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inactiveaccount-lovendeepsecrets · 1 month ago

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Domestic + Intimate Headcanons

*Minus Caleb only because his myth and cards aren't out yet, and I don't feel confident adding him when there's so much lore and little quirks we still don't know about him. I shall make a separate post for him if this goes well.

But Hi! This is my 1st hc so please go easy on me. I believe some of the bullet points on here are canon, but I can’t help talking abt how cute this all is 🫠 I'm not the best writer and I tried so hard to be impartial, but you can probably still tell where my bias lies LOL

As always these are just my opinions!!

tags: headcanon, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but these lean towards an afab + fem!reader, 18+

***MDNI; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something nsfw despite the warnings and will be BLOCKED***

Disclaimer: I personally think all of them like praise, body worship and are humungous eaters. If the specifications aren't noted under your fav LI, it's because I didn't want this too become too redundant!

✵ ✰ ✷ ✭✮ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ ❅ ❆ ❃ 𓆰· 𓆃

Rafayel

SFW

• Has definitely set up a date where you do that TikTok trend painting portraits of each other

• Hates the caricature you two posed for at the amusement park

• On more than one occasion you've (jokingly) threatened to frame said caricature at his gallery to shut him up during an argument

• Is an escape artist. He has a long history of being captured/on the run. It’s no wonder he could easily untie himself from your ropes

• I don't think we talk enough about how rich this man is, but I think he'd be quite into second hand fashion. Think runway archives, vintage designer pieces, custom couture, etc.

• Always drives over the speed limit

• Will never tease you during your art lessons with him

• THE best bf to take pictures of you for your social media accounts. He’d suggest different poses while contorting himself in odd positions on the ground just to get the perfect angle

• Sings you to sleep

• Surprisingly good at doing hair. If you need help dying, braiding, or putting your hair in rollers, he'd actually do a pretty good job.

• Created an entire album on his phone of candid photos he took when you weren't looking

• Also made a scrapbook of polaroids from all your scenic dates and vacations together, most of them are of you

NSFW

• He’s a mermaid. He is the motion of the ocean. The hip movements? Stamina? Best (and prettiest) dick game goes to him, I’m sorry.

• LOUD, noisy, and talkative. Starts to ramble when he’s close

• Wax play? [in the submissive]

• Nipple play [in the submissive]

• Edging + Milking

• I think his open vulnerability makes people think he’s more sub leaning, but some of it’s for show

• Because of your bond, he’ll submit; but he’ll do it in such a way that you’re right where he wants you to effectively make the switch

• Make no mistake, he doesn’t mind subbing from time to time. He loves seeing you on top of him, using his body. He feels a sense of accomplishment being a vessel for your pleasure

• There was a tweet that explained how Raf would be a bit of a bully as a dom, but in the best way (recommended read)

• Chuckles and coos at you after each of your orgasms

• Isn’t into watersports, but gets a massive ego boost if you squ*rt

• Is sometimes overly arrogant about toys, but is also so obsessed with you, that he made you get molds of each other on the rare occasions you’re apart for too long

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚

Sylus

SFW

• Has asked his private chef for a one on one culinary lesson to impress you with a home cooked meal

• A patron and secret lover of the arts. Dabbles in the opera, theatre and certain musicals

• He’s*slightly* better at drawing and singing than he lets on, but loves taking the piss

• This man is so funny, but his life and profession is all too serious, making the small moments of banter more precious for the both of you

• Will also hum to lull you to sleep

• Secret polyglot

• His way of ending petty arguments with you is by throwing you over his shoulder and going to bed

• Retail therapy connoisseur

• Surprisingly handy

• He of course, only likes visiting Linkon to see you, but also likes your apartment. While it’s microscopic in his eyes, he slowly understands what small things make a home feel cozy and tries to replicate that at his

• He’s intrigued by your self care sessions and will often indulge, joining in with the sheet masks, aromatherapy, massages and waxing (he likes the heat of the wax lol). He’ll put on a brave face and deny the pain, boasting about his high tolerance

• Spoils you in general, but especially when you’re sick or on your period

• Will carry you around just cause -much like a typical cat owner who loves to randomly pick up and cuddle their cat LOL

• Would buy out a restaurant for the night and have the orchestra play a medley of some of your favourite songs you’ve discovered from his record collection

• There’s really no such thing as small gestures with him

NSFW

• Marking

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• Blindfolds

• Certified munch; almost loves it more than penetrative sex

• AND HE 10000% HOLDS YOUR HANDS WHILE GOING DOWN ON YOU— WHY ISNT THIS WRITTEN MORE IN FICS

• Pleasure dom. He’s not sadistic or a bully when it comes to overstimulation (unlike Raf), he’s the very definition of “will talk you through it”

• Absolutely the type to coo at the sounds and faces you make. You could not look more adorable in his eyes

• Likes watching you solo

• Your satisfaction is his priority, so he’s not intimidated by toys. That being said, he definitely owns a remote vibrator

• Phone sex. No question

• In addition to phone sex, he bought those long distance bluetooth couple’s toys that sync up with each other so it’ll react to both of your movements in real time

• In the submissive, he really loves to see you in control of your own pleasure. He’ll encourage you to use him (eg face sitting, leg humping, cowgirl, etc)

• Slight masochist; those cuffs, paddles and chains are for him 😭 he’s curious to see how far you’ll go. By the end of it all, he’ll use his evol to free himself of whatever restraint he’s under

•As far as a degradation kink, I don’t see it for him, sorry. He adores you too much to call his sweetie a “slut”, “whore”, “filthy,” and so on

• Not as rough as he appears. Really the only time he’s rougher than he realises, is when he’s biting you

• If you want it more aggressive, you’ll have to ask. Even then, he’ll be cautious not to overdo it. The last thing he wants is to hurt you

• It’s canon he loves praise. Giving and receiving

𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡

Xavier

SFW

• Low-key likes to carry you around and his fav way is by piggyback ride (loves being physically close to you and the way you cling to him)

• Will fast all day just for Hotpot or Brazilian steakhouse

• Is much better at baking than cooking

• Leaves you Post-it note love letters in places like mirrors, cabinets, and drawers, before he leaves after spending the night

• Unintentional comedian. He's sometimes taken aback by your laughter, but it only encourages him to keep talking just to hear it again

• He honestly loves sharing things with you; food, books, (his) hoodies, etc. He just doesn’t like sharing YOU

• Would plan a scavenger hunt date

• Is always playing coy because he knows it triggers your cuteness aggression

• The pettiest of petty when he's upset or threatened (look up his affinity lvl 140 video call)

• Sometimes stricter than Zayne when it comes to your health & recovery. He hates to see you over-exerting yourself after an injury and has scolded you before about taking it easy

• Loves to get ready for bed with you at the same time. Showering together, doing skincare together, brushing teeth together; whatever you’re doing he’s either tagging along or sitting there watching you

• When he’s spending the night, he can't fall asleep without you playing with his hair and holding hands

• Learned your favourite flower and has been secretly sneaking into Jeremiah’s greenhouse planting and tending to a small bush of them to gift to you whenever

NSFW

• Thigh job

• Mating press

• Morning sex, specifically morning head (f receiving)

• While going down on you, he def seems like the type to keep going after you’ve climaxed, but he slows down his movements, giving languid kisses to your center to help ride out the wave of pleasure vs intentional overstimulation (though he isn’t against that either)

• It seems that the consensus on here is that he's the best eater of the LIs? I don't necessarily disagree; I'm just not completely sure if that title goes to him quite yet

• The most primal and rough of the LIs. Hair pulling, choking (safely), spanking, leashes

• Also likes it when you’re rough with him

[I know I said I wasn’t confident making any hcs abt Caleb yet, but I have a slight hunch he rivals Xavier for most primal]

• Goes feral when you say his name

• This man is a dom, don’t let the puppy eyes and bunny ears fool you 💀

• He's not as noisy as he is talkative, especially during foreplay

• BOSSY

• I don’t put it past him to feel like he’s in competition with vibrators. He’d rather him use one on you, but knows he’s being irrational

• While he’s not really into feet, he’d suck toes during missionary to see how you’d react

✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸ ✮ ✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸ ✮ ✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸

Zayne

SFW

• Alternatively to Sylus, this man is comprised of small gestures that snowball (hehe) over time. One more meaningful than the next

• While he respects and admires your independence, he needs you to need him. He’ll never vocalise it, but he feels most useful and accomplished when you ask for his help

• Won’t let you carry any bags when you’re out shopping, not even your purse

• Like Rafayel, he also has an album on his phone with pictures of mostly you. Though he feels odd taking your picture when you’re not looking, he’s snuck in a photo or two when you were looking particularly lively mingling with the people at his work event

• Knows your go-to orders at all of your fav restaurants by heart

• Stargazing dates. When either of you are out of town for a while and are catching up on the phone before bed, he’ll tell you to go outside and look at the moon

• After a long shift at work, he’ll kneel by your side of the couch waiting for you to embrace him, hugging and nuzzling your waist

• He also secretly loves being the little spoon

• Subscribed to a delivery service that sends you flowers on your birthday every year

• There’s something about Zayne that makes me think dogs absolutely LOVE him even though he’s not particularly fond of their energetic nature

• Spoils you rotten when you’re on your period. Full princess treatment; plushie heating pads, full body massages, raspberry tea, and hand feeding you snacks. Basically Dr Zayne turns into Nurse Zayne

• He’s more lenient with your cravings, letting you have a small portion of desserts or snacks only after you’ve finished your meal

• Loves your laugh but knows his dry wit won’t always work, so he’ll just tickle you if the joke doesn’t land

• Fell in love with you after the Drunken Intimacy card. It made him realise how much he likes holding you and tending to your needs

• Doesn’t even bother lecturing you about how bad high heels are for your joints and muscles anymore. He now keeps a pair of slippers in his car just in case you start to complain

• He can never resist the urge to kiss your cheek or forehead when he sees you’re fast asleep (Canon 🥹)

NSFW

• Has a weakness for lingerie, lace and stockings

• In the submissive, he’d be just like the kitty butler in his card -the goodest of good boys

• …Feet? I’m not sure if it’s anything freaky. Kudos to whoever clocked that for sub! Zayne months prior to the kitty butler quad banner

• Soft dom, but not as gentle as his voice lets on. He’s already a bit strict with you in your relationship, and he’s the same way in bed. How is he supposed to know what feels good if you don’t vocalise it?

• The only time he’s pretty rough with you is when you provoke him. But he checks in with you to make sure he isn’t being too hard

• Once he loses his control, he gets a tiny bit greedy too (“We’re not done here. Quitting halfway isn’t something I would do” —Silent Poem Secret Times)

• His methods of brat “taming” aren’t anything over the top or domineering. Though he enjoys spanking, he thinks there are better lessons he could teach you to combat your brattiness

• Has definitely gone down on you and stopped altogether right before you climax as a form of punishment

• Shibari + Hitachi -girl run!

• Ice play

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• The size of your chest doesn’t really matter to him, he just really likes to hold and massage them. It’s his favourite way to keep his hands warm

• This man is so good with his hands and in more ways than one. The placement and movement of his hands in the Nightly Rendezvous card sent me into orbit. The body worship he’d do is insane

• Needless to say he’s the best at fingering

• You’re irresistible to him. He breathes you into every kiss, deepening as your bodies continue to merge. There’s no sex without passion, even the “quickies”

• Quickies usually only happen when you’ve teased or provoked him too far during (or on your way to) an event. Otherwise, he likes taking his time with you

• He knows your body like the back of his hand. He’s memorised what triggers the sounds, faces, and jolts your body makes

• Much like Xavier, he loves to hear you cry out his name

❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆

#my headcanons #Soft Dom Sylus girlies RISE #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #lads x reader #sylus fluff #xavier fluff #zayne fluff #rafayel fluff #18+ mdni #l&ds smut #sylus love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace

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helaintoloki · 7 months ago

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hello, I would like to make a request, a story based on the last episode of yours, Five talking to another Five in the final conversation and they talk about his wife and Canon Five doesn't have one, thanks if you want

a/n: i absolutely loved writing this ty for sending this in ! <3

warnings: language, slight angst, spoilers

summary: Five discovers his missing piece

When Five stumbled into Max’s and came across an entire diner full of alternate versions of himself, about a million different questions raced through his mind. However, the most pressing issue he found himself wanting to address was the context behind the lovingly placed portrait of a woman on the wall.

“Who’s the girl?” He asks his counterpart, his eyes remaining glued to the painting. The woman’s smile was gentle, her eyes kind, and her face the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He almost felt drawn to it in a way, as if there was some type of magnetic pull gravitating his focus to her and only her. It was like seeing a ghost or a familiar face from a dream that you’re not quite able to place.

“Don’t you recognize her?” The other Five retorts perplexed, confusion clearly etched on his features. “That’s y/n.”

“Can’t say I’m familiar,” the Boy confesses with an apologetic sigh as he finally pulls his attention away from the painting and sets it back to the Five in front of him.

“No wonder you’re such a mess,” server Five notes with a diverted smile as he tops off their coffee. Calling over his shoulder, he announces to all Fives, “The poor bastard doesn’t have a y/n.”

Murmurs of surprise and astonished laughter fill the cafe at the news, prompting Five’s face to heat in embarrassment at being the butt of a joke he has no grasp of. What do these Fives know that he doesn’t?

“Could you please be so kind as to fill me in on who this y/n is,” he requests agitatedly through gritted teeth. Reaching into his pocket, his counterpart pulls out a weathered photograph and slides it across the table for Five to see.

“Y/n is the missing piece that completes every Five. We all meet her in different ways at different points of our lives, but every time she manages to anchor us back down to earth. Y/n is the glue that holds us together when everything goes to shit. She believes in us, sees the humanity in us despite the horrors we’ve seen and the atrocities we’ve committed. She gives us unconditional love even when we think we don’t need it, when we think it couldn’t possibly exist.”

As Fives look down at the photo before him, he sees himself- or rather, another version of himself- enveloping y/n in his arms. They stand in front of a beautiful home with a picket white fence and a garden full of flowers smiling with pure bliss. It’s clear that the woman loved this version of him by the adoring look in her eyes, and it’s even clearer that she meant everything to the Five sitting across from him.

“She means something different to each of us, but I was one of the Five’s lucky enough to make her my wife,” his companion notes with an evocative smile. “That photo was taken on our honeymoon.

“Where is she now?” Five asks somberly after handing back the photograph.

“Dead,” he replies quietly, releasing a mournful sigh as he sinks back into the booth. “Lost her in an accident while I was trying to stop the apocalypse for a third time. That’s when I decided it was time to hang in the towel.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“We had a good run together, I wouldn’t change any of it,” the replica admits with a reminiscent smile. He takes another look at the photo, committing it to memory before handing it back to Five. “I think you need this more than I do. You may not have had the chance to know your y/n, but judging by the look on your face when you spotted the portrait I have a good feeling you would have loved her just the same.”

Gingerly taking the photograph back, Five stops to admire her gentle features and adoring smile before tucking it safely into the pocket of his suit. “Thank you.”

“You know what you have to do to fix the timelines,” the other Five firmly instructs him. “Just promise me you’ll do by right by my wife. She deserves a safe timeline to live in, one where she can grow old and be happy.”

Rising from his seat at the booth, Five takes one last longing look at the portrait on the wall before returning his gaze to the boy in front of him.

“You have my word.”

#request #the umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #tua spoilers

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aventurineswife · 30 days ago

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To add a little bit more to SAHSR with artist! Reader, imagine they draw a self portrait and it gets displayed in the museum...

How chaotic would it be when everyone sees it?

- 🤡 anon

Oh. Oh no. (Cue of Oh No! playing by MARINA)

For as long as the Museum of Divinity (yes, they named it that.) has existed, it has only ever displayed them. Their triumphs, their tragedies, their fleeting smiles and lingering sorrows. But then—one day, without warning—a new painting appears.

And it’s not of them.

It’s you.

When the museum doors creak open that day, the first person inside freezes.

At first, they think it's a mistake. That maybe the Celestial Painter has simply left behind an unfinished work.

But then they look closer. And they realize.

This is not just another painting. This is you.

Their beloved, unseen Creator.

For the first time ever—you have revealed yourself.

Welt and Himeko's Reaction:

Stares. For a long time.

Then immediately tries to analyze every single detail.

"This is monumental. Their first self-portrait… What does it mean? Why now?" "Is this how they truly look? Or merely a representation?" "What if it’s symbolic? What if they’re trying to tell us something?!"

March 7th: "Guys, it’s literally just a painting."

Them: "It’s NEVER just a painting when it’s from them.”

Blade and Dan Heng's Reaction:

Blade stops breathing for a full five minutes.

Stares at the painting like it's the only thing that exists in the universe.

Dan Heng is equally frozen, but his hands tremble ever so slightly.

This is you. The one who knows their past, their pain. The one who has shaped them without ever being seen.

They have waited so long to know you.

And now they finally can.

Aventurine and Sunday's Reaction:

Aventurine takes one look and whistles. "Well, well, well. About time we got to see our dear artist."

Sunday? Oh, he’s on another level.

"FINALLY! The Celestial Painter unveils their true form! Oh, this is a BLESSING upon the universe!"

Dramatically poses in front of the portrait, as if basking in its presence.

"Ah, the divine hand that has graced us for so long… And what an EXQUISITE form it takes!"

(You regret drawing this already.)

Kafka and Black Swan's Reaction:

Kafka smirks. "So… this is what you see in the mirror, hm?"

Immediately starts analyzing your expression, posture, even the brushstrokes.

"Are you happy in this painting? Are you lonely? What were you thinking when you painted this?"

Black Swan gently traces the painting’s edge.

"To leave behind an image of oneself is to wish to be known… Do you wish for us to see you?"

(You just thought it’d be fun to paint yourself. Now you’re having an existential crisis.)

Luocha and Jing Yuan's Reaction:

Luocha bows slightly before the painting. "At last, the artist steps into their own masterpiece."

Jing Yuan chuckles, arms crossed. "And what a fascinating subject they make."

The two of them exchange theories about why you would suddenly paint yourself.

"Perhaps they grow tired of being unseen?"

"Or perhaps they simply wished to remind us that they are still watching."

March 7th and Sparkle's Reaction:

March gasps so loudly that it echoes through the entire museum.

"GUYS. GUYS, LOOK. LOOK IT’S THEM. IT’S ACTUALLY THEM!!!"

Immediately tries to take a photo of the painting. (Fails. It’s impossible to capture with any device.)

Sparkle is just as dramatic. "Finally, a face to the omnipotent hand that crafts our fates!"

Insists that a festival must be held in your honor immediately.

No one leaves the museum for HOURS.

People start guarding the portrait like it’s a sacred relic.

Characters now visit DAILY, just to look at you.

(Some even talk to the painting when no one’s around.)

The Stellaron Hunters consider stealing it.

Argenti wants to write poetry about it.

Sunday requests a massive, golden frame.

Blade and Dan Heng? Yeah. They don’t let anyone touch it.

And worst of all?

You can never take it down. Because if it ever disappears…?

Oh. Oh, they would lose their minds.

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princesspetticoat · 1 month ago

Text

The Muse of Her Ruin

Artist Modern AU: Chapter 1/? — Caramel

Summary:

Los Angeles was supposed to be your perfect canvas, but the struggle to make it leaves you feeling burnt out – until Agatha Harkness paints you into her world.

In her hands, you’re more than an artist, and she knows exactly how to mold you into her newest masterpiece.

Tags:

agatha!reader, age gap, mommy kink, slow burn, mean!agatha, possessive!agatha, AU: Art world of Los Angeles, portrait of a witch on fire, reader is babygirl, the witch wears prada, sugar mommy vibes, slight Rio/reader but only to make Agatha jealous, agatha can’t beat the AI allegations, dacryphilia, eventual smut, angst, MDLG, bratty bottom, BDSM, praise kink, degradation, strap-ons, anal, dub con, slight piss kink, squirting, power dynamics, possible memory loss and magic maybe idk, kitten play, electrostimulation, humiliation, overstimulation, exhibitionism for the art, let the bodies hit the floor, more tags later because i’m sure i’ll find something else to be foul about

Links: Twitter | AO3

Chapter 1: Caramel

It isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has stopped you in your doom scrolling on the internet. You’ve had your share of rabbit-holing through Instagram profiles, tagged photos, your finger hovering over the DM button with a wave of confidence that only comes when you’ve had a drink or two in your system.

But this woman, this one comes with an extension of discovery.

Just by googling her name, a thousand articles pop up. Art piece installations cascade every website, timeline, and city cultural journal. Jesus, then the red carpet photos multiply as the SEO of your web browser catches on to your sudden enthrall of dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oh, and the hashtags. #WitchyArt #HarknessAndDesire #CursedCanvas. Layers of art plummet before you, most requesting to select if you’d like to view the art or not because of its lewd nature, violating community guidelines.

#AgathaHarknessUnveiled

A public invitation to forbiddenness. You’re intrigued.

Then more pictures of her show up, next to her work, her models, famous celebrities that you never knew were part of the same circle. You realize you’ve been following her art closely for years, and had even gone to one of her art installations at the LACMA a couple years back.

She has no social media and you quickly piece together why you haven’t been able to put a face to the name until now. The Agatha Harkness.

You curse yourself for living and breathing on Instagram, reading little excerpts about her pieces here and there, never proceeding past searching her name up one single time after seeing her most famous artwork grace the official Broad Museum verified account:

The Unbound: Agatha Harkness - A Palette of Desire contemporary collection of ‘22.

Ask AI or Search: Agatha Harkness

…

However, you were met with the reflection of: ‘⚠️ zero search results found’ staring back at you on your phone screen, and that was that.

Now, you pull open your ‘Painting Inspo’ Pinterest board to see a piece of hers pinned neatly between other modern art you admire. The pin is plainly titled and paired with a now-purple hyperlink to an article, with one of the most commanding portraits of her in a suit, standing sharply next to her work.

It had all been right there, connected, laid out before you. You scold yourself again. You could’ve been in this woman’s circle the moment you moved to Los Angeles. Only now she’s magically moved from your subconscious to reality.

All it took was a simple Google search to be completely floored.

Right place, right time, you think, as it were. Originally, you were filtering through junior-level marketing positions, revamping your resume for the umpteenth time. Waitressing just wasn’t cutting it anymore, you needed a big girl job. Even if you didn’t have the experience.

And, to be honest, people really do act like that in Los Angeles. Customer service is nothing short of unbearable.

You’d huffed and slammed your laptop, tired of the almost-hour it took to submit one clean job application, flopped on your bed, and began the inevitable doom scroll.

And there she was, in all her glory. Featured in one major headline that caught your eye (apart from every photo ever of her maddeningly hypnotizing smile).

Grand Opening of the Harkness Collection, March 2025 — DTLA, Seeking Social Media Manager Position.

You could do it, you think.

The link to apply for the position already looks infinitely better than the bland, morose copy/paste templates thrown around every typical job website like a hot potato.

This just might get your foot in the door.

You’ve painted your whole life, always the kid doodling in the corner of your notebooks in class. You’ve done your fair share of moronically smacking people with your big art portfolio at the end of each year in high school when you rounded corners.

Art school in Portland had its ups and downs. Your father used every last penny he had to see your dreams come true, and your mother hated you for it. Blamed you, even, for sucking his wallet dry. But it was of his own accord to pay for tuition, and you had nothing else to show for it. You had a real talent.

At least, that’s what Mrs. Montgomery had told you.

Your art teacher for grades 11-12 was someone who was stern but had a mother’s touch. You really only knew the stern part back home, and then some, after the divorce.

But Mrs. Montgomery not only put you on a pedestal, she really critiqued you. She actually pushed you, improved your skills and adorned her Letter of Recommendation to your chosen college with accolades of admiration you couldn’t possibly achieve from your own mother.

If it wasn’t obvious already, you were completely smitten. And you know what else? You could trust her as far as you could throw her.

The after school meetings, the one-on-one sessions after class to help finish up an end of the year project. Anything to get a sliver of praise. Anything to prevent the bus ride home.

After college, though, you moved to Los Angeles in hopes of joining a gallery or an art community. You got sucked into the limelight, the overbearing and overwhelming nature of the city of angels. Everyone seemingly looks better than you, doing more than you, everyone trying to prove themselves somewhere. Nothing felt real.

You felt like a failure.

Email threads to galleries went stale and not to mention renting out studios could carve a hole into your credit card. It’s been three whole years since moving here after college, stuck in the same job you started with. The only real friend you made was from college, Oliver, who really was the one who dragged you out to California in the first place.

One friend, one lame job, one-room studio apartment, and no art to show for it. You start to think that this dream was meant to fizzle out and you’re supposed to become another cog in the wheel of Capitalism just like everybody else.

Whatever. You craft a partially-truthful resume, and an overzealous cover letter.

Somewhere in there you lie about managing a social media page for a cafe that doesn’t exist, and that you’ve worked with a few semi-recognizable artists in the industry as their interns. Right.

But for the record, this is working for Agatha Harkness. You’ve got to make it look like you’re somebody. You imagine yourself at her side on those red carpets, getting to pick her brain about all the art she’s created. You’ll get to show her the paintings you made, she’ll praise you, you’ll blush, and you’ll fall pathetically under her spell. Fuck.

Do you want the job or do you want her?

You suppose wanting both isn’t selfish. It’s ambitious. And you’re sick of circling around a realm that’s just out of reach.

You look at the unfinished canvases stowed in the corner of your apartment, the murky ‘mystery soup’ graying in several mason jars that scatter your work area. The dried paint, the tubes of acrylics strewn about. You can’t even remember the last time you painted.

If a hot, older woman was the motivation to be the artist you were always meant to be, then fuck it. You hit ‘submit’ on the application and sigh, closing your laptop with a better feeling of finality than the first time.

You never really get your hopes up about a job position, but for the rest of the day you find yourself tapping away anxiously, your mind scattered with the possibility of Agatha Harkness, of all people, becoming your boss.

————————————

The next morning you’re disruptively awakened by the buzzing of your phone. You begrudgingly hit ‘accept’ on the unknown number and pick up the line.

“Hello?” you answer and do your best not to sound utterly corpse-like.

“Hi!” a sweet voice greets you from the other end, “my name is Jennifer Kale, calling about the social media manager position for Ms. Harkness. Is this —?”

“Yes,” you shoot up, now seated in bed and exclaim before she can even finish her sentence. “This is she.”

She goes on to tell you how impressed she was with your resume and your expert copyright. You did always have a way with words, you forget how powerful they are as a way to get you exactly what you want.

“I saw in your CV that you have your work displayed at a cafe in Echo Park, is that right?”

You tell her of the few pieces you have displayed there and how you’ve made good friends with the owner. Jen mentions she’s relayed your portfolio, website, and resume to Agatha already and your breath instantly hitches.

She then goes to say that Agatha would like to personally meet you at that cafe for an interview. Tomorrow.

You nod and stutter a quick ‘yes’ into the speaker, forgetting you were on the phone at all. Lost in the possibility — no, actuality — of meeting Agatha.

After exchanging times and contact information, the line clicks blank and all the roaring thoughts begin to pour in. The anxiety, the expectations, the thought of being examined, let alone perceived by this powerful woman.

Your stomach kind of flutters at the thought, though. Her domineering presence picking you apart until you tell her exactly what she wants…and then she’ll hire you.

The confidence you feel mixed with the sheer horror of pretending you’re more than you say you are. You hope she doesn’t see through the lies.

But then again, so many people in the world have jobs they aren’t qualified for. They don’t even know what they’re doing, especially bosses and CEOs. So you’re sure Agatha can appreciate a little ‘fake it til you make it’; particularly from someone who really wants this.

————————————

You arrive infinitely early to the interview in the car you never use since everything in Downtown LA is right outside your apartment door.

The parking was the biggest hurdle but you gave yourself ample time to prepare.

The sun beats down on you as you exit your car, despite the crisp air of the early Spring morning. You shuffle down the hill to the sprawling city strip of hipster cafes, vintage thrifts, and mom ‘n pop shops. Your favorite cafe is squished between them, a true hole in the wall.

One of your favorite baristas greets you from behind the counter when you walk in. It looks like you beat the morning rush, everyone already taken to their seats, noses pressed to their laptops in concentration.

You order your favorite iced latte and wait at the bar, albeit with impatience. The barista questions your nervousness and you lean in with excitement.

“I have an interview,” you smile.

“Here?!”

“Yes, here, well — not here here, but yeah. It’s with one of the most well known artists. She’s…fascinating.”

And you gush over her for a moment, her art, her looks, the job position, while periodically checking the clock that sits behind the espresso bar, like, every five seconds.

You notice their smile grows wider as you wrap up your story, handing you your latte. But what you don’t notice is the person who just walked in, approaching the next spot in line.

“Have a great interview,” the barista dazzles in a cheeky whisper, eyes flitting to someone behind you.

Your realization hits when you turn and your latte hits her, square in the chest.

The cold liquid clashes between you two as you bump into each other, the cap coming clean off, with bits of ice clattering to the floor.

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you babble, reaching for napkins and grabbing a fistful from who knows where.

You scramble to wipe up the mess, avoiding eye contact as Agatha steps back to examine the huge spot now staining her crisp white shirt. She can’t even get a word in before you scurry to the bathroom.

How stupid can you possibly be?

You beat yourself up in your thoughts as you gather yourself, and, clumsily, several ice cubes that managed to fall into your bra.

With a wet paper towel you clean the coffee off your front as much as you can before taking a deep breath, fixing your hair in the mirror and hoping when you step out of the bathroom, she’ll still be there waiting for you.

The bathroom door teeters and squeaks awkwardly as you push it open. You survey the cafe lobby and find Agatha opening a notebook and pulling out papers, and your resume.

You don’t think she realized you’re the one she’s supposed to interview. And you can’t even weigh what scenario would be more embarrassing.

You slide into the chair across from her, snaking your bag down to the floor and pulling out your own resume copy. You notice her blouse is completely drink-free and it catches you off guard. The coffee stains on your shirt are terribly evident despite your efforts in cleaning yourself up.

“You should’ve written your name as Caramel at the top of your resume,” she states while still looking down at the paper. Oh, of course she knows it’s you.

Looking down at yourself you realize there’s a streak of caramel syrup dripping down your cleavage.

Your eyes flick to hers, and she’s looking at you now, for the first time. There’s a long beat that clenches your throat and you forget how to speak.

You know her eyes are blue but holy shit, they’re palpably blue. And they hold yours in suspension, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to her paper.

Your cheeks warm with a feverish blush, and you take a napkin to wipe the syrup away, leaving your skin sticky and shiny.

Her eyes move to your cleavage again as she shifts slightly in her seat, adjusting her stature. She scans over your resume agonizingly slow now and this long gap of silence has your nerves bubbling.

Maybe it’s a good thing the coffee spilled, because you’re sure the caffeine would give you a panic attack right about now.

“It doesn’t state in here that you use condiments as a painting medium, so, tell me your process,” Agatha jokes, but her tone is blunt.

You breathe a laugh and smile anyway, wanting to squash the awkwardness and tension so badly. Taking a second, you muster up an ounce of courage. You have to prove yourself now after this train wreck.

“I could probably use caramel as a medium,” you shrug, meeting her stark gaze again.

Agatha quirks one brow, egging you to go on.

“It’s got a similar consistency to a fast dry. Could probably even be worked into a glaze too. It could make a really nice maple color over some oils. I work with acrylics, watercolors, too, but it probably would leave paintings like that,” you take in a ragged breath, your mind catching up to just how stupid you sound, “…sticky.”

She smiles for the first time, a wicked smolder perking the corners of her lips. Amusement flares in her eyes, and you swear you can almost see them darken.

“Your skills?”

You take a deep breath before you begin, grounding yourself. “Time management, organization, I’m ambitious and work well with others. I also have really good memori –”

“You know,” she dawdles, “none of your references called me back,” she states, practically disregarding the answer to her last question.

Your mouth parts in silence.

“Oh,” is the only pathetic word you can assemble. “That’s weird,” you breathe, thoroughly fucking failing.

“I’m sure they’re all busy artists.”

And you just know she’s seeing right through you.

“But…your copywriting is very good. I’ve seen your social media, your website, you’ve got a way with words, hon.”

Your neck and chest must be as red as your face now. But the way she looks at you, blue eyes dark yet twinkling with intrigue, you’re blushing for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” you manage, and you give her a truthful look that you really need this, that you really want this. Because you just want something to go right for once in your life. You need to find your purpose again.

It’s like she can hear your thoughts as she studies you. It’s hard to look away when you meet her eyes again. As if she’s holding you in the palm of her hand, weighing you, rolling you between her fingers, testing to see if she should clench and squeeze the dream right from your heart.

“You know, I don’t normally meet with artists in this circumstance, or even in such a…sticky manner.”

And you blush for the millionth time.

“But I’d like to test your writing skills. I’m hosting a live painting session this weekend that I want you to come to and write a little mockup article for. If I dig it, you get the job, sweetheart.”

Her words drip like honey, the opportunity laid out before you, sounding sweet to your ears. It’s almost unbelievable.

“Wow, thank you so much Ms. Harkness,” you fawn, beaming a smile.

“Agatha,” she says warmly, holding out her hand for you to shake.

You hesitate for a moment before taking her hand in yours, her slender, delicate fingers just barely grazing the inside of your wrist. Something flutters in your stomach at the contact, like a chemical reaction right in your core.

The embrace is subtle, but it carries the weight of something more than just a job, more than just a task she’s asking you to complete. You tug your hand away, but the air between you stays charged.

“I won’t let you down,” you exhale earnestly.

Agatha blinks at you slowly, that smile never faltering, “good girl.”

She rises now, collecting her papers and notebook, storing them inside a black tote bag. “My assistant will be in touch.”

You absentmindedly nod to her, feeling her presence leave, with the click of the cafe door echoing in your ears. You’re completely dumbfounded. What just happened?

Did you actually manage to fake your way to the top? You have a real shot now at getting this position. And the way she looked at you, like she just knew what you were capable of?

Her request is simple, just a mockup article. Nothing truly serious. The significance of her words, though, make your heart race. The heady mix of exhilaration and nerve wracking anticipation makes you dizzy at the thought. And her praise.

Good girl.

You’re completely slack-jawed at the thought of it again. You just know you’re in for something more than just a mere task.

Whatever she wants from you, you’ll give it – willingly, completely, without question.

#agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x you #reader insert #x reader #aaa fanfic #aaa fanart #agatha fanfic #artist au #agatha harkness fanfiction

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rafeskai · 3 months ago

Text

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Six

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: 1 chapter left to gooooooo!

Masterlist: Here

The next few days blurred together as the courtroom became a battleground. The air was thick with tension, the walls seemingly closing in around you as each new revelation about Ward Cameron was brought to light. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before. The pressure to win, to protect Willa, pressed down on you like an invisible weight, and the only thing that kept you grounded was the unwavering support from Rafe by your side.

Each morning you walked into the courthouse, the same grim faces of the Cameron family greeted you. Ward was there, his presence looming over the proceedings like a dark cloud. His smugness hadn't faltered, and even though he was under intense scrutiny, he still acted like he was above it all. He never once looked at you or Rafe directly—only ever speaking to his lawyers in low, controlled tones, as though his guilt was something he could keep hidden.

But it wouldn’t last.

Today, you were ready. You had no intention of backing down. You had the truth on your side, and that was something Ward could never escape.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed as usual, and you sat in your chair, feeling the weight of all eyes on you. Rafe, though his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed with focus, sat beside you. The final moments of this battle were drawing near, and today was the day you hoped would shift everything in your favor.

Ward’s lawyer had spent the last few hours trying to discredit the evidence you’d found in the attic—claiming it was old, irrelevant, that it had nothing to do with Willa’s future. But the judge had seen through those arguments, and as you waited for the next moment to arrive, your heart beat steadily in your chest.

Rafe’s lawyer stood, clearing his throat as he prepared to present the final piece of evidence. A stack of photographs, medical reports, and those damning letters Sarah had written in secret. Rafe held your hand under the table, a gesture so small yet filled with so much meaning. You squeezed his hand in return, a silent promise to him that you would do your part.

“Your Honor,” Rafe’s lawyer began, “we’ve gathered new evidence that clearly shows the abusive history of Mr. Ward Cameron. This evidence is not just hearsay—it is documented, it is real, and it is a direct reflection of the environment in which Rafe and his sister, Sarah, were forced to grow up. These letters, these photos, they paint a portrait of emotional and physical abuse, a history that has haunted the Cameron family for years.”

The lawyer presented each piece, and the courtroom fell into a tense silence. You could feel Ward’s gaze burning into you, but you refused to look back. This was it. You were done being intimidated.

When the lawyer finished, the judge nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt now cast on Ward’s credibility.

And then, it was your turn.

You stood up from your seat, your legs shaking but your resolve as solid as ever. You walked to the stand, the weight of the moment sinking in. You could feel the tension rising, the murmurs in the courtroom fading as all eyes turned to you. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and then you spoke.

“Your Honor, I know you’ve heard a lot of things about Rafe Cameron in this courtroom,” you began, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside. “I know what people say about him. That he’s angry, that he’s dangerous, that he’s just another spoiled rich kid who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. But that’s not who he is. And that’s not the person he’s been to Willa.”

Your eyes searched for Rafe in the crowd, and when you found him, there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—a mixture of vulnerability and strength that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve known Rafe for a long time. And yes, he has a past—one that’s been shaped by a father who made him believe that love was something earned, not something given. But that’s not the Rafe I’ve seen over the past few months. The man who sits here today is a man who has stepped up for his niece, a man who, despite his own hurt, has taken responsibility for her, for them. And I’ve seen him with Willa. I’ve seen how he cares for her.”

You turned slightly to look at Rafe again, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite put into words. You had seen him grow into a man who loved fiercely and without hesitation. A man who would never, ever let someone like Ward tear apart what he was trying to build.

“I’ve seen him comfort her when she’s scared. I’ve seen him stay up all night with her when she’s sick. I’ve seen him put aside his own pain to make sure she’s okay. He’s been there for her in ways that no one ever was for him. He’s been a better father figure than Ward Cameron could ever be.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You weren’t going to break now—not in front of the court, not when you were so close.

“You want to know the truth?” you continued, your voice rising with emotion. “The truth is, Rafe Cameron is one of the most caring people I know. And he has done everything in his power to make sure that Willa grows up with love, safety, and stability. He is not like his father. And he is not the man they say he is.”

You paused, your chest tightening, but you pushed forward. “I’m not just here to testify for Rafe. I’m here to testify for Willa. She deserves a childhood full of love and protection. And I promise you, Your Honor, that is what Rafe will give her. I’ll give her too. We will do this together.”

The courtroom was silent when you finished, the weight of your words hanging in the air. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from those who had been skeptical of your testimony. Even Ward seemed taken aback, his smug expression faltering just for a moment.

You sat back down, trying to steady your breath, your hands trembling. You didn’t know what was going to happen next, but for the first time in a long time, you felt hope.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After a long deliberation, the judge returned to the bench. You could feel Rafe’s tension beside you, his hand gripping yours as he waited for the decision.

The room held its breath as the judge spoke, his voice calm but firm. “After reviewing all the evidence, including the newly presented documentation of Mr. Ward Cameron’s abusive behavior and the heartfelt testimony regarding the current guardianship situation, this court finds that the best interest of Willa Routledge lies with her current guardians—Rafe and [Y/N]. The court hereby grants full custody to the guardians of the child, effective immediately.”

For a moment, you couldn’t process what you had just heard. And then it hit you, crashing through you like a wave. You had won.

Rafe, who had been so stoic, looked at you in disbelief. His grip on your hand tightened, and for a moment, all the pain, all the struggle, all the long nights of worry faded into the background. You had done it. Willa was safe.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Rafe. You had fought together—and now, for the first time since Sarah and John B. had passed, you both had a reason to believe in the future again.

Rafe squeezed your hand, his voice thick with emotion. “We did it. We really did it.”

And as the gavel came down, sealing the decision, you finally allowed yourself to breathe again.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was still buzzing with the aftermath of the judge’s ruling. The gavel had just come down, the words of victory still echoing in your ears. Willa was finally safe, and you had won—together. You and Rafe exchanged a look, one that held a mix of disbelief and relief. There were no more battles to fight. The war was over, and you had come out on top.

But just as you thought you could breathe again, the door to the courtroom swung open with a heavy slam. Ward Cameron.

His face was a mask of rage, his eyes burning with fury as he stormed toward the front. The room fell silent, the tension thickening again as people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. You knew this wasn’t over. Ward wasn’t the type to let go of a loss easily.

“You think you’ve won?” Ward spat, his voice dripping with venom. His eyes locked on Rafe, and for a moment, it was like the room itself shrank. His presence alone seemed to warp the air around you, making the world feel smaller. “This isn’t over, boy. I’ll make sure you never get to raise that child. You don’t deserve her. None of you do.”

Rafe stood up immediately, his jaw tightening, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the last person who gets to tell me what I deserve,” Rafe growled, his voice low but laced with fury. The anger between them had been simmering for years, but now it was a live wire, crackling between them.

You could feel Rafe’s anger radiating beside you, but you stood quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “Rafe, it’s done. The decision is made. You’re not going to change it by causing a scene.”

Ward sneered at you, his eyes narrowing in disdain. “You think this is over, huh? You think just because you got some courtroom victory, I’m going to back off? You’re both fools. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

Before you could respond, Ward turned his eyes back to Rafe. “You’re weak. Just like your mother. Just like Sarah. Always the disappointment.” His words were sharp, like daggers aimed right at Rafe’s chest, trying to cut deep.

You could see the tension in Rafe’s posture, his muscles tensing, but before he could say anything, Ward took a step forward, getting dangerously close.

That’s when security stepped in.

“Mr. Cameron, that’s enough,” one of the officers said sternly, moving toward him with authority. “You need to leave now.”

Ward didn’t seem to care. He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Rafe. “I’m not finished with you. Not by a long shot.” His voice was shaking with rage.

But before he could take another step, two security guards moved in, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Ward tried to shove them off, but they held firm, dragging him away from the front of the courtroom.

“You’ll regret this, Rafe!” Ward yelled, his voice echoing through the room as he was escorted out. “I’ll make sure of it!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. But slowly, the tension began to ebb. People exchanged glances, whispered amongst themselves. There was no question now—Ward Cameron had lost. But the question remained: would he ever truly accept it?

Rafe stood there, his body rigid with anger, his fists still clenched. You could see the way his hands shook, the way his jaw clenched tighter with each breath. But he didn’t say a word. Not yet. Instead, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turned to face you.

You walked over to him, your heart heavy with everything that had just happened. His face was pale, his eyes distant. You reached out, touching his arm gently, but he didn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, knowing full well that the words didn’t do justice to the storm that was brewing inside him.

Rafe exhaled slowly, a long, tortured sound. “Yeah… I will be.” He paused, then added in a quieter voice, “I just never thought it would be this hard. To finally win… and still have him out there.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. “It won’t be easy. But we’ve got each other. And we’ve got Willa. That’s all that matters.”

Rafe looked down at the floor for a long moment, his hand running through his hair. “I hate that he still has this hold on me, on all of us,” he murmured. “I hate that even after everything, he can just show up and make me feel like I’m still that kid. Like I’m still the one who doesn’t deserve anything.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t control you anymore. He never will again. You’re not that kid anymore, Rafe. And you’ve earned the right to protect Willa. You are her family.”

Rafe didn’t look up immediately, but the words seemed to sink in. His breath was steadier now, his expression softer. Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper—something you had seen in him all along, but only now, in this moment, could you truly recognize.

“We’ll keep fighting for her,” he said, his voice firm, though still weary. “No matter what it takes.”

You nodded, knowing that together, you would face whatever came next. The fight wasn’t over. Ward might not have given up, but neither had you—or Rafe.

You turned to the door, where Willa’s social worker was waiting for you, her smile soft and reassuring. It was done. Willa was safe. And despite the lingering presence of Ward, despite the obstacles still ahead, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could finally begin to heal.

And together, you would build the family that Sarah and John B. had wanted for her all along.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4 #drew starkey fanfiction #life as we know it

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect.

But that's not what you're excited about.

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait.

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all.

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump."

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me."

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder.

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?"

"These are for you, handsome."

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically.

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence."

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings.

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–"

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout.

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you."

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?"

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them."

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks."

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want."

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise.

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?"

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel."

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?"

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing."

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you."

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?"

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 2 months ago

Text

Darry's in the kitchen, makin' dinner again since Soda is banned from the stove for the foreseeable future. What compelled the kid to dump half a shaker of pepper into spaghetti, Darry will never know. But he doesn't mind, really. He's got one of their ma's old cookbooks on the counter and is piece mailin' together a casserole both Steve and Two-Bit had raved over last month.

Dallas sits at the table, arms folded and scowlin' hard. Darry had to chase him into the kitchen five separate times before he managed to set the table without driftin' back to the TV to watch a western. Darry's sure they've all seen it three times.

If I go back into that kitchen and those places still aren't set you're gonna be sittin' in there until I'm well 'n done cookin'. Dallas had immediately jumped back up and vanished through the door but Darry was followin' though. Maybe he was a tough hood everywhere else, but inside the Curtis home, he was just another one of Darry's rowdy kid brothers.

To his credit, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss so when he started leanin' to see the movie through the door Darry pretended he didn't notice. He only cleared his throat warningly when he started reachin' fallin' out of his chair levels of tilitin'. Every time Dallas would straighten back up and shoot Darry his meanest glare, proppin' his elbows on the table 'n pickin' at the peelin' paint.

At some point, Pony detangled himself from Soda on the couch and disappeared down the hall, returnin' with a notebook to sit across from Dallas. He glanced up at Darry before he plopped down 'n Darry nodded his approval. Sometimes he'd make them sit alone when they were in trouble, specifically Soda and Two since they were Darry's most rambunctious. Pony would distract Soda but him 'n Dallas enjoyed just sittin' in the quiet. It reminded Darry of how Johnny 'n Pony had been. His heart gives a sharp little ache and he shakes the thought from his head.

Greif had an odd way of sneakin' up on him.

Pony picks up his pencil and Dallas nearly falls out of his chair for how hard he's leanin'. Darry doesn't bother clearin' his throat, just knocks him up the back of his head gently and Dallas scowls hard and leans back.

He's not sure how much time passes, not very long. He finishes the casserole and slides it into the oven to cook. He sighs, listens to Two and Steve as they wrestle in the living room, waitin' to see if they'll knock it off themselves before they break somethin' or not. Apparently, the sigh he lets out it enough for Soda to kick them both in the ribs and they reluctantly separate.

Since Dallas has put up the minimal amount of huffin' 'n moanin' he opts to release him until dinner. Before he can open his mouth he catches a glimpse of a sketch Pony has his nose an inch away from. He's got his brow all furrowed and he's bitin' his lip hard enough to leave marks like he always does when he's focused.

"Holy shit, kiddo." He hadn't meant to comment but even just the edge of the portrait he's workin' on is an utter work of art. Pony jerks up and slams the notebook closed. He always was oddly shy about his work. Darry doesn't push it, he doesn't want Pony to feel like he's pryin'.

Dallas, however, doesn't share Darry's values of privacy. He watches as Steve disappears into his room without askin' 'n thinks maybe none of them do. He rolls his eyes again. Dallas, suddenly payin' attention again, reaches over 'n snatches the notebook out of Pony's hands, openin' it to the page Pony had been workin' in. Whatever smart shit he'd been about to say dies in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Pony." The sketch is nearly finished, clearly set from Pony's view of the kitchen, Dallas framed neatly in the middle, scowlin'. It's so accurate it could have been a photo, one of a spread of Dallas. In all of them, his eyes are bright and angry or dull and aggitated. He's either scowlin' or frownin'. In one particular sketch he's barin' his teeth so his silver one shines lime he does when hes truly hacked off. Darry looks between Dallas 'n the drawin' Pony's just added, notin' how he had lovingly managed to capture the singular fair freckle on Dallas' throat, the way his hair curled against the back of his neck, the set of his eyes as he peered through the door.

When Darry looks back at his kid brother Pony is bright red. Darry snaps out of it first and realizes both he 'n Dallas are just starin' at him.

"Pony, that's amazin'. Really, honey." Pony looks down at the table, still clearly embarrassed.

"It's just a sketch." He scuffs his toe on the tile and runs his hand up his neck in a way Darry knows he picked up from him. "It's not done, yet." Pony wasn't particularly good with praise. He looks up at Dallas who's still just starin' at the page. Dallas runs a finger along the high bones of his face recreated in lead.

"Is... is that how you-"

"Sorry! It's really not that good. I just like to... I dunno... I like to sketch you when you're angry. You just look tuff when you're scowlin' 'n all. That's all. It's not done." He finishes lamely, the flush creepin' down his neck when Dallas doesn't say anythin' else. The silence hangs for a long moment.

"I didn't know I looked like that. When I was mad 'n all." Dallas finally says. He runs a finger over his drawn brow as if he could smooth out the furrow. He shakes his head hard. "Sorry kid, that's tuff as hell. It's a real good drawin'."

Pony ducks his head again 'n Dallas runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "Do you... mind if I keep it?" Pony's eyes go all wide like he wasn't expectin' the question.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. It's you after all." Dallas rips the drawin' carefully out of the book and folds it gently in half, gettin' up and vanishin' down the hall to the room he shares with Pony 'n Soda. He ruffles Pony's hair as he passes, gently squeezin' his shoulder.

The second Dallas is gone Pony drops his forehead to the table. "D'you think I upset him?" Darry presses a kiss to his hair and pats him on the back softly.

"Nah, kiddo. I don't think he's upset." But Darry isn't sure exactly how to read that boy. Not nearly as well as he can read the rest of them. "He just needs a minute."

Dinner is a subdued affair despite Soda and Two's best efforts. As Darry expected, both Two and Steve nearly go to blows over the final servin' 'n only back down once Darry promises to make it again next week. Dallas says next to nothin' which makes Pony squirm around every thirty seconds.

When Two's finished lickin' the bowl, Darry shoos them all out, unsurprised to find Dallas silently startin' to collect up the plates and dump them into the sink. He wasn't like his brother's in that regard. When the other's wanted Darry's attention they would simply ask for it. Dallas refused to bruise his ego. He'd find an excuse to catch Darry as he ran to the grocery store or mowed the lawn or did the dishes. Darry didn't mind waitin' for him to decide to say whatever was on his mind.

"I didn't know the kid saw me as such an... angry person." He dumped another armful of dishes and silently picked up the dish towel as Darry started washin'.

Darry hmm-ed vaguely and handed Dallas a plate. He knew the kid wouldn't listen to him if he denied it, despite knowin' better.

"Pony just likes to capture people's emotions. You remember that time he drew Soda after he'd fallen and broken his wrist? Soda had nearly lost his damn mind at how pathetic he looked in that. He might've jumped Pony if it hadn't been such a good drawin'." Darry chuckles lightly but Dallas just gives a weak smile 'n returns the plate to the cabinet.

"Maybe... yeah." Between the two of them, the sink is empty in fifteen minutes and Dallas disappears down the hall to take a shower. He had a late night chore to run at Buck's, somethin' to do with an upcomin' pony race they had comin' up.

Darry see's Dallas out, extractin' a promise to go straight there 'n back, checkin' to make sure he had his blade though he almost certainly didn't need to. He shoos Two out of his armchair and collapses down, only half payin' attention to whatever's on.

"Darry?" Pony was still bein' more uncharacteristically quiet than usual.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I go to bed early?" Darry turns his head to get a good look at the kid. He doesn't think Pony has ever asked to bed early a day in his life. Usually, he was the one fit to be tied every night when Darry tried to get them all to bed.

"Sure honey, all ok?" Pony nods his head and Darry crooks a finger. When he's close enough Darry presses a kiss to his forehead. Pony doesn't fight it and leans into Darry's shoulder for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. G'night Darry."

"Night, kiddo."

It doesn't take long for the rest of the gang to decide they're tired. Soda crashes on the sofa against Steve's shoulder and Steve hauls him up and dumps him in bed. Two promised his ma he'd go home and Steve swears he'll be fine at his. Darry reluctantly doesn't put up a fight. He drops kisses to both their heads and reminds them the door is always unlocked.

Once the house is nearly empty he straightens up the few things out of place and drags himself to his room for the night. He's a heavy sleeper and he's exhausted enough to fall asleep right there in the hall but his body won't let him even dream of passin' out before all his brothers are home where they're supposed to be.

He counts on Dallas bein' back in an hour give or take and flips on the bedside light. He cracks the book on the nightstand Ponyboy recommended to him months ago. Pony had read it in one afternoon but Darry was draggin' through it five minutes here 'n there when he had the time.

Half an hour later he hears the door to Pony, Dallas, 'n Soda's room creak open but doesn't think much of it. He hears light steps pad down the hall 'n correctly assumes it to be Pony. Seconds later the door opens 'n closes again.

By the alarm clock beside the bed, it's another forty-five minutes before Dallas comes in. The walls are paper thin, so he can distinctly hear Dally kick his shoes off at the door and continue into the kitchen. He pauses there oddly long but Darry doesn't get up to interrupt.

It takes another ten minutes for Darry to hear the kid in the hall. He sniffs hard and Darry recognizes the sound of him rubbin' the back of his sleeve across his face. It breaks his heart but he leaves him be. Of all of them Dallas was the most fiercely protective over his ego and privacy. If it were anyone else, Darry wouldn't let that stop him from comfortin' him. But he knew the kid would get him if he needed it. He figured Dallas could see the light under the door 'n would know Darry was awake if he decided to come in.

Darry waits another fifteen minutes before he gets up to check on them. When he eases open the door Soda is sprawled out in one bed and Dallas is wrapped tightly around Pony in the other. Darry smiles fondly and goes to shut the door before he catches the paper clutched in Dallas' hand.

Darry slinks quietly across the floor to get a better look. He recognizes Pony's careful, controlled pencil markin'. The drawin' is one of his favorite Polaroids of Dallas, his smile wide and uncontrolled. Darry remembers the exact moment it was taken, his hair blown back from his forehead as Soda had taken a turn far too fast for Darry's likin'. Dallas had howled and stuck his whole head out the window and grinned.

Darry smiles fondly at the memory and catches the corner where Pony's written a note in his neat, loopy hand writin'.

I don't see you as angry. I see you as Dallas. My brother. (who just happens to look tuff when he scowls)

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coquettebeautiful · 3 days ago

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roamingleaf · 3 months ago

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"Park Bench"

TW: Public Park, G@ngbang, R@pe, Creampie, age difference, Cnc

You filthy, needy, degenerate little whore. So many different posts, some flashing your perky, Hershey kissed nipples. Others showcasing the sloping curves of booty hiding behind a host of different panties. What a brazen call you put out into the depraved, horny void for men twice your age to tell you how they'd use your curving, hypnotic, canvas like it was nothing more than a Fuckdoll. Could you imagine what would happen when all of these hungry lions cornered you?

It would have been another dimly lit evening thanks to the watchful, chilly eye of the moon being shrouded by the swaying, swooping clouds passing before it. Daintily you would have been strolling along those emptied streets in the thinnest clothes your closet had to offer. Despite the darkness of the night being clutching, your glowing physique beautifully stood out. Why? In hopes of finding a place to pack your camera with provocative pictures of that perky, petite, portrait you call a body. Thankfully your adventure into the violet nightfall would not last too long before a perfect oaken tree stood out to you in the middle of a park.

With hurried breath you headed towards it, unaware of the silver Acura that had been following such a scampering, alluring canvas for a few blocks. Once your scurrying ways had landed you not in front of the tree, but instead, on top of a park bench on your knees your personal photoshoot had started.

Snap, snap, snap.

Went the subtle cold stare of your familiar phone camera all while that silver Acura calmly, as if stalking its prey circled to the back of the park.

There in that empty lot did four, brutish, burly men leave that car with only one intention in mind. As those shadowy monsters crept their way closer towards their prize, you would be foolishly drunk off the thoughts of attention these photos would reap for you. Before that familiar snap could be heard one more time you would feel it.

The sudden grasp of multiple hands clambering for a feel of that summer rain soft skin of yours. This rather bold move done in the middle of such a public place was one to send your head into a spiral. Though, sadly, much bigger things would swiftly start to feel those thoughts in your head. You could feel it, five? Six? Who could tell how many hands in that shadowy park had been helping weigh you down. All that could be told for certain was the long, thick, meaty shaft of one of these strange men had pushed past your pastel lips to invade your soft, dripping mouth.

The fighting spirit that would normally circulate through that tenacious frame was all but drained as you felt your skin, tight shorts being torn from your roaming, luscious hills you call hips. This couldn't be happening, one invader reshaping your throat into a Fleshlight was plenty. How could someone else hope to plunder the silken, sticky, greedy halls of your sacred shrine? But, like the toy they intended to turn you into, they proceeded to do just that. Test the holds of your hungry little body.

Through muffled, breathless, moans you tried your hardest to push with whatever you could. But atlas, these men were too strong for such a fragile doll to fight back. That's when you could feel it, the first of many loads to paint that once uncovered canvas. The first man grunted as he freed himself from the tight coils of your throat to start the painting process.

As you grunted, and gasped for air you could feel the firm grasp of the man pounding into your starved pussy clamping to your hips. With this hold up a delicate work of art you could feel his matching rhythm of his thrust by colliding your hips back into his. Sadly however, this intoxicating daze would be sullied by the feel of your hair being pulled so your regal face would be eye to eye with another hard, shaft that meant to continue the training.

For what felt like an eternity they passed you around between their grimey grasp. Each of them leaving their own bruises, marks, and of course seed planted deeply inside your once fruitful garden. Only once your dainty frame meekly lay sprawled across that park bench leaking from every single hole, and painted properly like a priceless picture would those gentlemen's hunger be satisfied and off into the night would they return.

-🪶

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clarkeyshill · 3 months ago

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painting dates

george clarke x fem reader

summary: after recording a podcast episode, george comes home with a bag full of art supplies.

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“Hey sweetie!” You greeted, as the rustling of your boyfriend entering his bedroom greeted you.

You were sat crossed legged on his bed with your laptop on your lap and your uni work scattered around the bed. You sat in silence for a few moments waiting for your boyfriend to greet you back but never received one.

You tore your attention away from your laptop looking up at the man, noticing the mischievous grin that was splashed across his face and you raised an eyebrow.

“What have you done?”

His grin switched to a look of feigned offence as he held his hand to his chest, “Me? Why would you think I’ve done something?”

“Because you’ve got a grin that makes me feel like you’re about to kill me.”

George chuckled shaking his head, swiftly moving to the bed making sure not to sit on any of your work, “I have an idea!”

“What’s your idea, handsome?”

“Can we paint?”

You smiled nodding at him watching as your boyfriend practically bounced with excitement, “Where’s this come from?”

“We did portraits on the podcast and now I just wanna paint all the time!”

You laughed, “Okay, we can paint.”

You saved the work on your laptop as George set up everything on the floor making your heart flutter at the pure joy he was expressing.

George tapped the floor next to him and you sat down leaning your head on his shoulder looking at the canvas’s in front of you both.

“What are you thinking of painting, lovely?” George asked, looking down at you as your eyes fluttered softly trying to fight the sleep that hit you.

“I’m not sure,” you shrugged, “What about you?”

George smirked once again, “I have a plan.”

“That’s scary.”

George pulled out his phone opening up your chat and pressing on a photo that you forgot existed making you gasp and shoot up, “No, you can’t paint that!”

“Why not?” He pouted, “It’s a good photo.”

“What if Chris or Arthur see it?”

“Oh well,” George shrugged, “They’ve quite literally heard us shag so many times.”

You places your hand over his mouth stopping him from saying anything else, “Fine, okay, you can paint it.”

George licked the palm of your hand making you shriek and whack his arm, “What the hell!”

A giggle left his mouth as he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you into him, “I love you.”

“Gross!” You fake gagged pushing him away with a laugh.

You both grabbed your supplies and started painting away. George kept humming in excitement and joy at his work, whereas you were practically falling asleep with every stroke of your brush.

You moved your body to lay on the floor using Georges thigh as a pillow and your legs as an easel, “That looks really good, baby.”

“Thank you.” You smiled sleepily at him, “m almost done I think.”

“You can go to sleep if you want to.” George stated, moving his paint brush to his other hand and ran his fingers through your hair with his free one.

“I wanna see your painting though.” You muttered, puckering your lips.

“I’ll wake you up when I’m finished, and then we can get food.” He said, moving his eyes from his canvas to your eyes, “deal?”

“Deal.” You nodded.

#george clarke x reader #george clarkey x reader #george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #arthur hill #arthurtv #italianbach #chrismd #british youtubers #the sidemen

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heartofwritiing · 1 year ago

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We could make such a pretty picture

Paring: musicianbur x photographer!reader

Summary: you are lovejoy’s tour photographer and wilbur likes to tease you.

authors note: this is so rushed and unedited mostly just my stream of consciousness that popped into my head while i finish up the zombur fic! its almost done!!

warnings: fluff, short, flirting, a little suggestive maybe, i use a cringey (?) line idk take it as you will lmao, unedited!

“Make sure you get my good side darling.”

Before every show backstage, Wilbur would always tell you to quote: “get my good side” whatever that meant. It was impossible to get his bad side. Every angle Wilbur Soot always looked ethereal, and that had nothing to do with your photography skills.

You would gaze up at him from the pits, readily pointing your camera to capture any shot of him playing his heart out to the screaming fans behind you. Rightfully so, you couldn’t deny how good he looked up on that stage.

Skin glistened with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, and the light eyeliner slightly smudged in the corners of his eyes. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he flipped his hair in a certain way when a beat dropped. It was undeniable now, that he was doing this on purpose. He was goddamn attractive and he knew it.

After the show you would always sit in one of the green room chairs, keeping to yourself and letting the excitement of the after-show buzz from the band fill the room. You were scrolling through the photos, admiring your work on a picture of Ash with the lightning just right when you felt a presence creep up behind you.

“That ones quiet good,” Wilbur’s voice made you jump out of your skin, and he laughed at your startled state.

“Thanks,” you replied, returning to scrolling through your pictures but Wilbur stayed right by your shoulder. Sounds of his bandmates laughter filled the space, he couldn’t care to jump into their conversation. Too entranced by your photography. Wilbur had never truly seen your work before. Of course there was pictures the band used for the instagram account, but those were taken by their previous photographer.

You were new, and Wilbur had briefly seen your work before. Only two shows into the tour, you didn’t have the time to sit with the lead singer and exhibit your entire portfolio to hkm. But seeing how you captured his presence on stage so well, with the white strobe light hitting him at just the right angle, caused his interest to be peaked even further. It made him want to get to know you better.

“you know, we make such a pretty picture,” you can hear the deviousness in his voice and the underlying meaning behind his own lyrics he was using towards you. It warms your cheeks and you avoid his eyes that are burning into the side of your face.

You cleared your throat and repositioned yourself in your seat. “whatever you say, its all you up there on that stage,”

The next night, standing once more in the pits, camera ready as the first chords of 'Portrait of a Blank Slate' blasted through the venue speakers, and screams exploded around you. As the color lights switch from dark blue to deep red, Wilbur saunters to the microphone and begins singing the first lyrics.

You lift your camera up to your face and look through the viewfinder to be met with an up-close Wilbur, who is pressing his lips right into the microphone. A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth when he peeked open his eye to catch you pointing your camera at him. Cheeky bastard.

As he sang the next few lyrics, his hands lift up to the top part of his shirt where it was unbuttoned. Running his index finger from from his collar down to his chest, he sang; ‘shes an artist, paints across my chest,’ while sending you a quick wink.

Your mouth parted in utter shock and felt your heart beating in your ears. How does this man do this to you? You hadn’t even known him that long, but he was making you feel dizzy with the slightest little actions. You quickly shook away any thoughts popping into your mind and took a couple more photos of him. The last one was of him leaning back while strumming the next chords, then you moved on to capture more of the other band members. You just had to force yourself away from him before you got carried away.

That same night later on the tour bus, you were going through your photos again. One in particular caught your eye, it was of Wilbur with the red lights behind him casting him in a dark glow, and his guitar lifted into the air while he threw his head back. Infamous rockstar pose, you decide to call it. You chose a couple more to post to your professional instagram account, tagging the band members each in their respective photos.

About an hour later a notification came up on your phone that a mutual had commented on your photo. You checked it and immediately felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the words on your screen.

@/WilburSoot: Told you we make such a pretty picture ;)

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @highstonedcat

if you want to be added or removed from the taglist let me know!

#fanfiction #wilbur soot x reader #musicianbur #musicianbur x reader #wilbur soot x fem!reader #cc!wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot fanfic #ahh this is cringy ik ik 🫣#might delete later

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