#painting hardwood floors ideas

[departmentofinteriors]

[drunkasaurus]

Master - Transitional Bedroom A large transitional master bedroom with a white floor and light wood walls.

[collinssummer]

Mudroom - Traditional Entry Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless dark wood floor and brown floor entryway remodel with white walls and a white front door

[bbokicidal]

Railway | SKZ [B.C.]

In which you decide to give your wonderful, deserving boyfriend a show in the bedroom - to his own solo song.

Genre: Suggestive (MDNI) Pairing: Bangchan x GN!Reader Just a Drabble, nothing too long.

Once a week the two of you delved into more.. exciting activities in the bedroom.

Usually there was at least one night a week of passionate, sweet, heart-melting lovemaking where Chris would let his body drape over yours. His fingers would intertwine with your own and you would become a puddle of adoration on the sheets beneath him, chest swirling with butterflies as if it were the first time the two of you were entangled in the sheets together.

Then there was one night where everything was less romantic and more... sleepy. Nights where Chris came home from the studio after midnight, crawling into bed and peppering kisses along your bare shoulder until either you stirred or turned to face him. He'd whisper soft wants of pleasure - maybe just to relieve his stress - and you, in a tired and mind-clouded haze, would smile and nod at the invite.

And then there were the nights like this. That one night a week, usually Friday evenings so you had all the time in the world as the weekend approached, where one of you would bring up an interest or an idea - maybe something you'd seen online or in a magazine - and try something new together.

Tonight's interest was stripteasing, lap dancing. The likes.

You'd brought it up - set it up, even - as a surprise for Chris the moment he walked in the door.

He'd unlocked the apartment door with a soft smile, just ready to see your face after the busy day he'd had - but he wasn't met with you coming up to him right away as you usually would. No, as the door opened he was met with the dim lighting of your shared space - tea candles lining the floor carefully and trailing down the hallway towards your bedroom. His curiosity is piqued, naturally.

Slowly lifting the all-too-heavy backpack off of his shoulders, Chris lets the bag slump to the floor just underneath where your jackets hung near the door. The bag thunks lightly on the floor with the weight of his laptop - and other studio belongings he needed to work on-the-go if need be.

"Baby?" Chris coos, voice lighter than normal. His head had cocked down towards his right shoulder in an attempt to see around the corner and into the hallway; To no avail, of course. He's met with more candles as he takes a few lingering steps forward into the home before he remembers he had to take off his shoes - and subsequently tumbles out of his sneakers. They're left in his hastening wake, the man's curiosity bubbling in his chest like a pot of water ready to boil over. Just what had you planned?

He hums out in admiration at the way the candles flicker against the deep cherry stained hardwood of the apartment. His eyes slowly lift from the fleeting flames as he hears a soft rustling coming from your shared bedroom. "Baby?" Chris coos once more in an attempt to retrieve a reply. Again, to no avail.

As he turns the corner into the doorway of your bedroom he's met with the sight of you facing the bed, dressed in a thin satin robe he'd gifted you for your one year anniversary almost.. a year ago, now. The bed is littered with rose petals colored a deep, dripping crimson that clashes too beautifully with the cream of your sheets.

"Hi, sweetheart." Your voice lulls on your tongue, the nickname dripping like the sweetest nectar from your lips as you turn to face him. You'd left the front of the robe open, black lace scouring your body and painting your skin in a way he'd deem was the most beautiful thing in the world - the tie hanging down by your sides and brushing over your thighs as you make your way to him. Chris meets you halfway before continuing to carefully step forward, guiding you back towards the bed. If he had it his way he would've laid you down and eaten you out right there, right then; But you'd caught him short and stopped at the edge of the bed, refusing to sit when his hands lightly tighten on your hips.

"All for me?" He questions, curiosity leaking through his tone. He was excited by the image in front of him and you could tell just from the way his voice lilted with a higher pitch than usual. "Baby, you're too good to me."

But you smile, a gentle laugh escaping your lips. Your hands find his arms, gently holding onto the muscle of his bicep as you turn your bodies around - and let him sit on the bed instead. "Of course this is all for you. But it's not just.. lingerie and sex tonight."

Chris' brow cocks. "No?"

"No." You reply, smile quirking at your lips. "I want to give you a little show." Reaching down and carefully bringing your hand back up from the sheets, Chris peeks down to watch as you offer the blindfold to him. He makes no move to take it, blinking down at the fabric slowly before letting his eyes come back to you.

"A... blindfold." He chuckles. "You want to blindfold me...? Isn't the point of me 'receiving a little show' that I get to see what's happening?" His hands fall to his thighs - and as he retracts them from your body you know it's his way of giving in. Telling you to do what you want to him for the time being. He was putty in your hands from this point on.

Your arms gently wind over your shoulders and Chris sits compliant. He waits patiently as you place the fabric over his eyes, only moving once he's sure it's in place and tied tight enough to keep from slipping. He blinks a few times, sighing out.

"I think it would be a bit fun if you just.. felt me first." You murmur - and Chris jolts a bit. He wasn't aware you were so close to him now, whispering right into his ear; Close enough that he could feel your breath fanning over his skin as you moved away, lower down his body. He sat still as he felt your lips slowly ghosting over his throat - down over his Adam's apple before disappearing from his space. And he chokes on a sound that tries to escape; Something so close to a whimper.

Tunnel vision got my eyes on you.

It's only a moment later that a melody rings out that he knows a little too well by this point. You'd connected your phone to his speakers in the room - His song coming out as sultry as ever from atop your dresser.

The perfect ambiance for the show you were about to give him.

And something just gets him knowing you're teasing him to the tune of his own music. A song he wrote, he sang, he produced. A song you wanted to fuck him to.

Chris' breath comes out in a shudder the moment he feels your hands back on him. His own had fallen near his hips, fingers curling tight into your bedsheets and blunt nails digging in as if he were going to rip holes in the fabric. And he just might. "Baby..."

A soft hush comes from where you are in front of him; Hands brushing down over his chest, the black fabric of his t-shirt separating you from being skin-to-skin. It almost makes him want to rip it off but he barely has time to even debate doing such a thing when your hands move lower.

Your lips reconnect with his skin. Kissing - sucking - biting. Spit clings to the warmth of his throat, the junction between his neck and shoulder free space to claim as your own. The muscle twitches under your lips before flexing as he gets use to the sensation - the heat of your tongue lathing over honey-kissed skin.

Baby, I feel our heartbeats

He can't ignore the way your hands brush down his body. Every touch is fleeting as if it will never be promised upon him again - A ghost of your palms raking down his chest, then his stomach. Dancing to his sides and just under the hem of his shirt as a subtle tease that makes his skin tingle and yet burn in your wake.

He feels your fingertips dip into the waistband of his jeans before coming closer to his front, tugging the denim away from his hips so the button slipped free of its restraint. He feels the zipper slowly being pulled down, the ache of his cock throbbing in his boxers already enough to make him a bit embarrassed. It isn't until he feels both of your hands kneading at the softness of his sides that he realizes you had pulled his fly down with your teeth.

Shaking, Trembling

"Fuck --" A sharp gasp darts from his lips. Again, his breathing shakes. His whole body wracks with a shiver, the sensation of your lips ghosting over his cock through his boxers enough to make him practically vibrate.

Chris lets his head lean back, shoulders dropping to slouch just a bit as his body begins to fully relax under your temptation. He lets his thighs part as he feels the gentle push of your palms on the inside of the heavy muscle, giving you room to kneel between them - beneath him. The warmth of your tongue dragging over his boxers to tease the tip of his cock once, then twice, makes a moan practically rip from his throat; Low, gravelly, craving. The words are connected with the slick of sin. "Oh my God, Baby.. ~"

Yeah, this train never sleeps

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

[mystellenia]

riding bound abby's strap

summary: abby has teased you all day, so you decide to get back at her by taking away her most treasured sense: touch.

content: dom abby turned sub abby, strap on sex, like very very brief mommy kink? (it was literally one time), dry humping, bondage (pretty vanilla tho, just hands tied by a belt), kinda strip teasing

notes: this is so yummy omg. i've also had this idea for prob a solid two months but i’m just now writing it 🤗

(wc 1.3k)

abby lived to tease you. whether it was fleeting touches or whispering nasty things in your ear in public, she loved to see how you lost all composure from seemingly innocent actions. 

today, though, it was too much. she decided to wear her strap the entire day while you two were out shopping, constantly standing behind you and pulling your hips into her own so you'd feel her packing. she also refused to kiss you all day, promising she'd make up for it once you two got home. she'd pissed you off and you needed to get back at her somehow.  

with your pent-up frustration, you found yourself straddling abby's lap while she sat at the dinner table, work papers splayed across the stained hardwood. your hips mindlessly ground into the impossible-to-ignore bulge beneath her jeans, moaning while she sucked marks around the pulse of your neck. 

snaking your hands down her torso to unbuckle her pants, butterflies warm your lower stomach at a brewing thought. swinging your leg back over hers, you settle on your knees in between her meaty thighs and pull her belt from her waist and place it on the floor near you. you grab the hem of her shirt and rip it over her head, throwing it to the other side of the room and leaving her in her bra. 

abby leans back in the chair and smiles at you on your knees before her. "getting straight to the point, are we?" she smirks. 

your hands keep moving to undress her, pushing her jeans over her butt and moving her boxers down just enough for her faux clear cock to spring out, your mouth nearly watering at the sight. pressing your lips to the tip, you spit down the length and wrap your hand around it to lube the silicone up. 

you then smirk up at her, half mischief and half seduction as you rise from your knees and trail your hand up her chest. walking around the chair to be behind her, you drop a kiss on the crown of her head, her leather belt hidden in your hand behind your back. 

her head turns back to look at you, and you grab her chin and smash your lips against hers to distract her as you grab her wrists and pull them together, quickly wrapping her belt around them and fastening the buckle, tightly. 

she pulls back from the kiss and flicks her eyes between yours, arousal painted brightly across her features. 

"did you just..." she chuckles in disbelief, her eyes squinting. "did you just tie me up?" 

"someone thought it was funny to tease me all day, touching me in places you know will rile me up. well, you've touched me enough for today, so this'll have to do." you pat her cheek twice, your words dripping in mock sympathy. 

she incredulously shakes her head and smiles, wetting her bottom lip with her tongue. "you know what? you can have your fun," she concludes, sure that she'd be able to wiggle her way out of the restraints before you came so she could properly fuck you the way she wanted to. 

"perfect," you breathe out, kissing her cheek before walking back around to stand in front of her. you make a show out of undressing yourself, taking your sweet time with caressing your curves and soaking in how her pupils dilate at the sight.

after pushing your black leggings over the curve of your ass and pulling them from your ankles, you pull the loose-fitted t-shirt over your head, looking at the simple seal on the breast once you drop it to the floor. 

all that's left is your underwear and your bra. you kick the polka-dot panties down, but decide to leave your bra on. it was simple: black with small, pink hearts covering the cups. abby seemed to like it, too. her eyes were locked on your bra-clad boobs, only moving to switch from one to the other. 

you take the two steps to stand in between her legs, placing your hands on her shoulders to stabilize yourself as you look down at her dick. your eyes catch her pubic hair below the strap, and you think about going down on her with her tied up but she cuts your thoughts off with an impatient groan. 

"come on, baby, you wanted to tie me up so bad. play your little game and ride me already," she orders, her eyes drinking you up.

her words and poorly masked desperation leave a warm feeling swirling in your stomach, so you swing your legs over hers to straddle her and grab the base of her cock to line it up. 

your jaw drops open as you slowly sink down onto her length, long and breathy gasps making your chest rise and fall as you adjust to the thickness. you hear abby mutter "jesus christ" under her breath, and if your head wasn't thrown back, you'd see her strong arms twitching against the belt tying them together.  

her hips jerk up into yours and push the rest of the length into you, making you hiss at the intrusion. "god," you whisper, and lift yourself back up before slamming your body back down. 

"i- fuck!" abby yelps, not used to being unaware of the next move. 

you fall into a steady rhythm, your thighs lifting and dropping you onto her dick. the way you were moving—the sounds you were making—would quickly push abby over the edge, but she was done letting you take control. she needed to touch you, needed to see the way your pussy swallowed her in with every thrust. 

her hands begin to try and undo whatever maneuver you'd done to restrain them, but nothing budged. you notice her abs starting to tighten, a telltale sign that she was getting closer, and begin rocking your hips against hers and rubbing the base of the strap against her clit. 

she starts getting frustrated at how you have full control over her, but deep in a place she'd never admit, it spurs her on more.  

"wait, baby, wait wait. i can't- fuck. i want my hands. i need to touch you. i need my hands now," she pleads, her eyes starting to water at the oncoming orgasm. 

you ignore her and start praising her, knowing it'll make her thighs shake. 

"ohh, fuck," you say, your voice 90% air. "it feels... feels so good. you feel so good. always are so good to me, baby." 

right on cue, her thighs start shaking beneath you, tears falling from her glossy eyes.  

"oh, i can't- i can't, baby. i’m gonna cum," she whines, her groans replaced by needy whimpers. 

"come on, mama, let it out," you groan, giving her permission. "want you to feel good. let it out." 

she lets out a string of rushed thank yous before her stomach muscles completely tighten as she cums, unable to control the loud whines that leave her mouth as she does. you follow closely behind, allowing the sensation of her cock pushing against your cervix to wash over you. 

after what feels like an entire minute, the two of you come down from your highs, a light sheen of sweat highlighting your skin. abby has her head lolled back and is trying to catch her breath, her limbs like jelly after how intensely she came. you suck kisses on her exposed neck while she calms down. 

"holy shit," she gasps. 

"who would've thought abby anderson could get so whiny?" you tease. 

"i just wanted my hands back! god, you're evil." 

"i love you, too," you grin. 

dom turning into a sub because of desperation kink go brrrrrrrrrr

reblog if you think murder is bad and that children shouldn’t die

also ignore how these tags are it's the only way i could make sure all of them work. little tip to writers: after about an hour of trying ive figured out that only 5 tags can be in one line. every five people you tag, you gotta indent and start a new line. couldve saved me a lot of time ☺️

@abbysbug @victoria9687 @abbys-gay @serevena @r0binbuckleyswife

@moonalumi @atyourmerci @grey-jedi12 @andersonsprincess @bookpagecandlescent

@lilsmartiepants @tohoko @sevenneves @prettyinpinkcat @slagmagnet9000

@msmsmsms8 @thyjinji @lesbian-useless @cattjull @itzkimi

@h00d-tr4sh @abby-anderson-wifey @abbyshands @llllbtrz @thyjinji

@idkwhattoputherelol @she-canyon @ellieisheretoo @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @picklesarenice69

[luveline]

hi! i hope you’re doing well! could i please request a little something about hotch coming home from a case to non bau!reader and jack watching star wars, just bonding and being cute. he wants to hug you both so bad cause he missed you and loves you but he doesn’t want to interrupt your moment

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You drop your head back into the cushions to avoid getting whacked in the chin with Jack’s forehead. “Woah,” you say, laughing as a wave of buttery yellow popcorn kernels drop onto the floor. “Good thing we have hardwood.” 

“Why?”

You grab a handful of popcorn to eat from the bowl. “‘Cos all I’ve done today is make a huge mess.” 

Hotch smiles from the doorway. It’s dark in the house, and the music blaring from the television has occluded his arrival. You’ve no idea he’s watching you now, and you don’t act much differently than if his presence was announced. In fact, he’d say that sometimes you’re so focused on not overstepping your place in Jack's life that you restrain yourself. 

Butter and comfort alike has loosened the reins. You cuddle Jack to your side, the two of you laying across the long sofa with a faux rabbit fur throw wrapped around your two bodies, his head nestled under your chin. Your arm is around his tummy, belting him to you while blue light flashes over your faces. Lightsabers paint your eyes, their zinging and humming near painful in his bad ear. 

“Who’s side are we on again?” you tease. It’s subtle, but Hotch knows you’re joking. 

“Oh my gosh,” Jack says, “you forgot again? That one,” —he points at the screen— “that’s Obi Wan Kenobi.” 

“And we’re team Obi Wan?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Of course,” you echo, clearly finding him funny. “But the other one is more handsome, don’t you think?” 

“Am I handsome?” 

“Jack, you are the most handsome.” You stroke his hair back and encourage him to meet your eyes. “You’re so, so handsome, babe, you’re beautiful, and so smart, and so awesome. You’d wipe the floor with Obi Wan Kenobi.” 

Jack manages a reproach through his bashful smile, “I wouldn’t fight him, he’s the good guy. I would fight him.”

“Hmm.” You grab some popcorn from the bowl in front of Jack and eat a few pieces, then offer it to Jack. “I wouldn’t fight him. He’s too pretty.” 

“He’s evil.” 

“He doesn’t look evil.” 

Jack laughs and turns to you completely. “You’re funny. People don’t look evil, they just are sometimes.” 

“I know, baby, I’m just confused because all the good people in my life are beautiful.” You hug him behind his shoulders, looking at him with all the love in the world. “You’re a great example. You’re handsome, so how am I supposed to know you might be evil?” 

“You have to be careful,” Jack says sincerely. 

“Baby, I am. I promise I am.” Your eyes squint closed with your gentle smile, your noses almost touching. “I’m just kidding with you. I love having jokes with you.” 

“I love having jokes with you.” Jack gives you a quick hug, arms tight behind your head and his face nuzzling your collar. “Thanks.” 

“Thanks! Oh, you’re welcome, you don’t have to say thanks!”

“Well…” Jack pulls away, shrugging as you manoeuvre him bodily into a more comfortable position beside you. “I just think you should fight Anakin because he’s not kind, even if you think he’s handsome.” He says handsome with all the intonation of a boy discovering cooties for the first time. 

You shrug, eat another handful of popcorn, and seemingly see the light. “Alright, I’d fight him. I suppose I already have your dad, right? I don’t need any more handsome men in my life. Two is enough.” 

“Yeah,” Hotch says, flicking on the light, “I’d say so.” 

Jack jumps, upending another wave of popcorn onto the floor. You grab the bowl, and Jack has enough wits about him to hop over the spilled kernels rather than crush them as he presents himself to Hotch for hugging. 

“Hi!” Jack says. 

He’s getting longer. It takes Hotch more effort than it ever used to to pick him up and pat his back. “Hi, buddy. Nice jammies, those are new ones. Is Y/N giving you gifts again?” 

“She always gives me gifts.” 

“I’m buying your love,” you say, shielding your eyes from the glare of the big light. 

“I love it,” Jack says. 

Hotch puts him back down on the ground with a kiss. “You should. Did you have a good day? Sorry I was working, I missed our Saturday.” 

“Dad, it’s okay, you always work. We went to the store and we got candy, and now we’re watching Star Wars and you’re back, so it’s okay.” Jack beams and puts his hands behind his back. “Will you watch it too?” 

“Sure, buddy, I just have to wash up. Did you have dinner?” 

“Y/N made me lasagna from scratch, even the pasta,” Jack says. 

He sounds deeply, sincerely loved. His pride at having you put time and care into the meal is evident, and Hotch knows that he and Jack are incredibly lucky to have you and to have Jack be able to experience it. Something as nondescript as dinner can make all the difference. 

You sit on the couch still, a touch bashful. “It didn’t take long.” 

“Was it delicious?” Hotch asks Jack. 

Jack nods hard enough to hurt his neck, head bobbing up and down. “The best!” 

“Well, she deserves a good thank you, huh? For taking such good care of you today?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What should we do for her, in return? Did you have dessert?” 

“No,” Jack whispers back. 

Alright, then that’s what they’ll do. You treat Jack like he’s a found treasure, and you love Hotch as easily as breathing. Hotch takes Jack’s smaller hand in his and gives you a look that promises the world’s most squeezing hug after they’ve procured dessert. “Can you pause the movie, honey?” he asks you. “We’ll be right back.” 

You shake your head at him, but your smile isn’t easy to hide. “Your dinner’s under the grill,” you say. 

He adores you more, somehow. “Thank you.” 

[dollfacefantasy]

LOCK ME DOWN TONIGHT ♡

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

summary: seeing how you handle babysitting his nephew gives your boyfriend some ideas about what he wants in the future with you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, breeding kink, tummy bulge, biting, au obviously lol

a/n: i hope you guys like this one. it's my first time writing for sukuna so i'm still learning. he's kinda ooc here but i scrapped my other draft last minute and i thought this was a cute idea so whatever. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 18 - breeding kink

You make sure to be as quiet as you possibly can while shutting the door to Yuji's bedroom. After an hour of going back and forth and the small boy pleading to stay up with you and your boyfriend downstairs, you'd finally managed to get him to fall asleep.

Padding down the carpeted hallway, you turn the corner and hit the light switch off before descending the stairs. Your socks slide against the hardwood floors of the landing as you hop down the last few steps and then cross the entryway into the living room where your boyfriend waits for you on the couch.

He's leaned back into the corner of the puffy cushions, relaxed as ever in a pair of sweats and a tank top on his upper half. Both of his exposed arms drape over the backing. Upon seeing you, he flashes a lazy grin and runs his fingers through the unkempt hair atop his head.

"You finally get the little brat to go down?" he asks.

You nod and make your way over to him. "No thanks to you," you say as you sit down beside him.

He smirks and lowers one of his muscular arms to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side.

"You're just such a natural with him. I didn't think you'd need my help," he says, a hint of teasing lacing every word.

Shooting him a playful glare, you scoff and scoot into his lap. "You still could've tried. He's your nephew."

"He calls you his aunt though," he teases. He leans in to nip at your cheek and nose your temple.

The words bring a slight rush of warmth to your cheeks. They're true. The little boy you just put to bed acknowledges you as part of the family just as much as he does his actual uncle. In fact, you were the one to push Sukuna into accepting the offer to babysit tonight. He hadn't wanted to, preferring to spend the evening alone with you all to himself. But integrating yourself into his life mattered to you, so he only protested a little before agreeing.

He notes your reaction to his prior statement, and his smug look reaches his eyes. "Oh come on, don't tell me that has you all flustered," he taunts, "You're too easy."

"Shut up. You said it like that on purpose," you say and pinch his arm.

Grinning at the gesture, he maneuvers the two of you around so that you're on your back and he's above. The tv casts a faint glow over the both of you, the flashing pictures painting the scenery with pale blues and washed-out pinks.

"How'd I say it, babe?" he asks.

"Like you do when you're trying to get me all worked up and stuff," you answer, tracing the tip of your index finger over the tattoos spanning from his shoulder to his arm. Your eyes flit between his piercing eyes and soft lips.

"Is that what you think I'm trying to do?" he says. But before you even get your answer out, he ducks down to pepper kisses along the column of your throat.

Your eyes flutter, a natural response to the feathery touches upon your skin. He always started out like this, tender and gentle, before devolving into his true nature. One of your arms wraps around him, your fingers trailing up the ribbed fabric of his top. The other pushes on his shoulder in a light rebuff.

"Yeah, but we can't," you protest.

"And why not?" he breathes. The puff of air fans over your flesh, chilling the parts wet with his saliva.

"Because 'kuna..." you start, trailing off a bit as he lays more kisses along your carotid artery, "We're supposed to be babysitting. He could come downstairs..."

"He won't," he interjects, "You saw how tired he was. He's out for the night. Plus he's clumsy, I'd hear him coming even if he did get up."

You sigh and bring your hand up to lace through his messy pink locks. He's pretty good at convincing you.

"Why are you so riled up anyways?" you ask in an attempt to give yourself a distraction.

He chuckles against your skin, nipping a mark onto your neck before speaking. "Is it really a mystery?" he asks.

"Yeah. What were you doing while I was upstairs?" you ask playfully.

"It's not that," he says, smirking at your cluelessness. He rolls his hips against one of your thighs and lets you feel the semi hard bulge beneath the cotton of his pants. "It's been all night. Seeing you taking care of Yuji like that, it has me thinking about what it would be like to see you carrying a baby of our own."

Your eyes snap open and look at the ceiling with sudden, wide clarity. You hadn't been expecting that at all. Your mind had been more in the realm of short-term, simpler things. Like scrolling past some porn on his phone or catching sight of a sex scene on the tv. Not the prospect of getting you knocked up.

It's not even that you're opposed to the idea. You just didn't think he would feel this way about it.

He senses your startled reaction and grinds his stiffening length against you again. "You're just so good with him. Can't help it," he mumbles.

"I- um... thanks?" you say timidly, voice still soft and shaky from the affection he's lavishing on your neck.

"Don't be so shy about it. Don't act like you haven't thought about it too," he murmurs.

The plush inner skin of your thighs presses into his sides. That was also true. You had thought of it before. After years of being together, the occasional image of him cradling a sleeping baby or boosting a small child onto his shoulders crossed your mind. You'd just kept them to yourself knowing your boyfriend wasn't exactly the lovey-dovey, wistful daydreams type.

"Yeah... I've thought about it before," you confirm.

"Mhm. That's right," he says. His hips have settled into a continuous rhythm. He rocks them between your legs. You feel the dull bloom of pleasure beginning at your center. "You'd look fuckin' gorgeous full of my baby," he whispers.

Your legs squeeze him tighter as if to draw his body in closer. Your breaths that had already been shallow come out more shuddery. It was silly almost, how hot the simple fantasies of domestic bliss could get you. The image of his large hands splayed across your swollen belly. The thought of his lips kissing over your bump, teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh as they do to every other part of your body. The praises he'd rain upon your figure that expanded to accommodate his spawn.

"Yeah, I know you like that," he murmurs, "So c'mon. Let me try to put a baby in you."

"Tonight?" you squeak. 

His hands slide up your sides as he nods. One of his large palms rises to paw at your breast. He gropes the mound, further stirring the arousal brewing within you.

"Yeah tonight," he says, "You feel how hard I am for you, how bad I want it. I don't think we'd have much trouble."

Involuntarily, you whimper. As much as you planned to resist, giving into temptation seemed like the only option now. It's impossible to resist him when he surrounds you like this, when he engulfs your perception so completely. You pull him closer on top of you in silent agreement. He knows your signs though, so it's all he needs.

His kisses grow rough on your neck, more set on leaving marks behind. The hand on your breast continues to toy with it while occasionally the fingers glide up to play with your nipple. It had pebbled up under your t-shirt, eager for his touch.

"You're gonna love it. Being so dependent, needing me all the time," he rasps, "And with a body like this, you were made for it."

His hands roam over your curves. They fondle and squish, intent on feeling every soft inch of you. Your clit pulses for him in anticipation of what's coming.

"And I'll be just as crazy for it, watching your body bend to my will, shaping up to carry our child," he whispers.

Another round of chills erupts across your skin. Both of you breathe heavier. You whine as his mouth migrates onto your collar bone, skimming the neckline of your top. Your chest heaves for him. Every part of you craves his attention.

Between your legs, your folds slicken with arousal, preparing for the inevitable. The throbbing from your delicate bundle of nerves only grows more intense, and you wish his fingers were down there providing you with some relief instead of lingering on your chest. Trying to get some friction on your own, you lift your hips to reciprocate him rubbing up against you, but he thwarts the efforts by pushing you back down and keeping you in place. He wants you where he wants you, you don't get to move and decide otherwise.

"Patience, doll," he tells you, "No need to rush."

Despite his words of delay however, his next move is to adjust your clothes into positions that leave you accessible to each other. He shoves his sweats down to mid thigh, allowing his heavy cock to spring free. The ache for you is practically visible to your eyes. It stands stiff with little beads of precum oozing from the tip. His fingers hook over the waistband of your bottoms and do the same to them, lowering them enough that he can get to the sweet spot between your legs.

He also tugs your shirt down, letting your tits spill over the neckline into his view. Ducking down, he latches onto a nipple while stroking himself. You hear the throaty groans echoing within him. Thoughts of your chest swelling up in the future dance through his head as you reach around to gently run your nails over the nape of his neck.

The schlick schlick schlick of his hand fisting his cock is audible from between the two of you. He bucks into his hand a few times before lining up and teasing your entrance with the tip.

"'kuna..." you whimper, lips forming into a pout. 

Part of it was impatience, part of it was nerves. Either way, he glances at you, lips curled into that sinister smile.

"Don't whine, brat. You know it never gets you what you want," he chides.

The words don't ring true though because seconds after saying them, he pushes the rest of his girthy shaft into your tight little hole. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sounds pouring out of you. Your eyes roll back as a harsh breath leaves his lungs.

"That's it. No more complaining," he mutters.

He sinks all the way in, taking a moment to feel the tight warmth of you around him before pulling back and starting to pump in and out. Your hand stays clamped over your face as he grins down at you. No matter how many times the two of you fuck, he'll never grow tired of seeing your face when he first slips it in.

You gush around his cock as he thrusts. His movements are measured and small, but they still strike hard and raw. The heated skin of your ass bounces against his thighs every time he slams forward. Each motion pushes you harder against the couch.

Soft mewls leak out against your palm. It all feels so good. His body caging yours down. The swollen head of his cock nudging all the sweet spongy spots inside of you. Even the sight of him above you stokes the flames of lust burning in you. His muscles flex as he holds himself up and slides into you over and over.

"Squeezing me so much, doll. You want this bad, huh? Wanna make me a daddy?" he taunts.

You bite your lip under your hand and nod eagerly. Another needy moan seeps from you as his hand comes down and presses on your belly. The sensation makes your hips squirm. You tighten up more around him.

"So good for me, takin' it like this," he grunts, "Doing what you're meant to."

Your eyes flutter as you respond with another weak nod. Looking down, you catch the faint bulge that appears with every jolt of his pelvis. The sight is enough to spur you closer to the edge. You reach up for his shoulders, pulling a bit to get him closer.

He obliges your gesture and lowers himself on top of you, your bodies flush against each other now as he grinds himself deep inside of you.

"You're gonna look so fucking good, all rounded out for me. I'm gonna want you knocked up until you can't give me any more," he murmurs.

You feel his lashes flutter against your neck before his teeth sink into your neck. The bite isn't hard enough to draw blood or really hurt, just gives you a nice little sting. A small shock of pain to mix in with the pleasure.

"Fill me up, 'kuna. Wanna feel it take," you whisper, your voice breathy and broken up by whimpers.

"Oh it's gonna take," he grumbles.

He keeps rutting into you on the couch until he feels himself reaching that high. Like he usually does with you, he keeps his face against your neck when he cums. His groan vibrates against your sweaty skin while cum spurts into you from his tip. He moves in erratic beats, losing his sense of rhythm.

Your legs lock around his waist, and you keep him pressed close as can be as you reach your own peak. Rocking your hips upward, you meet his handful of final thrusts. You manage to stay quiet through it before finally sliding your hand off of your face. A full breath fills your lungs.

As you come down, you melt into the couch cushions below. He stays on top of you, catching his breath. His body rests there, boneless and limp. He doesn't pull out, just stays there for a few moments.

When he finally does detach himself, he lazily lifts himself up and slides back. He fixes his clothes and yours, looking down at you a bit softer than before. A softness he would never verbalize, of course.

Instead of talking, he flops over and squeezes in beside you on the couch, slotting himself between your side and the backing. He wraps an arm around your waist. His eyes casually land on the tv.

"Try not to move too much. We want it to take," he mumbles and nestles his face against your neck again.

[halcaeyon]

Great Room Dining Room in New York

[scarlettecosplay]

Farmhouse Home Bar

[recycleanimals]

Enclosed - Traditional Dining Room

[departmentofinteriors]

[girlrotterr]

୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀leave without a trace⠀｡ ⠀꒱

artist!ellie x fashion designer!reader Summary: You attend an art exhibition where you unexpectedly lock eyes with your ex-girlfriend, Ellie Williams, whom you haven't seen in years. a/n: omg?! not me becoming consistent?! heavily inspired by "no one noticed" by the marias!!

The gallery is a cathedral of silence, punctuated only by the soft clicking of heels against the polished hardwood floor and the low murmur of voices echoing from every corner. The walls are a crisp, sterile white, meant to let the art breathe. But tonight, they seem oppressive, closing in on you as the weight of old memories seep through the cracks of time. You’re standing in the midst of it all, surrounded by strangers who admire Ellie’s work like they’re deciphering some abstract language.

But to you, it’s not abstract. It’s painfully familiar.

Your eyes drift over the crowd, catching fragments of conversation—chatter about technique, boldness, meaning—but they wash over you like background noise. Your mind is elsewhere, pinned in the past.

College felt like a lifetime ago.

It was chaotic, with you balancing late nights in the sewing lab, surrounded by mannequins and fabric swatches, while Ellie lived in the art studio, her hands constantly covered in charcoal, paint, or ink. There had been nights when you’d find her sprawled on the floor, sketching out her wildest ideas with frenzied energy, and you’d sit beside her, watching her create worlds you could only dream of.

Back then, you both were consumed by your passions and each other. She’d stay up late to help you finish a garment, sewing alongside you even though she hated it, just so she could be near. And you? You’d sit in on her critiques, quietly fuming when anyone dared to criticize her work, even though she could take it, even though she loved the fight. The memory of her smirk when she’d dismantle an argument from one of her professors—god, it still lingers.

But the fire that had burned so bright between you had also scorched everything in its path. 

You remember the late-night arguments, when both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too young to realize that passion wasn’t enough to hold everything together. The breakup wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no tears. Just a slow unraveling, a quiet drifting apart until one day, it was done. She moved on. You moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The years that followed had been a blur of fashion internships and city lights. You threw yourself into your work, traveling between studios, pouring every ounce of yourself into fabric, stitching your broken pieces into new designs. You hadn’t heard from her since. Not directly, anyway. You’d seen her name float around in the art world, her work gaining traction, and each time, you’d feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Pride? Regret? A mixture of both.

And now, here you are, in her world once again.

Your gaze is drawn to the painting in front of you—a massive, turbulent landscape of violent brushstrokes and bold colors. The reds are fierce, like anger seething just beneath the surface, and the blues are deep, almost suffocating. It’s raw. Emotional. It feels like her. It feels like you. The two of you, tangled in something you couldn’t quite control. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the delicate lines etched into the paint—small, subtle marks hidden beneath the chaos. You know those marks. She used to make them with the tip of her palette knife, carving out tiny details that most people wouldn’t notice unless they really looked.

You’re staring so intently at the painting that you almost miss the moment she walks into view.

Ellie.

The air shifts the second she enters your line of sight, like the whole room inhales in unison. Your heart stumbles over itself, beating out of rhythm, as if trying to catch up with the sudden rush of emotions flooding through you. You haven’t seen her in years, but it’s as though no time has passed at all.

She’s changed, but not in ways that feel unfamiliar. Her hair is still short, though it’s more trimed now, less uneven than you remember. She’s wearing that same damn brown jacket, the one she always wore like a second skin, only now it’s more worn, the creases deeper, the edges frayed. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tattoo that winds around her forearm— you remember tracing with your fingers in quiet moments. There’s a confidence to her now, a steadiness that wasn’t there before, like she’s found some kind of peace, even if it’s only partial.

But then there’s her eyes. Still that piercing green, sharp enough to cut through glass, or in this case, through the crowd. You watch as she shifts her weight, one foot tapping lightly on the floor, her posture betraying a flicker of unease as she nods absentmindedly to whoever she’s speaking to. Her hands are deep in her pockets, her thumb worrying the edge of the denim, a sign that she’s restless. She used to do that when she didn’t want to be somewhere—when she was lost in thought, in another world entirely. 

You know her. You know her so well that it aches.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible string, her gaze lifts, scans the room, and lands on you.

It’s electric. The second your eyes meet, it’s like the ground shifts beneath you. Time folds in on itself, collapsing the years between you into this one fragile moment. You can see the shock in her expression, the way her brows twitch upward, just barely, before her features settle into something more controlled. But there’s no hiding the way her shoulders stiffen, or the slight parting of her lips like she’s forgotten how to breathe for just a second. 

You’re both standing still, two statues carved in the midst of a gallery filled with movement, but you may as well be the only people in the room. Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something there—something that mirrors the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Recognition. Pain. Something unfinished.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the way your fingers tremble as you drop your gaze for just a second. When you look back up, she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that you know too well. But underneath it—god, you know there’s so much more. Years of silence. Years of things unsaid.

She doesn't move. And neither do you. 

You both just... stand there, holding onto the fragile tension between you like a thread waiting to snap. The air is heavy with what could be—what might’ve been—what still lingers between you like smoke from a fire that never quite burned out.

It’s your sophomore year, late spring. You remember because the air had that soft, electric warmth that made everything feel alive. You were both sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, surrounded by the sound of splashing water, the soft hum of people passing by, and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Your fashion projects had been spread out between you—loose sketches and fabric samples fluttering in the light breeze—while Ellie’s hands were smeared with charcoal from a half-finished drawing she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t get how you do this,” she had muttered, frowning at one of your illustrations. She held it up to the light, squinting as if that would make the delicate lines make more sense. You had laughed, the sound coming out lighter than you’d intended, mostly because of how seriously she was studying your work. Like it was a puzzle she had to solve.

“It’s just fabric,” you’d teased, leaning closer to her to catch a glimpse of her concentrated expression. “You make art out of nothing but feelings—this should be easy for you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Art out of feelings, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

You watched her for a second longer, your gaze tracing the familiar curve of her jawline, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her hair stuck up no matter how much she tried to tame it. There was a smudge of charcoal on her nose that she hadn’t noticed yet. You found yourself leaning in, almost without thinking, using your thumb to wipe it away. The moment your skin touched hers, her body went still—like you’d pressed pause on her every movement.

Her green eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time since you’d met, there was a shift. Something unspoken passed between you, heavy and undeniable, hanging in the air between your breaths. You were close—closer than you usually were. And you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, mixing with the spring warmth, making the space around you feel almost too small.

Ellie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to your hand still lingering on her face. “You, uh… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

The words came out before you could stop them. And then the silence stretched out, pulling taut as the world around you blurred and fell away. The distant laughter of students, the splashing water of the fountain—it all melted into the background until the only thing you could focus on was the way Ellie was looking at you.

It wasn’t a stare. It was deeper. Like she was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

You didn’t move. Neither of you did. Time slowed, and in that moment, every boundary you’d carefully drawn between friendship and something more started to dissolve. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your chest tight with anticipation, with something you hadn’t let yourself name before now.

Ellie’s breath hitched, so soft you barely noticed. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual.

“Why not?” Your voice trembled, betraying you.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and there it was—the thing you’d both been avoiding for months. The truth that had been simmering beneath every shared glance, every brush of hands, every late-night conversation when the rest of the world was asleep and it was just you and her, tangled up in each other’s lives without even realizing how deep it went.

“Because…” she hesitated, biting her lip as if searching for the right words. Her gaze softened, like she was caught in a struggle between fear and wanting. “Because I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

The air left your lungs in a rush, and before you could second-guess yourself, before the doubts and the what-ifs could pull you back, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first. Her lips brushed against yours, the faintest touch, as if she wasn’t sure you were real. But then—god—then she kissed you harder, her hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in as though you were the answer to every question she hadn’t known how to ask. Her mouth tasted like spearmint gum and the faintest hint of cigarettes, warm and familiar. You melted into her, your hands gripping the edge of the fountain to keep yourself steady as everything around you spun.

In that kiss, there was no hesitation, no distance. Just the two of you, colliding in a moment that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. Her hands slid up your back, anchoring you to her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because you were kissing Ellie, and the rest of the world could’ve disappeared, and you wouldn’t have cared.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you kept your forehead pressed against hers. The world had snapped back into focus around you—the chatter of campus life, the rustle of the wind in the trees—but it felt distant, muted, like it wasn’t quite real. Not compared to this.

Ellie’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you like you were the only thing she could see. Her breath was still shaky, her lips swollen and flushed. She swallowed, hard, and whispered, “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

But you silenced her with a gentle smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Because you both knew what it meant. You both knew that nothing would be the same after this, and you were okay with it. Maybe you were scared. Maybe she was too. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of the afternoon sun and the lingering taste of her on your lips, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was her.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present. It’s bright and full of life, cutting through the thick haze of tension like a ray of sunlight. You turn just in time to see Dina pushing her way through the crowd, a grin spreading across her face as she practically bounces in your direction.

She’s the same as ever—sharp, effortlessly cool, with a wild energy that always made you feel like you were part of something big just by being near her. Her dark hair, tied up in a messy bun, hasn’t changed a bit, though there’s a new edge to her style—bold patterns clashing in a way only she could pull off.

Before you can even get a word out, she’s enveloping you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard that you let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little. She smells like lavender and cedarwood, familiar and grounding, and for a brief moment, the knot of emotions tangled in your stomach loosens.

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!” Dina practically yells, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! How the hell are you? You look amazing!”

You’re caught off guard by her energy, her enthusiasm wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You smile, shaking your head as you try to gather your thoughts. “I—yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wasn’t sure I’d even make it, but, you know”

Dina snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, tell me about it. But seriously, I’m so glad you’re here! You—” she gestures at you with both hands, eyes wide as if she’s sizing you up, “—still killing it with the whole fashion thing, right? I saw your last collection! so damn chic! The textures, the layering—ugh, I wanted to steal every piece.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “Thanks, Dina. I’m still trying to figure out what’s next, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Girl, I loved it.” Dina leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, between you and Ellie, the two of you were always the most talented people on campus. It’s wild seeing both of you making it big.”

The mention of Ellie’s name sends a ripple of tension down your spine, and suddenly, the room feels a little too warm again. You glance over Dina’s shoulder, and sure enough, Ellie is still standing there, watching the two of you. 

Dina follows your gaze, and when she spots Ellie, her face lights up even more. “Oh, shit, you haven’t seen her yet, have you?” Dina’s voice drops to a mischievous whisper, her grin widening. “This is gonna be good.”

Before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say or how to brace yourself, Dina’s already calling out, “Ellie! Hey! Get over here!”

Your heart skips a beat, your pulse quickening as Ellie’s eyes flicker to Dina. For a second, she looks like she might hesitate, like the distance between the two of you is a bridge she’s not sure she wants to cross. But then, with a slow exhale, she starts moving, weaving through the crowd with that effortless stride of hers—confident, but never cocky. 

And just like that, she’s standing in front of you.

Up close, the years between you seem even sharper. You can see the slight changes in her face— the way her lips quirk at one corner like she’s fighting a smile but doesn’t want to give in. Her green eyes, though, are as piercing as ever, and when they lock onto yours, you feel that same jolt of electricity you did back in college, the same spark that never really went out.

For a moment, no one says anything. The air is silent with unspoken words, with the history that hangs between you like a thread waiting to snap.

Ellie’s lips part, and she starts with something simple. “Hey.”

Dina, completely oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together with a grin. “Okay, this is weird for me. Two of my favorite people, standing here after all these years—this is like, full circle, right?”

You manage a small smile, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Full circle.”

Ellie shifts her weight, glancing at Dina with a wry smile before her gaze slides back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s trying to keep things light.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t expect to be here either.”

But the words feel thin, hollow. Because standing this close to her, with the buzz of the gallery around you and the memories swirling like ghosts in the air, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.

This isn’t just a chance encounter. This is something you’ve both been avoiding for too long.

Dina shifts her weight, a perceptive glint in her eye as she surveys the two of you, the tension thick enough to slice through. She opens her mouth as if to say something—maybe to break the silence, to diffuse the moment—but then she pauses, that playful grin still dancing on her lips.

“Okay, you know what?” she says, clapping her hands together once more. “I just remembered I promised Jesse I’d check on him. He’s probably stuck at the snack table, drowning in mini quiches. So, I’ll be right back!” 

Before you can even respond, she’s off, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers, leaving you and Ellie standing there, caught in a moment that feels suspended in time. The sounds of the gallery fade into the background—the murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of glasses—until it’s just the two of you.

The silence stretches. 

Ellie shifts her weight again, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. You can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed, but the words seem to stick in her throat. 

“So, how’s the show been for you?” you finally ask, trying to fill the space, to ease the tightness that’s creeping in. Your voice sounds a bit steadier than you feel.

Ellie’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small, genuine smile. “It’s… good. Better than I expected, honestly.” She glances around, taking in the vibrant colors of her artwork, the way the lights catch the brushstrokes, illuminating the stories behind each piece. “It’s kind of surreal to see it all up here.”

You nod, watching her as she talks. There’s a light in her eyes that flickers with passion. 

“Your work is incredible, Ellie.”

She meets your gaze again, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—gratitude with a hint of vulnerability.

 “Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I’ve been trying to push myself more lately.”

Your heart swells with her words, and the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a comforting embrace. But then, as if sensing the shift in the air, the gallery begins to swell with new energy. The crowd thickens, laughter and chatter rising, and the once-intimate space starts to feel almost claustrophobic.

Ellie’s expression changes slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “I should probably go check in with some of the other guests,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, though a part of you aches at the thought of her leaving, of this moment slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

But before you can say anything else, she steps back, creating a small distance between you. “It was really good to see you,” she says, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the gallery.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “You too, Ellie..”

It was winter. Cold, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. You and Ellie were huddled in her tiny apartment just off campus, the one she’d insisted had “charm” but was really just a glorified box with bad heating. The windows fogged with condensation, and outside, snowflakes drifted lazily down onto the already blanketed streets. Inside, the space was warm and dim, lit by a single lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of a candle Ellie had lit for atmosphere.

But there was no warmth between you that night.

Ellie was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, her hands running through her hair, tugging at it the way she always did when she was frustrated, on the verge of losing control. Her movements were restless, sharp, filled with an energy that seemed like it would combust if she didn’t do something, say something. She wasn’t looking at you—she hadn’t been able to for the past hour. And you, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, could feel the distance between you growing with every step she took.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she muttered, almost to herself, her voice strained, barely holding together. She stopped pacing for a second, pressing her palms to her forehead, her elbows resting on the back of a chair. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every day, it’s like… like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, and I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t breathe.”

Her words hit you like cold water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You’d been feeling it too, the unraveling, the way everything between you had started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t sudden. It had been slow, creeping in like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. Long nights turned into silent mornings. Conversations that used to be easy, light, now felt like stepping through a minefield. Every fight, every misunderstanding, left scars you hadn’t been able to heal.

But hearing her say it out loud… that made it real.

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, like you were afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. “We can fix this. We just need to talk. We always work through things, right?”

She shook her head, her back still turned to you. You could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to hold it all together. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more broken. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve been working through things too much, you know? Like, we keep trying to fix it, but it’s not working.”

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening. The coldness of the room started to creep in, the warmth from the candle and the blankets no longer enough to fight it off. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky, and took a tentative step toward her. “Ellie, please—”

She spun around, and the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks. They were red, bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in days. And there was something else there—something raw, something you hadn’t seen before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “But that’s all I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Every time we fight, every time I say the wrong thing or don’t say enough… it’s like I’m breaking you apart, piece by piece, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the one who keeps doing this to you.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You’re not—” you started, but she cut you off, shaking her head again.

“Yes, I am!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she wasn’t pacing anymore. She was standing still, facing you, her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You deserve better than this. Better than… than me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the candle flickering in the corner, the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. You could feel the weight of what she was saying sinking into your skin, settling deep in your bones. She was pulling away, tearing out a piece of herself, a piece of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice trembling. You reached for her hand, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but she flinched, stepping back just out of reach. “Please, Ellie. We can fix this. We can figure it out, we always do.”

But she was already shaking her head again, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I can’t… I can’t keep dragging you down with me. You deserve to be happy, and I don’t think I can give that to you anymore.”

Your heart broke then. It shattered, piece by piece, with every word she spoke. You wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that you could make it work, that love was enough. But deep down, you knew. You’d both been unraveling for months, slipping through each other’s fingers like sand. And no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

Ellie took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely audible. “I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you anymore. And I can’t… I can’t keep pretending like I am.”

You stood there, frozen, as the words echoed in the small space between you. There was nothing left to say. Nothing that could change what was already happening. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too heavy to protest.

She watched you for a moment longer, her eyes softening, filled with something that looked like regret, maybe even guilt. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving you standing there, the candle flickering weakly in the corner.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin. The room was suddenly too quiet, too cold, too empty.

And you were alone.

The night air cools your skin, but the warmth of the gallery lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. You take a few steps down the street, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake off the flood of emotions Ellie’s presence stirred up. But as you reach the edge of the block, something pulls you back—an invisible tether, tightening around your heart. You stop, glancing back toward the gallery, the soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, the hum of conversations still echoing in the air.

You’re not ready to leave. Not yet.

With a deep breath, you turn and step back inside, the warmth of the space enveloping you once more. The crowd has shifted, people moving around the artwork like currents in a river, but you’re not drawn to any of them. Instead, you find yourself wandering, letting your feet carry you through the gallery without any clear direction.

The pieces on the walls are beautiful—Ellie’s unmistakable style shines through in every brushstroke, every burst of color. But there’s something else here, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You continue walking, the noise around you dulling to a low murmur as you lose yourself in the art.

And then, you see it.

Tucked away in a corner of the gallery, slightly off the main flow of the exhibition, is a painting that stops you in your tracks. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the crowd, the noise, even the memory of Ellie standing just a few feet from you moments ago.

The painting is large, dominating the wall with its raw, unfiltered intimacy. The colors are rich, deep tones of reds and golds and shadows that dance across the canvas like firelight. And in the center, almost hidden in the interplay of light and dark, are two figures—tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that leaves no room for doubt. The lines are soft, delicate, but there’s a fierceness to the way the brushstrokes capture the curve of a back, the arch of a neck, the way two sets of hands grip each other as if holding on for dear life.

It’s you and Ellie.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step closer, your pulse quickening with every detail that comes into focus. The figures are not exact replicas, not perfect portraits, but there’s no mistaking it—the shape of your body, the curve of Ellie’s form. The familiarity in the way your hands touch, the way your legs are tangled together, skin on skin, lost in the moment of sex.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as the memories flood back. The night in question comes rushing to the surface—one of those endless nights in college, when the world outside had ceased to matter, and all that existed was the space between you and Ellie. The way her breath had felt against your skin, the soft murmur of her voice in your ear, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos.

It’s all there, captured in the brushstrokes. The vulnerability, the connection, the way you’d both been completely unguarded with each other in a way that had felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The memory is so visceral, it’s like being pulled back in time, your body remembering the touch of her hands, the feel of her lips against yours.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing every detail of the painting. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache, but it’s also unmistakably private. This moment was yours—yours and Ellie’s—and seeing it laid bare here, for everyone to see, feels almost too intimate, like a secret exposed.

Your breath hitches as your mind races. Did Ellie mean for this to be here? Was it a message? Or just a piece of her past she needed to exorcise, to let out into the world in the only way she knew how?

You take another step closer, your eyes fixated on the way the light plays off the figures—your figure—highlighting the delicate curve of your waist, the way Ellie’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. It’s so raw, so unapologetic, and the emotions it stirs up are almost too much to bear.

You stand there, your heart hammering in your chest, you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you. You know, without turning around, who it is. Ellie’s presence fills the space before she even speaks, the air between you charged with an intensity that has been building all night.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel her eyes on the painting, then on you, her silence heavy with meaning. She’s watching your reaction, waiting—maybe even bracing—for what you’ll say, for how you’ll respond. You want to say something, anything, but the words seem lodged in your throat.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a vulnerability to it that makes your chest tighten. “It’s… from a long time ago,” she says, the words almost a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would see it and know..”

You swallow hard, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting. “It’s us,” you say, the words barely audible, but Ellie hears them. You can feel her nod behind you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, the weight of the past pressing down on you both. And then Ellie speaks again, her voice lower now, more grounded. “I didn’t know how else to… capture it. It was the only way I could make sense of everything.”

You finally turn to look at her, and the sight of her standing there, just inches away, sends a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you. Her face is softer now, the hard edges you saw earlier had smoothed away. Just her, standing there, vulnerable and exposed in a way that mirrors the painting on the wall.

For the first time all night, the space between you feels real. Heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid for years.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are still out of reach. Instead, all you can do is look at her, your chest tight with the weight of everything this painting has stirred up. There’s a part of you that wants to step closer, to reach out and touch her like you used to, to see if the connection that once burned so brightly between you still lingers in the spaces where your skin meets hers.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest, the memory of that night—of her —playing over and over in your mind like a song you thought you’d forgotten.

Somehow, you ended up here—Ellie’s apartment. You’re not sure how it happened. Maybe it was the tension in the gallery, the weight of the memories between you, or maybe it was Ellie’s quiet, almost tentative offer: “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Now, the door closes softly behind you, and you find yourself standing in the small entryway of her apartment, the familiar scent of her space—wood, paint, and that faint earthy musk of hers—hitting you all at once. It’s like stepping back into a life you’d long since tried to leave behind, except everything feels slightly off now, like a song that’s being played just a little too slow.

The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick, as Ellie moves past you into the living room. Her apartment is small, but cozy. Messy in the way an artist’s space always is, with scattered paintbrushes, canvases propped up against the walls, and sketchbooks overflowing with half-finished ideas. It’s not much different from the space she had in college, except this time, the mess feels more intentional—like it’s been lived in, not just occupied.

You hover near the door, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of where to put yourself. The air between you is charged, but not in the electric way it had been back in the gallery.

Ellie clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck as she moves around the space, avoiding your gaze. 

“Uh, you can sit if you want,” she says, motioning vaguely toward the worn, comfortable-looking couch that’s pushed against the far wall. “I’ll grab some drinks.”

You nod, grateful for something to do, even if it’s just sitting down. The cushions sag beneath you, and you can’t help but remember the nights you’d spent like this before, curled up together on whatever hand-me-down couch she had at the time, talking for hours, or sometimes not talking at all. Just being.

But this isn’t like before.

Ellie disappears into the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to look around. There’s an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting—a cityscape this time, vibrant with color and movement. The table next to it is cluttered with tubes of paint, brushes, and crumpled pieces of paper with rough sketches. It’s Ellie’s world, laid out in front of you, and yet you feel like a stranger in it now.

The awkwardness creeps up your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach as you wait, the quiet stretching on and on. You can hear Ellie moving in the kitchen—bottles clinking, the soft sound of the fridge opening and closing. It should feel normal, familiar. But it doesn’t.

After what feels like too long, Ellie finally returns, two bottles of beer in hand. She hands you one without a word, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through you, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Ellie sits on the opposite end of the couch, as far from you as the small space allows. She takes a swig of her beer, her gaze flicking to the window instead of meeting yours, her posture stiff and uncertain. You take a drink, too, trying to focus on the bitter taste of the beer instead of the way the room feels too small, too quiet.

The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like neither of you knows how to bridge the gap. The weight of the past hangs between you—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. You’re both dancing around it, unwilling to dive in, yet neither of you knows how to avoid it.

“How long have you been working on the pieces for the show?” you ask, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything.

Ellie shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. “A while. A couple of years, I guess.”

You nod, not really sure what to say. 

You can feel her eyes on you—intense and heavy. 

“I don’t think I ever forgot how it felt.” she blurts out, her voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of her words hits you. You know exactly what she means. The memory of her hands on your body, the heat of her breath against your skin—it all comes rushing back, sharper now, more immediate.

Ellie leans back against the couch, her legs spreading just slightly as she sets her beer down on the floor with a soft thunk. She’s still watching you, the unspoken desire hanging thick in the air between you. It’s a look you recognize all too well—a look that used to drive you wild, that used to make you ache for her touch in a way that felt almost unbearable.

And now, sitting here in her apartment, that same ache is starting to stir inside you again.

“I know it’s been a long time,” she murmurs, her voice soft, “But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. ”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your body reacting, your skin prickling with heat as the space between you seems to shrink. You can see the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath, the tension in her body barely restrained. It’s like she’s holding herself back—just barely—but there’s no mistaking the hunger in her eyes, the way her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, your body, like she’s already imagining what it would feel like to close the distance.

You know you should say something, should acknowledge the fire that’s rapidly spreading between you, but you can’t find the words. All you can do is watch as Ellie shifts closer, her movements slow, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t want you,” she says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. There’s no hesitation anymore, no awkwardness, just pure, unfiltered desire. “Because I do. I always have.”

The confession hangs in the air, bold and dangerous, and it takes everything in you not to close the gap between you and her right then and there. Your body is already reacting, your pulse racing, your breath coming faster as the tension between you reaches a fever pitch.

Ellie leans in slightly, her face inches from yours, her lips so close you can feel the heat of her breath against your skin. Her hand moves to your thigh, the touch light but deliberate, her fingers pressing against you in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through your core. It’s a touch that’s both familiar and new, reigniting the fire that had once burned so brightly between you.

“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel your body responding, your skin buzzing with the memory of her touch, the way she used to know exactly how to drive you wild. The pull between you is too strong now, the desire too overwhelming to ignore. You want her—desperately—and you can see the same hunger reflected in her eyes, the way her hand tightens slightly on your thigh, her grip firm. 

“Ellie…” you breathe, your voice a whisper, but she hears it. She always hears you.

She moves even closer, her lips brushing against your neck now, the warmth of her breath sending a rush of heat through your body. “Tell me you want this,” she murmurs, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

Your mind is spinning, your heart racing as you feel the full weight of her body leaning into you, her hand sliding further up your thigh, her touch firm. You can barely think straight, the heat between you unbearable now, every nerve in your body on fire as she presses her lips against your neck, soft but insistent.

“I want you..” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. And as soon as they leave your lips, Ellie’s restraint shatters.

In an instant, her lips are on yours, the kiss rough and desperate, all the tension and desire that’s been building between you exploding in a surge of heat. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as if she can’t get enough of you. The kiss is hungry, wild, like she’s been starving for you for years, and now that she has you again, she’s not going to let go.

Your body reacts instinctively, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as you lose yourself.  It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the intensity of her touch, the way she knows exactly how to make you melt beneath her.

Ellie pulls you onto her lap, her hands gripping your hips, and you can feel the hardness of her body beneath you, the strength in her arms as she holds you close, her lips never leaving yours. It’s rough, raw, and so intensely familiar, like falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Ellie pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wild with need. “I need you,” she whimpers. 

In a rush, your hands find the hem of ellie’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. You toss it aside without a second thought, your eyes immediately drawn to her bare torso—her tattoo twisting along her arm, her skin flushed with heat. For a moment, you pause, breathless, as you take her in. She’s gorgeous. Strong and lean, every muscle under her skin defined, her freckles scattered across her chest like stars in the night.

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling heavily as she watches you, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with want. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands move to your shirt, tugging it up in one swift motion. You lift your arms, letting her pull it over your head before it, too, is discarded in the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, her eyes sweeping over your body. 

There’s something in the way she looks at you—something intense,that makes your skin burn under her. Ellie’s hands rest on your bare waist now, her fingers brushing over your skin as she takes you in.

“Ellie…” you breathe, the sound a mixture of a plea and a gasp, urging her to continue.

“Fuck…” she mutters, almost to herself as she leans back slightly to get a better view. Her hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over the curve of your breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. She looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, her eyes dark with want, her touch slow, as if she’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ellie whispers, she’s taking her time now, her hands exploring every inch of your skin, her fingers brushing over your collarbone, tracing the line of your ribs, before they move back up, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasts the raw hunger in her eyes.

You reach for her, your hands roaming over her body, feeling the strength of her shoulders, the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin.  Your hands move lower, exploring the soft dip of her waist, the way her body feels beneath your touch—strong, every muscle tensing under your fingers as you stroke her skin. You let your fingers trace the outline of her abs, feeling the way her body responds to your touch, the way her breath hitches every time your hands move lower.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an sudden urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction sending pulses along your clit. You feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction making you pulsate. You can feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

“n-need to feel you,” she gasps, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking, raw and desperate. The intensity in her eyes makes your heart race, an unquenchable thirst that mirrors your own.

You begin to grind against her, your slick meeting her puffy clit, the sensation making you gasp as the friction builds. 

“Oh god, please..” you whimper, a moan escaping your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way your bodies move together, the way every roll of your hips sends ripples of pleasure through both your pussies. 

“Fuck,” ellie breathes, her voice low and filled with a mix of need and awe, her eyes locked onto yours as you move together, a slow, delicious rhythm that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment for years. 

“Come here,” she begs, pulling you closer, her grip tightening as you continue to grind against her. The slick sound echos in the air, mingling with the soft moans that slip from your lips.  Each sound you makes pulls ellie deeper, melody that makes her crave more. 

Ellie shifts beneath you, her body arching in a way that allows you to scissor closer. You can see the way her chest rises and falls, each breath heavy. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in the sensations, and ellie takes the opportunity to lean down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking good, baby.” 

The sound of her voice makes your pussy pulsate, your eyes snapping open as they lock onto hers.  “d-don’t stop,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “I need m-more.”

“God, you’re s-so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire, her gaze locked on yours, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment. 

Ellie’s hands slide down your body, exploring every curve, every contour as she pulls you closer, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after this night.

“Ellie...” you breathe, the name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Please, I need to feel you closer,” you whisper, voice all shaky. 

Ellie gives in to the rhythm, moving faster, harder, each thrust sending shudders of pleasure racing through both of you. Your moans come out loud and whiny, mingling with Ellie’s desperate gasps. 

“Fuck, yes!” You breathe, your body arching into hers, your hands gripping her arms as she pulls you closer. You can feel the tension building between you, the way your body responds together, every roll of your hips bringing you both closer to cumming. 

“Don’t stop!” Ellie lets out a soft cry, her body tensing beneath you as the pleasure washes over her. You feel the way her body responds to yours, and it sends you tumbling over the edge, your own pleasure crashing down, pulling you both into ecstasy. 

You collapse against her, breathless and trembling, the world around you fading away as you savor the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, and the way your bodies still pulse. 

You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching a glimpse of the half-finished paintings scattered around her apartment, the abstract strokes, the splashes of color that seem almost chaotic, like her thoughts spilled out onto the canvas. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be another one of those unfinished things—something she can’t quite complete, something left unresolved, a work in progress that she never intended to finish.

There’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push it down.

You won’t wake up to her. Not tomorrow, not ever. Ellie will go back to her life, and you’ll go back to yours, and this night will fade into the past, becoming another memory, another fragment of what you once had together.

With a quiet sigh, you press a gentle kiss to her shoulder. 

[redwing4life]

Prettier Than a Van Gogh

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

WARNINGS: Bucky struggling with self image, a frankly illegal amount of fluff

SUMMARY: You suggest painting Bucky’s back to help him see the beauty he fails to see in the mirror

WORD COUNT: 1333

MASTERLIST

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your voice rings out from the entryway of the apartment, your tone light as you use the phrase you’ve come to love. Bucky said it once when you first moved in together, unaware of its old fashioned nature; you teased him for it in the following weeks, and yet you’ve come to find it endearing - now using it each time you walk through the front door.

“Bucky?” You call out, met with silence once more. While you’re used to coming home to a quiet apartment, the lack of a usual reception of hugs and kisses is worrying.

Concern tugs at your brows as you kick off your shoes. You consider for a moment that he’s been called away on a mission - something that happens every now and then - but his boots still sit on the shoe rack and there’s no sticky note on the wall from him.

“Bucky, darling? You home?”

Spinning round the corner that leads to the open plan kitchen and living room, your frown deepens upon seeing no sign of your boyfriend; the bathroom door is open and he’s not there either. Your eyes lock on the bedroom door that sits slightly ajar before your feet carry you forward.

You knock gently on the wood and peek inside, “Love?”

Oh how your heart drops at the sight before you. The reflection of the mirror Bucky is stood in front of shows you the shame etched across his features. He’s wearing the dark blue and green plaid pyjama bottoms you got him for Christmas with no shirt on.

You’ve found him like this before, him staring with disgust at the scars littered across his torso, but mainly his shoulder. It’s like a knife to the stomach every time you see him with that look in his eyes; if only he saw himself the way you do.

Feet pattering against the hardwood floor, you approach Bucky with eyes trained on his - though he’s yet to glance at you.

“I thought we agreed you didn’t have to do this to yourself anymore, sweetheart” You say, voice quiet and dripping with love. Coming to a halt behind him, you drag your fingers up and down his toned back a couple times before stretching them around his waist.

Bucky’s skin tingles at the warmth of your hands, now flat against his stomach. “I don’t know how to stop” His lips twist into a grimace.

“Then we’ll learn how to.” You reply, slowly stroking the skin beneath his belly button. “Cause you deserve to see yourself the way I do”

You almost gasp when Bucky finally meets your eyes through the mirror, wondering if you’ll ever get used to his beauty.

“Do I?” He asks with a frown.

“Oh, honey,” You press a kiss to his shoulder blade, “you deserve that and so much more.”

His lips turn up slightly and you revel in the way his body responds to you. Your right hand reaches out to grab his vibranium one, raising them up with your palms flat against each other. Still stood behind him, your fingers intertwine while your eyes never leave each others.

You continue, “You may not see that yet, but i’ll spend every minute of our lives teaching you to see it too”

He spins in your arms while still holding your hand and rests his flesh one on your hip. Naturally, you start swaying from side to side, dancing to the hustle and bustle of the street outside. You find yourself thinking of ways to help him while your head rests on his chest.

“Hey, Buck?” You mumble against his chest.

“Yes, doll?”

“I have an idea”

Bucky was skeptical of your plan at first, but your big smile and excited bouncing on the spot won him over. Not that it takes much persuasion when it comes to you.

So now he finds himself lying on his stomach on your bed while you straddle his back, slowly sketching out a drawing on his back.

“Can I at least get a vague idea as to what you’re gonna paint on my back, sweets?”

You giggle to yourself quietly, “Nope.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a grin. You’re being very secretive as to what you’re planning; you said you want him to just enjoy relaxing for now.

“Okay, you ready?” You ask, dipping a brush into the paint on your palette.

“Yes, ma’am”

When the brush makes contact with the small of Bucky’s back, his back tenses at the unusual sensation. “Fuck, doll, it’s cold” His voice is muffled with the pillow beneath his chin.

You mutter an apology, gently running your hand up and down his side comfortingly, trying to counter the cool brush with your warm hands. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” He replies quickly, “keep going”

So you do. You spend nearly an hour swirling paint over your boyfriend’s back, incorporating his scars into your design. Blues and yellows blend together to form a version of Van Gogh’s starry night, curving round his vibranium shoulder and down to the middle of his back.

Bucky stopped fighting the fatigue that was tugging at him, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He’s slept peacefully for the last twenty minutes to the bizarrely satisfying feeling of being painted; a content smile has graced your lips ever since he fell asleep, happy to see him so comfortable in your presence.

You never take for granted how Bucky lets his guard down around you. You may not be able to control his feelings toward himself, but you can certainly give him every reason to trust you.

The painting is nearly finished as the super soldier stirs beneath you, a sigh falling from his lips.

“How’s it going, doll?” He asks, trying to turn and look at your work only to have his eyes covered.

“No looking! I’m nearly done” You squeak, desperate to keep it as a surprise. “Just a couple minutes and you can see it”

Bucky hums in response, returning his attention to the movie playing on the tv.

Finally finishing up with some detailed strokes, you drop the brush in the water jar and tidy up. When everything is cleared, you help Bucky to stand up without smudging your work, leading him back to the mirror you found him in front of only a few hours ago. Your hands rest on his hips, drawing circles on his skin without even realising you’re doing it.

“Okay, if you don’t like it we can wash-“

“I already love it, y/n. You could’ve painted a rotten apple and i’d wear it for a week if I could” He interrupts you. You can’t help but admire him right now, a soft expression on his face.

“Okay, you can look”

Silence falls upon the room as Bucky turns to face you and plants a quick kiss on your forehead before looking over his shoulder.

“My god, sweets”

“Is that a good ‘My god’ or a bad ‘My god’?”

He can’t tear his eyes away from his body for the first time since the 40s. “It’s beautiful, y/n. I-“ Words fail him and you swear you see a tear in his eye.

“That’s how I see you, Buck.” You say. “You take my breath away every time I see you. Your scars are part of you, so I love them too”

He turns back to you and holds your face in his hands, “I love you so much, doll. You’re so damn talented, and to have you use it for me- it makes me wonder what I did to deserve you”

You raise your hands to cover his. “You deserve the world, my love. More than I could ever give you”

“Well,” Bucky grins and rests his forehead on yours, “lucky for you, you’re all I want”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: eeee my first fic, please like and reblog if you enjoyed - maybe give me a follow toooo ;)

[austinswife]

DADA’S GIRL - Austin Butler

FROM SERIES — THE BUTLER FAMILY CHRONICLES

SYNOPSIS — Ever since Austin found out you were expecting a baby girl, he took it upon himself to handle the important task of dropping off and picking up Wren from school. Being the loving and protective dad he is, Austin never misses the opportunity to be there for his little girl. But today, as Austin preps for a special dinner, you pick Wren up from kindergarten instead. Things take a playful twist when some overly eager fans try to approach you, with a few even attempting to flirt with you. Wren, with her usual sass and fierce protectiveness over her mom and dad, handles the situation in her own way, causing a proud moment for Austin when you get home.

WARNING(S) — Family fluff, cute interactions, and a few playful, light-hearted moments, minor references to flirting, but all handled with innocence and humor from Wren’s perspective.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

Morning in the Butler household was always a gentle rush. Austin had woken up bright and early, like he always did, to make breakfast for you and Wren before she went to kindergarten. The smell of freshly made waffle filled the air, mingling with the sound of Wren’s little feet pattering against the hardwood floor as she rushed to her chair at the table.

You smiled, sitting down with your cup of coffee, watching as Austin brought over a plate of waffle with a little smiley face made out of syrup on Wren’s plate. He sat beside her, his eyes twinkling as he watched her dig in with excitement.

“You excited for your first day at school, sweetie?” he asked, brushing a blonde stray curl out of her face.

Wren nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of waffle. “Mhm! I wanna play with the toys and see new friends!”

You and Austin exchanged a smile, your hearts both swelling with pride and a little bit of that bittersweet feeling that came with watching your little girl grow up so fast.

“She’s going to be just fine,” you reassured Austin, who had been extra protective ever since you’d found out you were pregnant with Wren. He’d insisted, from that very moment, that it would be his job to drop her off and pick her up from school. He couldn’t bear the thought of missing any of those milestones.

Austin chuckled, but there was a trace of emotion behind his voice. “I know, I know. I just can’t believe how quickly time’s flying.” He turned to Wren. “You ready for dada to drop you off at school?”

“Yesss mama!” she beamed, her syrupy hands in the air.

The morning drop-off had gone smoothly, like always. Austin waved goodbye to Wren as she confidently toddled into her classroom, her little backpack bouncing behind her. She gave him a big, gap-toothed grin over her shoulder before disappearing into her world of finger-painting and story-time.

With the day free, Austin decided to plan something special for dinner. He was feeling inspired, and since you’d been working extra hard on a film project lately, he wanted to surprise you with a home-cooked, fancy meal. So, as he spent the afternoon prepping ingredients in the kitchen, you took the chance to swing by the school to pick up Wren, giving Austin more time to focus on the surprise.

The afternoon sun was warm as you stood outside Wren’s kindergarten classroom, waiting with the other parents for school to end. The school bell rang, and before long, the classroom door opened, releasing a flood of giggling children, including your sweet little Wren, who ran straight to you with her arms wide open.

“Mamaaa!” she squealed, throwing herself into your arms.

You laughed and hugged her tight. “How was school, baby? Did you have fun?”

“Mhm! I made a picture for you and Dada!” she exclaimed proudly, pulling a crumpled drawing from her backpack. It was full of colorful scribbles that vaguely resembled a family portrait—you, Austin, and Wren holding hands in front of what appeared to be your house.

“Oh wow, this is beautiful,” you cooed, kissing her cheek. “I’m sure Dada’s going to love it very much, hon.”

As you were getting ready to leave, with Wren holding your hand, a group of young guys approached. At first, you didn’t think much of it—they seemed to recognize you from one of your recent roles, offering polite greetings. But soon, a few of them began to hover closer than necessary, clearly hoping for more than just a casual chat.

One of them reached out toward your arm with a cocky grin. “You’re even prettier in person,” he remarked, his tone a little too smooth for comfort.

Before you could react, Wren, with all the sass a two-year-old could muster, stomped her foot, glaring at the stranger. “Hey! Don’t touch what Dada’s!” she snapped, her voice full of toddler indignation.

The men blinked in surprise, taken aback by the fierce little girl standing protectively in front of you. You bit back a laugh, too charmed by your daughter’s loyalty to be annoyed.

You knelt down to Wren’s level, squeezing her hand gently. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Dada’s waiting for us, and he’s making something yummy for dinner.”

Wren, still glaring at the guys, huffed. “Yeah! My Dada’s waiting!”

The men, realizing they were no match for a two-year-old’s determination, sheepishly backed off, offering quick goodbyes before disappearing down the street.

You couldn’t help but smile as you picked Wren up and carried her to the car. She wrapped her arms around your neck, leaning her head on your shoulder as you buckled her into her car seat.

“You’re so brave, Wren,” you said, still giggling to yourself as you started the car.

“I know,” she replied matter-of-factly, already distracted by her drawing. “Dada always says to protect you, Mama!”

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the thought of how protective Austin had always been of both you and Wren.

As you drove home, you asked Wren about her first day at kindergarten, and she happily chattered about the new toys she’d played with, the new friends she’d made, and how one of the boys in her class shared his snack with her.

“Did you have fun?” you asked as you turned onto your street.

“Yeah! But I missed Dada… and you!” she added quickly, her big eyes looking at you through the rearview mirror.

You couldn’t help but feel a little twinge in your heart at her words, but you smiled softly. “We missed you too, baby.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, you could already smell the delicious aroma of whatever Austin had been cooking up. Wren wiggled excitedly in her seat as you unbuckled her and led her inside.

The house was warm and inviting, and in the kitchen, Austin was busy setting the table, a proud grin on his face as he saw you both walk in. “There are my girls,” he said, his voice full of love as he scooped Wren up into his arms and kissed her cheek.

“Dada!” Wren squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, bug,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How was your day at school?”

Before Wren could launch into her story, you touched Austin’s arm, trying to hide your grin. “Oh, before I forget… you might want to hear what your daughter said earlier.”

Austin’s brow quirked in curiosity. “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

You stifled a laugh and explained, “When I picked her up, a few guys tried to come over and talk to me, and one of them even tried to touch my arm.”

Austin’s eyes immediately flickered with protectiveness, his hold on Wren tightening just a little. “They what?”

You held up a hand, still smiling. “Before I could say anything, Wren piped up and told them, ‘Don’t touch what Dada’s!’ in her sassiest little voice.”

Austin stared at you for a moment, processing the story, before a wide grin spread across his face. He threw his head back and laughed, full of pride. “That’s my girl!”

Wren beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah! They were trying to touch Mama, but I told them no!”

Austin hugged her tightly, still grinning. “That’s right, bug. You protect Mama, always.”

After a few more proud comments, Austin set Wren down and told her to wash her hands for dinner. You watched her dash off to the bathroom, still smiling at how much she was like her dad.

Once Wren was seated at the table, you all dug into the delicious meal Austin had prepared—perfectly roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, along with a small dessert of chocolate mousse for afterward. Wren, with her little hands clasped together, kicked her feet under the table as she munched on her food.

“So, bug,” Austin said, his voice soft and full of warmth. “Tell me about your first day at school. Did you have fun?”

Wren nodded excitedly, launching into her innocent, toddler version of the day’s events. “I made a picture for you and Mama, and I played with the blocks, and a boy gave me his snack ‘cause he said he liked my braids.”

Austin exchanged a glance with you, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Wren nodded earnestly. “Mhm! But I told him my Dada makes the best snacks.”

Austin chuckled, his chest swelling with pride again. “That’s right, baby. No one makes snacks like your Dada.”

As dinner wound down and the night drew on, you watched as Austin scooped Wren up and carried her upstairs for bed, the two of them whispering and giggling together like they always did.

It was moments like this, these quiet, everyday moments, that reminded you just how lucky you were. Austin wasn’t just an incredible actor; he was the most devoted husband and father you could have ever hoped for. And with Wren in his arms, safe and sound, you knew that everything in your world was exactly as it should be.

[miasmaghoul]

Considering the idea of quintessence ghouls being able to make themselves invisible. They can just sort of...shimmer out of view if they focus their power enough. Like how Swiss can melt into shadow, quintessence ghouls can bend and fold light to vanish themselves. Not an ability they make common knowledge, of course, but they all use it in different ways.

Imagine Omega, always at Terzo's side even when he can't be seen. A protector, a stalwart and silent companion devoted to keeping his beloved Papa safe from any who would dare to threaten. It makes them think that Terzo has power beyond what any Papa has had before - how else could you explain someone being thrown across a room with no more than a wave of his gloved hand? It's exhausting for Omega, requires a bit of a recovery period, but that's alright. Terzo cares for him in the aftermath every time, just as devoted to his ghoul as Omega is to his Papa. The only other person who knows of this skill is Sister Imperator, and Omega likes to keep it that way.

Imagine Aether, learning the same trick from his mentor but using it more to keep himself sane. It's not something he does frequently, he finds it incredibly draining and has too many responsibilities to make it a common occurrence. But some days the abbey is just too loud, and there's nowhere for him to go without being pestered by siblings, clergy members and anyone else who's decided they need his attention. So he just...disappears for a while. He could be sitting on the couch plain as day and no one would be the wiser. It's incredibly freeing, on the rare occasion he puts it to use. He does it even less post-retirement, most of his magickal resources poured into healing others, but once in a while he'll still indulge. Sneak off to the library for a quiet cup of tea and dissappear between the stacks for a bit. Copia, Dew and Aeon always know where to find him, though - but they don't go searching. They all know that, if Aether needs isolation, there is no reason to interrupt.

Aeon, though, is a different breed of quint.

Curious as a kitten and with more power than he knows what to do with, he frequently uses his invisibility for more nefarious purposes. Sneaks into the human wing for panty raids, scours the kitchens when he gets too high but has already hit his snack quota, even wanders into the parts of the abbey that are off-limits to everyone but the higher-ups.

His favorite thing, though, is his ability to be a nasty little freak with no one being the wiser. It makes him the worst sort of voyeur, sneaky and with no regard for privacy. He peeps on everyone, through cracked doorframes, keyholes and open windows, in plain sight but still unseen.

One day, mid-afternoon, he hears a familiar series of soft but drawn out moans. Aeon cloaks himself immediately, already chubbing up and giving himself a shameless grope. It's not like anyone can see, after all. He pads down the hall to find Rain's door halfway open, those lovely sounds pouring through the gap. It's accompanied by what can only be called a rhythmic squelching sound, and Aeon licks his lips as he peeks around the doorframe.

Where he finds Rain, knelt in front of the ornate floor-length mirror that lives by his closet, naked as the day he was summoned and flushed right down his pale chest. He moves like water, spread thighs tensing and relaxing as he rides what Aeon recognizes as one of Swiss' preferred dildos. Rain has his tail wrapped around the base, hands free to explore every inch of himself. He's beautiful always, but like this - admiring his own reflection while pinching his lovely pink nipples, elegant fingers tracing the lines of his own throat, sliding down to give his cock slow pulls that have him leaking a puddle onto the hardwood floor - Rain isn't just beautiful. He's lust itself, sin incarnate, and Aeon has to get closer.

He leans just inside the door, in a warm patch of sunlight that paints Rain in golden hues. Hard as a rock and pulsing in his boxers, Aeon presses the heel of his hand to his crotch and starts to hump. Matches the rolls of his hips to Rain's slow bounces, picturing his own cock sliding into that slick hole and biting his lip when a soft moan threatens to escape. He may be unseen, but he can certainly still be heard.

Rain's clearly been at this for a while, judging by the sweat glistening along his brow and making his luscious curls stick to the back of his neck, and soon enough he starts to bounce faster. Little punched out grunts fill the air, the slick sound of his hand and hole making Aeon's balls ache, and he feels himself drool down his chin when Rain gasps. Leans back on one hand so he can sink down fully onto that thick toy, getting it deep inside, just where he needs it. He's panting, hand flying over his cock, and Aeon has to lean harder against the wall lest his own knees give out.

With a half dozen more tugs, Rain's mouth drops open and they both watch him squirt his load all over that shiny surface. Aeon's right there with him, biting his knuckles until he tastes iron as he soaks a stain into his undies. He shivers through it, eyes crossing, cussing to himself when he watches Rain reach out to drag two fingers through the mess he made. With a soft chuckle he licks it up, sighing happily, and Aeon lets his eyes slip shut while he catches his breath.

"Want a taste?"

Aeon's eyes shoot open, jaw going tense, and in slow motion he watches the shadows in the corner by the window coalesce into something solid.

Swiss leisurely strides over to the mirror, the bulge in his jeans incredibly obvious, and takes hold of Rain's wrist. Laps up the last drops dribbling down his fingers as Rain leans in to nuzzle at his straining cock. Swiss' rusty purr kicks up as he sinks his own fingers into Rain's hair, scratching at his sweaty nape.

"Did such a good job, angelfish," Swiss lilts, Rain's tail giving a happy little swish as it unwinds from the dildo still inside him. "You just love bein' watched, huh?"

Rain hums his agreement, lazily mouthing at the thick outline of Swiss through his pants. Wraps an arm around his thigh so he can really rub his face all over it. Aeon heaves a silent sigh of relief; as much as he would love to watch Rain swallow Swiss down, he's all sticky in his shorts and getting less and less comfy as the moments pass. He straightens up, lets the debaucherous sight of the pair of them burn itself into his brain, and finally tiptoes back towards the hall.

"Leaving so soon?"

Aeon freezes, whole body flushing hot and cold at Swiss' words. It takes him a thousand years to look back over his shoulder, and he finds golden eyes sparkling with intent fixed on his invisible form. Aeon gawps at him, and Swiss grins. Rain doesn't seem bothered in the slightest, dragging his tongue up Swiss' fly.

"You're not as slick as you think, kid," Swiss chuckles, dark and with just enough of an edge to give Aeon goosebumps. Rain giggles, crooks a finger at his hidden form, and Aeon whimpers.

"Who else knows?" His voice cracks when he asks, and Swiss barks out a laugh.

"Lock the door and get over here," Swiss orders him in lieu of an answer, "but I don't want to see you until that cute little dick is nice and hard again."

Oh, he's in so much trouble.

[slothsluv]

devotion — billy the kid; william h. bonney

SUMMARY: after an altercation that left a man dead, Billy is devoted to keeping you safe from prosecution.

————————————————

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

It happened so fast; you couldn’t comprehend that he was lying, face down.. blood tricking from his head and seething through the hardwood floor beneath. You couldn’t see that he was dead even though his body was right there. The hard and heavy metal in your hand stained worse than the blood that splattered the front of your boots. Your ears ringing from the loud sound of the gun spearing through and bouncing around the walls. You thought you were going deaf.

Tears streamed down your face as you stared down at him. Your mouth opened agape at the sight. You had no idea what to do but stare at his lifeless body lying there alone. Dying alone.

Billy was heaving. His chest, rising and falling at a rate faster than your own breaths as his hands roam his body, looking for obvious signs of injuries from the gunshots displays. It wasn’t long till he looked over at you in a panic, remembering what just happened. Your face painted with shock.

He stepped forward, blocking your view from the body. He reached down and took the gun away from your hand, peeking in the cylinder and dumping out the rest of the ammo packed in. He tucked the gun back in his holster with a quick hustle of his wrist before grabbing your face in his hands. He ran his thumbs over the soft skin of your cheeks, soaking his skin in your tears. He bent down to reach your level, staring into your eyes.

“Baby. It’s okay.. it’s okay. Look at me.” He spoke with tenderness, trying to wipe the tears but more kept falling down your face. His thumb rubbing back in forth, the small gesture felt faint from what your mind was filled with and your eyes held. He did everything to try and distract you from the body on the floor; moving small strands of hair out of your eyes excessively, his hands squishing the skin of your face underneath.

You move your eyes and lock with his; both pairs pleading for reassurance while yours showed fear. Scared of what folded before you. Your lips trembled as your eyes scanned his for any way of traveling away from the place, a way to go back in time. That what happened just moments ago was a malicious nightmare you wanted to wake up from.

“What did I do..” you whispered. The plain words soaking through the questioning and confusion of what you did because you knew full-heartedly that you took the life of a man you vowed to never do. To never take a person’s life. To never be their god deciding their own fate on the death lane.

Billy knitted his eyebrows and shook his head like he wanted to shake your words off. He tried to calm you with the strokes of his thumbs, his eyes softened at the sight of you, your hair interlacing with his fingers. “You didn’t do nothing, baby. Alright?” He let out a small chuckle but it seemed to slice with doubt of his own words.

“They’re gon’ hang me.” You blurted out, a small cry escaping at the end.

“No, no. Nothings going to happen, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Tears swelled your eyes, hazily appearing Billy in front of you as you shook your head. Trying to get rid of everything in your head. Your hands went up and gripped his forearms—trying to find any sort of comfort in his skin with your taps of your fingertips while millions of thoughts about the death of your own piercing in your mind but mainly clouded by the death of the man before you.

“I killed him, Billy. I killed him.” You choked out.

“He was gon’ kill me, you saw that. You were only protecting me.” Billy tried to reassure you of the verdict, but it was no use. Your mind already made its own up in the fact that you were a cold-blooded murderer.

“No, Billy. I killed him. I-I took his life away from him.” You sobbed, looking up at him. Billy’s face contorted in pain from seeing you cry. He hated it. He hated what this man was doing to you even after his death.

“They’re gon know this was me and kill me.”

“Baby, they’re not going to do anything.. I’m gonna find a way out of this, for both of us. I swear.” Billy leaned his forehead against yours. “I swear. Okay?” He stared down at you, tears swelling in his as well. You closed your eyes and nodded.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke but it felt more targeted at the man lying on the ground. You sobbed, thinking about the blood that was on your hands, that was etched into your soul. The pure riddance being tainted with dark wired wickedness.

“It ain’t your fault baby. None of this is your fault, okay? Look at me.” Billy demanded. His tone shifting from your lack of sense with delivering your attention to him. You looked back up at him and sniffled.

“I am going to get rid of this but I need you to leave. Okay?” He leveled his height with you again, forcing you to stare directly at him. “You hear me?” He slightly shook your temples, wanting his words to taint inside of your skull.

You nodded your head viciously, just wanting this feeling to disappear. Somehow, in some way, wanting Billy to take away this pain in your heart. Nothing could justify what you just did and never vowed to do in any shape of your life. Especially in front of the man, you love so dearly.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise, y/n.. now leave.” Billy gave you a kiss on your head before softly pushing you away. You stumbled back, bringing your coat sleeve to your nose and walked out of the house. You didn’t bother to look for one more second, streams of tears still running down your cheeks and blurring your eyes. Your head felt like a foggy mess.

The cold air of the snowy afternoon blew past your stained face. You couldn’t think straight as you jumped on Billy’s horse and rode as fast as you could. The pain seething through your thighs didn't seem as big as the one in your chest. The horse below you, kicking with all it's might, wanting to leave everything behind. The horse becoming the martyr of your conflicting situation between the man and earth playing in your mind. Leaving the small house out in the distance as it slowly disappeared into the white hills of the prairie.

It wasn’t till a couple hours later, with you sitting on your sofa, in your small home you shared with Billy, when he finally came through. The night sky following after as he closed the door. You stood up and faced him, your hands playing with the hem of your button-up blouse. The tears from previous hours stained your cheeks white, your hair messy from the ride back. You didn’t bother at all to fix yourself up, it was no use to you at all.

Billy took his hat off and placed it on the small table side near the door, sighing as he looked down.

You hesitated, stepping forward but quickly retreating back. Biting the skin on your bottom lip, blood trickling into your mouth from the continuous abuse over the hours you were alone. “Billy?” You whispered.

He looked at you and stepped forward, engulfing you into a hug as one of his hands reached to your head, pushing you into his chest. You obliged to his touch and melted into him, your arms wrapping around his body. The comfort of him; his smell and his touch calmed you. His chin rested upon your head as you felt his hand begin to rub circles on your back. You closed your eyes.

“It’s okay, I got you.” Billy spoke softly.

You sniffed and sighed into his coat, the scent of him overwhelming your senses.

“The horse..” you mumbled against him. You felt his touch harden on you, squeezing you to let you know the answer to your question.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I took care of everything.” Billy whispered back, pulling away from the hug. He grabbed your face between his hands.

“You don’t gotta worry bout nothing, baby. I promise nobody will find out, okay?” Billy nodded and you simultaneously nodded back to him. You trusted him with your life—you would do anything to let him know that too. He took care of you and you knew that as well.

Billy looked into your eyes and softly caressed your cheek before laying his lips on yours. You closed your eyes as the both of you melted into the kiss.

Billy sighed softly into your mouth. You felt his touch grip harder on you, afraid you were going to disappear any second against his fingers. He kisses you like he is filled with the hunger of love radiating through his body. He kisses as it’s the last thing he will do in this lifetime with you. It was something that you cherished when it happened; kissing you as if your lips are his lifeline to his heartbeats every second that passes by.

As you both stood there, embracing each other with the warmth of your bodies and tongues, tasting each pain and suffering that occurred the days that passed, you thought in your mind that this man will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were okay. To make sure nobody hurt you in anyway even if it put his life in danger.

It’s a thought that made you wonder what you did to deserve such sacrifice and devotion.