#collect my canvases

[animation-reformation]

GO WATCH MY ANIMATIC

[cowardlykrow]

“I let him die / Taking your advice”

[rockyteriyaki]

happy final dead heat tuesday! @powerful-owl 🦋

[puppyeared]

valentines day pkmn wip ^_^

[todayisafridaynight]

[mylovelookup]

Can’t post art with smut on here. Thought about posting it on AO3. Googled how to. Saw how I’d have to do more steps than the expected copy and paste. Gave up.

[fluffywhump]

i still like these :3 (even if sal's guitar looks jacked up; i do... not remember if i used a reference or not...)

[milo-is-rambling]

I want to create but idk what I want to create but I want to make something my hands

[pixiemage]

Unfortunately I’m allergic to cats, so my next thought was, as a writing prompt:

The story of someone who is cursed by a witch to end up living alone with nothing but a mass of cats and books in their home. They love the reading, and they’re not looking for a life partner, so 2/3 of that curse sound legitimately enjoyable…but the cats. They LOVE cats, don’t get them wrong, but the longer they’re near one the worse their allergies get. Runny nose, itchy eyes, itchy skin, the works.

So as the years go by and the cats keep flocking to their door, a little bit of their income has to go toward allergy meds on a biweekly basis just to keep them sane. Strays follow them home, they’re drawn to boxes of abandoned kittens, and even the neighbors’ cats visit sometimes. They’re a cat magnet, and where cats appear the runny nose is soon to follow.

But they also never have need to buy new books because they’re just always there. New ones appear on their shelves bringing new stories and new worlds. It’s wonderful and completely free. And when they’re out in public they no longer get insistent and annoying people trying to ask them out on dates who can’t seem to take no for an answer. All the people who kept coming back, who ignored their protests even when they explained they were aro and ace…no longer an issue. They’ve never felt so free in their life.

If it weren’t for the allergies, and if it weren’t for the constant purchasing of allergy meds, they would almost go so far as to say that whatever spell the witch used? It was more of a blessing than a curse.

[littlelambii]

going through spurts of inspiration, between a complete lack of inspiration, is so overwhelming when it finally hits again

I can't choose want I want to work on because everything seems like a lot of fun and my head is going to explode if I get any more good ideas

[mochie85]

House of Cards

These Wicked Games Collections | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You and Loki finally confront each other about your feelings and what went wrong. Suggested Song: "Fantasy" by The Driver Era Word Count: 2.9K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Smut. Dominating/Controlling Loki, Angry sex, rough sex.

Loki’s room was dark and humid. Thick waves of moisture rolled to you from his en suite, bringing with it the scent of his soap and aftershave. He must have taken a shower moments before movie night, you mused to yourself.

As the latch on his door clicked closed, the fireplace roared to life startling you. The heat from the fire only made his scent grow deep and heady. Warm yellow light canvased the room. You followed the flicker of the flames as your eyes took in Loki’s private chambers.

There you were…alone in his room. His sanctuary. A rare opportunity to sneak around and find out more about the intimidating god of mischief. Nothing had changed since that fateful night when you challenged him to Blackjack. That following morning, you were too hurt and busy trying to get out of the mortifying situation you walked yourself into to appreciate anything else.

His desk sat in the middle of the room, facing his bed. A house of cards was meticulously crafted on top— an elaborate pyramid of angles and shapes. Some cards, magically teetering on their corners. You had forgotten your deck that night, in a hurry to leave and lick your wounds from Loki’s casual opinion of your relationship with each other.

You reached out to take one— a discarded card lying on the bottom layer. You focused on the filigree and the cherub on the back cover, greeting you back.

“I thought I told you to wait for me on my bed?” His deep voice froze your movements, squeezing the air from your lungs. You turned quickly to find Loki, already closing the final steps to you.

“Loki, I-” He didn’t let you finish as he seized your lips and invaded your senses once again. His fingers laced themselves in your hair. His other hand pulled your shirt off from behind, popping your buttons, and exposing your breasts that were already spilling over your bra from his groping earlier.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hoping to melt with him. You needed him closer. You needed his every being to get reacquainted with you. God, it's been so long.

His kiss was never-ending. He didn’t let you catch your breath, stealing your mouth every time you moved to inhale. His lips were so ravenous and demanding that it almost hurt. “…Loki…” you whined.

At long last, his fingers pulled your hair and brought your face up to meet his eyes. “You never do as you’re told, do you, darling? You never listen. Always worried about letting people inside.” His fist in your hair got tighter. His breath was hot and sweet; trying to hold back an emotion you had yet to work out. “Is that why you perfected your poker face? To hide the lies underneath?”

“What lies?!” you asked insulted and slightly afraid. “You lied to me! You used me just to play some game! Toying with me! Just entertainment for the night!” You tried to push him back, but his body was hard and unyielding. You pounded on his chest, trying to get away. But he trapped you in his arms and he wouldn’t let you go.

“You don’t listen! I have already told you, and yet you still pay no heed to my words! Do you even know how the last two weeks have been for me?” he said with a cold glare. “Torture! The moment you walked out of my bed, I started doubting myself. I started doubting you! I never thought you of all people would play me for a game like you do with your cards and tricks.”

He was furious! You had no idea how this would go, where Loki was going with his discourse. You knew Loki would never hurt you intentionally, but the look in his eyes was undoubtedly anger and pain. Not knowing terrified you and it also sent a thrill down your spine.

You had hurt him. You can see that now. He was affected as much as you were that night. You could see it in the unshed glimmer in his eyes. “You do care about me,” you realized.

“And what made you think I didn’t?” he demanded. His hold on you tightened. To be in his arms and to know that he was holding back so much of his godly strength. It hurt to almost breathe in his presence. But that was nothing compared to the guilt you felt inside. It hurt to know that you had assumed the worst of him and failed to communicate what you wanted. That you had missed out on two glorious weeks of being with him.

“You said you liked playing games. The way everything unfolded…I- I didn’t know what to think. I had no idea you even looked at me that way! And in mere hours I was splayed like a toy for you in your bed, Loki! What was I supposed to think?! How was I to know that I wasn’t just another conquest for you? That your confession was true?” you yelled back at him.

“Does this feel untrue to you!” he bucked his hips to yours, pushing you against his desk. You let out a carnal moan as you felt the length of him rub against your awaiting clit- throbbing to feel more of him, to be closer to him. The pyramid shook slightly behind you but remained standing. “Perhaps, you need a little reminder…” he growled as he kissed your lips boldly.

Blurring colors started to form and solidify in your head. Memories took shape as if they were tangible moving pictures.

~Loki growled. His fervor and desire ruling all rational thought. “I love that you’re intelligent,” he said as he flattened out his tongue and lapped the juices flowing from your cunt. “…Loki…” “I love how clever you are.” He said giving your sensitive clit a soft kiss. “I love how you’re willing to play my games.” He laughed as he kissed his way up your stomach. He knelt up on the bed, towering over your lustful figure beneath him. His eyes were wild taking in your heavy breathing, your glowing skin, and how utterly besotted you were when you looked at him. Your eyes were hooded and pleading, missing his tongue. Your mouth was open, ready to beg him to continue. “And by the Norns, you look absolutely sinful laying on my bed the way you are now.” He lined his hard cock at your entrance and slammed his way inside your tight folds.~

You felt him thrust towards your aching cunt, as if he was reliving the memory himself. The heavy force of his illusion pushed you back into reality. The house of cards gave way and fell behind you in one fell swoosh.

“You love me,” you whispered to yourself. Tears brimmed your lids as you looked at the truth in his eyes. The realization was heavy and thick; along with the guilt of invalidating his feelings.

Loki closed his eyes as he leaned in to rest his head on yours. He took a deep breath, relieved you had finally understood what he was trying to convey. Your fingers brushed through his silken hair, pulling him closer. Your lips apologized for you as you assailed his beautiful face with kisses. Softly, one after another. His fervid cheeks. His troubled eyes. His sharp chin. He felt each kiss as a prayer of penance asking for his forgiveness.

Your velvet lips turned into passionate kisses the more you held him. Loki returned your fervor with as much desire, if not more. How long has he waited for this? Dreamt of this? Wondering if he’d ever get the chance to kiss you again like this.

He had already granted you his pardon- earlier tonight when you had confessed that you imagined kissing him instead of Rogers. Perhaps even earlier than that, when you sat down on his lap and acknowledged his presence, finally, after weeks of disaffection. You had his forgiveness, but not his mercy.

“Loki, I need you. Please,” you begged. You started to unbutton his shirt, your fingernails nicking and scratching at his creamy skin in haste. “Make love to me,” you whined, wanting to compensate for lost time.

He licked his lips and savored your words. “Oh no, pet,” he chuckled darkly. “Only good girls get made love to...” Loki pushed your shoulders down, laying you on his desk. Your eyes widened in shock as your hair flowed around you, weaving with the cards of the fallen castle. He pulled your legs forward, bringing your hips flushed with his hard cock. “…Bad girls get fucked!”

You took a sharp intake of air as his words rattled your nerves. You heard the zip of his pants as his hands held you down on his desk. He nudged the wet gusset of your panties aside and guided the tip of his cock at your entrance. You moaned shamelessly when you felt him inside you for the first time in weeks.

He let out a shaky breath as he dragged himself up and down through your wet lips. Slowly teasing you, making you squirm with need. “…please…” you said so quietly you thought it was in your head. “…please, Loki…”

He gave into your cries. Into your begging; and thrust quickly inside you. You let out a vulgar moan at the sheer length of him filling you completely. Your knees squeezed around his hips as you tried to slow his assault. Your nails dug into the soft wood of his desk trying to hold on. “Stop resisting, my love. I thought this was what you wanted?” he grunted.

 Your hands gripped his wrist that was holding down your shoulder. He gathered your skirt around your waist and used it as leverage to thrust deeper into you. “Just a little bit deeper…fuck…When I’m…when I’m done with you…I’ll make sure…you can’t walk in the morning…” he vowed. “So, you won’t leave my bed like you did that day.” His rage was palpable and cloying.

“…Loki…” you whined. But that only made him go harder. Faster.

You held the edge of the desk above you, trying to meet his passionate thrust with your own. Strands of your hair fell off to the sides. Your back arched, and you could feel the cards stick to the sweat of your skin.

“You like this, don’t you? Look how wet you are for me.” He watched as your sweet cum coated his shaft, making him groan. You could feel it dripping from you with each hard thrust of his cock. “Do you like it rough?”

“…fuck, Loki…please…”

“You’re enjoying this too much.” His hand moved from your shoulder up to your throat. He grabbed your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, “Next time, I’ll just fuck you in front of the team. So, they can see what a begging mess you become for me.”

And he was right. You are a mess. And you are enjoying this too much. You had always prided yourself in being a tough and independent person. But when it comes to Loki, you didn’t hesitate to be cuffed and barred. You didn’t fight it when he chased you. You wanted him to catch you. You wanted his dominance.

Loki bent to hover over you, pinning your hips down to his hard desk. “You are not to leave me. Ever. Do you understand?” his breath came out labored and grunting. “You can storm out angry. You can yell, scream, and fight. Hell, I prefer it. But you are never to leave without returning and talking about it afterward. Is that clear?” He thrust deep to mark his point. You moaned loudly into the stifling air. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it!” he thrust again, demanding an answer.

“yesyesyes…please Loki…I’m a-about to…” you squeezed tighter around him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Come on then. Give it to me.” He demanded in your ear. You wrapped your ankles around his waist, keeping him locked to you. Loki stood back up, taking your wrist ad holding them down against his desk. You were trapped in between his corded arms. All you could see was the beautiful face of a god unraveling above you. His slanted brows and his gritted teeth, his deep voice grunting at the feel of your warmth around him.

You could feel the tight pull of his shaft against your walls when he dragged himself out and plunged back in. “Fuck baby, that’s it. Tighter. Come on.”

Your legs shook and you screamed his name one last time. Your orgasm pulses inside you, making every single part of you sensitive and euphoric. Loki followed soon after. His hips jutted forward with each grunt and spill of his climax inside you.

Loki bent over you again. He caged your head between his arms and kissed you softly on your swollen lips. Your hands roamed his back, feeling his powerful muscles contort and contract as he moaned above you. Your nails would scratch on his smooth skin whenever his cock twitched inside you. “Loki.”

Without breaking your kiss, he scooped you up from his desk and walked over to his bed. “…such a good girl for me, darling…” he whispered on your skin. “…taking me all in like that. Good fucking girl...” Your throat was hoarse and stung too much to answer anything above a sigh. His plush blankets welcomed you as he laid you down on top. “…and do you know what good girls get?”

You bit your lip to stop from giggling. Loki lined himself up with your entrance once again and pushed slowly. Your giggles turned into moans as he continued his rhythmic thrust against your heat.

“Look at me, darling,” he asked so sweetly. Your furrowed eyes caught his. “I love you,” he murmured. “I should’ve said it from the very beginning.” He continued at a tantric pace, keeping his stare at yours. You tightened around him and you got a more genuine feel for him. Every vein, every inch, pulling your moans from your lips and leaving you with nothing but the sensation of his love and adoration for you.

He looked deep into your eyes, and you could tell that he was close again. “I love you too,” you whispered. Loki let go. At the same time, your body releases itself into a climax. One of the strongest, and most powerful, ones you’ve ever felt.

His body sunk on top of yours. He was finally letting go of the weight and worry that he held these past weeks. And you welcomed it by holding him tighter against you.

You woke up the next morning, tender and stinging. The tiniest movement of your hips shot an aching soreness throughout your body. And you smiled. Your mind reeled at the memories of last night. After your shared confessions, Loki took you again in the shower, then on the floor, and then in the shower again. He fucked you in every conceivable space in his room. And then he would make love to every inch of your body afterward.

“Can you walk?” his voice was low and gravelly. The dredges of sleep have yet to release him from their grasp.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You playfully pushed him aside, pretending to be insulted. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a morning kiss.

“Good morning, my love…” he said with adoration. “…Can you walk?” he repeated. You rolled your eyes at him, smiling. You knew the answer before you even attempted to sit up and try to get off his bed.

Your hips felt out of place. Your thighs burned and screamed at being used again so soon after last night. And your feet could barely hold you up threatening to slip. “No, I can’t. Are you happy?”

Loki scooped you up making you yelp and grab hold of his shoulders. “Tremendously, so.” He said kissing you heatedly on your lips.

Nat sat in the conference room, reading Tony’s mission briefing from the night before. The rest of the team returned early last night and decided to join in on the movie. No one had noticed that you and Laufeyson were missing until Thor asked where his brother was. “They were both very tired. I think they might’ve gone to bed early,” Nat smirked.

And now, here she was watching the two of you come out of the bedroom hallways. A sudden giggle escapes from your lips. She looked over the paper and witnessed Laufeyson carrying you into the kitchen bridal style. “Put me down! I can walk now you know,” you whispered into his ear.

“Oh, darling. We both know I’m too good for that to wear off so quickly.”

“You pompous ass!”

“Yes, one that has your scratch marks all over it!” He gave you a quick peck on the lips, followed by his signature devious smirk. Loki pulled out one of the chairs and sat down with you on top of his lap.

Oh, this oughta be good! Nat neglected the rest of her work on the table and made her way over to the two of you. Loki had conjured a muffin and some coffee for you. While you sat on his lap feeding him grapes like he was Dionysus himself.

“You know, when I dared you to sit on his lap, I meant for the length of the movie,” Nat said coming up from behind you and sitting across the table. “Not indefinitely.”

“Your lovely friend here has been incapacitated, Agent Romanoff.” Loki smiled, nuzzling his nose against the smell of his shampoo in your hair. “I’m afraid she’ll need assistance from here on out. For the foreseeable future.”

“Stop it!” you chided him.

“Make me,” he teased.

⬅️ Truth or Dare | Hide and Seek (Coming Soon) ➡️

A/N: I guess I wasn't ready to let go of these two yet. This series wasn't supposed to have any major angst or plot. It was just supposed to be a collection of these two characters playing random "adult" games. So, I will try to get back to that thought and update whenever I think of something for them to do 😉.

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine-blog @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101

[animation-reformation]

[allebasimaianunes]

"the boxer" ✴︎ drew starkey

one-short | fluffy & semi-smut

sumary: Drew is the model of a rising artist. He is not only her muse, but also her most passionate lover of her works.

autor's note: so, i saw this twitter here and i got kind of obsessed with the whole concept. i have this painting engraved in my mind, so i decided to write a little text with the scene that came to my mind, really quickly. it's not a big deal :) the painting is "the boxer" by russian painter kostantin andreevich somov (1869-1939).

warning contend: it's quite romantic to be honest. there's a hint of sex at the end, but i wanted to keep it light, erotic, and sentimental! english isn't my first language, so i apologize for the mistakes. oh, and here the reader is in the third person, with no description of physical characteristics. enjoy the reading! <3

word count: 1.795 words

language: eng.

soundtrank inspo: give you my love, mazzy star

“Please, be quiet.”

She asked with one of the brushes between her teeth, watching him intently. The blonde man, with tanned skin and a defined body, chuckled, amused by the painter's impatience, adjusting his position once again. It was exhausting to pose nude for hours on end, in the same exact pose, unable to move a single muscle so as not to disturb the meticulous painting the woman was creating.

Drew sighed, extending one of his hands forward as his gaze landed on the artist.

She was adding yellow paint to the details outlining the curves of his body. The room they were in was both her little bedroom, her studio, and her kitchen – a small cubicle painted in a sandy yellow, with a few rustic wooden furniture pieces she scavenged from shops here and there. The bed was nothing more than a single mattress on the floor, and her wardrobe consisted of large, square trunks typically used for train travel. Books on human anatomy were scattered alongside Walter Benjamin, Gramsci, Virginia Woolf, and Jean-Paul Sartre – books he devoured during idle moments. And there was an overwhelming amount of painting supplies – truly impressive. Paint tubes stacked in crates she collected from the market, brushes drying on the balcony, blank canvases leaning against the walls.

She spent more on art supplies than on food.

The man’s blue eyes fixed on the woman’s face: beautiful, angular, like a unique work of art. She looked exceptionally stunning when she was deeply focused on painting. In a swift motion, she removed the brush from between her teeth and used it to add the final blend to the painted face. She smiled, stepping back with measured steps from the canvas, placing her hands on her hips, satisfied with the result. Drew grew curious, wanting to leave his pose but knowing he had to stay still until she gave him instructions.

“This one is beautiful. Wow, I can’t believe I painted it!”

“If only I could look at it and give my opinion…” the man said sarcastically, glancing at her with pleading eyes, desperate to move. She rolled her eyes and nodded, signaling him to come see the result of five hours of posing. Naturally comfortable in his nude form, the man walked to the easel holding the canvas, briefly glancing at the window and noticing the sun setting on the horizon, casting warm orange and red hues across the sky.

He positioned himself behind the woman, his height making it easy to see the portrait. His eyes filled with pride and an overwhelming emotion as he saw himself depicted on the canvas. The way she captured the details of his relaxed expression, the movement in the outstretched hand, the defined body exposed in golden tones – it touched him deeply. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he felt an odd urge to cry.

“Wow… This is perfect! You’re incredible.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked hesitantly, looking at him over her shoulder. The man moved closer, placing his hands on her tense shoulders, whispering, “I’m sure that when we sell this painting, buyers and curators will climax with excitement.”

“Drew…” she laughed, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with joy at his praise. Smiling, he cupped her face tenderly, resting his forehead against hers. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: you’re the best artist in this city! Actually, in the entire world!”

“Stop, you’re going to make me vain!”

“And rightfully so!” he retorted, both laughing. With gentle fingers, he tucked strands of her hair behind her ears, his gaze turning soft, studying every little detail of her.

He felt love consuming his chest like flames, recalling the moment she first approached him dressed in a suit and tie – several sizes too big for her – with a beret to hold her hair back, pretending to be a male gambler at his underground fights. She casually asked if he would accept a job in exchange for money. Of course, he agreed, assuming it would be some intimate encounter or collecting a debt with violence. When they arrived at her small sixth-floor apartment, he was surprised by its simplicity and the casual way she revealed herself to him.

His heart raced as she removed the beret, letting her long hair fall, and took off the blazer and trousers, leaving her in an oversized dress shirt. She lit a cigarette from her silver case, walked across the room to grab a canvas, and set up the easel near a chair facing the open balcony door. She gestured toward the chair. Still puzzled, he walked over, feeling self-conscious about his sweat, the bruises on his brow, and the cut on his lower lip-yet more so about his naïveté for not suspecting the stranger was, in fact, a woman.

While setting up to paint, it was Drew who broke the silence, his voice curious. “Why did you pretend to be a man? Wouldn’t it have been easier to approach me as… yourself?”

She glanced at him from behind the canvas, the cigarette dangling from her lips. “I wanted a fighter. And there are a lot of ignorant men in those places… I’ve always wanted to walk into a room full of men dressed as one of them, approach someone, and bring them back to my place to paint them. So I combined business with pleasure, and here you are.”

Drew raised an eyebrow, crossing his legs, intrigued by this strange, half-naked woman in front of him. “And you’re not afraid? Especially dressed like that in front of me… I’m a fighter. I’m strong,” she stepped out from behind the canvas-not backing away but moving closer to him. Her eyes locked with his as she finished his thought: “I could overpower you. Or something like that.”

“No. I’m not afraid of you, and you wouldn’t overpower me,” she said defiantly, smiling. Drew frowned, studying her intently as she pulled a pair of oval-framed glasses from his shirt pocket, placing them on his face. She crouched to pick up a book by the chair and handed it to him. “I watched you for weeks, considering you as my potential model, and I couldn’t help but notice how fake you are!” she laughed, lighting another cigarette.

Drew’s face twisted in offense. “Excuse me!? I don’t even know you, and you’re calling me out like this!? Who do you think you are? I swear, I’ll walk out and tell the first person I see that you’re insane-” He began to rise, but she casually extended a cigarette toward him.

Her gaze was calm and confident. That nonchalant, informal act caught him off guard. It disarmed him. Accepting the cigarette, he allowed her soft voice to explain: “Don’t be offended or mad. I did what anyone desperate for a chance in this world full of jerks would do: I took unconventional measures to make my mark. I needed a model with your features, someone unique and unknown. That way, if I could convince you to be my model, I could pose as you to sell my work. Because, ever since I left my studies, I’ve had zero validation as a woman artist. You get it?”

Drew took a drag, his eyes fixed on hers. Thoughts swirled in his mind – it was an unexpected proposal. After a decade of his mediocre life as a boxer, competing in small matches for meager earnings with blood, sweat, and pain, her offer lit a spark in his mind. Intrigued, he asked, “So, how would this work… you pretending to be me?”

She smiled, satisfied – a smile he would come to know intimately over the months that followed, as they sealed their deal with a handshake, a gaze filled with mutual ambition, and cigarettes smoked into the evening as she sketched a new canvas.

Their partnership flourished. She had the talent, and he had the image coveted by curators and collectors. While she worked from the shadows, he basked in the spotlight.

Their inevitable closeness culminated in a private celebration after a major sale – a stunning bust of Drew with his torso exposed and a vacant, majestic expression. That night, in her cramped apartment, amid whiskey and wine, their bodies intertwined, the lines between them blurred, and passion erupted in a tangle of sweat and ecstasy.

Drew was hopelessly in love with her, and he wanted her to know. Yet, he hadn’t found the right words – until that sublime moment, gazing at the portrait of himself as he turned to her and whispered: “I’m losing my mind over you, woman!”

“Oh, my God…” she said, surprised, her paint-stained hands holding his. He didn’t mind—in fact, he felt her touch was akin to being painted into her masterpieces. Drew smiled sincerely, kissing her tenderly.

The kiss was returned with a sublime tenderness and love. Their bodies moved through the room in a dance, his firm hands guiding her to the mattress, gently pushing her onto it. Standing over her in his unashamed nudity, bathed in the warm glow of the sunset, her gaze shifted with a mix of carnal desire and passion. She whispered, “Darling, you truly are a masterpiece. My masterpiece.”

Drew’s smile brimmed with passion as he lay over her, planting kisses full of emotion. Through their intimacy, he felt her unspoken love, her hands painting his body with her touch, just as she would a canvas. Drew smiled passionately, lying on top of her and distributing kisses full of feelings, feeling in her mouth the words of love and passion that she did not say to him verbally, feeling in the way she slid her hands over his body as she drew it, exploring her body like a picture critic captures every detail in a painting. Eyes, nose, lips, neck, chest, breasts, abdomen, mons pubis, thighs. Returning to between her legs, the wet and sensitive intimacy. The moans mixing with the noise of the city outside, the pleading whispers, the peak that made her shiver. With his breathing so heavy, almost unable to contain himself, losing himself in her was a delirium in itself. Penetrating as if he could dye her soul with himself, the man crossed his hands before cumming, dragging out a deep, lazy “I love you.”, full of honey and golden colors in her ear.

As night fell, cloaking the drying canvas on the balcony in an indigo veil, they lay entwined on the mattress, bodies glistening and breaths heavy. Drew smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her beautiful face and murmured, “If I’m your masterpiece, then let me be eternally etched in your eyes. My creator.”

He leaned in, sealing the words I love you onto her soul with a kiss.

[daisymbin]

warm hues! - xu minghao

warnings: none

pairings: xu minghao x reader

genre: tipsy minghao? friends to lovers!

wc: 1.3k

drunken confessions series

check out my masterlist! // hao's m.list

the sun has already set by the time you decide to call minghao. he’d been in his art studio all day, working on his latest project—a piece he’d been tight-lipped about, only dropping vague hints whenever you tried to pry. knowing him, he was probably lost in his own world, forgetting to eat, drink, or even take a break. the thought makes you frown as you wait for him to pick up.

after a few rings, you hear his voice, soft and slightly breathy, like he’d been completely engrossed in his art before your call interrupted him. “hey,” minghao says, a smile evident in his tone. “what’s up?”

“hao, are you still at the studio?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

there’s a pause, then a light chuckle. “yeah, why? missing me already?” he teased.

you roll your eyes, though your lips curve into a smile. “i just wanted to bring you dinner. you’ve probably forgotten to eat again.”

“i didn’t forget,” he argues, though you can hear the lie in his voice. “i just... haven’t had time.”

“exactly my point,” you say, grabbing the packed meal you prepared with him in mind. “i’m on my way. don’t even think about touching another paintbrush until you’ve eaten.”

he hums in response, and you can picture the way he’s probably smiling to himself, eyes crinkling at the corners. “okay, okay. i’ll wait for you.”

–

when you arrive at minghao’s studio, you’re met with the faint scent of paint and the warm, earthy aroma of wine. his art studio is a familiar place, filled with canvases leaning against the walls, paint splatters on every surface, and brushes scattered across the tables. minghao himself is standing in front of a large canvas, wine glass in hand, his cheeks flushed a soft pink.

“you actually listened to me,” you say, surprised to see him waiting by the canvas, paintbrush set aside.

he turns to you, a smile breaking across his face. “of course i did. how could i not when you asked so nicely?” his voice has tipsy lilt to it, and you realize he’s more than just a little buzzed.

you raise an eyebrow, holding up the bag of food. “you’ve been drinking?”

“just a little,” he admits, holding up the almosy empty bottle of wine. “it pairs well with painting.”

you sigh, setting the food down on a nearby table. “come on, you need to eat something. wine on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea.”

minghao laughs, setting his glass down and obediently following you to the table. he sits across from you, and you can’t help but notice the way his gaze lingers on your face, his eyes soft and warm.

“thank you,” he says quietly as you unpack the meal, his voice carrying a sincerity that makes your heart flutter.

“hmm,” you reply simply, avoiding his gaze. “just eat, okay?”

he does as he’s told, taking bites of the food you brought while occasionally sipping his wine. it isn’t long before he starts talking, his usual calm and collected demeanor slipping as he grows more relaxed.

“you know,” he starts, swirling the wine in his glass, “i’ve been working on this piece for a while.”

“yeah?” you prompt, curious. “what’s it about?”

minghao hesitates, his eyes drifting to the canvas he’d been working on. it’s partially finished, splashes of colors blending together in a way that’s both chaotic and beautiful. there are hints of a figure in the center, but it’s not fully defined yet. he seems lost in thought for a moment, then turns back to you.

“it’s... inspired by you,” he admits, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. “or, well, because of you.”

your eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. silence hangs between you, and minghao’s smile falters, a nervous, almost panicked look crossing his face.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he rushes out, his voice strained. “i know that probably sounds weird, or maybe you think it’s stupid, but i couldn’t help it. you inspire me, and i... i’m in love with you. god, i shouldn’t have said that. i’m sorry- i just-”

“hao,” you finally interrupt, your voice soft but firm. he stops rambling, his wide, anxious eyes meeting yours.

“why do you think i remind you to eat and bring you food all the time?” you ask, your cheeks burning. “why do you think i worry about you spending all day in here, forgetting to take care of yourself?”

minghao’s mouth opens slightly, his panic giving way to confusion. “why…?”

you let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling your heart race. “it’s because i care about you, too. a lot.”

minghao’s expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “you do? you do…,” he answers himself, “but..like as a friend..or…?” he whispers subconsciously, trying to mask his nervousness, his voice barely audible.

you nod as your fingers start brushing against his where they rest on the table. “I would like to bring you food all the time, every day actually. without needing to care or worry if I sound overbearing. if thats..what you want too?”

his lips part, and for a second, he looks like he’s still processing your words. then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face; one that’s full of relief and disbelief all at once. he laughs, a sound that’s almost giddy, and he reaches out to gently cup your face.

“are you sure? will you really do that? you know I love the food you make me.” he asks, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“yeah,” you whisper, your voice steady despite your racing heart. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

minghao's eyes search yours, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly against your skin. His smile doesn’t waver, but there’s something soft and unguarded in the way he looks at you, as if he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“then,” he says, voice hushed and tender, “i want that. i want everything you’re willing to give me.” his forehead leans against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mixing with yours, a silent, shared exhale that says everything neither of you can quite put into words.

you close your eyes, your hands moving to rest over his, anchoring the moment in your memory. the world outside his studio feels distant, almost nonexistent, as if the only things that matter are his touch, his smile, and the way your heart beats in time with his.

“hao,” you whisper, opening your eyes to find him already watching you. there’s a playful glint there, even amidst the sincerity, and it makes you smile despite yourself.

“yes?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“finish your food before it gets cold,” you tease, breaking the moment with a light laugh. “you promised, remember?”

he lets out a laugh, one that’s full and genuine, and the tension between you both dissipates like mist. “right,” he agrees, finally pulling away, though his gaze never strays far from your face. “but only if you sit here with me while i eat.”

“of course, always.” you reply, settling in beside him and feeling his shoulder brush against yours. it’s a simple question & a simple answer, but the meaning behind both of them, so much deeper.

minghao picks up his fork, taking another bite of the meal you prepared, and you sit together in the comfort of his art-filled sanctuary, a newfound understanding shimmering in the air between you.

“thank you,” he whispers, his voice full of awe. “for being here. for always taking care of me.”

“thank you too, for always listening so well & letting me take care of you.” you murmur, your heart swelling.

“only because it's you.”

minghao pulls you into a kiss, he hopes you know that this kiss is an unspoken agreement he promises never to break.

[dappermouth]

How are the prints of your art so freaking beautiful? I have three of your 24x36 prints and they're the best looking pieces in my whole collection and I wish I could get my art (digital) to look half as good in a large print but I just can't figure it out. Is there some special trick to it or just your own brand of magic? Love you and your work <33

Oh thank you! I do have some tips!

If you're looking to get crispness at scale, I think the most important factor is the size of your art. I work on big canvases, at least 8000px on the shortest side. This requires your computer to be haunted by a powerful ghost, but painting at that scale results in a finished file that you can print at large sizes (posters, wall tapestries, etc) and it'll look fantastic. As a rule of thumb, figure out the largest dimensions you want to print at before you start painting, and set up your canvas to that size at 300dpi.

Select paper stock with your artwork in mind — matte and semi-matte papers are much preferred for darker art like mine. And possibly for all art, all the time. Brightly colored art can work on glossy paper but idk, I don't like glossy prints in general. Too shiny? I feel like a bird would come grab it out of my hand? on reflection this may be a personal problem

If you're making prints at home, look suspiciously at your printer while it prints. Keep it self-conscious, keep it on its A-game. Don't let it pull one over on you.

I hope that's helpful somehow! There's a ton of other stuff but I'm already rambling. A lot of it is still mysterious to me also, don't be discouraged if it takes some trial and error!

[cosmokrill]

This has been sitting in one of my Clip Studio Paint canvases for long enough, so the point that I just don't think it'll ever get fully finished.

This was meant to be a painting of Sparkbird's birds (Fred and Georgie) as Minecraft parrots for the SMP, but among many other half-started and half-finished paintings I had in mind for a server texture pack, this sadly might never reach a fully finished state. Didn't think it would do it any good to sit and collect dust on my laptop, though, so I might as well post it