Megatrons. He never hides his intentions, he’s honest about that at least when compared to most of the other Megatrons. He is blunt and will just say things to your face. He might toy with you if he finds doing so in the current conversation amusing.

Just give him some hope that things will get better, that you believe he’s doing the ‘right thing’. Hope is what Megatron needs the most in such dark times. You give him hope.

Megatron hopes everyday that he never has to lose you. He gets uncharacteristically soft and slightly needy when drunk. He just needs someone there.

BW Megatron:

Megatron, unlike all the other Megatrons, genuinely doesn’t like getting drunk at all. He believes that it’s just a cheap petty distraction from reality for the weak minded, an escape if anything and if Megatron wants to take out the Maximals and bring forth a Predacon-ruled Cybertron, he can’t afford to have distractions.

Especially in his current state, stranded on a primitive planet with troops that are small in number and ridiculously incompetent, trapped in a compromised situation against a Maximal troop with dwindling resources on both sides, Megatron has to scheme if he and his dream are to survive.

But there was an occasion where he did indulge in some high grade, only the fancy ones though. It's bad enough that he stoops as low as to chase a high but as long as it’s something expensive and exquisite, he doesn’t mind as much as he normally would.

A very small part of the energon that the Predacons mine are in fact distilled and refined and turned into quality high grade energon. Quickstrike is usually in charge of that, Megatron takes as much as he pleases from those reserves.

These high grade reserves are mainly there just to sedate the rowdy and incompetent following that Megatron was unfortunate enough to recruit, he needs something to motivate them.

When Optimus Primal is really starting to get on his nerves, Megatron takes a good strong drink. Especially when Primal returned with a transmetal form. That ticked him off.

Megatron has a rather average tolerance. He’s in between Armada and TFP Megs. He generally doesn’t like to have company, even if it's you but there is an undeniable loneliness within him— but that's mostly because it sucks to be the only smart one in a group.

You just so happened to be walking by to catch him and he made you swear to never tell anyone else. But since you were there anyway, he might as well let you enjoy it with him.

Don’t be fooled, Megaton has absolutely no emotional attachment to you what so ever. To him, you’re an actually usable asset so he only value you in that sense so he’s almost always professional on duty. To him, a bot is just a means to an end. But at least the means to an end in this case was somewhat more refined and amusing than the other classless brutes he had on-board.

He’s a smooth talker, he knows just what to say to get your circuits in a knot. He’s either very formal, very suggestive or flat out snarky— no in-betweens.

The interactions would be rather short as compared to the other Megatrons. He doesn’t appreciate company a lot and he has actually for once has no ulterior motive other than to just get wasted.

He would never drink till he’s blackout drunk, he’s got way more self control than any of the other Megatrons. BW Megs is way more responsible.

I WROTE FOR LIKE SIX MEGATRONS and there's still IDW, Cybertron, TFO, Cyberverse like bruh. im probably not gonna write for those for though bc this is one of my older works on ao3 i wrote on a whim. I've barely watched half of ES btw, that's why it's not in my request list.

guess who's my favorite transformer? also, the ES Megs might not be that nice cause my lame ass only watched a quarter of ES S1. i didn't finish it lmao. still havent.

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yaco929 · 5 months ago

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Dear Reader, I hope to share the story of a dear family whom I love as my own blood relations, the Ibrahims.My friend Balsam, her parents, siblings, and other relatives have now returned to their family home in Zeitoun on Al-Jalaa street as of January 28th, 2025. The family, having endured over 7 different displacements in which they were forced to move to an alternate and unknown location under orders that provided little to no warning or path for safety...moving constantly to locations where shelter, supplies, or any goods to provide for their needs would be hard to access. They endured and survived for 15 months under severly detrimental conditions to their health and safety, not knowing if they would be able to return to their beautiful home, if it would be left standing or whether it would be damaged beyond livability.Fortunately, the return of Balsam's family to their home showed them ultimately, thanks to Allah, and in faith, that the home remains there for them, and with the allowance of time and care, we as people who stand up for the right of self-determination and justice for the Palestinian people, CAN and WILL unite behind this family in order to assist the uplifting of them and their home to it's former greatness.If you are able to provide this family any form of support today, please do so! We are a small team of friends working to supporting the Ibrahim family in their needs to re-fortify their home and it's structure, to repair, mend, and rehabilitate their dear and cherished home back to a place that supports the family in recieving comfort, rest, solitude, and health again. Please think about what it might be like to be forced away from your home for over a year, and to live outside under constant bombardment without regular food supply or clean water. All families deserve to heal from this grief that they existed under, and we hope to provide a foundational form of care in helping the Ibrahim family repair their home.Please do not hesitate to share our message with other potential supporters, with a greater amount of folks seeing and supporting the Ibrahim family, a more significant amount of repairs will be able to take place. Your aid contribution directly impacts the family's ability to rehabilitate their multi-family home, and we dearly pray that you would love to help this house become a warm and loving home once again. Think of yourself being one stroke of paint on a wall of the Ibrahim family home, with many paint strokes of generous supporters we can give the wall it's color. Please be a stroke of paint, a symbol of color and life, provide this family some way to give their lives renewal.Thank you for reading our message,This link for Donate

Katie and Balsam

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baronessvonglitter · 5 months ago

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I read so many fics over the holidays and found great new (well, new to me) authors. Starting next month I'll be doing monthly fic recs instead because whoa.. this is a lot ❤️

Please take time to read these stories, and others by these creative and beautiful people 💫 And mind the tags, as the majority of these blogs are 18+ and come with their own warnings.

dividers by @plum98 👑

Joel Miller

Borrowed Time by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Joel x f!reader

Darkest Desires by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader.

Fade Into You by @probablyreadinsmut ~ Joel x Afab! Reader

Girl Dinner by @slimybeth69 ~ kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader

A good grade by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Guilty Pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime ~ dbf!Joel x reader

A Hell of a Morning by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Stepdad!Joel x f!reader

It feels like hope by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Hot Priest!Joel x f!reader

Lock the Gate by @almostfoxglove ~ Joel x f!reader

The Older One by @frannyzooey ~ Joel x f!reader

Overloaded by @katiexpunk ~ Joel and Tommy Miller X fem!Reader

Pregame Play by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x reader

Seeing Pink by @gutsby ~ Joel x Reader

Texas Red by @studioghibelli ~ Joel x reader

this one thing you did by @joelscruff ~ Joel x f!reader

Three Strikes by @maiamore ~ Joel x f!reader

Unwrapped by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Joel x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

The Warden by @arcanefox207 ~ GameWarden!Joel x F!Reader

you got me thinkin' nonsense by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x F!reader

Dave York

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt ~ dave x f!reader

The Lonely Space Between Floors by @morallyinept ~ Dave x F!Reader

One Day at a Time by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dave x Female Reader

A Quiet Neighborhood by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Dave x f!reader

The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses by @joelalorian ~ stepdad!dave x f!reader

Javier Pena

How could you love somebody like me? by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ f!reader x Javier

Lost and Found by @oliveksmoked ~ Javier x f!reader

A New Year's Distraction by @lotusbxtch ~ Javier + f!Reader

Pump by @morallyinept ~ Javier x GN!Reader

Marcus Pike

Merry Christmas, baby by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Marcus P x f!reader

Sign Here, Please by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Marcus P X f!Reader

Dieter Bravo

A Better Man by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dieter x reader

Din Djarin

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin ~ bodyguard!din x princess!reader

Pero Tovar

Baron Tovar Takes a Wife by @604to647 ~ Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero x fem!reader

Confession by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem able-bodied reader

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the Stars Pt. 2 by @the-mandawhor1an ~ Marcus A x f!Reader

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Multi/Other

Blackmail by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Pena x fem reader x Joel Miller

Cosmic Love by @kedsandtubesocks ~ Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Datura by @suzdin ~ Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Don't say a word if this word is not "please" by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ General!Marcus Acacius X slave trader!Javier Peña

Fuckboy by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ unnamed ppu character x f!reader

Paris, Texas by @almostempty ~ Joel Miller x Javier Pena x f!reader

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newnlovesjennie · 1 year ago

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op hcs: taking a shower with them!

strawhats x reader! cw: suggestive material for sanji and zoro

luffy:

will be messing around the entire time

throwing water at your face, playing with rubber ducks… you know, just being luffy

will refuse unless its a bubble bath

he doesn’t really need massages because, well, he’s made of rubber, but he’ll gladly give you one! (he will try)

you two get to role-play as war generals while your rubber ducks go to war

overall not really sexual, he’d kinda be too busy having fun

nami:

will go ALL out, bath bombs sugar scrubs scented candles EVERYTHING

nami goes all out in general whenever she showers by herself, so why not treat her gf even better?

you will get the absolute best scalp massage of your life, and she’ll massage every part of your body until you forget what tension is

warning: it will probably be difficult to concentrate when you’re in front of her while she’s naked

afterwords you’ll braid each others hair and do face masks, just an adorable little spa day

zoro:

this man REEKS

when you get in that bathtub you come in with a MISSION

you instantly get to work and throw out his 12-in-one shampoo and clean him properly

with his back pressed against your chest and your fingers delicately threading through his scalp, he’ll mumble something about how it feels okay-ish, and you’ll know you won

argue with him to shave his armpits bc he stinks but you eventually win

he’ll insist on washing your body, with his hands lingering on some parts, inciting a playful kick to his stomach and a giggle

usopp:

he’ll be a bit worried when you ask to shower with him

he’s a bit insecure about his body, especially as someone as beautiful and amazing as you seeing it

his plan: absolutely covering the tub in bubbles and soap to the point its overflowing so he can just hide inside it

sadly, you’re too smart and know him too well, and after five minutes of you complaining about usopp getting out of the tub to help you clean and him staying put under his blanket of bubbles, you’re able to guess why

some reassuring hugs and kisses later, you’re back to the regularly scheduled programming and he’s showing his multi step hair care routine while you’re in awe

you walk away knowing 10x more about hair

sanji:

…. im sure you all know how this will go

25 seconds into you walking in the tub he has a nosebleed and taints the bath water

but besides that, he’s like nami on steroids

rose petals, candles, bath bombs, wine, fairy lights, dude got it all (after all, showering with your lover is one of the greatest forms of intimacy!)

after cleaning up the bath and replacing the water, he climbs back in and tries to hold his composure as his eyes take your naked form in

he’s seen you naked before, but nonetheless its a holy experience every time

“stop gawking, perv!” you’d playfully yell, and pull him in until he’s elbows deep in the water and grinning

he will take the utmost care to your body, massaging every last corner and gracing his slender fingers through each rift, leaving a trail of delicate kisses wherever he passes

“sanji, you’re supposed to be cleaning my body, not leaving your spit!” “sorry, mon amour, but can you really blame me?

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lazyjellyfish300 · 4 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑺𝒏𝒐𝒘 ✼

Synopsis: The patch of countryside not too far from the sea where you live with your husband, Kento Nanami, is experiencing snow for the first time in years. On a night when he returns home from being away from you, you spend some much needed time together and reflect on the journey that your love has taken you, especially now since you're pregnant with his child. 💕

Words: 3.6k 💕

PART 2 ❄️

12 Days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎅🏽🎁🎄

CW: x FEM!Reader, READER IS PREGNANT, reader vaguely alluded to having long hair, POST SHIBUYA SCARRED!KENTO, SMUT(fingering, orgasm, cum eating) pregnancy symptoms, fluff, self indulgent

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics. Pics from Pinterest

@actuallysaiyan

You sang quietly, pausing to use the rough side of your husband's flannel to scratch your face, taking care to keep your raw chicken covered fingers at arm's length while you dilligently worked to cover both sides of the chicken breasts in flour before placing them in the heated skillet to sizzle.

The first mark of winter had descended on your farmhouse with temperatures that dropped steadily just like the constant rain. But, this year, the patch of countryside had experienced little unexpected flurries of frost here and there as soon as October ended. This now graduated into a true surprise as snowflakes made landfall for the first time in years, sprinkling the piles of saffron leaves that only fell weeks prior.

Normally, you wouldn't jump into Christmas this early, but you couldn't resist as the unexpected weather seemed all too fitting for this year that was unlike any others. The marked difference being your swelling belly with a baby you were expecting to join you in the blooming spring.

You always hated when he left town, particularly at a vulnerable time like this when your belly began to poke out a little more prominently as the beautiful little life you created together blossomed every single day.

Kento normally would have never considered leaving you, either. No chance in hell he'd leave his pregnant wife alone in the countryside lest something happen when he couldn't be there. But he couldn't bear to ask you to travel in such delicate condition, either.

So in a fashion true to his nature, he went to fulfill his duties but stayed not a moment longer than was required of him, and your pregnancy made it all the easier for him to talk his way into leaving a week early.

His worries assuaged temporarily when your best friend came to stay and you made it something of a short girls' weekend. You had dropped her off at the train station in town, and now you were about an hour into preparing what you expected to be a hearty meal for you both when your husband came through the door.

---

"I'll be damned." Kento murmured as he drove his car (the same vintage model that brought him to you that one fateful rainy day years ago) in the building winter wonderland that surrounded him on all sides like a snowglobe.

As he got out of the car and approached the farmhouse, he was pleased to discover all was well, the faint sound of your singing carrying through those old walls.

He paused just for a moment to admire: all the multi- colored lights draped over the trees and balsam fir wreaths with red ribbons crowning the barn doors he helped you string up weeks earlier, and recollect all the stolen kisses behind them and rich hot cocoa he shared with you in between.

Ever logistical and orderly, Kento was never one for any sort of disorder or whimsy until you sent ripples across his life that he typically observed like an undisturbed pond. Now, he marvels every day in these precious, isolated moments that you taught him to appreciate.

He admires the home that now stood in front of him whose walls bore solemn witness to memories spanning generations, woven together by one great common denominator: love.

Love which was sacredly uttered, declared, and intimately demonstrated in ways with you more countless than the constant string of stars that dotted the now sunless sky.

----

The jolly tunes on the vinyl and your cozy solitude had you belting some high notes, cutting off abruptly when you heard the familiar creaking of the front door and the footfalls you knew all too well of your dearest husband.

"Darling?" Kento called as he shook his fleece coat, accidentally sprinkling your normally elusive cat, Smoke, in friendly fire of the chilly melted snow, making him jump with a miniature thud.

"Apologies, Smoke..." Kento murmured as he bent down to beg the feline's forgiveness, who forgot Kento's transgression immediately as he let out a content purr before disappearing into the shadows for an indiscriminate amount of time.

"Kitchen, sweetheart." You called back, faintly over shadowed by the playing record.

"You shouldn't have stopped that gorgeous singing on my account." Kento's arms snaked around your waist, immediately finding residence on your growing belly. "I missed you both..."

"Careful, my love. Watch the chicken fingers." You let out a giggle, keeping them raised and out of the way as your forearms rested on his shoulders.

"We missed you too..." You nuzzle against him and feel your soul recalibrate to his heartbeat. A restlessness that would only arise when you were away from each other that would not settle until you were restored to the familiar warmth of the other's embrace. Especially now since the precious extension of your love growing in your belly made it all the more unbearable to be away from each other.

"I'm not ever doing that again." Kento murmured into your jugular. His lips brushed over the sensitive column of your throat, where they settled over your pulse, soaking in the truth of your vitality.

You smiled and let the melody of your quiet hum vibrate against his kiss. You enjoyed the way you had memorized exactly where the skin of his mouth changed ever so slightly to be more patterned in the endearing valleys of his scars. His thumbs circled over the softness of your hips in familiar rhythm.

"Are you alright? You've taken your medications, you're wearing your compression socks?" He looks you over, seemingly satisfied when he notices the pale pink fabric on your ankles.

"I remembered, sweetheart. Barely." You huff playfully out of your nose. "The shots are beginning to be more tolerable but you're still better at doing them than I am." You sigh

"Well, I'm happy to resume my duties." His fingers trace the underside of your wrist. "Have you taken your blood pressure this evening l?"

"It was 130/79 about an hour ago."

He frowns. "That sounds high, love. Have you been resting?"

"It is slightly high but normal for me at this point." You sigh. "The doctor said as long as it stays below 140 and below 90 I should be okay."

Kento nods, his shoulders not relaxed entirely, however. "I'm definitely glad I came home early, then. Would you take it for me again, please? I'll finish these." He gives you a peck before strolling over to the sizzling chicken breasts.

You sigh, but know the last thing you want is to argue. The slight ache in your swollen feet from standing most of the day certainly makes the couch look inviting, but the guilt is hard to shake. You wash your hands and walk over to the blood pressure cuff that's sitting on the coffee table, mildy grunting in relief as you plop down before waiting a few minutes before slipping it on.

Kento adds the cooked chicken breasts to the baking dish, pouring the hearty sauce over them with quiet skill and sprinkling them in a healthy amount of freshly grated mozzarella cheese and diced scallions from your garden as the recipe dictated before popping them in the oven. He walks over to you, kneeling next to where you're sitting.

"What does it say?"

You pause, one finger tapping his thigh as though to say "Wait." before humming in satisfaction at the beeping noise with the result. "120/74."

Kento nods, his hands running over the expanse of your thighs before pulling you in for a forehead kiss as the rest of the tension unravels from his shoulders.

"That's much better. Thank you for doing that."

"Of course. I'm just really glad you're back, sweetheart." You close your eyes and lean your face into his collarbone, catching a lingering whiff of the bite from his citrus cologne.

"I'm glad to be back, darling. I'm sorry to have been absent, even for a day." His fingers glided up the gentle slope of your spine before they landed in the sea of your hair, causing it to rise and fall gently in that soothing manner you so adored. "And I certainly won't be leaving again." He promised.

You hummed again and closed your eyes. Growing up, you were so long led to believe that true love you read about in fairytales resulted in butterflies, sleepless nights, and being swept off your feet.

But when you one day discovered that the complex path of your destiny intersected with the remarkable man who now knelt front of you, you discovered it instead shone in a singular, ardent amber iris, whose imperfect counterpart somehow conveyed triple the adoration that steadily fed through the veins connected to the heart of its carrier.

Love for you now resembled comfort that conjured not butterflies, but a soothing warmth that lulled even the most relentless worries in your soul.

It was the look of home. It was being able to speak openly and honestly with no rhyme or predisposition about where the thoughts you exchanged with him would take you.

It flared in peaceful mornings just like the earth before a shower, contentedly tangled inside a cozy bed and blissfully scored away in lemon, lavender, and honeysuckle.

It was in unhurried intimacy with chuckles and pleasure-ridden sighs into necks and mouths until you were both fully acquainted with every valley, ridge, dip, mole, scar, muscle, and blemish of the other's body.

It was a determined squeeze of his hand in a quaint chapel by the sea on a March morning that carried a million memories that flashed across your mind that led you to that very moment.

A sequence of seemingly mindless choices that were actually the cosmic strings of fate falling like dominoes until it spelled the other's name.

Your sweetest darling. Your most tender beloved.

Your Kento.

"I brought you ornaments." He murmured, sweetly brushing the tip of his nose against yours on his way to leave another kiss on your cheek.

"You did, baby? Multiple, with an S? You're so sweet." You beam as though Christmas arrived at that very moment. "You spoiled me."

"I did, as a matter of fact." Kento wiggles his eyebrows before bringing over an old cardboard box from the countertop. You grin fondly at the faded sharpie on the box that indicated the weathered years of its previous ownership.

"Campbell's?" Your mouth dropped open a little bit, your elevated hormones already causing your emotions to swell and glisten in the corner of your eyes. "Is this the full collection?"

Your eyes take in the vintage painted ornaments, the slightly yellowed packaging of each one with the faded years from as early as the 70s.

"You remembered..."

Your hands gravitate to one of them, chuckling as you remove it from the box. "Look at that, 1990."

Kento hums in acknowledgement as he plants his chin on your shoulder, resuming his gentle massage on your hips earlier.

"Your birth year, honey. How'd you remember that I've been dying to find some of these?"

Kento grins with that adorable undertone of pride. "I know your mother's collection meant a lot to you. But it sounded like she wasn't ready to part with it anytime soon. That, and shipping them overseas would be rather difficult. So, why not start our own collection?"

You nudge him affectionately as you hold the ornament up to the light, the iridescent red refracting in shimmery shadows on the living room wall.

"Interestingly enough, I found these at an estate sale. The daughter had lost her mother who lived to be 103."

"Really? Oh my..." you feel reverence at the weight of another's legacy in your hands.

It was only fitting for the unique packaging of your love. New beginnings born of bittersweet endings, you with the loss of your aunt and being thrown into a foreign country to settle her estate that sat on top of cursed farmland, and Kento, with his near death experience in Shibuya that left him with scars more numerous than the ones on his body that he was trying to heal from.

Keepsakes like this that lined these walls that sheltered so many memories were a reminder that daunting chapters of life weren't meant to be shouldered alone, and that the bridge between two lives in the most unlikely of meetings could sometimes be the sweetest of them all.

"I love them. They'll look absolutely lovely on our tree. Thank you, sweetheart." You do a double take and throw him a smirk. "Curse free, right?

"Already passed inspection, darling." He winks at you with that humble closed lip smile.

"So thoughtful as ever, baby."

He smiles as you scoot closer to him again, reaching for his hands and taking the liberty of wrapping yourself in them, your fingerprints ghosting over the wispy golden hairs that sprouted from his forearms as you pulled him onto the couch next to you.

He forgives the growing space that's temporarily put between you, especially since it's now occupied by the only little soul who could come close to claiming his heart as ardently as you did.

"How is our little one, darling?"

"Wonderful." You paused and a look of excitement crept up the corners of your mouth as you felt the faintest slosh as the little one shifted in your belly. "I think I just felt something..."

"Really?" Kento's expression widens slightly as you guide his hand to your belly. The movement underneath stayed silent, however. But he still sensed every ounce of the fragile presence thanks to his attunement to the incorporeal realm.

"Awh, the baby really adores your voice, my love." You squeeze his hand. "Our little one is absolutely perfect."

"And they always will be." He leans in and lets his lips trace over the top of your ear, grazing your earlobe where one of the pair of diamond stud earrings gifted to you from your first Christmas together faintly glimmered in the light.

"I pray that she's just like you."

Kento never prayed, and you didn't either. But here he was, slowly getting on his knees, gradually coaxing the flames under your dress along your inner thighs he adores so much with the invocation of his lips.

Faith in a higher being seemed irrational until this unbelievable life cemented his assertion that nothing but divinity could be responsible for guiding your souls to meet.

"You think it's a baby girl, sweetheart?" Your heartbeat picks up a little bit.

"Just a feeling." Kento utters with calm reassurance as he brings a couch pillow to rest underneath your head, before affectionately gripping your behind. "We'll need to confirm with the doctor to be certain."

"Well, I hope that they're just like you." You recline with an anticipatory smile on your face as you allow him to make you more comfortable, enjoying the tenderness of the interaction, for now that you know is all but surely headed in a less innocent direction.

Kento chuckles in mild surrender, the unmistakable ember of mischief begins to shine in the corner of his eye at the sight of you laid underneath him.

"I suppose we'll agree to disagree on this one, like always." The low tone of his voice muffles as his lips meet the outside of your clothes, pecking down your chest, only to pause and linger around the convex of your breasts that he dreamed would be soon leaking with your sweet milk.

He's slow and methodical with his eyelids barely open as you tickle his scalp with your fingers, curling around the soft peak of your mound hidden by fabric that he's navigated all too well before his fingers slowly rub along the outside as he bunches your flowing skirt by your thighs with the other.

"Kento..." a tremor echoes up your vertebrae, making your back arch in such a way that makes his lips part.

He leans in close, his forehead kissing yours as he breathes against your shivering pants.

"How much longer does the Lombardy need to bake in the oven, darling?"

You can't muster out much more than a whine when his thumb finds and presses rhythmically against your clit. The noise dies on his lips that curl coyly into a smirk, his knuckles turning white where he's gripping the back of the couch next to your head.

"What was that?" He asks, playfully nipping at your neck, not ceasing his ministrations.

He's so unfair sometimes, but you love it. He fully harnesses the power he wields over you where you silently smolder for him underneath the surface at all times. But with the way he grits his teeth in between his words that would suggest he was concealing his true desire, and the steady ache in his slacks he experienced just from laying eyes on you swollen with his baby, the fact was it was clear that yours over him was a formidable force to be reckoned with.

"Ken." You hiss out, trying to maintain some semblance of sterness with him that all but withers as the tips of his fingers now slip inside your wetness, glossing gently along your folds, intentionally skimming past the wet pearl where you need him most, for now, dousing each one in your pearly slick that was warmly satisfying, but frustratingly so.

"I asked you a question, love." He mutters before his kiss swallows you up like the morning dew against the foggy windows.

You moan back at the intrusion, thighs falling wider to the side as you allow him to deepen your connection, like always. He sits up, his honey bangs falling into his eyes and brushing against yours as he angles himself higher over you so he can curl his knuckles with more precision against your velvet walls, collecting more of your dribbling essence and gathering and smearing it, briefly causing him to recollect many other fond, steam-locked moments when he'd paint your clit with something else of his.

Both of your jaws fall open in mirrored response, before dissolving again into a chorus of groans thinly veiled by the lewd squelches of your pussy.

Unable to speak, you attempt to throw back a response at him with that sharp look in your eyes that says not to ask important questions when he's fucking you dumb with his fingers.

"Not going to answer me?" He buries his face in your neck at the very moment his ring finger joins the middle to coax that honeypot inside you that's become all but muscle memory to him by now thanks to the sweet time he's dedicated and perfected to learning your body.

You ripple against him like a rogue wave, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, twinkle from the silver infinity band on your left hand marking a possessive shimmer over his head. You clamp down on his fingers and he pants hotly into your mouth again with a heady utterance of your name as his cock pulses with ache inside his pants at the motion it recognizes from being buried so deeply inside you.

"You know I can't..." You sob.

He glances down at the delicate chain around your neck, and the diamond pendant that's sweeping back and forth across your breasts like a pendulum with every earnest drive of his fingers into you.

"That's a shame..." He whispers, and his brow furrows again with desire and a low fuck tumbles out as you begin to massage and drain all your pleasure you can from him, biting back with the steady, rhythmic pistoning of your hips against his hand. "I didn't want to burn our dinner."

But with the way you're moaning his name right now and moving for him responsively in a stunning display for his own viewing pleasure, he's more than alright with bearing the brunt of that shortcoming.

Right now, he wants to take his control back and tear every last piece of clothing from both your bodies and consummate all this time apart properly with a passionate fuck on this couch. He wants to drown himself inside his pussy that was all but made to take him with a greed that terrifies him. Relieve that violent coursing at his veins that could only be conveyed with much you frustrated him with this overwhelming love that was all consuming, and never ceased unless he was where he was divinely crafted to be, nestled inside you. The tempting knowledge that he could cum as many times as he wanted, over and over again, until you were dripping of him, if he really wanted to since you were already pregnant that made his vision hot.

But this moment belongs to you and this pleasure is all for him.

"Right there. Give it to me..."

Your cries are ushered into his mouth where they melt and weep into his tongue as you tremble with the warm waves of your release. He also shakes, ever so slightly as he slowly withdraws his dripping fingers, smiling down at you with a quivering breath, both your foreheads stained with sweat.

It is here where his love consistently transcends whatever worldy measure he could foolishly try and compare it to.

It was overwhelming and everlasting like the showers of rain, and now snow, that kissed this pocket of earth that he inexplicably lost himself in with you all those years ago.

It was in the form of those eyes of yours, ripe with sleep that gazed over the rim of the coffee mug that sat next to his in the peeling cupboard, that tousle in your hair, that much resembled the one he was gazing at right now that he knew he was responsible for creating in the steamy hours of the night before.

And, obediently as your breath finds its way back into your lungs, you give him that saccharine smile as you swirl your tongue around the fresh nectar from his fingers, sucking them clean.

"You'll be my demise one day, you insatiable little thing." He leans in, nuzzling the tip of your noses together.

"Oh, how'd you know, darling?"

"Wouldn't be from anything else. Only you."

He utters before leaning into your soft kiss so as not to miss out on the taste of you he just couldn't bear to let you have all for yourself.

#jelly's 12 days of smutmas ✼ ｡ﾟ･ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x fem!reader #x female reader #cw pregnancy #tw pregnancy #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #dividers by saradika

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