#essie 🎨

[intrepidacious]

For seven sentence holiday : Andy Barber + Getting snowed in

no place to go | a.b.

a/n: siiighh we are yearning for domestic comfort tonight

"Honey, I have to go."

"Hmmmm no," you mumble, blindly reaching for Andy’s shirt to pull him closer again, his beard tickling your cheek as he chuckles, "you can’t go."

He makes a low "oomph" as you roll on top of him, pinning him down on the bed as his hands come to rest around your waist. "I need to go to work," he reminds you, voice muffled against your lips, feebly attempting to stop your attempts to undo his buttons again, "and I’m already late because the car’s stuck under a snowbank."

"No can do," you say with a yawn, "'m too cozy right now so you should call and say we’re snowed in."

The silence that follows is long enough to let you know you’ve won before he lets out a long, amused sigh, pressing his forehead against yours, "Fine, but I’m gonna need another cup of coffee."

Apparently, your old man’s ears are still good enough to hear you mutter something about his age underneath your breath, because it gets you a slap on the thigh that makes you giggle loud enough to wake up; fine, maybe you can compromise on breakfast before going back to bed.

[intrepidacious]

ugh please i love him so much 😭 i've been having a bad self image time bc i'm on my period and craving Everything, and a soft loving steve is just what i needed 🥺💛💛

Sick of It

Pairing: Boyfriend! Steve Rogers x Girlfriend! Reader one-shot

Summary: Steve looks good in everything and you’re sick of it. That, among other things.

Word count: 1,784

Content/warnings: Crying, comfort, angry feelings, kissing, mentions of body image issues, swears, snacks, non-sexual semi-nudity

A/N: I wrote this a couple weeks ago while I was feeling like absolute crap. I was so stressed and just wanted someone to hold. I know too many people relate. I think Steve would’ve been such a sweetie for this kind of moment.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

“I’m so fucking done.”

You slammed the door to the pantry as Steve looked over his shoulder at you from his spot on the couch.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” His words trailed down to you as stomped down the hall and slammed the door to his room.

Steve sighed and tossed the blanket off his lap, softly padding after you down the corridor. He leaned against the doorframe before lightly knocking with the knuckle of his pointer finger.

“Hey, you alright?” He faintly heard the sliding of his dresser drawers, frantically paired with the sound of clanging hangers in his closet.

Steve opened the door slowly to be met with the sight of you half naked, hoodie stretched over your one arm and head, only accompanied on your body by your socks and underwear.

You grumbled and sighed before pulling the hoodie fully down over your body, looking in the mirror before ripping it off and throwing it at him. Steve didn’t flinch, catching the beige hoodie he had been given in a stylist’s attempt to take him on as a client.

Steve had many pieces of clothing like that: obscure fashion pieces gifted to him because of his celebrity status. To a normal person, they were impractical and weird. Odd shapes for an odd body. They’d only look good on someone as hot as him, broad shoulders, skinny waist, and all. Any time you’d try to put on a piece of the clothing, you felt like it hugged your curves in all the wrong ways.

You sighed, but it was deep and guttural, bordering on a scream. The way every piece of clothing, which looks so trendy and stylish on Steve, draped over your hips in a weird way, drove you nuts. The colors didn’t look as good, the shape was meant for someone else.

You flopped down on the bed, still only in your underwear, as Steve grabbed a hanger, placing the hoodie on it and hanging it back in the closet.

He walked over to you, slotting his legs in between yours which swung off the bed. He leaned forward over you until his arms framed your head, one hand on each side, careful to miss your hair that was sprawled out over the comforter.

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by a sea of blue. You wanted to melt instantly at the care and concern that Steve’s eyes held, before you remembered why you were so upset.

You rolled on your side with a groan, hiding your face in the plush covers before Steve did his best to brush the hair out of your way.

He continued to softly rub his thumb against your temple. “Jellybean, you wanna tell me what’s going on? What’s got you so upset?”

You sighed before speaking into the blanket covering your mouth. Even Steve’s super soldier hearing couldn’t decipher the muffled sounds.

“Can you try again for me? I didn’t quite catch that.”

You turned slightly and threw your hands over your face in exasperation before peeking through your fingers at the face full of love and kindness that was always waiting on the other side.

“I’m sick of it.” It came out still muffled by your palm, but understandable this time. Steve nodded in an attempt to understand.

“Sick of what, honey? Anything I can fix? Or at least help with?” He helped you up, sitting next to you on the mattress. He attempted to pull you into his lap before your stopped him, pushing his arms off of you.

“No! Stop it, you’re the problem.”

Steve was taken aback. He would never do anything to hurt you, not even accidentally, so he had no idea where this was coming from. He cautiously continued.

“I’m really sorry, bean. What did I do?”

You shook your head before it fell into your hands, tears threatening to dampen the heels of your palms while you sniffled,sucking your emotions back in. You took a deep breath before looking up at him with red eyes.

“You know what? Actually, nothing. I’m overreacting. Forget about it. Maybe I should just go.”

You stood up and began to gather your clothes from the floor when Steve stood to stop you, holding your hands against his chest.

“Wait, Jellybean, come on. If-“

You threw down your hands, releasing them from his grip as you continued to look down at your feet.

“Quit calling me that!! That’s the problem!! I’m not a jellybean!”

His head cocked to the side in confusion. “Honey, what do you mean? I thought you liked that nickname…”

You shook your head as Steve crouched down in an attempt to meet your gaze. “No, because a jellybean would fit in your clothes and look good. And I don’t at all right now.”

Steve cautiously moved a hand to your cheek, finally able to look into your eyes. “Hey, what happened? Did someone say something to you? Did I? If I did anything to make you feel like that, I’m so sorry. You’re so perfect in every single way, what’s making you feel differently?”

His other hand went to your other cheek and you grabbed his wrists, looking down again, kicking your feet. Your next words came out as a whisper. “Everything sucks. I’m exhausted, and my eyes keep twitching because of it. I couldn’t focus to save my life today. I thought coming over here would make me feel better, and I looked in your pantry to see if you had any of the good snacks and of course you don’t because you’re Mr. Healthy! None of your clothes fit or look good on me! I mean, why do your even own half this stuff!? So many pairs of fake glasses, your eyesight’s perfect-no. Better than perfect! You make stuff that’s not even fashionable or practical look good and I’m sick of it!” You were practically yelling now, your words growing in volume the more you kept going.

Steve simply nodded, letting you vent as much as you needed to and taking it all in. He knew he didn’t have good snacks, he had asked if you wanted him to pick up your favorites when grocery shopping last week and you said ‘no, that’s not necessary. I probably shouldn’t tempt myself anyways. I’m trying to be healthier.’ He should’ve gone with his gut. He wouldn’t blame that on you, though.

He knew his clothes were ridiculous, too, but he kept them around because he thought you liked them. And he loved the way they looked on you.

He also knew the game you liked to play of ‘is it a fit or are they just hot,’ looking at the ridiculous clothes designer brands would release and judging whether or not they were high fashion, or just on a person with a nice body. He had just never thought he would be the subject of it, or that it would bring you down this much.

Steve knew you hadn’t been sleeping well for the past month, too, but hadn’t said anything. He could feel the way you tossed and turned at 3am, before you finally fell asleep again an hour later, only to be woken up shortly after by the alarm clock.

You looked up again after Steve had been quiet for too long. You let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I think I’m just taking this all out on you because you’re here. Everything but you is wrong today, and I’m taking it out on the one thing that’s here.”

You shook your head, profusely apologizing before Steve pulled you in close against his chest. He kissed the top of your head as he rubbed your back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Thank you for talking to me. I’m not the enemy here. I’m your teammate. Thank you for letting me in.”

“It just isn’t fair.” You spoke into his chest before looking up into his eyes again.

“Even when you’re concerned you’re still hot, too.” You rolled your eyes before throwing your forehead back in between his firm pecs.

“Steven. Fix it.” Came out mumbled in his shirt.

Steve laughed and nodded before kissing the top of your head again. “I think I have just the thing. Hold on.”

He meant that literally. Steve stood up fully and you wrapped your legs around him, clinging like a koala, as he walked back over to the closet. The fact that he did it so effortlessly made you feel a little better about yourself, but a super soldier could probably do that with anyone.

He browsed the rack and shelves before he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. They let me keep these after I had to pose as part of a construction crew for a mission. Regular people clothes. None of that high fashion bullshit.”

You laughed against his neck before he set you down on the bed. He kissed the tip of your nose before sliding a dark gray sweatshirt over your head and sinking down to his knees to pull the light gray sweatpants up your legs. They fit just how your wanted and you beamed at him.

“Better?” You nodded.

“Perfect. Thank you, Stevie.”

He gave you a wink. “Of course, jellybean. I think these fit you just right, but maybe your outfit’s missing something. I might still have the reflective vest around here somewhere, or maybe you need a good pair of fake glasses to top it off?”

You giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Absolutely not. I think the only thing that could make this better is if you had real snacks in the pantry.”

Just then, the both of you heard a knock on the door. You perked up and looked over Steve’s shoulder before raising an eyebrow at him. Steve looked back at you sheepishly.

“I think your prayers have been answered. I texted Buck and asked him to pick up your favorites the second I heard you huffing while searching through the cabinets.”

You smiled before wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. You’re perfect, even if it’s a little infuriating how much so.”

Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around you again, carrying you towards the front door to retrieve the package. “Perfection means nothing if I can’t use it to make your life better. I love you, Jellybean.”

You smiled as he set you down on the couch and handed you a bag of snacks before cuddling close and pulling the soft throw blanket back over the two of you. You placed your hand gently on his cheek. “I love you more, Stevie.”

Bonus A/N: What’s your favorite snack/candy? I’m currently rocking with those nerds gummy clusters. So good.

General Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen

[horizon-verizon]

I adore you drives into house Martell/Dorne and they not being poc. As a fanfiction writter and a woman who studies in college the medieval history of the iberian peninsula I try to Stay Away from writting house Martell fics because I do not believe they are poc the way fandom describes them (especially not as dark skinned) but I fear the backlash.

But I add my two cents to it because I feel the need to say it. (Sorry you'll be the one getting it)

I think the smallfolk around certain parts of Dorne are poc. Not the nobility. Nymeria and her descendents intermarried with the Andals many times. And if all dorne nobility is poc... How is Aegon V (grandson of Myriah Martell and son of Dyanna Dayne) isn't? Or his siblings. We meet all the men - no sign of a different "Race" in any of them.

I'm a little confused by this ask, ngl. You lost me here:

I think the smallfolk around certain parts of Dorne are poc. Not the nobility. Nymeria and her descendents intermarried with the Andals many times.

If the peasants, as you say, are PoC bc the Rhoynar female soldiers intermarried w/Andal-First Men Dornish people...are you saying they did with both Dornish peasant men AND nobles? Or they only did with peasants? If the latter, that wouldn't make much sense bc the petty nobles around or those "vassals"/oathed to the Martells at the time Nymeria arrived wouldn't go umarried to any of her soldiers, therefore we'd be forced to say that yes some nobles are PoC...and only if we assume that the Martells have become as PoC as them since Nymeria married Mors.

So it sounds like you're just saying that they, the nobility, are PoC.

A)

from GRRM's blog:

GRRM doesn't distinguish b/t peasants and nobility when it comes him saying that he imagined them as more Mediterranean than African in appearance (and he's talking the white Med, not North Africans or Middle Easterners).

This is amok's Oberyn:

And this is the Magali Villeneuve's Arianne Martell:

B)

If you're implying that there were still a few Rhoynar female soldier who married the smaller number of male Rhoynar male soldiers while the others married the Andal Dornish nobles (whether they be petty lords or the "high" lords), yeah it's possible some peasants--and a few here and there to this current time period of the main series--are what we'd call "PoC" if they lived amongst us.

But Dornish people, peasant or noble, are still monolithic to the people we'd call "white"/"BR/Germanic/NorthWestern European" white--the nonDornish Westerosi. Even they cannot be said to be PoC within the relationship of the Dornish to the Westerosi I described and discussed HERE.

Not all soldiers or warriors were peasants; some were/would be petty nobles, we simply don't have the details. A few of those female Dornish women could have married actually peasant soldiers and in the U.S. system of race, those kids' be considered "PoC", and so on so on. But this isn't the U.S.

🎨: NUTCHAPOL THITINUNTHAKO

Even if you are a Salty Dornish [3] (the Martells), a Stony Dornish [1] (the paler ones closest to the border b/t Dorne and the rest/the Dornish Marches), or a Sandy Dornish [2], the nonDornish people actively think of them all as "Dornish" and are xenophobic to all of them. We have seen no canon different behavior towards the paler stony Dornish.

We also don't know where exactly in Dorne Sylvenna Sand (a peasant) was from or what she looked like, but she was known as Dornish and the "laws" that Gaemon Palehair/his mother Essie laid out in KL are thought to have come from Sylvenna's background and closeness influencing those laws to protect women. Those Gyldayn calls "outrageous":

Skin color is definitely something these nonDornish make to orientalize or fetishize some Dornish people or to identify them bc you do find the darkest kind tones more in Dorne than anywhere else. But again, some Dornish people (and I mean entire populations) are pale, have the accents, may even practice male primogeniture but are still subject to xenophobia from nonDornish people in text.

And if all dorne nobility is poc... How is Aegon V (grandson of Myriah Martell and son of Dyanna Dayne) isn't? Or his siblings. We meet all the men - no sign of a different "Race" in any of them.

The Daynes are the paler "stony" Dornish.

Aegon was also never going to be considered PoC or Dornish or Dornish adjacent bc he came out with pale skin, violet eyes, and silverish-goldish hair.

And he is not a Dornish-raised person, but was born and raised outside of Dorne in the royal family.

So yeah.

[did-i-do-this-write]

For Paragon, how about 🎀 and ‍🎨 please! -Essie

Thank you for the ask, Essie! I appreciate you playing this little ask game with me 😄

🎀 [Bow] How many named characters are in this WIP? How many do get a POV?‍

Rough estimate, I think there's about 20 named characters. And the main team is made up of seven characters, who all get POV at least a couple times each :D

🎨 [Palette] If your WIP was a color, which color would it be?

I always associate Paragon with oranges, reds, and yellows because the main character can control fire XD

This ask motivated me to write 105 words for a prompt request.

Experiment Total: 75,778

[callofthxvoid]

🎨 Amirah "Ames" Shehadi - 24 y/o - 5'9" - FC: Jihane Almira Chedid [ BIO ] 🍔 Celia de la Luna - 35 y/o - 5'6" - FC: Ana de Armas [ BIO ] 🩹 Dahlia Cruz-Dutton - 37 y/o - 5'7" - FC: Shay Mitchell [ BIO ] 🎮 Esperanza "Essie" Calloway - 25 y/o - 5'1" - FC: Becky G [ BIO ] 💸 Fleur Villiers - 25 y/o - 5'5" - FC: Paris Berelc [ BIO ] 🐈‍⬛ Georgette "Georgie" Hicks - 23 y/o - 5'1" - FC: Antonia Gentry [ BIO ] 🍎 Imogen Griffiths - 39 y/o - 5'6" - FC: Natalie Dormer [ BIO ] 💊 Julianne "Julie" Davenport - 21 y/o - 5'5" - FC: Natalie Alyn Lind [ BIO ] 🔍 Karma Free - 27 y/o - 5'4" - FC: Zoey Deutch [ BIO ] 🚔 Leila Williams - 38 y/o - 5'4" - FC: Candice Patton [ BIO ] 🎊 Marisol de la Luna - 18 y/o - 5'1" - FC: Isabela Merced [ BIO ] ✨ Minnie Garcia - 28 y/o - 5'2" - FC: Dove Cameron [ BIO ] 💰 Nadia Shehadi - 30 y/o - 5'6" - FC: Pinar Deniz [ BIO ] 🎀 Paisley Pardeshi - 19 y/o - 5'8" - FC: Avantika [ BIO ] 🖊️ Rosa Milovanovic - 28 y/o - 5'5" - FC: Emilija Baranac [ BIO ] 🌟 Scarlette Albright - 30 y/o - 5'6" - FC: Chloe Bennet [ BIO ] 🧨 Trixie Vos - 32 y/o - 5'6" - FC: Skyler Samuels [ BIO ] 🌳 Valeria "Val" Moreno - 24 y/o - 5'3" - FC: Maia Reficco [ BIO ] 🏗️ Veronica "Vero" de la Luna - 32 y/o - 5'9" - FC: Bianca Santos [ BIO ] 🔬 Zarina Knightley - 28 y/o - 5'5" - FC: Kat McNamara [ BIO ]

[intrepidacious]

when i say i need him biblically i'm not exaggerating

A Cornucopia for You!

From: @levans44

Ransom Drysdale; secret dating, hand kink, size kink; bookstore, academia; smut

You came here all the time, a small bookstore just off campus that held a few copies of books that the library didn’t. And, of course, some novels you’d purchase here and there for your own private reading collection. It was your haven, your safe space, a place where your heart beat slower despite the iced coffee you’d sip as you skimmed though pages at your usual table.

Except, something was distracting you out of the corner of your eye. The gold glint of a pinky ring attached to a big hand holding an old leather-bound book. Thick and surprisingly nimble fingers flipped the pages, although you knew that wasn’t a reading pace, and when you looked up, icy blue eyes weren’t even on the novel. They were on you.

Your cheeks instantly grew warm and your thighs pressed together on instinct as you pushed yourself out of your chair. Perhaps a walk through the aisles would be good to help you cool down, except your racing heartbeat had you moving swiftly. You looked behind you to make sure no one had followed just as you had reached the end of a shelf. As you turned the corner you were abruptly stopped by a wall.

Except…it was actually a chest. A broad, firm chest, covered in a sweater. The one you wore last week when you might’ve made him breakfast in his dorm while his roommates were out.

In a blink, your back was pressed up against the stacks, a warm hand brushing up the stocking on your thigh, reaching the bare skin under your skirt. You threw your head back, eyes threatening to flutter shut, but your logical brain was fighting to stay at the surface.

“Ransom. What are you doing here?” Your whisper was bordering on a little too loud.

He smirked so slyly, his eyebrow raising in tandem with a shrug. “Missed you, Princess. That a crime? Plus you look so cute when you wear your reading glasses.”

Your hand darted to his wrist as his finger began to trace over your slit in your cotton panties.

“No, but public indecency is. And I thought we couldn’t risk anyone seeing us together. Not yet at least.”

His presence was looming and you couldn’t deny that your stomach did a delightful swoop at the way he caged you in. The way you could tell his fiery blue eyes wanted you so badly. Which is why you didn’t contest as he pushed the gusset aside and slid a thick finger into your slick entrance as his head fell into your neck and he placed a gentle kiss to your collarbone.

“Right now, I don’t care if anybody sees. I just want you.”

i have so many questions!!!! why are we hiding 🥺 is he telling us the truth? maybe he never thought he'd go public and was fully intending on this being a secret one-sided thing and then he caught feelings??

"princess" is killing me, ugh ransom big hand signet ring EYE CONTACT??? i love him obsessed and confronting his feelings >:3

ty @bigtreefest, your cornucopias are bringing me so much joy!!! i hope u are having just as much fun writing and sharing them!!! and thank you @levans44 for the gift 🥺💕💕 mwah mwah you're all so dear to me

[killmondaygames]

Get to know the team behind Killmonday Games in our blog series "The Story Behind" 💬 Let us introduce our 2D and 3D artist Essi! 🦖🎨 📝Read the full story here: 👉 https://killmondaygames.com/?p=5161

[nobodysystem]

🎨✅

🎨 How do you feel about fanart?

95% fine which i guess is probably a good thing. it being wildly divergent from us mostly makes us go haha thats not right (rolling eyes smile emoji) and the only exceptions are, like, localized down to one or two people

for whatever reason "haha that's not right" is easily most pronounced on other peoples art of the bachelor, which i guess reflects that we're used to seeing essie p fanart but do not get as many reminders that danko is a real video game character who exists outside our head, as well as the obvious issue that most people do not exactly draw him as a goth girl

✅ What does the fandom usually get right?

we're so good at complaining and so bad at expressing contentment and have such limited exomemories but to be honest people mostly get... the broad strokes fine? we've never had any moments of seeing someone else's specific headcanons and going oh my god, you GET it but having sharp moments of "lol you're wrong i wouldn't ever do that" (or whatever) isnt the majority of our experiences with fan content either. idk :shrug:

[trascapades]

🖤🎨#ArtIsAWeapon

Thank you @RichardBeaversGallery for compiling this list of Black-owned art galleries!

UJAMAA

BLACK OWNED ART GALLERIES

Compiled by Richard Beavers Gallery, December 2022

Above Art Studios, NJ | @aboveartstudios

Addis Fine Art, LDN | @addisfineart

Anderson Brickler Gallery, FL | @andersonbricklergallery

Annie’s Art Gallery, MD | @anniesartgallery

Anthony Gallery, IL | @galleryanthony

Artlanta Gallery, GA | @artlantagallery

Akwaaba Gallery, NJ | @akwaabagallery

Arnika Dawkins, GA | @arnikadawkins

Art Lead Her, NY | @artleadher

Art for the Soul Gallery, MA | @artforthesoulgallery

Art of Noize, DC | @artofnoizedmv

Art Melanated, CA | @artmelanated

Astah’s Art Gallery, NJ | @astahsartgallery

Axiom Fine Art Gallery, LA | @axiomartgallery

Band of Vices, CA | @bandofvices

Baar Art, | @barartjourney

Bill Hodges Gallery, NY | @billhodgesgallery

Bisong Art Gallery, TX | @bisongart

Black Artists+Designers Guild | @badguild

Black Art In America, GA | @blackartinamerica_

Black Gotham, NY | @blackgotham

Black Wall Street Gallery, NY | @bws.gallery

BlkMrkt, NC | @blkmrktclt

Boom Concepts, PA | @boom_concepts

Bridge Art Gallery, DE | @bridgeartgallery

Calabar Gallery, NY | @calabargallery

Cane Roots Art Gallery, USVI | @canerootsartgallery

Carter Fine Art Services | @carterfineart

Chela Mitchell Gallery, DC | @chelamitchellgallery

Ciera Britton Gallery, NY | @cierrabrittongallery

Cindy Rucker Gallery, NY | @ruckergallery

Curtiss Jacobs Gallery, NY | @curtissjacobsgallery_harlem

Dada Art Gallery, LDN | @thedadagallery

Daisha Board Gallery, TX | @daishaboardgallery

Dominque Gallery, CA | @dominique.gallery

Dorsey’s Art Gallery, NY | @dorseysfineartgallery

Dupp & Swat, NC | @duppandswat

E&S Gallery, KY | @eandsgallery

Essie Green Gallery, NY | @essie.green.gall

11:Eleven Gallery, DC | @11eleven_gallery

5 Points Art Gallery & Studios, WI | @5ptsartgallery

Galerie Myrtis, MD | @galeriemyrtis

Gallery 90220, CA | @gallery90220

Gallery Chuma, SC

Gallery Guichard, IL | @gallery_guichard

Gallery Kendra Jayne Patrick, NY | @gallerykendrajaynepatrick

Ground Floor Gallery, NY | @groundfloorbk

Hausen, NY | @welcometohausen

Hannah Traore Gallery, NY | @hannahtraoregallery

Harper Galleries of Art, MI | @harpergoaai

Hearne Fine Art, AR | @hearnefineart

HMAAC, TX | @houstonmaac

Homme DC, DC | @homme_dc

Housing, NY | @housingny

Jac Forbes Gallery, CA | @jacforbes

Jenkins Johnson, NY | @jenkinsjohnsongallery

Johnathan Carver Moore, CA | @johnathancarvermoore

June Kelly Gallery, NY | @junekellygallery

KAWD Art Gallery, LA | @kawdartgallery

Kente Royal Gallery, NY | @kente_royal_gallery

Knowhere, MA | @knowhereart

Left of Center Art Gallery, NV | @leftofcentergallery

Legendary Art Gallery, IL | @legendaryartgallery

Long Gallery, NY | @longgallery

Mackey Twins Art Gallery, NY | @mackeytwinsart

Mahogany Gallery, WI | @mahoganygallery

Mariane Ibrahim Gallery, IL | @marianeibrahimgallery

Martyr Sauce, WA | @martysauce

Medium Tings, NY | @mediumtings

Mehari Sequar Gallery, DC | @meharisequargallery

Mitochondria Gallery, TX | mitochondria.gallery

Moody Jones Gallery, PA | @moodyjonesgallery

Muse GR, MI | @mymusegr

Nicola Vassell Gallery | @nicolavassellgallery

N’Namdi Center for Conetemporary Art, MI | @nnamdicenter

N’Namdi Contemporary, FL | @nnamdi_gallery

Neema Gallery, SC | @neemagallery

NoName Gallery, PA | @nonamegalleryphilly

Norwest Gallery of Art, MI | @norwestgallery

Overdue Recognition Gallery, MD | @overduerecognitionart

Peg Alston Fine Arts, NY | @pegalston

Pencil on Paper Gallery, TX | @pencilonpapergallery

Prizm Art Fair, FL | @prizm

Residency Art Gallery, CA | @residencyart

RichesArt Gallery and Studio, TX | @richesartgallery

Richard Beavers Gallery, Brooklyn

Richard Beavers Gallery, Soho | @richardbeaversgallery

Rush Arts Philanthropic, PA | @rushartphilly

Sabree’s Gallery of the Arts, GA | @sabreesgallery

September Gray Fine Art, GA | @septembergrayart

SK ArtSpace, NY | @sk.ArtSpace

Skoto Gallery, NY | @skoto_gallery

Stella Jones Gallery, LA | @stellajonesgallery

Superposition, CA | @superpositiongallery

Terrance Osbourne Gallery, LA | @terranceosborne

The Bishop Gallery, NY | @thebishopgallery

The Compound Gallery, NY | @compoundgallery

The Heath Gallery, NY | @heathgallery

The Sold Firm, DE | @thesoldfirm

The Spite Haus, PA | @thespitehaus

Thelma Harris Gallery, CA | @thelmaharrisgallery

Tripoli Gallery, NY | @tripoligallery

Urban Art Gallery, PA | @urbanartgallery

Wa Na Wari, WA | @wanawariseattle

Waller Gallery, MD | @wallergallery

WaterKolours Fine Art Gallery, TN

Welancora, NY | @welancora

Worth Gallery, | @worth_gallery

Youth Concept Gallery, FL | @youthconceptgallery

Zimstone Gallery, DC | @jeffbrown_zimstonegallery

ZuCot Gallery, GA | @zucotgallery

#BlackOwnedArtGalleries

#BlackArtGalleries #BlackGallerists #BlackArt #BlackArtists #BlackGirlArtGeeks #BlackArtLovers #BlackArtCollectors

[intrepidacious]

Seven sentence holiday: Jake Jensen + picking out a Christmas tree in the cold

make this christmas right | j.j.

a/n: i don't officially write for jake because i've only watched this movie once so idk if it's in character at all but i had fun writing it <3

"I don’t know about this, Jake," you stage-whispered against another icy blast of wind; snow flakes were dancing wildly through the air, and you had to squint to even see your boyfriend in his stupidly thin black sweatshirt, measuring up the pine tree in front of him.

"Yeah, this isn’t working," he replied, tilting his head, "this tree’s way too small, right?"

You sighed, trudging after him through the snow, "I don’t think either of us can carry a bigger one. Besides, I don’t think this is legal," you added, even though that argument was the last thing that would work on him; it was the first Christmas the two of you would be celebrating with his sister and his niece, who was eleven now, and Jake had gotten it into his head that he had to go full north pole candy cane winter wonderland extravaganza with it.

"Yes," he shouted now, his voice echoing through the tree farm so loudly you were surprised floodlights weren’t turned on you immediately, "this is the one for sure … yes, this one’s perfect."

"There’s no way in hell we can fit that thing through the doorway," you shook your head, smiling when he put an arm around you and kissed you on the cheek; maybe if you left enough money at the front desk, there wouldn’t be another trespassing fee.

"That seems like a later problem," he grinned, holding up the handaxe he’d brought along on your trip, "now, do you wanna do the honors?"

[intrepidacious]

A Cornucopia for You!

From: @levans44

Bucky Barnes; grumpy/sunshine, enemies to lovers; modern AU neighbors; fluff

You sat on your knees in the garden, your plush grass pairing nicely with the new petunias you were planting in rows at the corner of your house near the property line.

As you looked in front of you, you could see the way your well-treated lawn contrasted with the brown patches in that of your neighbor’s. Since he moved in, you watched as a once beautiful piece of land became a little overgrown. What confused you about it most, though, was the fact that you had never really seen him leave his house. Sure, every now and then, you’d hear the roar of a motorcycle and peek through your curtains to see the Beefcake riding away, but it was few and far between.

But the bike hadn’t left the driveway in some time, and as you looked down at the plethora of greens before you, you figured you had some to spare. Brushing your knees free of dirt and removing your gardening gloves, you decided to pay your reclusive neighbor a visit.

As you knocked on the door, you were caught by surprise when it whipped open, revealing him in all of his brooding glory. He wore a white tank, too tight for your sanity, as it clung to his abs and chest. And oh man, did he have abs for days.

You swallowed at the sight, but quickly averted your gaze to his face in response to this low grunt of, “what?”

That view wasn’t much better. The light stubble on his chiseled jaw had you fighting the urge to reach out and see if it would cut your finger.

“H-hi. I’ve got some extra petunias. I was wondering if you might want them? I-I’ll plant them if you want. I also have some lawn feeder if you’re interested. Not that your lawn is bad, it’s just, I thought I could help you care for it—not that you don’t know how to care for it! Just…”

You wanted to facepalm with the word vomit that was spilling out of your mouth, except…. the stranger started to smile, laugh lightly even. He saved you from making a further fool of yourself, too.

“I think that all sounds great, neighbor. I really appreciate it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out to his front yard. “Not really used to the whole ‘having my own home’ thing yet. I grew up in the city, so thank you for your offer.”

His smile had you bashfully blushing. “I’m Bucky by the way. And I just made lunch. You wanna, uh, come inside for some and we can discuss the grass that I don’t know how to take care of?”

You laughed and hid your face behind your hands. “I’m sorry about that. I told you I wasn’t assuming, though!”

He laughed at that and it was like music to your ears, as he held the door open for you and you became enveloped in the most homey aromas.

PLEASE I ABSOLUTELY ADORED THIS 😭😭 big city boy bucky!! could let me ride on his motorcycle 👉🏼👈🏼

this was such a lovely surprise omg thank you @levans44 for requesting this for me?? 🥺 and essie you're an artist omg i'm swooning !!! thank you thank you thank you 💛

[intrepidacious]

Nika! This video made me think of the Bucky carriage scene I just read of yours🫣 I choose to believe he had a good center of gravity tho👀

omg shatter my illusions why don't you 😭😭 let's pretend this is the sturdiest carriage of all time

[intrepidacious]

🥰🥰 so glad you liked it!!

a million summers

summary: Something shifts between you and Bucky when he comes back home from college.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: modern AU; childhood friends to lovers; alcohol consumption; making out; the rare occurence of me writing something that's almost exclusively fluff. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: @allcapsbingo O1: "You've changed."

a/n: i didn't plan on posting anything today but something came over me. happy valentine's day, everyone!! this one's for @jesterstrange – remember when you sent me two songs for my sleepover and i completely ignored one of them? this is why 💛

masterlist | read on ao3

The air in the car is buzzing with late night heat and the crackling of the radio rapidly switching between stations, but you can’t seem to mind. Your heart is pounding in tune because less than two hours ago, you were kissing Bucky Barnes.

The Bucky Barnes, whose hand is currently gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. Valedictorian, baseball legend, first boy you ever fell in love with, prodigal third of your trio, Bucky Barnes.

Shit, if Steve found out about this, you’re not sure if he would laugh or kill both of you.

You wonder if the same thing is currently going through Bucky’s mind, because when you steal a sideways glance at him, he’s biting the inside of his lip, like he always does when he’s wrapped in thought.

It’s funny, in a way. You’ve noticed these little things about him since you were eleven years old, innocently collecting tiny facts about James Buchanan Barnes in your mind like other children kept pebbles or leaves they found on a walk. Like how his hair would stick up and begin to curl in his neck when it was about to rain. Or how he always got the first splatter of freckles in May, after months and months of them hiding away from the cold.

They’re there now, dancing across his cheekbones and down the bridge of his nose, and when the sunrise hits them at the right angle, they point out all the places you want to kiss; underneath his eye and on the tip of his nose, and, most importantly, right at the corner of his mouth, where his smile starts.

Your heart still can’t believe he’d actually let you do just that.

(He would, he would. He has.)

Your phone vibrates again and you ignore it. Reality might be on the other end, and you’re not ready for that quite yet.

There’s a slight tick in Bucky’s jaw when you peek at him again, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know him quite as well as you do, and it sets your cheeks on fire. You roll the window down to feel the wind in your hair. Maybe it’ll cool your face a little.

You haven’t talked to each other at all ever since you got in the car, Bucky concentrating on the road, you counting the cars you pass. There’s not a lot of them, not at this hour, so the activity doesn’t exactly help to calm your mind, but you don’t trust your voice enough to start a conversation quite yet.

(Still, he hasn’t let go of your hand since you got in the car, either.)

It’s strange, this silence between you, not uncomfortable but unusual, because even though you’ve filled countless hours just quietly doing your own thing next to one another, it’s never been with this tension that’s making the air between you thick enough to cut.

The radio finally settles on a station, and there’s a spark of recognition at the song that manifests in Bucky squeezing your hand a little more tightly, and you finally break the silence with a quiet laugh and a warning, "Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything," Bucky says with a smile in his voice.

"Your thoughts are very loud."

"My thoughts are none of your business." He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a small kiss to your knuckles. Your breath hitches. "Besides, you were very cute."

"Slow down," you say, "I want to throw myself out of the car."

Bucky has the audacity to laugh. "Come on. Everyone had a phase in middle school."

"Everyone who knew me in middle school needs to die," you groan.

"Is that a threat, Y/L/N?"

You take in his cocky grin, tapping a finger against your chin in fake contemplation. "Maybe."

"Oh yeah?" he says, and you swear his smile grows even more crooked as you echo his words back at him.

(You want to trace it with your fingers and then taste it again.)

"So this is what we’ve come to," he says, his face exaggeratedly appalled as he shakes his head. "You’ve changed."

"I’m afraid there can’t be any exceptions," you say, squeezing his hand. "Especially not if this 'short drive over' takes much longer," you say, turning to the window again. The clouds look heavy with the reminder of rain.

Bucky rubs soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, and the gentleness of the action makes you press your lips together to hide the giddyness threatening to spill over. "Almost there," he says, and continues driving.

A little faster than before, maybe.

***

You’d seen this look in Bucky’s eyes before, but it’d never been directed at you. Pupils blown wide, hair sticking to his forehead, gaze unwavering and so intense you felt like you were being stripped naked in the middle of the crowd.

(And during his own homecoming party, no less.)

You forced your gaze away, trying to focus on whatever story Wanda was telling intently, but it was impossible to do anything other than nodding and humming and taking another sip of your drink whenever there was a breath for you to do so.

When you dared another glimpse in his direction, Bucky was still watching you, even though he was doing a much better job at pretending to listen, one of Steve’s arms still slung around his shoulders, his lips widening into a smile at the same time the rest of the group started to laugh while you were just out of sync with everyone else.

Not that you were staring at his lips.

It’d been so long since you’d last seen him in person. He was supposed to go off to college with Steve, but instead ended up going to an entirely different part of the country, and despite the fact that the three of you once shared every spare minute, there was only so many lagging phone calls at odd hours a friendship like the one you used to have with Bucky could take.

It broke your heart, of course, but maybe it was for the better. After all, your feelings for him had been drifting towards something different to friendship for a while at that point, something softer and more precious, something hidden away in stolen glances and late night journal entries.

Him literally being out of reach had made it easier, in a way, even though you’d never quite managed to move on from the color of his eyes.

(How could you have?)

Now, seeing him right in front of you again, they seemed so much brighter than they did in your memories; like someone had broken off two pieces of a clear summer sky and put them in the center of his face. It was honestly unfair.

You managed to steal away to the upstairs bathroom for a few minutes, not bothering to turn the light on, splashing your face with cold water to try and get a grip on. You weren’t quite drunk, but tipsy enough to recognize the light haze in your eyes as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, angling yourself in the thin strip of moonlight falling in through the window, trying to see if there was anything different about you.

Anything that Bucky might have picked up on tonight, of all nights.

There was a knock at the door, so you quickly fixed your hair with a small sigh and mentally prepared to continue the night with a smile, determined to enjoy yourself, weird and totally not heart palpitation inducing looks from former best friends be damned.

As soon as you swung the door open, though, your confidence was immediately shattered when you almost barreled into someone standing right on the other side, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, smile blinding.

Like he’d been waiting for you.

"Y/L/N."

(Your name still sounded like honey on his tongue.)

"Barnes." You raised your eyebrows when he didn’t move to let you pass. "Can I help you with something?"

"Maybe," he said, and then he pulled you back into the room with him, locking the door behind the two of you.

You leaned against it, arms crossed in front of your chest, swallowing heavily. Bucky hovered very close by for a moment before he retreated, pushing both hands through his hair and then hiding them in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Right," you said, your head spinning slightly. "This isn’t ominous at all."

Bucky chuckled quietly, his eyes searching for something. "You look great," he finally said.

With a snort, you tilted your head and looked at his feet, not really believing his compliment. Your fingers were itching to unlock the door and just slip back into the party on the other side, but at the same time, you found you couldn’t move.

(You’d never been able to move away from him.)

"Look at that," you said, nudging your shoe against his. "You haven’t changed."

"Not really."

There was a strange edge to the smile in his voice, like he was trying to swallow something down. Maybe it was more clear on his face, but you couldn’t look up at him.

It was strange, the small details you remembered from years ago. Even when you and Bucky had begun to drift apart (because bottling up your feelings all the time could only ever have gone well for a short while), you would still spend most lunch breaks with him and Steve. How many times had you joined them on the tiny, dried up shrivel of lawn next to the library, being silly together and trying to stretch those thirty minutes into infinity, your sneakers always, always untied.

Steve had sprained his ankle in college when he tripped over his own feet, and so he’d started to tie them like the proper adult he pretended to be, and because the two of them had a habit of always copying the other, you’d just assumed that Bucky would have eventually grown out of the whole thing as well.

(Unlike you.)

Seemed like some things had stayed the same, after all.

And as if that stupid little observation had returned both of you back to the days that were, talking was suddenly so easy. You drifted closer to each other and apart again, like you were moving to a song much slower than the one still audible through the bathroom walls.

Later, you wouldn’t even be able to recall what you’d said. Some teasing remark, probably, a snarky comment like the ones you used to hide your feelings behind when you were fifteen and he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

Whatever it was you’d said, Bucky chuckled again. As if he thought you funny. "I can’t believe I …" He trailed off, shaking his head, dragging a hand through his hair again.

Your eyes tracked the movement. A single curl kept sticking up near the top of his head, like it always had when you both were younger. "You what?" you said, almost entranced by it.

"Nothing," he said, looking over his shoulder like he expected someone to come up to him. There was no one there, but he kept moving like he was struggling against some unseen force.

"You what?" you laughed, thoroughly intrigued now.

He shook his head, but it spilled out anyway, like some tidal wave he couldn’t keep contained. "I used to have a crush on you in high school, alright?"

A pause, a break, a screeching record halt.

"No, you didn’t."

(He didn’t.)

"Uhm, yeah I did." He sighed heavily. "Look, you were never supposed to find out."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you could feel it in your ears. "Why not?"

"Because you’re …. You were my best friend. That was more important." The past tense really shouldn’t have broken your heart the way it did, because you’d known. Of course you’d known.

"And what about now?" you said, your hands clutched tightly around yourself." We’re not best friends anymore, are we? So … what are we now?"

He stared at you very intently, and his voice broke a little when he said, "I’m not sure what you want me to be."

There was a pause, and you realized Bucky’s face had turned even redder. You could barely look away from his eyes, though. It was almost impossible to make out their color in the semi-darkness of the bathroom, but there was a softness to them that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"Are you drunk or something?" you asked, feeling very, very sober yourself.

"What?" he said, almost offended by your suggestion. "Of course not."

"Good."

You stared at him for a moment longer, and then you kissed him.

You’d imagined kissing Bucky Barnes so many times before, but the real thing was so much better than even your wildest dreams could have predicted. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and still didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands circled around his waist to press him ever closer to you, and he made a noise at the back of his throat that made your brain short-circuit.

His hands trailed across your shoulder blades, gently pulling you with him as he took a step backwards and his back hit the wall with a low thud, his mouth never once leaving yours. He tasted like coffee and salt and something that was so distinctly him it took your breath away.

When you finally came up gasping for air, Bucky whined in disapproval, peppering smaller kisses along your cheeks, your jawbone, your neck. You grabbed his shoulder for support as your knees threatened to buckle, the fingers of your other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"Shit, Y/N," he mumbled against your pulse, and the low timbre of his voice was enough to make your eyes flutter shut again. "You’ve got no idea how long …"

He didn’t finish talking, his lips finding yours again with a hum that made your grip on him tighten involuntarily, his hands large and solid around your middle. There was no telling how much time you lost to that kiss. Hours, maybe, an eternity of both of you trying to get as close to each other as possible.

At one point, Bucky tapped your thigh, as if he was trying to get you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist, and you were about to, honestly, but just then you were interrupted by a sudden and incessant knock at the door.

"Whoever’s in there, can you hurry up? There’s a line out here!"

You broke apart with an embarrassed snort. "Just a minute!" you called, somehow managing not to sound quite as short-winded as you felt. You steadied yourself against Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat drum a mad rhythm underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "I do not wanna go out there," you mumbled.

"Neither do I," he said, and his voice sounded so low and so wrecked you had to kiss him again. Just a small peck on the lips, this time, but you still came up light-headed. "Wanna get out of here?"

(More than anything.)

"I can’t," you sighed apologetically. "Nat’s not even here yet and I told her I’d help with the cake."

"I don’t give a shit about the cake."

You giggled. "I promised, though"

Bucky groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. The person on the other side of the door started knocking again. "She has an hour," he mumbled and sealed it with a quick kiss before you could say anything else. "Tops."

You left that bathroom with your head held high and an incredulous smile on your face. Outside, a clash of thunder shook the window panes.

***

It crosses your mind, then, when the car slows and the gas gauge finally stops blinking, that your younger self would have killed to be in your shoes. Or rather, bare feet pulled up on the passenger seat, Bucky’s fingers entertwining with yours, feeling tired and wide awake at the same time as nervous excitement curls up in your chest.

How many summer night did you use to lie awake in bed, imagining a scenario just like this?

(A million, at least.)

The summer air carries the smell of the ocean, and if you looked out the windscreen, you could probably see the waves crashing against the shoreline as the sun starts to rise, a picture perfect view like something out of a fucking dream. You’re still not quite convinced you haven’t fallen asleep on Wanda’s shoulder earlier in the evening, your subconscious making all of this up out of some long buried yearning from years ago.

You don’t want to look outside, though. You don’t want to look anywhere but at the boy beside you, whose hair is still tousled from your touch and who looks at you like he’s on cloud nine and absolutely terrified at the very same time.

"Do you feel kinda nervous or is it just me?" Bucky says, and you laugh.

"Yes. What’s up with that?"

It’s like the manic, pent up energy that made your kiss in the bathroom feel like you got struck by lightning has vanished from your bodies, making room for something more quiet. More anxious. A question whispered at the back of your mind that makes your hold on his hand tighten.

What now?

(Reality stopped calling a while ago, but it’s only a matter of time.)

"I guess it’s a good sign." Anticipation makes the blue of his eyes shimmer. "Means neither of us wants to fuck this up."

You smile tentatively. "Is there something we could potentially fuck up?"

Bucky swallows, tilting his head. "I hope there is."

(You want to run away with him. You want to stay with him. You’d wait a million summers more to get here.)

"Me too."

When he leans in this time, it’s sweeter than before, slower, less a declaration and more a promise. Neither of you would have to wait anymore.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[intrepidacious]

i have the biggest soft spot for exes to lovers and this!!!

"Shame it seems like he could never quite find the right girl around here after you left. And believe me, he tried. All those young women he went out with tried even harder."

this is everything to me

Made up fic title: What Once Was Lost is Always Found

Ohhhh, Kris. You’ve really got me in the feels with this one🥺. So angsty, but so hopeful? This one’s for all my millennials/divorcees🫡 (gosh, I can’t tell you how much I love this tho. She’s a lil long)

Based off of this ask game

What Once Was Lost is Always Found

Ari Levinson x divorced!Reader

You huffed as your mom shoved the silverware into your hands, shooing you out of the kitchen to set the table, as she finished up dinner.

Upon her return from the grocery store, she pulled you up off the floor where you were wearing your threadbare college hoodie, looking through old photos, insisting you put on ‘normal people clothes.’

The last time you had been in your childhood room this long was before you had even gotten your degree, followed quickly by a job, a wedding, then a cat. And then after building that life for years and watching it crumble before your eyes, a divorce. With nothing else left for you there, you went to the one place you were always safe: home, bringing the cat, of course. Everything just needed to stop for a little bit.

You set the utensils down on the placemats and brought the extras back to put in the drawer when she stopped you.

“No, I gave those on purpose. Make a fourth place setting. We’re going to have company for dinner.”

You looked at her with a furrowed brow, an expression she knew all too well, as you went to the cupboard to grab the plates.

“Mom, I really don’t want anyone seeing me like this right now. Can’t you and Dad just go out to dinner with your friends like normal people?”

She laughed and shook her head, checking the oven before slipping off the mitts and using them to point at you.

“At least we have friends, missy. You’ve gotta get yourself out there. Can’t hide in your room forever.”

As she turned back to the stove, you heard her mutter in that low voice she always used when she was up to no good. “And you could use the social interaction, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes and continued laying out the dishes while your mom debriefed you about her day.

“And you won’t believe who I ran into at the super market today!”

“Who?” Your voice fell flat.

She turned to look at you, her eyes sparkling with something that you couldn’t quite decipher. Excitement? Nostalgia? And a slight wariness to your possible response?

“None other than Ari Levinson. I always liked that boy, you know. Turned into a good man. Shame it seems like he could never quite find the right girl around here after you left. And believe me, he tried. All those young women he went out with tried even harder.”

You sighed, burying your head in your arms against the kitchen island at her mention of your high school sweetheart. The one you had left behind before going to college. The one you’d always had a little spot for in your heart. But he stayed home and you had a career to make for yourself. And by the time school had come and gone, you were engaged and had heard he’d been dating. Waiting around at that age didn’t seem practical, especially when he so willingly had given you the space you asked for, and seemingly moved on. That was a good thing, right? Taking time apart gave you an answer: if he was yours, he’d come back to you, but he didn’t. Last you heard, every girl on this side of the river was pining for him. And who wouldn’t? He was a good looking, great guy. No chance he’d want to try again with the girl that chose a new life over him.

You worked in silence, straightening out the place settings when the doorbell rang. As your mom worked on bringing the food out to the table, you trudged to the front door, preparing for the onslaught of questions and hugs from a family friend. Except when the door swung open, your eyes were met with a firm chest. You followed it upwards to a soft smile and shining eyes, framed by a full beard and luscious locks of hair. Even more heart throbbing than you remembered. In his hand sat a pie, one that you’d know by smell anywhere, from your favorite diner in town where you’d share a slice almost weekly. Your jaw was dropped, throat dry, as you stood stiffly, blocking the doorway. But in Ari fashion, his demeanor was welcoming, smooth, calming, as he spoke to you in a voice that sounded like home.

“Hey there, honey bunch.”

[intrepidacious]

yeahh well i'm right there with you about the realness of that part 😭 i believe you could classify this fic as Working Through Things asdjhgsldhg

essie my darling !! thank you so much for your comment it genuinely made me so emotional and i wish i had better words to express that. adore you 🥺💛💛

step number one

summary: You haven't kissed anyone in a couple of years. Johnny's more than happy to help you out.

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: friends to lovers, making out (in the name of practice) please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this was supposed to be my valentine's day fic but here we are. c'est la vie. hope you still enjoy this fluffy nonsense a week later 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

"You got any plans for tomorrow?" Johnny asks the day before Valentine’s Day, spread out on your bed like usual, his eyes not lifting from his phone.

You snort. "Yeah, right."

There’s something, you think, about the aggressively pink-and-flowers-and-chocolate aesthetic of this month that well and truly makes you want to throw up. 14 per cent discounts and coupley pictures and cutesy videos have been flooding your feed for the past week and a half, and with most of your friends neatly paired off as well, it’s like there’s absolutely no escaping the—

"Why not?" Johnny asks. "I mean, pretty girl like you gotta have guys lined up around the corner." The smile in his voice is sincere enough to let you believe he really does mean that as a compliment.

"First of all, ew," you reply, closing your app after yet another "date fit" video. "Second, the last date I went on ended with the guy leaving the country, so there’s that." Granted, you’d known about his travel plans beforehand, but still.

Johnny pushes up on one elbow. "Really. Coffee shop creep?"

You scowl at him. "Don’t call him that."

He’d been nice enough. Paid for your drinks and museum tickets. Hung his jacket over your shoulders when you started shivering. Yes, he’d also ghosted you and gone to Iceland, but it wasn’t like you’d known him that well.

You’d only gotten your hopes up too soon, like you always did.

"That was your last date?" Johnny says, attention fully on you now. "Wasn’t that, like, four years ago?"

"Five," you mumble, your cheeks heating. Almost six, but who's counting? "So, no, I’m not doing Valentine’s Day."

Being single is much easier, anyway. You don’t have to consider anyone else in your life; don’t have to wonder about what they’re doing or whether their family liked you or if they’re planning a three month trip abroad … huh. Maybe that one’s still somewhat of a sore point, after all.

"Why haven’t you gone out with anyone in five years?"

"I don’t know, it just sorta happened. Not everyone goes on a date with a new person every week."

"Gross exaggeration."

"Not really," you say, nudging his side with your toes. "Do you ever see those girls a second time?"

"Sometimes. Hey, when did this become about me?" He catches your foot when you make to poke him again. His smile doesn’t waver, but his voice becomes gentler when he speaks again, a little more serious. "I thought you want a relationship."

You swallow.

"I do," you say quietly. "It’s just … it’s scary. I don’t like putting myself out there, and I’ve been so busy with everything else. I don’t have time to worry about small talk or the fact that at this point I don’t even know how to kiss anyone anymore."

It’s a vicious circle, really. Wanting something serious while also being terrified of anything serious. And suddenly, almost without noticing, years have gone by and nothing has changed at all.

Next to you, Johnny goes very still.

Honestly, it’s not the reaction you’ve expected. Deep down, you thought he’d laugh, tease you about the fact that it’s been nearly six years since you’ve gotten intimate with anyone. Sometimes, you want to laugh about it yourself, even though at the same time, you don’t find it funny at all.

But Johnny Storm has always had more layers than people give him credit for; even you, sometimes.

"Do you …" His voice cracks and he clears his throat, staring at the wall behind you. "Do you wanna practice?"

You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks before you even understand what he’s asking. "Practice what?"

"Kissing."

…

Maybe your brain short-circuited. There’s been some misfiring in your neurons, mistranslating his actual words, because there’s no way on earth he’s just suggested what you thought you heard.

"I—"

"It’d be one less thing for you to worry about, you know," he interrupts, talking quickly. You’ve never seen him look at you this intently. He seems to realize from your stunned expression, and a shadow of his earlier smile softens his face. "Don’t worry," he says. "I don’t bite unless you want me to."

Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times, your heart pounding so loud you can hear feel it behind your temples. "I don’t know how to respond to this."

"Say yes," Johnny says. "We can just try it out. We don’t have to bring it up again after today, it’ll just be … preparation, you know? Step number one of getting you back in the game."

It doesn’t feel like a game at all, this suggestion.

The craziest part about it, though, is that you are seriously considering it. You stare at him, his pretty blue eyes and his cocky grin, and the earnest expression behind his nonchalant façade. No matter your answer, he wouldn’t judge you.

Besides, it’s not like you’ve never thought about it.

You’ve caught glimpses of Johnny kissing other girls one too many times not to secretly wonder what it would be like. To feel his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you, your hands gliding over the short buzz of his hair.

It’s longer now, maybe even long enough to tangle your fingers in and yank.

"Fine," you say quietly, and watch his smirk falter ever so slightly.

No matter his grand bravado, he clearly didn’t expect you to agree. It’s sweet, the way he scrambles to sit up properly, not even caring that his phone drops to the floor.

"Yeah?"

You swallow, nod. There’s an excited blush spreading on his cheeks that’s kind of endearing but also makes you want to melt into the ground. The way he’s staring at your lips makes you feel aware of every single cell in your body. You can’t remember ever being looked at like this.

"Do you want to …?"

"I don’t know, can you just—"

His hand cups your cheek, warm and steady. He’s always so warm.

"Close your eyes," he says lowly, and they fall shut of their own accord.

You don’t think you’re breathing as you wait, your hands fisted into your blanket as if you’re trying to hold on for dear life. Maybe you are.

For a very long moment, nothing happens, and you’re starting to feel like you’re being ridiculed after all. Like you’re going to open your eyes to Johnny laughing in your—

His lips brush against yours, just a single, careful touch, lingering, testing the waters. You don’t dare to move, or breathe, or do anything but feel. Your mind is racing, even though you cannot catch a single coherent thought.

The sheets rustle, the mattress dipping as Johnny breaks the kiss, adjusting his position. His thumb is still on your cheek, a gentle caress.

"You in there, darlin’?"

"Yeah." Your grip loosens a little.

"Okay." His breath fans over your lips. "You wanna try again?"

You’ve barely started nodding before he dives in again.

This time, you’re a little more ready for it, moving your mouth against his experimentally. He smells nice. You don’t know what to do with your hands.

He pulls away again and your heart tugs painfully, but he only tilts his head the other way and goes back to kissing you, still so soft, so languidly, like he has all the time in the world. He makes no rush of deepening the kiss, which is so like and unlike him at the same time.

It’s you, then, who leans in closer, your tongue slipping into his mouth, your brain going in and out of focus with each shuddering breath as he responds fervently. His fingers move down to your chin, angling it just a little. One of your hands lands on his shoulder, seeking balance.

He tastes sweet. Dangerously addictive.

This time, you’re the one to move back, your eyes flying open, feeling like his fire has set your entire body aflame. "How’d I do?"

Johnny blinks a couple of times, staring at your mouth, his pupils blown wide. You press your lips together.

"Not bad," he says hoarsely. "Maybe a little …"

"What?"

"Come here."

He catches your hands, putting them around his neck. It’s an awkward position, the rest of your body still angled away from his until he raises an eyebrow.

You realize there’s two options before you, and you’re not ready to have him on top of you in your own bed.

Instead, you straddle his thighs, looking over his shoulder to not have to meet his eye. His arms fall around you, settling at your lower back, pleasurable heat crawling up your spine.

"This okay?"

You kiss him again.

He makes a startled noise against your mouth, tightening his hold on you as his head drops back, granting you easier access. Your heart is pounding so wildly in your chest it’s making you dizzy.

It’s the most natural thing in the world, to kiss him like this. To scratch your fingernails against the nape of his neck until he makes that sound again. It vibrates against your tongue, and you melt against him, his body hot and solid against yours. Even when you come apart for air, he’s the only real thing in the world.

There’s nothing innocent about the way your mouths crash together now. He swallows your surprised moan like he’s been hungering for it, his hands bunching up your shirt at your back. You shudder against him when he grazes bare skin, each new touch burning in the most delicious manner. You’re weightless, intertwined, content to never again draw a single breath that hasn’t fallen from his lips first.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting your mouth in a way that borders on desperate. You press even closer to him, your fingers slipping into his hair in that way you’ve wanted to for longer than you’ve cared to admit even to yourself, hips involuntarily stuttering against his until he groans, responding in kind to each push and pull.

Finally, after what well may have been hours, you come apart, your forehead pressed to his, chests heaving. You don’t want to open your eyes; don’t want to return to the aftermath of what you’ve just done.

"Go out with me."

You sit back. Johnny’s arms are still draped around you, and there’s a mesmerized smile on his face as he looks at you. "What?"

"Go out with me. On a date." His voice is rough and strangely hopeful, and it makes your stomach flutter. "I promise no small talk."

"You’re not serious."

"About you?" His gaze drops to your lips again. "Always." His nose bumps against yours. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" You exhale shakily, dropping to a whisper. "That’s soon."

"Hmm."

"Maybe I should practice some more before then."

He smiles against your mouth.

thank you for reading my first full length johnny fic 😌 i'm sure it won't be the last. if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[intrepidacious]

ahahah i'm so glad i got you with that first sentence 😂

he is just the worst and i'm always excited to give him a reader who won't take an iota of his shit 🤭🫶🏼

97 with Ran, if you'd please 😌💕

occupy my brain

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: ransom being his usual self should be warning enough. implied smut. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: 97. passionately making-out against a wall

a/n: i'm not gonna lie, posting this kind of hurts for obvious reasons but i don't want to sit on the prompt forever either because it's simply too good for that. this is the part one of come on down that i was talking about.

Death had always been a passion of yours, but you’d never fantasized about it quite as vividly as you had over the past couple of weeks.

One might have thought it came with the profession, but no.

It felt truly unfair that the texts you were studying told you exactly what poisons were most likely undetectable in the average blood test, how they were to be administered, how long your victim would suffer before his inevitable demise, eyes bulging as he struggled to take another labored breath …

Instead, he let out another annoyed sigh and you rolled your eyes.

You’d been going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole for the better part of the evening and he hadn’t even opened his damn laptop.

When you first got the job as Harlan Thrombey’s research assistant, you’d been ecstatic. You’d applied for it without ever expecting a call back—after all, he was one of the most prolific writers of crime fiction alive while you barely made it into your grad program. Sure, knowledge of forensic science was somewhat of a prerequisite to any self-respecting mystery writer, but still. You were sure there were hundreds of fretting English majors begging for the opportunity, and in the end, it fell to you.

Of course, your excitement was soon to be nipped in the bud when you met the other research assistant, who you would be working closely with over the entirety of the summer: Harlan’s very own grandson, Ransom Drysdale.

In the beginning, you tried. You really tried. But there was nothing to be done.

He was an asshole who seemed to be under the assumption that if he pressed just the right buttons, all the actual work would get done by you and simply fall into his lap at the end of the day; just the way it’d probably been all his life.

And because the first couple of times, you were playing nice and letting him get away with it, you were now stuck in this nightmare of a position. Sat on the couch in his large and strangely empty living room on a Friday night, daydreaming about extremely potent poisons.

Ransom sighed loudly again and your eyes snapped to him. He was still draped across his armchair, feet dangling off the armrest, an extremely bored expression on his stupidly handsome face.

The fact that, despite his horrible attitude, his features still had that effect on you made your blood boil even more.

"You know, if you actually did the work we agreed on, you probably wouldn’t have to sigh every five seconds," you said sharply.

An easy smirk appeared on his lips. "How else am I gonna get your attention?"

"How about by being less of a pain in my ass?"

Ransom’s eyes dipped down for a moment, only to return to yours with an amused glimmer you didn’t care for. His grin widened. "Where’s the fun in that?"

"This isn’t about fun, Ransom. This is my job. You know what that means?" Poisons and choking. "It means that certain things are expected of you."

He didn’t look particularly impressed. "Like what?"

"Like, I don’t know, research? Doing what’s asked of you instead of just being a prick?"

He snorted. "There’s just so many better ways we could spend our time," he drawled, in a tone that you could dissect all too easily.

Unbelievable.

"Keep dreaming," you muttered through clenched teeth, ignoring the way your heart twisted.

He was an asshole. You dealt with enough of those in your labs, and you made a point of not delegating any more brainpower to their presence than was necessary to get through long evenings. It was as easy as that.

Then again, none of the lab guys were quite this infuriating.

Ransom’s gaze had started wandering again, slower this time, more deliberate. You could feel a tingle go down your spine.

"We’ll see," he finally said, his voice very low.

You had to leave.

You slammed your laptop shut with a lot more force than necessary.

"You know what?" You grabbed your bag off the floor resolutely. "It’s late and I still have a lot of stuff to get done before I talk to your grandfather tomorrow, and you’re no help at all, so I’ll just get going."

He shook his head, the self-satisfied grin still not budging; for some reason, that only bugged you more. You were already half-way to the door when you heard him murmur, "Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine."

And that was it.

Your bag dropped to the floor with a resolute thunk as you turned to glare at him. "You know what, Drysdale? I don’t know why I bother with you anymore. I should just tell Harlan that you’re a slacker."

Something flickered in Ransom’s eyes, but it vanished almost as instantly as it came. "He already thinks that anyway," he said dryly, finally getting out of his damn chair to face you. "And you wouldn’t."

"Why wouldn’t I?"

"Because …" he said, taking a measured step closer. "Then you wouldn’t have an excuse to come to my doorstep anymore."

A slightly manic laugh bubbled up in your chest, jumbling your heartbeat on its way up. "Are you kidding me? I would love to never have to see you again."

Ransom tilted his head. "You’re a terrible liar." He took another step.

"What are you doing?"

You wanted to move backwards, away from him, but your feet seemed to be firmly rooted to the ground. He was close enough to touch now, and you balled your hands into fists.

Of course, he noticed. His grin morphed into something almost wicked.

"How long," he said, his voice even lower now, "are you gonna keep pretending there’s nothing between us?"

You couldn’t breathe. Otherwise, you might’ve smelled the cologne on his shirt and any last coherent thought would’ve left your body. You already found it impossible to look away from his eyes.

"There’s no us here," you said.

"Maybe you should leave, then," he answered, sounding despicably level-headed. "You know where the door is."

"I am."

Neither of you moved. The amused spark in his eye felt close enough to ignite something.

"Or," he continued, the distance between you small enough to count the freckles next to his eye, "you could stay. And we’ll see."

"Shut up," you snapped, but there was no conviction behind it. Your head was hammering.

"Or what?" he said smugly. "You’re gonna call me a prick again?"

He was too close.

"I said, shut up!"

"Make me."

It caught you off guard, that’s what it was.

You’re not sure what happened next, only that your shoulders were suddenly crashing against the wall and Ransom’s mouth was on yours, hungry, unforgiving, all-consuming.

And for some reason, instead of pushing him away, your fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer, tugging on the dark strands until he groaned hoarsely against your lips. His hands were large on your waist, on your neck. Slowly, his knee wedged between your thighs, pulling you closer onto him until your hips started moving on their own accord.

He kissed you like he had something to prove, and fuck; maybe he had a point. You weren’t sure. You’d stopped thinking.

Ransom Drysdale was deadlier than any poison; and much more addictive.

thank you for reading 💛 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications—and yes, there will be another part to this. eventually.