#⊹ “ stained canvas ” ⇁ artwork ⊹

[sheri0s]

👀👀👀

[gambling-jester]

Stain the Canvas released a song, so ya know what it means, mandatory fanart dump!

(idk why I started making these, the vibe just kinda fits so I went with it)

Go listen to this song y'all cuz it's just insane, also they have lots of candy.

[temporalhaze]

(( tag dump

[cylaranth]

Pride goes before the fall

[bleedingnothingness]

✨Lorenzus✨ (a silly joke art if you wouldn't know)

[satansdarlin]

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first—the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

.

.

.

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

.

.

.

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

 Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

.

.

.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

.

.

.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tattoos II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: Mamí has pens now

You break into the box of Mamí's skin pens that night.

It was very fun to draw all over her arms like how she was drawing over Tia Alexia's. The little pictures on her arms are very fun and Mamí's even got your name written there too because she loves you so much.

Mamí always says that you're a little artist because all of your artwork gets hung up on the fridge at home. When you draw, Mamí says that it's abstract because you always tell her that you like to draw your feelings and Mamí says that's a very good habit to have for an artist.

You think Mamí's an artist too but a different kind of artist to you. She does art on people's bodies instead of on a canvas. It must be fun for her, you think, which is why you're pressing the pen to your own skin to see if it's fun for you too.

Mamí is outside the hotel room talking to Tia Patri and Pina while Mumma is in the bathroom, on an adult call with her parents.

That gives you enough time to grab the pens and start drawing on yourself.

They're a little ticklish but you mix a few of the colours together to reflect your feelings and try to draw a picture of Bagheera too.

"Oh, teeny," Mamí chuckles when she comes back into the room," Did you get into my pens again?"

It's a fairly adorable sight. You're sitting on the floor with your tongue poking out of your mouth as you run the yellow pen up and down your arm as Mapi catches sight of a black blob that was clearly your impression of Bagheera.

"Like you," You grunt as you drop the pen and reach for another one.

Mapi intercepts you before you can, pulling you into her lap and reaching down to put all the caps back onto the pens again. "Like me? Like my tattoos?"

You nod, trying to reach for the pens again.

"How about I do them?" Mapi asks," And then we can compare styles?"

You nod at that too, suddenly excited. At home, Mamí likes to sit with you at the kitchen table and draw together before swapping pictures.

The pens are still ticklish even though Mamí's using them and it brings a big smile to your face as the nibs run over your skin.

Mumma comes back out through the bathroom, shaking her head in amusement at her phone. She looks up at you and Mamí and her smile gets even wider.

"Look at you!" She laughs.

"Like Mamí!" You say proudly, looking down at your arms and then back at Mumma again.

"I can see that. You're just like your Mamí."

That makes you feel very good and the sunshine yellow you already put on your arm reflects that.

"That washes off, right?" Mumma asks Mamí, giving her one of the looks that she gives her when she forgets to put your clothes in the laundry after a bath," And it's not going to stain?"

"It definitely washes off," Mamí says, switching colours to add the finishing touches.

"And the staining?"

Mamí stays silent for a little bit. "Only a little? It's barely even noticeable!"

Mumma sighs, massaging her temples like she did that time Tia Patri and Pina babysat you and she came home to them passed out asleep on the floor and the kitchen covered in flour.

"If anyone makes reference to it tomorrow," Mumma says in a tone that means she's being very serious," Then you're in trouble."

You frown. "Me?"

Mamí laughs. "No, teeny, your Mumma means me."

You think for a moment before smiling. "Okay!"

Mumma starts laughing at the offended look on Mamí's face and you give her a toothy grin in answer as she shakes her head in disbelief and puts the pens back on your arm.

Mamí works away for a few more minutes before putting the lid back on the pen.

"All done," She says to you.

"All done?"

"All done."

You look away from the video Mumma's showing you on her phone to look down at your arm. You pull at the skin a little bit to see all of it before you crash into a hug with Mamí.

"Mumma! Mumma!" You say excitedly," Look! Look! Like Mamí!"

"Wow!" Mumma says," You're exactly like your Mamí! Should we take a picture?"

You nod. "Picture! Picture!" You tense your arm like how Mamí does when she wants to show off and beam at the camera.

"And how about one with Mamí too? Because you both look so similar."

"Mamí! Mamí! Picture time!"

Mamí kneels down next to you, flexing too as she smiles at the camera.

"Send me that," She says to Mumma," I think that'll have to be my new home screen."

[shonen-brainrot]

Painter!Bakugo, who finds beauty in the controlled chaos of splatter techniques, embraces the unpredictability of his medium. The splatters on his canvas aren't accidental; they're intentional bursts of controlled chaos.

Painter!Bakugo, who views art as a form of self-expression and release, uses his paintings to communicate emotions that words can't capture. Each artwork is a raw, unfiltered glimpse into the inner workings of his mind, revealing a vulnerability hidden beneath his explosive exterior.

Painter!Bakugo, who sees the world as his canvas, draws inspiration from unexpected sources. Whether it's a fierce battle, a quiet moment of introspection, or the sunset casting shadows on the city, he translates these experiences into visual explosions of creativity.

Painter!Bakugo, who refuses to conform to artistic expectations, challenges the traditional notions of what hero-themed art should be. His paintings defy stereotypes, showcasing a side of heroism rarely explored, one that is as much about passion as it is about power.

Painter!Bakugo, who sees criticism as nothing more than weak attempts to diminish his brilliance, remains unapologetically confident in his artistic vision, knowing that his explosive creations speak for themselves.

Painter!Bakugo, who delights in immortalizing your unapologetic sensuality as you boldly bare it all for his artistic expression.

Painter!Bakugo, who finds passion not only in his art but also in making rough love with you in his studio.

Painter!Bakugo, who thrives on capturing the bold and provocative, takes pleasure in painting acts, relishing the sight of you exploring your desires while becoming a muse for his artistry.

Painter!Bakugo, who loves when you ride his cock, allowing his paint-stained hands, rough and skilled, to dictate a rhythm as he explores the curves of your hips and waist.

Painter!Bakugo, who caresses your skin with his paint-stained fingers, leaving behind a tactile trail of affection that blurs the boundaries between the canvas and the contours of your body.

Painter!Bakugo, who wouldn't hesitate if you requested him to undress as you embark on an audacious endeavor to capture him with your own painting skills.

[yonphilia]

‧₊˚☆⋆｡𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓. — 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶 𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 •˚₊‧⋆.

synopsis : you have an assignment due tomorrow, but gojo being the annoying man he is has finished all your paint, it's too late to go out and buy new paint, but gojo has an idea on how you can make your own paint. ˚₊‧⋆.

warnings : 17+ interact at your own risk!! make out session, pussy eating, cunninglingus, chocking, slight breeding, dom gojo, prominant bulge, squirting, porn with plot!?! smut!!

word count : 2.9k ˚₊‧⋆.

notes : f! reader, reader and Gojo are both art students, modern art student au! not proofread! ˚₊‧⋆.

Gojo peeks his head through the door of your shared art studio, his outfit is covered in paint, hair messy and ruffled and even a few drops of baby blue staining his snowy hair, making him quite the eyesore.

"Ah, you're in here?'' He says with a wide grin not really caring about the mess he had made in the studio earlier. The walls were splashed with paint, paint on the floor, a few canvases on the ground and empty paint tubes scattered everywhere.

You snap your head back to him, your hands on your hips as you glare daggers. ''What?'' You mutter looking around at the mess. ''Satoru why can't you ever clean up after yourself? I have an assignemtnt due tomorrow and you finished half the paint!''

A little pout forms on his pink lips, his arms crossed as he leans against the door frame. ''C'mon don't be like that! I was jus' havin' some fun! And plusss we're artists! we're supposed to be messy!'' He replies, trying to hide the sneaky grin forming on his face, he absoulutely loved getting on your nerves.

Rolling your eyes, you ignore his words and kick a few empty tubs of paint to the side, picking up your easle stand and quickly setting everything up with your canvas.

He comes closer to you from behind, placing his hands on your shoulders, peaking at the empty canvas across from you, then down at your face.

"What are you working on?" He asked, sounding quite curious. A small blush appears on his cheeks as he talks, maybe it's from the realisation that he has probably finished half the paint you will need, or maybe it's from how close up he was to you looking at your pouty and pent up expression.

In his eyes you were the artwork.

''That's none of your business.'' You reply shrugging his hands off your shoulders as you open a paint tube, squeezing the left over of the red paint on the tray.

"Ah, that's a shame. I was eager to know'' He takes his hands off your shoulders, and then sits down on the floor, crossing his legs, keeping his calm expression and looking up at you as you get ready to paint.

You look at him with the same 'here we go again' expression you always give him when he decides to make himself cozy around you anytime you were about to do anything that isn’t giving him attention. Although, he never spoke and simply watched you paint (most of the time), the way he is more focused then you can sometimes.. be quite uneasy. Especially with his cerulean eyes.

Throughout the process of making your painting, you lean over to the side table to get some white paint, but to your surprise, you find the first tube empty, and when you look at every other tube of white paint on the table…empty.

Gojo notices you stop painting and how your gaze was fixed on the several empty paint bottles and tubes.

"Oh, was that your's?" He asks, turning his head to you, the same mischievous smile from before creeping up on his lips. He seems proud of himself for finishing all that paint, and he can't hide that fact.

"I finished all that." He says, with a confident smile on his face, running his hand through his hair and getting up from the floor, as if he accomplished something other then making you mad.

''Of course you did!'' You scoff stannding up from your seat to look at the clock to check if there was still time to go out and get paint, but when you see the time reading 10:36pm, you know the shop will close by the time you get there.

You purse your lips out of frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose. ''Satoru get out of my sight, I don't even want to look at you.'' You snarl closing you eyes and turning away from him.

Whereas, Gojo didn't even seem upset or put off by your reaction, instead he found this amusing, and as always, he’ll make the situation worse.

''You're quite the sassy woman eh?'' He says chuckling to himself and approaching you, holding your shoulders to turn you around to face and him and then your wrists to remove your hand from your face.

''Satoru— unless you want me to rip your head off and make white paint out of your hair. Leave.''

He doesn't say anything, instead wiggles his brows at your remark, his hands still holding onto your wrists.

''Satoru—''

''I have an idea.'' He says slowly lacing his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing the sides of your hands.

''What..?'' You arch a brow wanting to hear another one of his 'ideas’.

“Do you want to….ya know…” his lips curve into a cheeky smile as he looks down at you. “Make our own white paint..?” He tilts his head, expecting you to say no, maybe even smack him at this stupid idea, that's if you understand what he's saying.

Your eyes go wide at his question, your brain jumping to all the solutions he could come up with, praying the one you're thinking isn't the one he's thinking of.

But of course, this is Gojo we’re talking about here.

“What- what do you mean…? What exactly are you implying Satoru..?”

Gojo grins, as if he was expecting that reaction. He leans in closer to you, close enough until his warm lips were brushing against your ear, his tone goes into some sort of a quiet whisper,

“You know what I'm implying…” You could almost feel him smirking against your ear. “You know what we would have to do to get that white paint, love”

Your breath hitches as you realise how close you two were, how his strong rich cologne filled up your nose, hitting straight to your core instead of your head, almost making your knees go weak.

“What do you say sweet thing?” He mumbles against your neck, nuzzling his face into it before leaving butterfly pecks everywhere, his arms caging you against him as they wrap around your waist, making sure your body was pressed against his so you don’t run away.

Your brain is screaming at you to say no, to get your assignemt finished, to push him away and ignore him and tell him to go out and buy new paint for you, but that's not what the lady in between your legs wants.

“Just say the word…please” He sounds as if he's almost begging you, as if he wants this more then you.

And, you do, you nod and part your lips to speak, but the nod was all he needed, and before you could even say anything, his lips were crumbling against yours, hands grabbing the back of your head and nape to press your lips against his, trying to mold them into eachother. Tongue lolling out and sliding into your mouth and swirling with your own. He's too lost in the soft and smooth sensation of your lips to even notice that you've already wrapped your arms around his neck.

He holds you tightly against him as he tries to kiss you deeper then he already was, his tongue gliding against your lips before he nips at your bottom one. and pulls away with a string of saliva attached to both your lips, his face flushed and chest heaving slightly, his messy bangs falling infront of his lust filled eyes.

You stare right back at his face, your own lips puffy and swollen from the kiss, your arms still around his neck as your hands play with the hair around his nape.

He leans in starts to kiss your neck slowly, starting on your jaw and working his way down to your collarbone. His tongue licks and sucks at your skin, sure to leave marks, his kisses are wet and sloppy having you feel butterflies in your chest and stomach.

He moves his hand up your body, grabbing your clothed chest, you can feel his warm, soft fingers through your clothing, and he seems reluctant to let go of you just yet.

Pulling away from you neck, he looks up at you almost in a daze, his lips swollen and pouty, the colour on his cheeks darkening. ''Wanna carry on in the bedroom..?''

Here you were, sprawled out so perfectly on Gojo's bed, clothes long gone and scattered somewhere on the ground, your back arching slightly as the cool air hit your nipples. Gojo trails soft kisses down your body, kissing each and every single detail and curve you had until his cool breath was fanning against your exposed core. His teeth nip at the inner flesh of your thighs having your body jerk slightly way from him, but he was quick to hold onto your thighs and pull you back down.

''Let's get you to paint my face hm?'' He says as a smirk tugs at his lips, looking up at you through his white lashes and lust blowen pupils, he had barely even done anything yet and you were already so desperate, bucking your hips up for any sort of attention to your dripping core, your hands going down to press against his shoulders, trying to get him to move already.

But Gojo was a tease, he leaves kitten licks up and down your folds, stopping his tongue right where you throbbing clit was, begging to be sucked on.

''Satoru- please ohhh-''

Before you could even finish your sentence, Gojo was already devouvering you, consuming all your words as his tongue licks and laps at your slit over and over again, feeling and tasting your sweet arousal causing him to sigh contentedly. He was eating you out as if he was a starved man who hadn't had water to drink for days. And the sweet and unholy moans you let out already had him rock hard.

''You're already a whining mess huh?'' He mumbled against your core, sending vibrations straight through you. He was right. You already were a whining mess, your hands tugging at his hair trying to push him deeper into your cunt, his nose nudging against your clit which had you let out the most lewd sounds he has always dreamed of hearing.

''Soooo good!''' you squirm out, feeling your knees go weak from how good he was eating you out. Your head was pressed back into his fluffy pillows, his scent filling up your head making you even more aroused. You part your lips to say something, but only moans and whines of his names slur out of your mouth.

You buck your hips into his drooling mouth making sure he doesn't stop, he groans from how sweet you tasted on his tongue, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass hovering below him.

''I'm close- I'm so soo close Satoru!'' You feel a warm sensation bubble up in your lower abdomen as he thrusts his tongue into your soaking cunt having you mewl out in pleasure, your back arching and eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs start to tremble and jitter.

''T-Toruuu Sa-toruuu!'' You scream out his name in a high-pitched whine feeling the sensation intensify. Your hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm washes over you, body shaking and jerking, your legs instantly squeezing shut and your thighs nearly suffocationg him as he does not stop sliding his tongue in and out of you.

''T-Too much S'toruu'' you pant trying to regain your breath and shove him away.

Gojo grunts in satisfaction as he licks your sweet cunt clean, tasting every piece of you, feeling your arousal on his tongue making his dick ache as he humps thecovers underneath him.

''Shit...'' You breath out as you look down at him, and to your surprise, he was already looking back at you, his eyes half lidded, cheeks and chin covered in your sticky mess, lips red and puffy as a grin spread onto them.

He licks his lips as he sits up, hand going down to palm his already pre-cum covered dick, never breaking eye contact with you. ''Mhm...think we'll need more paint then that..'' He says flashing you a cheeky grin along with a wink.

You feel your cheeks heat up and look away from him, your hands going up to cover you face in embarrassment.

''Uh uh!'' He says quickly holding your wrists and removing them from your face, pinning them above your head instead. ''Gotta see that pretty face while I fuck you dumb, mhm?''

You whine and part your lips to say something, but the air is knocked out of your lungs once you feel his leaky tip slowly start to slide inside your tight cunt. He groans as his other hand grabs onto your waist to steady himself from collapsing ontop of you from how good you squeezed him. A sharp gasp leaving his mouth feeling your warmth.

''So big!'' You cry you as tears swell up in your eyes, he wasn't even fully in yet and was already stretching your walls out, the perfect veins on his dick grinding against your walls and your sweet spot.

''Fuck- squeezin' me s'good babyyy think I might just cum undone like this.'' With a moan, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, feeling how deep he was and his tip grazing the spot you couldn't even reach.

Slowly, he starts to thrust into you, his dick stretching you out so good it had you seeing stars and already a babbling mess.

''Toru- so deepppp'' You squirm out as he picks up his pace, his hips starting to hammer into yours as your slick paints his pelvis. You wrists twist and turn in his hold signalling him to let go so you can hold onto something as he fucks your brains out.

Gojo releases his grip on your wrists and places both hands around your waist, strocking your walls with his dick as he presses his hips against yours trying to reach deeper then he already was. The most sloppy and repulsive noises ever heard were all that could be heard by your lower bodies colliding and slamming together.

''Tummy-'' You babble out as your nails dig into his biceps. ''C-Can feel you in my tummyyy''

He looks down at your fucked out expression, your eyes nearly crossing, tongue lolling out as drool dribbles down from your chin. Gojo groans and leans in pressing his lips to yours, you could taste your previous arousal on his tongue and lips. He kisses you messily while hammering into you at the same time, his teeth clashing against yours, spit oozing out from both the corners of your mouths.

His hand goes to wrap around your neck, squeezing it making you clamp down on him while the other goes down to rest on your lower abdomen, applying pressure with his palm until he felt himself.

You pull away from his lips at the new feeling, eyes going wide and nails dragging against his back, your chest arching and pressing flushed against his, instantly feeling light headed as you let out a loud moan.

''C'mon pretty girl, give it to me, I know- fuck- I know you're close mhm...'' He whispers into your ear, urging you to come undone all over his dick. ''You feel that?'' He takes your hand dragging it down and pressing it to where his bulge was prominent in your belly. ''You feel how deep I am huhhh..?''

You could barely form any words, your tits bouncing as he slams into you repeatedly, his hand never leaving your throat, cutting off your air supply which only added to the pleasure for you, your drool smearing down to his hand as he fucked you dumbfounded.

Gojo could feel his own arousal build up, his thrusts starting to become sloppy as he shoves himself into you at an ungodly pace. His mouth agape as he mumbles all sorts of praises to you, telling you how good you squeeze him, how good you're taking him in. He lowers his hand that was around your neck and rubs his thumb in deep circles over your senstive clit to help you reach your orgasm, the hand that was pressing on your lower abdomen remained there.

And it's not long after you're reaching your earth shattering orgasm, your legs shaking violently as you scream out Gojo's name, squirting all over his dick and pelvis, your toes curling and head burying back into the pillows until your vision went all white, your ears ringing and needy sobs escaping your mouth as your arms wrap around his neck holding him close to you.

Gojo is quick to reach his own after seeing the state you're in, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts a few times into you before burying his face in your tits, nipping at your skin as he realeases inside you, painting your walls white until both your juices leak out of your cunt.

He pants as he sits up, slowly pulling out of you, his eyes never leaving your cunt that oozed out with cum, he lets out a shaky breath slapping his tip against your folds before smearing his cum along your thighs.

''You think we got enough paint heh..?''

© yonphilia 2023

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[rrxnjun]

portrait of a blank slate. huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x fem! reader genre: college au. fluff, smut, and the tiniest bit of angst. warnings: swearing, alcohol, angry man renjun, very bad dialogue, this is the most un-renjun fic i've ever written, dry humping, a heavy makeout session, unfinished blowjob word count: 5.8k playlist: no specific one this time but i listened to a lot of keshi while writing this, so have this playlist of mine to fit the vibes a/n: inspired by that one tweet describing how someone's art professor met his wife the same exact way, lost the screenshot and also the og post im so sorry!

turns out all it takes to save a life is a bad, bad college party, a few shots and a weird, magical coincidence back in a girl's dorm room.

It’s hard to believe that Huang Renjun is currently finishing up the art portfolio he needs for his summer internship program after procrastinating and angrily stomping at every single bad stroke of his paintbrush for the last few months.

Because he’s not.

He’s looking at the canvas with stern eyes, the smudges on the white linen so messy he could cry just by looking at them, and the more he tries to save the disgrace currently scribbled in front of him, the worse it gets and makes the levels of frustration in him turn into rage and fury, because let’s be honest– what is Renjun’s primary emotion if not anger. 

And he tries hard to fix it again, he really does– he sighs heavily while doing so as he takes a smaller brush and tries to paint on a few hairstrokes to the portrait of Frida Kahlo he wants to execute– and in honest reality, it doesn’t even look half as bad as it does in the poor boy’s eyes when he takes a step back after holding in his breath and carefully piercing together the artwork. Maybe if there was someone else in the room– everyone but his annoying roommate Donghyuck, because that fucker always manages to make things even worse– they could talk him out of it, offer some words of consolidation, even, hype him up and tell him that with outsider’s eyes, the canvas looks beautiful and very well put together. But the truth is that there’s no one present right now, not a single soul in what feels like the whole campus right now, that could ease Huang Renjun’s frustration from what seems to be art block, when he throws the paintbrush to the wall (he’ll worry about the stain of acrylic paint later, when he gains consciousness) and puts a fist through the middle of the painting.

If he was a character in a comic book, his hand would go through the canvas and create a quite satisfying hole. He’s a real person, though– a weak one as well, to be quite honest– and his fist is stopped by the stretched-out fabric, making his hand bounce back, but now stained with all shades of brown and tan, which somehow only makes him even more mad and turns him into a furious animal roaming around free and causing uttermost chaos in his all true sense.

Nothing can stop Huang Renjun when he opens the drawer he keeps all his artwork in, taking out all the graphite sketches and colored pencil drawings, and then the next one containing the watercolor paintings and various other acrylic paintings done on expensive sheets of paper, stacking all of those onto one pile in the middle of the table. Not one thing is safe– except from the digital artworks he keeps in his iPad and his big A4 sketchbook he forgot about in the heat of the moment, since he keeps it on his nightstand– when he takes the big, heavy stack of art and runs, chimes towards the entrance of his and Donghyuck’s miniature dorm room, luck only standing by his side once in this whole evening when his said roommate opens the door and clears the way for him, looking at the poor boy with mouth agape in a slight shock.

“What the fuck are you doing right n–”

Donghyuck doesn’t get an answer. When he asks stupid questions, Renjun doesn’t tend to pay him much mind, settling on not engaging with the discourse if it doesn’t make much sense, so Hyuck should be used to the ignorance– he thinks this was a very valid question to ask at this moment, though. If he was curious enough, he’d even follow his roommate down the hall and watch him in his endeavors only to find out what’s the intention behind his angry stomping and the fierce look on his face. The truth is, though, he doesn’t care all that much.

That doesn’t stop Huang Renjun, though, as he chimes down the hall of the boy’s dormitory, kicks the glass door open (thankfully not the actual glass part, because that would for sure be expensive) and practically runs the rest of the way towards the bins at the end of the street, dumping the papers into the bin (forgive him for not recycling in his current state of mind) before he angrily kicks the poor object twice for good measure and turns on his heel, slowly, but still as angrily making his way back to his dorm room by stomping all the way up until the entrance.

The dorm guard doesn’t even ask for his dorm ID like he usually does– Renjun must have been quite memorable as he ran out of the building with 5kg of artwork of various sizes in his arms– but the truth is, the man isn’t as old and he saw the boy going out just a few minutes ago, so he doesn’t think it’s necessary. Renjun would appreciate the memo, although, when he remembers that the man always asks for the dorm ID, especially on the nights out when he comes back slightly intoxicated and too disoriented to look for the little slip of paper in his pockets, and on the nights when he forgets his dorm ID as well– the man was set on letting him sleep on the front porch of the dormitory once and it took Renjun 15 calls to get ahold of a sleeping Donghyuck and another 15 of him walking down the hall in slippers and pajama bottoms with his roommate’s dorm ID in hand before he could warm his bones from the cold slowly seeping into his bones on the January night– and that whole thing makes Renjun somehow even more angry at the whole situation.

And so when he comes into his room again, Donghyuck now sitting on his bed still in his outside clothes (something Renjun hates and would murder for), and his eyes land on the damaged canvas still waiting for him in the corner of the room, he wastes no time in opening his window and throwing it down from the second floor, not really caring where it ends up or if he’s gonna get a fine for violating one of the dormitory rules– to never throw stuff out of the windows..

“Dude, what is–”

“Don’t ask.” Renjun huffs as he closes the door and peels his clothes off, taking a towel that’s still hanging from the top bunk of their bed and aims towards the bathroom door. A true tantrum can only end in a cold shower, and that’s what Renjun’s gonna do as he washes his dreams down the drain and ends up silently crying himself to sleep tonight in agony.

It’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party since the days of ‘megaparties’ of Johnny Suh, the senior that’s slowly halting his party performance due to stilling in life. Renjun was dragged to Lee Jeno’s party by his roommate Donghyuck after he mourned in his bed for approximately two days before it got too much for the poor gemini, promising and honestly thinking that alcohol is truly the best solution for the poor boy’s misery. Again, it’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party of the year when he listens to the loud EDM music piercing through his eardrums and he swears he catches a glimpse of a couple dry humping on the couch.

Because he’s not.

He’s at a college party, sure. He’s also getting some alcohol into his system– because why not, am I right? He’s not the one paying, and that’s always enough of a reason to drink. Is it the best college party he’s ever experienced, though? Absolutely not.

It’s quite literally the worst party he’s ever been to. The music is too loud and the whole house smells of cheap vodka, people are pushing each other around and with the amount of alcohol in his system, the whole room feels like he’s on a boat, his stomach weak and his eyes hazy. Renjun must admit Hyuck’s therapy skills are kind of paying off– because at least now he’s not thinking about the wasted opportunity of a summer scholarship and is instead looking into the eyes of his cute classmate from History class across the room– but at the same time, he’s not thinking much of anything in this moment, and the glint of your eyes is the only thing he can focus on when you get closer.

That might be a good or a bad thing– depends on how the encounter goes. There’s a fine line between the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to get rid of his usual shyness and speak to other, much more attractive human species, and the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to black out and puke on the floor, efficiently making it impossible for him to chat up the cute classmate he’s been eyeing the whole semester and ruining his chances of ever being seen in a good light in front of the said person ever again. He prays intensely that he hasn’t crossed the line yet when you open your mouth and speak to him in the crowded kitchen.

“Renjun!”

“Y/N!” he tries to mimic your tone, a flashy grin settling onto his face when you approach him first. You two aren’t strangers, after all– you’ve sat together in class during various exams and also accidentally bumped into each other in the cafeteria, but what were your courageous attempts in making conversation with him and efficiently trying to make him more interested in you didn’t lead to your desired goal of getting invited out by him, instead leading him to think you’re just that friendly to everyone and not just him, making the chances of him taking the next step that much slimmer. Not tonight, though– he really must have had too much to drink.

“How are you?” you ask, clearing your throat as you bump into someone and decide to shift closer to Renjun, making the boy’s breathing hitch in his throat.

“Wonderful,” he gasps, and for some reason, the response laced in irony makes an excited laugh escape your throat, and the more he listens to your bubbly giggle, the more he wishes he did music instead of fine arts, because maybe if he was competent enough, he could mimic the sound in one of his songs and replay it over and over even when you’re not around. 

“That sounds very genuine,” you note, which makes the boy laugh in return, making him wonder if maybe he could have the same effect on you– if you’re smiling wider now because of the sound of his laughter, or if you’re just amused at something completely else. 

It’s pathetic, really– the gloomy boy that was trailing to this party behind his roommate Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen now, instead replaced by the cheap imitation of a ray of sunshine that you brought out of him only with the magic of a few words and the few drops of alcohol on his tongue.

“Oh, trust me, it was genuine,” he teases, and you only nod to his attempt at masking his obviously saddened composure from before.

“Having a rough week?” you ask, and you sound truly interested– something Renjun hasn’t found in the tone of his roommate when he insisted on dragging him here– and maybe that’s the reason why he just shrugs and decides to come clean and be honest with you. You seem like that kind of person that wouldn’t make fun of his troubles, the kind of person that would genuinely want to help– although he’s not seeking counseling tonight, he figures he can talk a bit about his shitty mood if it means that it gets the conversation flowing.

“A rough life, actually,” he snickers before he sees you eye him with a concerned look, “just joking,” he adds before he retracks back and fixes his initial answer. “Some things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to, so I’m kind of moping around for a bit.”

You seem to feel empathetic towards the boy, nodding and pouting at his confession. “Well, I hope things get fixed for you, Jun,” you mumble, tone of voice encouraging– and maybe he could dwell at the caring nature of you a little longer, only if it wasn’t for your use of a nickname for him that just oh so sweetly rolls of your tongue and Renjun wishes he could legally change his name to the nickname so he could listen to the way it sounds forever– scratch that, to the way it sounds from your mouth forever, which means he won’t change it, just so it’s reserved for you and only you to say.

“What about you, though?” he finds himself asking in the midst of his inner screeching.

“Me? I’m great, totally fine, having the time of my life,” you emphasize, the over-the-top expression on your face making the boy burst into laughter as you wave your arms around as if to show him your surroundings. “I am a party person for sure, you know, so this is perfect,” you joke, and Renjun seems to get the memo. If he’s being honest, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you at a party before– not that he goes to many himself, which might honestly be the reason, actually– you could just be at different parties in different times that hadn’t overlaid, but by the way you’re currently tensely sipping at the alcohol in your hand, he figures you’re not too familiar with the scene of college partying.

“Who forced you to go? Was it your roommate?” Renjun remembers the girl from another one of his classes– you two were always walking around together and often got to class at the same time. Figuring out that you two lived together wasn’t as difficult, and she surely seems to be the more extroverted one.

“No, actually,” you say, eyes glimmering when he seems to remember the girl you share a room with, “to my surprise, honestly. It was another one of my friends– Na Jaemin, not sure if you know him– but the moment we got here, he disappeared and left me alone to deal with my thoughts,” you click your tongue and Renjun finds himself totally mesmerized with you– amazed with everything about you; the way you talk, the way you lean on the counter and watch him with stars in your eyes (which might just be the reflections of the kitchen lights, but don’t tell him that), the way you slightly lean into him when he cracks a joke and earns a laugh out of you…

“They always do that,” Renjun scowls, “they drag the introvert in and then force them to survive on their own…” he shakes his head in disappointment, clearly distraught over the situation. 

“Exactly! But if you ask them to come with you to a picnic, or to the library, they decline the offer. So much for being good friends,” you roll your eyes. Renjun finds himself smiling, and although he must admit that as every other college student, he himself would decline an invitation to a library if anyone asked, he’s like 99% certain that if it was you uttering out the question, he wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before joyfully jogging there with you. 

“Ask me next time,” he blurts out, a poor attempt at flirting, “I wouldn’t say no.”

And it seems like tonight is the night where you suddenly get the last kick of courage needed when you talk to Renjun– maybe fueled by his coy smile when he said the previous comment, maybe just acting out on pure hormones– tonight's the night where he breathlessly takes your offer, still not thinking much of it, but igniting a curious spark in his own heart nonetheless, when you scratch the back of your neck in the last residue of anxiety, scrunching your nose at him and mumbling under your nose, barely heard above the loud music resonating through the living room. “Do you wanna sneak into my dorm room, then?” 

Renjun almost chokes at your question– visitors in the dormitory are only allowed until midnight and as far as he’s aware, the clock is well after 2 AM right now, and he’s a male visitor, which is even more off the bounds in the eyes of the fierce woman guarding the entrance of the girl’s dormitory building. The more he stares at you, the more you seem to translate his silence into disagreement, which you panically try to undo with even more rambling. “I- I mean, since we both kind of hate this party and I think that if I drink more, I’m going to puke all over myself, so… My room is on the ground floor, so you can just climb in, if you wanted to. My roommate went home for the weekend, so there’s no one there, and we could– I mean, we don’t have to, honestly, but it’s kinda cold out and I thought we could both use a place more silent, ‘cause I really wanna head back now, but I don’t want to stop talking to you, y’know, and I don’t know if–”

“Okay, I’m down,” Renjun nods, efficiently shutting up your rambling, and when there’s a very apparent relief flashing over your face, he finds himself smiling in endearance at your antics, going as far as ruffling a hand through your hair in whatever kick the alcohol mixed with adrenaline gave him before you have him dragging his feet out of the house, both of your feet shuffling towards the campus.

The walk isn’t long, but he finds himself enjoying it. The condensation coming out of your mouths at the chilly weather serves more to the atmosphere when the both of you giggle out at absurd jokes and gossip, your voice breaking into soft hums when you sing a song under your breath in moments of silence that somehow feel both kind of awkward, but also kind of pleasant. He drags you by your hand to the other side of the sidewalk when a car passes by and you jump in surprise, eyes wide and glossy, mouth a little agape in an open-mouthed grin when his fingers stay intertwined with yours and you adjust your purse on your other shoulder, clearing your throat before you try to nonchalantly continue on with the conversation.

“I’ll go inside now,” you announce when you get to the girl’s dormitory building, breaking apart from the eager boy and coming closer to him when you confide the secret, “I’ll turn the light on in my room when I get there, so make sure to look out for the window. I’ll help you in, don’t worry,” you smile at him, and before he has a chance to reply, you disappear behind the glass door with a pep in your step. 

Renjun finds himself sighing– now is the moment when he should realistically get relief, the moment when he’s supposed to relax for at least a second and prepare himself for whatever might happen in your dorm room– but when he slowly walks over to the left wing of the building and squints at the dark squares of windows, he wonders how in the hell he’s gonna climb in. Escaping out will be an easy task– the windows aren’t that high up– but coming in will be the problem. He guesses it’s the same with the whole situation– he bets the easiest part of the whole evening will be jumping out and running to his own room– how to survive the night in your presence and not go completely insane, he doesn’t know and wishes he had a manual to before he agreed to do this in the first place.

When the light goes on in one of the rooms and you wave at him from the inside, he finds himself involuntarily jogging towards the window, gears in his brain turning faster than the speed of light when he reaches the wall and you grin at him, opening the window and offering him your hand. 

“If you grip the edge of the window and give me your hand, you can get in easily,” you say, watching as the boy cautiously looks around himself and scratches the back of his neck, mentally calculating his next movements.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you bashfully shake your head, “but my roommate did it twice, so I don’t think it’s that hard,” you note and nod at him, waiting for him to finally take action. 

Renjun finds himself doing what he’s been told– and even though he huffs and almost falls over to his back (which would kill him, he thinks, since his physique is very close to a turtle’s), victory fills his veins when one of his legs finally ends up in your window, his body stumbling forward and almost toppling you over when the warmth of your room welcomes him as he lands on top of your desk. 

“Welcome,” you laugh at him when he shakes his head in disbelief and takes off his coat, dropping it on top of the wooden table and watching you close the window behind him, so the cold doesn’t get in. 

“That’s one way of inviting guests over, I guess,” he teases you, watching as you roll your eyes at him and go over to one of the beds. Renjun notices the room is different to the one he shares with Donghyuck– you and your roommate have two beds instead of a bunk one, the table is right under the window and you get a little more space over-all. You turn on the little lamp kept on your bedside table, and the boy watches you with interest as you cautiously walk around your own room as if it’s your first time seeing it, reminding him a little of a deer in the headlights, clueless and suddenly out of ideas.

Renjun finds himself laughing at your behavior– he finds himself endeared by it, the way you play with your fingers in nerves and try to think of anything to do in the intimacy that suddenly envelopes you when you invite someone over to your dorm room in the middle of the night– and when you aimlessly end up standing in front of him, your big eyes even bigger and glossier than before, he snickers at the state of you and shakes his head.

“Okay, so I know I was the one who invited you over, but now I’m kind of helpless in what we should actually do and all…” you giggle, a little embarrassed when you bear your eyes into his, your body subconsciously slotted in between his legs, his position leaning on the edge of the table allowing you and inviting you to do so. 

“You’re cute,” he laughs at you, and before you have a chance to question him about the compliment, he has you silenced abruptly by his next actions.

“What do you–”

His hand is gripping your jaw and he leans into you, the newly found courage and affection towards you having him drunk on more than the alcohol, but also your whole presence– the way your hair smells when he’s this close to you, the way you pull the sleeves of your sweater further down when you don’t know what to do with your hands, the shyness in your gaze now that you have him in your cage– and his lips act on themselves when they press themselves against yours, soft but firm, tasting the strawberry juice mixed with vodka off your mouth, a surprised gasp against his lips more than enough to invite him even further in.

He feels your fingers tugging at his shirt and your skin growing hot under his touch, leaning back from you a little and finding you looking at him with a thousand different galaxies in your eyes, enough of a confirmation to him, but he’s a man– he still needs it vocally, when he grins lazily at you. “Was this one of the things you thought about when you invited me over?”

“Maybe…” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, a clearly battled grin trying to settle its way onto your lips.

“You should’ve just said so, then,” he smiles when he leans into you again, a little more confidently this time and kisses you again, again and again.

You stay under the window for a while, lips pressed hard against each other as you try to learn the curves of each other’s mouths by memory, lazy hands threaded into his hair and an arm around your waist now, steadying you in place. Foreheads pressed against each other when you break away for air, giggles resonating through the room when his lips make their way towards your neck and the softness of his hair tickles your skin, fingers threaded when you tug him towards your bed and you watch him kick his shoes off before you follow him onto the soft mattress.

His head falls into your pillow and you straddle his lap, your hair falling into your face when you look down at him from your position, the newly found dominance in your position charging you with unexplainable energy, and Renjun can’t help but smile at you sweetly when your eyes meet and you eagerly lean down towards him, fingers once again intertwined with his, hands laying next to his head. Your breath fans his swollen lips that you once again find yourself attacking, the contact overwhelming you and making it hard to breathe. Who knows how long the both of you have wanted to do this but never had the courage to– it’s a miracle that it’s even happening tonight.

And with the built-up desire, you act instinctively– hands breaking away from his when you grip his cheeks and give him one last peck, lips now traveling down his jaw and neck instead, having the boy shivering under the contact, your actions slowly but surely driving him crazy when you find his sweet spot and you get a satisfied gasp from him, a reward for your tonight’s efforts.

His hand grips your hip, and something about the burn of his fingers even through the fabric of your jeans makes you move on instinct, earning yourself a sharper hiss this time that doesn’t make you stop, however– quite the opposite, actually– as you break into a wide grin at the very evident effect you have on him, your movements slow and painful, but still having him harden under you.

Goosebumps appear all over your skin when his cold fingers capture the skin of your stomach when he aimlessly tries to find a place in your body to ground yourself, but the more he answers to your movements, the more encouraged you get. He tugs you back down so you’re facing him, which does nothing to halt your painful pace as he drags out yet another kiss from you. 

“If we don’t stop now, it’s gonna be really hard for me to do so later,” Renjun huffs into your ear, which only gets you more excited.

“Who said I want to stop?” you ask him, fingers trailing up his side over his shirt, yet still making him fire up and flush in his cheeks. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do I look like I wanna stop?” he snickers, shaking his head in utter disbelief, hand traveling dangerously close to the cup of your breast.

“Let’s continue, then,” you muse, peeling yourself off him only the slightest amount, hands dragging themselves down his body until you reach the waistband of his pants, gently dragging the fabric down until he’s left in front of you only with a tent in his underwear, big eyes curiously and breathlessly watching you in your actions. He could be a gentleman and tell you you don’t have to, tell you to stop and come back up and that he will pleasure you first, but the more he watches you as you palm him over the thin fabric of his boxer briefs with the dangerous doe eyes of yours, the less he wants to do just that. In all reality– who is he to deny a blowjob from you? Or anyone, for that matter?

His whole body shudders under your touch, actions careful, but so painfully satisfying. Renjun watches your face with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the reality of it all sobering him up and making him aware of each shift of your body, each centimeter your fingertip travels against his skin, each motion that slowly makes a bundle of nerves appear in his stomach. It only gets too much for him when you lean on your elbows, nails gently pricking the skin of his thighs as your mouth hesitantly greets his dick, and he feels like a virgin again when his eyes peel off you just in case he finishes just by watching you blowing him off like a highschooler at his first blowjob, forcing himself to watch the ceiling instead.

Eyes traveling all over your room– the closed window opposite of him, the bed on the other side of the room, the walls above your bed– he gets lost in the galaxy drawn on a piece of paper that’s plastered right above your pillowcase, and another graphite sketch of eyes bearing right into your soul, as if they were watching him in the act, and another one, of a deer that looks through the shade of the trees, before it hits him.

“Oh my god what the fuck–” he gasps, and his tone must have sounded too different to the satisfied moans that have been spilling out of his mouth up until now, because you abruptly stop your movements and your gazes lock, your eyes completely mortified.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh– Oh god no, fuck, you’re doing amazing, trust me,” apologies spill off his tongue at your distressed state, “it’s just– where… where did you get these?” he asks, pointing towards all the drawings taped all over your walls that he failed to notice in the heat of the moment before.

“Oh,” you cluelessly hum, eyebrows furrowed, “I found them spilling out of a trashcan close to the boy’s dorms when I was walking to class one morning, and they were so pretty I had to take them.”

“I– you like these?” Renjun asks, full of strange surprise and genuine curiosity. You’re now sitting back on your heels and looking at the boy with big eyes, still slightly clueless and very much in a weird state of distress– because why would a man ask you about the random artwork on your wall in the middle of a mindblowing blowjob?– before you nod with a slight pout, agreeing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have decorated my room with them if I didn’t like them, y’know… Why are you… why are you asking?”

“Oh,” Renjun repeats again, a dumbfounded look taking over his soft features before he sits up on the bed and scoots closer to you, a weird sense of euphoria spilling out every vein of his body when the held-back dopamine is released into his system. A wide grin appears on his lips before he stares into your eyes with a milky way mirroring behind his eyeballs, glittering orbs haphazardly gliding over your face before he reaches your lips again, pecking them one, two, three times before you break away and look at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight crease right in between them.

“What are you–”

“I think I’m gonna literally cum just at hearing those words, Y/N,” he blurbs out before he kisses the tip of your nose again, completely endeared and close to a happy boy under the Christmas tree, and while you may enjoy that look on him, you’re still slightly confused. Huang Renjun sighs almost a little too dreamingly and smooths the wrinkle between your eyebrows with a careful swipe of his thumb, still not giving you any explanation.

“Renjun, I’m afraid I’m not quite following why this is so important to you right now,” you mumble, having your partner laugh airly– just as if all his worries escaped through the window and you fixed his life with a few drawings plastered on your wall.

“Those, dear Y/N,” he points towards the papers stuck to your walls, eyeing the specific one he worked for 3 hours on and kind of mourned the morning after he realized he threw it away, months of practice and art that maybe wasn’t even that bad in the first place ending up in the trash because of a fit of rage, “are all mine. Mine as in, I drew them… And then threw them out in the middle of a slight mental breakdown.”

You look at him for a few heartbeats, eye contact never breaking before you avert your gaze towards the artwork on the walls– it takes you a few seconds before it hits you– and you gasp, hurriedly looking back at the artist in front of you, stars glimmering in your eyes now as well, matching his excitement. “Oh my god, are you for real?”

“Yeah.”

“You drew all of these?”

“Yeah,” he nods again, breathless.

“This is an insane coincidence,” you snicker, and Renjun didn’t know he had it in him– maybe it’s still the effect of alcohol that slips off his tongue when he speaks– but he cages you in his arms as he kisses you again, a whole new world appearing in front of him when the cheesiness meets the comfort of your walls.

“You’d call this a coincidence?” he hums. “Maybe it was fate.”

Earning himself a sharp laugh, almost mocking him as you swat his shoulder, you fall back with him towards the mattress, and while the heated moment might be gone, you don’t mind at all. Renjun looks at you with a certain softness in his eyes, a pride swelling in his chest, and for a moment, it’s true and you truly did open up a new reality for him and changed his life forever, fixed all of his problems, if you will, because the appreciation it takes for a girl to tape up at least 20 of his messy artworks onto her wall after finding the stash in the trashcan on her way to class might just be the encouragement he needed to keep going with the craft. 

It’s hard to believe that this shitty party actually brought him somewhere– not only to your bed, but also to your life, to a beginning of something new and a restart in something he thought he’d forever be giving up on.

“So… Do you need those back? Because I kinda like them here,” you giggle, and the crinkle of his eyes is enough of an answer to you.

“You can keep them. I’ll just draw new ones you can look at,” he muses, stealing another kiss from you and squeezing your hip, having you squeal against his mouth.

“Now, to get back to what we were doing before–”

[gambling-jester]

it's 5 Am and my sanity is gone

this is how listening to the new stain the canvas song makes me feel lmao

[weirdagnes]

Since i can’t pour energy into writing a whole fic/drawing stuff yet, I’m gonna dump some headcanons I have on Mishuggy.

(Long post ahead)

Shanks only bathes in the sea so its smell became his trademark scent. Buggy loves the seawater scent on him. He can never bathe in the sea anymore, so it brings him comfort when he cuddles with Shanks bc it’s the closest he can get to being in contact with the sea without feeling weak. Every time they meet, Shanks makes sure to bathe in the sea first before meeting Buggy so cuddle time will last longer.

One of Mihawk’s stims is running his hand through Buggy’s hair.

Mihawk is a night person, Shanks is an insomniac, Buggy is a morning person. Mihawk often joins Shanks when he can’t sleep, some wine and talking. Sometimes they’d be quiet and admire a sleeping Buggy.

Buggy’s voice gets low and rough often when his social battery is drained or he’s not in his stage persona (which is a very rare occurrence). Mihawk finds this incredibly attractive.

Shanks absolutely adores Buggy’s voice cracks.

Shanks is the best kisser, Mihawk is the most awkward/timid, Buggy has the most kissable lips (Shanks loves it when his lipstick leaves stains) but because of his nose, he’s the most awkward to kiss (if you’re not a professional Buggy-kisser like Shanks!)

Mihawk may not prefer lips-to-lips kissing, but he does love kissing other parts of the body like the hands, the shoulder, etc.

Buggy’s lowkey attentive to Mihawk’s infodumps on different kinds of blades, its uses and history. He’s fond of blades as well but more on short blades like daggers and machetes. He loses his mind seeing how cool Mihawk’s cross pendant knife is, and couldn’t resist showing off to him the hidden knives and explosives in his body (Mihawk wonders how he has not killed himself yet by accident).

Mihawk kinda cringes on Buggy’s habit of licking knives. He asks how has he not cut his tongue yet, Buggy is like “Hawky are u fr” then he chops off his tongue and Mihawk is horrified but quickly felt stupid remembering Buggy had devil fruit powers.

Buggy loves cherries and other sweet fruits. Hates pineapple way before he ate the Chop Chop fruit, and his distaste for it increased after eating it.

Shanks likes fish and Mihawk likes vegetable dishes (borderline vegan at this point).

Buggy loves warm colors (reds, oranges, yellows, gold). It just so happens that Mihawk and Shanks are associated with red and yellow.

Even though Mihawk and Buggy are complete opposites of a spectrum, they surprisingly get along well in terms of hobby. They both like to read, for one. Mihawk will mention a book in one of his infodumps and Buggy will be like “Oh yeah I love that one chapter where…” They both like art as well; Mihawk drew and painted in his free time when he was living in the castle, preferring still objects, dead sceneries, and chiaroscuro lightings.

Other than performance art (acting and acrobatics), Buggy is into cartography and drawing landscapes with oil pastels, but he often does maps more. When he does draw landscapes, the subject are often places where he has strong fondness/feelings of (his circus tent, Loguetown, the sea, etc). He uses small paper mediums and tucks them away. He only got to try painting when Mihawk offered. They had fun and created abstract - Buggy splashes paint spotaneously and generously, Mihawk feels the waste of paint but eventually lets loose (Buggy’s encouragement) and tried stroking the paintbrush like he wields his sword (when the canvas was slashed, they considered it a finished artwork).

Buggy and Mihawk also likes shiny things. Buggy loves treasure-finding more as an activity sure, but opening a chest full of shiny gems and trinkets is also what makes it enjoyable. He’s fond of jeweled earrings and rings but would rather keep them in a chest than wear them daily. Mihawk’s fondness for shiny things began with blades, but it also extended to shining gold colors. He’s not fond of gold for wealth purposes, he just likes shiny things.

Mihawk hates swimming whereas Shanks and Buggy love it (Buggy loves it more, but can’t do it anymore after eating his devil fruit). Mihawk hates getting wet for a long period of time + swimming is a strenuous activity, but he only learns it bc it’s a necessity for survival esp he travels by sea (and also bc there was one time where he almost drowned and its one of his most embarrassing memories. He was glad he travelled alone bc he’ll die of embarrassment forever if anyone lived to see that)

Shanks is a generous gift-giver. He isn’t materialistic himself, but the moment either Buggy or Mihawk express a passing comment about a rare wine he wanted to try someday or a map he wants to get his hands on - you got it. Shanks WILL find a way.

Whenever they go out together, Mihawk cringes at their fashion tastes. Shanks is more of a “this shirt is 10yrs old but hey its still usable” kind of guy. Buggy wears the most eyestrain clown outfits ever that will make you wonder “how did i end up with this guy”. In Shanks and Buggy’s head, they think Mihawk is an edgelord with his dark outfits on every occasion. Despite all this though, they find each other handsome.

[muffinshark]

hello! sorry if this gets asked a lot, but what layering technique do you use to be able to mimic the traditional paint feel in your digital paintings so perfectly? the final result in your works is amazing, and so entrancing too!

Hi! I've found that there are three things that really help get that gritty traditional paint feel for me. The first is including mixer brushes in my painting process; you can get multiple colors on each brushstroke with a photoshop mixer brush, and I found that sparingly using a mixer brush provides my work with more satisfying textures and dimensionality. I use Grzegorz Rutkowski's mixer brushes (he has a gumroad where you can buy them and imo they are worth it - his mixer brushes are included in his general photoshop brushes set, I believe, but I don't think you can go wrong with any of his sets/tutorials - he even has a "'Traditional look' in Photoshop" tutorial).

The second is having a noise layer: fill an empty layer over the artwork layers with 50% value gray, go to filter > add noise, set the layer to either overlay or soft light, and reduce opacity to your liking. Traditional work will never look as smooth and clean as digital work and that little bit of extra texture can do a lot.

The third and final thing is just finding different stock textures, such as paint strokes, grit, canvas textures, staining, and crackle, and adding them to layers set on usually either overlay or soft light at very low opacity. I paint traditionally as well, so sometimes I'll photograph particularly dimensional paint strokes on my oil paintings and use those as textures on my digital work.

[kenphobia]

Ragatha dating someone who likes to draw hcs????

Please if you have the time 🙇‍♀️

2 AM SKETCHES！

summary. being an artist is difficult, but it's gets a bit easier when your muse is the love of your life.

characters. ragatha, pomni (separate)

contents. established or hinted romantic relationship (ragatha, pomni), fluff

› notes featured at the end.

› Ragatha is the kind of person who enjoys drawing as a way to relief stress, as well as watching someone draw.

› You guys have drawing sessions at times, doing random prompts or just drawing each other. Ragatha enjoys drawing you a lot, but that's because she gets to look at you for longer periods at time. There's something about your face involuntarily changing whenever you think of an expression that she finds cute.

› The first time you drew her, she was so happy that she may or may not let a couple of tears stain the piece. If you gave her the green light, she'd have it framed in her room right next to her own drawing of you.

› Hypes you up a lot!! Regardless if there's an actual reason to it or not. Whenever you feel insecure about your art or just feel like your latest artwork isn't just vibing with you well, she'll be there by your aide to reassure that it doesn't make you less of an artist.

› To add onto the previous bullet, Ragatha will not hesitate to throw punches (mostly metaphorical) at anyone who dares make you feel bad about your work.

› Another one who uses drawing as a way to relief stress! Just... A bit more morbid than Ragatha's.

› She doesn't have much to say about your drawings or your hobby in general. I mean, she thinks they're neat but she's never been the one to comment a lot on art or even spend time thinking and analyzing it.

› When you decided to draw her, Pomni couldn't help but be speechless. She didn't have a lot to say to your other drawings other than "That looks cool!", but you drawing her? Completely and positively flabbergasted.

› Like Ragatha, she has your drawings in her room. Not exactly framed and are mostly kept in a small clear folder, so it's safe and somewhere no one could ever get to. It's basically her treasure at this point.

› Unlike the rag doll though, she's too shy to ever ask to draw you or draw with you. She much prefers watching you do your work and just relax, rest even for the shortest moment. Something within her finds comfort at your process of covering up the blank white canvas with something, anything. She just thinks they're neat.

notes. i decided to add pomni onto the request because i like her too much to exclude her!! tysm for requesting, anon ^^

[strnsvt]

xu minghao — the pallet of love.

minghao sat at his cluttered desk, his pencil tapping against the sheet of paper, his mind up in the clouds. he wanted to capture the essence of you, his love, but every stroke seemed to fall short.

as he gazed at the blank page, memories of your laughter and the sparkle in your eyes flooded his mind.

determined to convey his love, he picked up his pencil, each stroke infused with admiration, embarking on the journey to capture your essence with every line drawn.

the soft curve of your smile, the gentle arc of your brow, he meticulously crafted each detail, pouring his heart into every line. with each stroke, he felt closer to encapsulating the essence of you, his muse, his love. and as the image began to take shape, he couldn't help but smile.

with a determined gleam in his eyes, minghao set aside his pencil and reached for his paintbrush, eager to bring his creation to life.

"tsk," minghao clicked his tongue as he leaned back in his chair. his once eager energy now replaced with the weight of uncertainty. an artist's block gripped him, his mind struggling to conjure the next stroke.

"lost in thought," you observe, watching minghao's furrowed brow and distant gaze. he startles slightly at the sound of your voice, turning around to meet your eyes. "what's on your mind, love?" you inquire softly.

minghao rises from his seat, his hands gently resting on your shoulders as he turns you around, urging you to leave his study, "why didn't you knock?"

"i did. thrice even, but..."

"oh, i apologize,"

"minghao, my love, i already saw what you drew,"

minghao halts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as he processes your words. "you did?"

you nod, recalling the art piece you saw a few seconds ago in your mind. it was a semi-realistic art you saw of yourself.

minghao lets you sit beside him as you take the incomplete work of art into your hands, looking at it with awe. "i didn't intend for you to see it yet," he admits.

wordlessly, you gesture him to hand you the paint brush.

with that, you dip the paintbrush into water and resume working on the piece.

you bear in mind that minghao's usual art style differs significantly. typically leans towards abstract representations, often portraying landscapes, and relishes the emotional dialogue he shares with the canvas while painting.

"i used to think that self-portraits are for narcissists," you chuckle softly, breaking the silence that enveloped the room as you continue to work on minghao's piece.

with a pause in your brushstrokes, you gently pass the halfway-done artwork to minghao, inviting him to take over and add his personal touch. "make my bottom lip coral pink," you suggest, a hint of playfulness in your tone, "and add a touch of shine under my eyes."

minghao accepts the canvas with a mixture of gratitude and determination, his fingers brushing over the surface as he carefully considers your instructions.

with a newfound sense of purpose, he picks up the paintbrush and begins to add the final details, his strokes infused with a renewed sense of clarity and intention.

and as the artwork nears completion, minghao can't help but feel a swell of pride and satisfaction, knowing that together, you've created something truly special. finally, as the artwork finishes, minghao adds his signature.

"love? im done," he enters the bedroom, seeing you doing your makeup. he recalls: you were gonna hangout with your girlfriends this evening. "you look gorgeous, my love," he compliments, kissing the crown of your head, making sure your makeup isn't ruined.

"would you do me the honor of adding your signature?" he asks, a gentle smile playing on his lips. but minghao's request doesn't end there. "could you add a lipstick stain instead," he suggests, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"of course," you reply with a smile, taking the painting from him. with a tender gesture, you press your lips to the corner of the canvas, right below where he had signed. and then, turning to minghao, you lean in to kiss him, leaving a similar mark on his cheek as you share a moment of playful affection.