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vxsellie · 2 days ago

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𓊈⟡𓊉 ┆FRAMED - E.W

⌞ artist!ellie x figure model!reader ⸝⸝ oneshot ⌝

synopsis ⌇ deliberate or not, there's a certain intimacy to seeing someone in a state of vulnerability. as an artist, there's an insatiable need to have a ceaseless sense of ingenuity. when ellie's creativity begins to run low, you're the tide that fills her back up. her muse.

wc ⌇ 2k

this place was ellie's oasis of solace—wooden flooring stained with drips of paint, the sound of brushes against canvases. it was all so gentle, so welcoming. and yet, it didn't effectuate her ingenuity. her mind was blank, canvas rendered a mirror to such nakedness.

there's a small glass table in the center of the room, atop it resides a bowl of fruits. she and the other artists are supposed to capture the image, immortalize the futility of the fruits' short lifespans. she does, though it's equally as pointless.

there's a large window that allows sunlight to drape over the scene like a blanket, painting the fruits in a hue of golden glow. she spends the next few hours encapsulating the picture. by the end, it looks good, great even. but it's not born from passion, it's from the necessity of having to create something. the obligation to do so rather than the personal desire to.

by the end of the class, she's frustrated and burnt out. she goes home with a permanent frown on her face—one that only alleviates when she enters the art studio the following day to see a robed woman in the center of the room.

your hair is undone, cascading lazily down your back. your legs are bare as you're propped up on a wooden stool, one leg bent as the other stretches out into a point. your face is rested, feathery lashes blinking dazedly as you look at the floor. it's the picturesque image of comfortable domesticity. the other artists silently paint you, capturing the moment in rough brushstrokes and harsh coloring. but ellie intends to do you far more justice than that.

she sets her back down by the door and props up her canvas. she holds a tray of paints on her left arm, dabbing her brush in the colors.

you remain perfectly still, only moving to blink or breathe. ellie studies you—the way the off-white robe hangs from your right shoulder, the way your lips are slighting parted, the way your sky glows under the sunrays.

her peers pack up and leave as they wish, untimed and unhurried. some of them spend hours painting you, others content with rough sketches. it's all up to the artist; whether they prefer inanimate or living objects, whether they like this gentle image, whether they're able to capture your gentility.

ellie deems everyone who rushes a fool. she sees nothing but perfection as she gazes at your relaxed state and soft skin. the robe is lazily draped over your figure, haphazard enough to accentuate the curvature of your body that resides beneath.

ellie spends hours painting you, determined to get every single attribute perfected.

everyone else has long since left, only the two of you in the room. the sun has set, leaving silver rays of moonlight to coat your skin rather than the golden she'd began with. it hardly matters, though. she's only got a few small details to finish up on.

by the time she's finished, she's sure you're sore from sitting on that stool for so long. as a model, you're expected to go hours without moving or eating. you're allowed food, the professor feeding you by hand as to not move your position. you're also permitted to use the bathroom, though it's rare that models do considering their lack of eating or drinking during sessions.

she has just began to wash her brush at the sink when your voice startles her.

"finished?" your tone is patient, which pairs wonderfully with your steady voice. it's melodic, like an enchanted lyre.

she casts a glance over her shoulder to see that you've yet to move. "hm? oh. yeah, yeah. i'm done, sorry."

"it's fine," you assure her as she turns back forward.

she can hear the rustling of your movements. your bare feet pad across the floor toward the door. she doesn't turn around, suddenly feeling awkward to have been rendered the last person here. she feels a bit guilty for having made you wait so long. the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. she was so caught up in her painting.

oh, it's been so long since she'd been that passionate. it felt good. like a warm bath after a day in the snow; like a soft bed after a long day of work. she'd almost forgotten the blissful pleasure of being in love with art, of being obsessed with a piece.

"this is..." your voice startles her for a second time as she begins to dry her hands on a plaid towel rested on the side of the metal sink. the faucet squeaks as she turns it off, holding the towel between her hands as she turns to you. her heart drops when she realizes what you're looking at.

"it-" her entire face is burning up. "it's not finished."

you look up at her, robe now tightly secured around your waist. you've put on a pair of sandals as well, look more like a human than an incomprehensible deity. you give her a soft smile. "i think it's beautiful."

you're standing in front of her canvas, everyone else's having been either taken with them or covered by a stained white sheet. ellie's painting has embodied you with long, gentle strokes and warm colors. it depicts you as an angel-like being. your face is outlined by a hue of white, the slope of your nose and line of your jaw outlined by serene sunlight.

still, she didn't exploit you or exaggerate any features. your body remains covered and your face remains calm, each feature portrayed perfectly. you've never seen yourself displayed in such a way.

ellie says nothing, unsure of what to say.

just as your hand begins to turn the doorknob and leave, you meet her eyes, gaze softened. "your work is stunning, you have a real talent."

and with that, you're gone.

the next few weeks are torture. she paints apples, bookshelves, trees. she even sits at the park and tries to draw strangers—an old lady feeding the pigeons, a young child laughing with her father. but nothing can revive the artistry that you'd brought to life in her. class is a bore, nothing piquing her interest.

each day she enters the studio, she finds herself yearning to see you within the room. to see you standing in the center of the circle of canvases. and yet, you remain unseen. a nameless figure of beauty, grace, and everything an artist could ever want.

weeks fade into months and she remains without inspiration. she's found herself enjoying landscape painting, though it's incomparable to you. the bark of trees remind her of your skin, winking stars remind her of your blinking lashes, flowing creeks remind her of your hair. but it's not the same.

finally, in late december, she enters the studio earlier than normal. only two other students are present as she removes her bag before gathering her paint, brush, and canvas. by the time she's set everything up, the object in the center has been presenting.

you.

you're completely nude this time around. your backside faces her, hands placed on your lower abdomen with your head turned over your shoulder. the sunlight caresses your side profile, illuminating your skin in that familiar glow.

as you'd priorly depicted domiciliary, you now embody beguiling allure. an air of confidence swarms you, dripping from your pores like honey. your hair is tied back, the soft skin of your neck on display.

the rest of the artists begin painting while ellie remains stilled, staring. she has to blink a few times to ground herself, to remind herself that she's here for a reason.

she begins painting, using cooler colors than she did last time. this way, hues of blues and purples encapsulate the enticing charm you withhold so casually. she spends time on your hair, trying to capture each frayed strand to show the looseness of the hair tie. she also finds herself enjoying the ability to stare at your body for so long without consequence.

the indent of your waist, the line of your spine, the plush of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the sphericity of your butt. she's able to look all she likes. she tweaks and tweaks and tweaks the image until it's nigh flawless. your eyes are downcast, though not in a shy manner. in an uncaring one.

she ends up being the last person in the studio. again.

this time, she doesn't care. she's not embarrassed to have been here past dusk. you don't seem to mind either, as you remain perfectly still without uttering a word. the moonlight bathes you in silver. this time, she purposefully painted you like this—under the moon's incandescence. hence the cooler colors.

"finished." ellie speaks into the air between you. your head lifts, eyes meeting her mossy green ones. the ghost of a smile tugs at your lips, causing her face to heat. she clears her throat awkwardly. "uh- you can come look. if you want."

your smile turns genuine. "i'd love to."

you walk across the room and ellie averts her gaze. which is rather odd considering she just spent all day memorizing your body. but, in her defense, she hadn't seen the front side. she looks away and you chuckle, standing beside her to eye the canvas.

"oh," you whisper, "this is fucking amazing."

she turns her head toward you, brows raised. "really?"

"yes." you confirm with a nod. "i meant it when i said you had a talent."

her heart swells at this. she hadn't known if you would have remembered her. it was fully possible that you'd forgotten. i mean, your conversation wasn't anything major. it'd began with a bit of small talk, then shifted to a compliment on her work. then she said nothing—which she, admittedly, has regretted ever since.

ellie's eyes bore into yours, her pupils blown in awe of seeing you up close like this. you're even more stunning in inch away. she can see every detail she'd missed. from the small indentations in your skin to the tell-tale sign of where you'd been biting your lower lip. and yet, ellie is convinced that these imperfections only make you more desirous.

you shift and her eyes are drawn to your bare chest. her breath hitches and she looks away, stripping off her winter coat and holding it out to you. your brow raises, genuinely confused for a second. but then you realize she's giving you clothes to cover yourself up with.

you can't help but laugh. "you just spent hours painting me."

"i know, just-" she thins her lips, looking up at the ceiling. "just take it."

you chuckle before taking the jacket from her and zipping it to cover your bare skin. she's amusing, you can't deny that. it's interesting, the way she seems like a prude despite having spent more time than anyone else studying your naked body. you give her a soft smile, "thanks."

her cheekbones are bright red as she tries to change the topic. "do you need a ride home?"

you have a car out in the parking lot. it's actually really nice and heats up super fast during the winter. and yet, something about her lowered voice makes the proposal impossible to refuse. with a small shrug, you respond, "if you're offering."

ellie smiles. "'course i am."

with that, the two of you head outside to the parking lot. and, this time, ellie is determined to get this right. to not render you a complete stranger who she'll never see again.

and, rather shockingly, she manages to pull it off. when she drops you off at your apartment building, she asks you for your number. she's stammering and blushing brighter than ever. but, by some miracle, you give it to her. and before leaving, you lean into the driver's side window and press a kiss to her cheek.

yeah, she's never getting over this.

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