Work Text:
˚₊ · »-♡→ He finds out one day you're an artist by accident. You don't mention it directly, but he noticed the sketchbook tucked under your arm one day.
˚₊ · »-♡→ Romance didn't know he was your muse at first. Sure, you brought your notebook everywhere, painted canvases, or did digital portraits, he always assumed you were drawing something else that's not him. So when you asked him to pose for "study references", he thought you were simply being your usual polite self.
˚₊ · »-♡→ It wasn't until he found pages filled with his expressions-his laugh, his eyes, the way his hands rest when he's thinking-that's when he realized that he lived rent free in your mind more than he knew.
˚₊ · »-♡→ He was quite smug once he figured it out, not even hiding the fact that yes, he did in fact snoop in your bag and went through your sketchbook. "So you find me that breathtaking, huh?"
˚₊ · »-♡→ He often sits with you during your art sessions, posing naturally like the diva he is. SOmetimes he'll be elegantly flipping through a book, twirling a ring on his finger, or lounging cross-legged on your couch, and suddenly your hands are sketching him again.
˚₊ · »-♡→ Romance secretly keeps a few of your sketches in his wallet, the ones that you deemed were "too ugly" and tossed away. He treasures them more than he'd like to admit out loud.
˚₊ · »-♡→ Other times he'll pose on purpose. Like, he'd lean dramatically against a window, or stretch his arms up like he's in some kind of tragic renaissance painting, only to ask some shit like, "Did you get the angle right?"
˚₊ · »-♡→ Teases you relentlessly during your sketching/painting sessions. He'd lean in over your shoulder, way too close to your neck, and whisper whatever he wants.
˚₊ · »-♡→ "So do I look hotter from this angel, or that one?
˚₊ · »-♡→ "You're been staring at me for five minutes. If you want to kiss me, you could've just said so."
˚₊ · »-♡→ He loves watching you work. The way your brow furrows, how focused your eyes get, the little smudges of graphite or paint on your cheek. Sometimes he stares at you like he's the artist and you're his sculpted masterpiece.
˚₊ · »-♡→ His favorite line you said? "You're my inspiration." It cuts deeper than he'd ever expected.
---
The afternoon sun poured lazily through the windows of your shared studio, casting soft light across canvases, tangled headphones sprawled out on the floor, and scattered, half empty mugs filled with your favorite beverage.
Romance lay on the couch, half-asleep, his arm slung off the edge as he hummed tunelessly to whatever he was playing in his headphones. You sat nearby, brush in hand as you tried to capture the exact way his lashes fluttered against his cheek.
You were so focused, you didn't even notice when he opened one eye.
"You've been staring at me for thirty minutes," he said lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips. "See something you like?"
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and stay still. Your face only looks handsome and angelic when it's silent."
"ouch. Wounded," he placed a hand over his heart dramatically but overall didn't move. "You know, if you asked nicely, I'd model shirtless."
"Already did that," you said nonchalantly, gesturing to the half opened sketchbook that was sprawled out on the table. He blinked in surprise.
"You... drew me shirtless and didn't tell me?"
You shrugged. "You were sleeping. I took a picture and drew you."
Now he sat up, fully intrigued. "So I really am your muse, the apple in your eye-"
"Don't let it get in your head."
He slid off the couch and crossed the room with long strides until he was right behind you, peeking over your shoulder. "You know," he whispered, "it's only fair if I get to return the favor."
You short circuited, head spiraling as you tried to figure out what the hell he meant by that implication. "Romance-"
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll behave. Strike my most noble pose-" He leaned forward with a mock-serious expression, elbow on knee, chin on fist. "Like a tortured artist in love."
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks blushed anyway.
"You know..." he said quietly after a moment, "it's kinda flattering. You know, that I'm your muse."
Your pencil slowed at the rare sincerity in his voice. "What?"
"You could draw anything. Anyone. And you pick me. A demon with nice hair and charming skills."
You peeked behind your shoulder. His expression wasn't teasing anymore. It was shy, genuinely touched. "I pick you because you're beautiful. Inside and out, even if you are a demon."
Romance blinked.
Then smirked soon after.
"Mmhm," he hummed, teh teasing tone coming back. "Can't take that back now. You called me beautiful."
"That's the truth, so why hide it?"
Your honesty was honestly refreshing, very much so that it struck him to silence for a second. "So you're in love with me?"
You threw an eraser at him.
He caught it mid-air and leaned in, his warm breath dancing across your skin as you dropped your pencil.
"I don't hear any denial," he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "Then draw me again, love, before I ruin the moment by being too cocky, unless you want it."