#only art

you know what? lmfao fuck this fuck this im done

fuck "number go up" fuck "the hustle" fuck "the grind" i'll spit chalk and coal on the walls before i respect the machine for another damn second i am not a "social media manager" im not a "content creator." im an artist

Tony Stark x Reader

Short and sweet (because as far as I know, no one has flirted with me. Unless I really am that oblivious).

"How's my favorite artist in the world?” asked Tony as he entered the studio of his latest mad impulses.

He'd gotten an earful from Potts after she’d found out about Y/N Y/L/N. Yet somehow, the lovely, witty, sarcastic to the point of pure saltiness, twenty-seven-year-old was worth it.

“Depends on whether I get this shading right. If it goes well, I'm on top of the world. If it doesn't, I'm killing myself” you grumbled from where you were hunched over at your desk.

Coming up behind you, Tony saw what your current project was.

“Is that me?” he asked, a delighted grin creeping onto his face.

"I draw a portrait of all my patrons. You're the only one I've had any fun with,” you confessed, still focused on your work.

“I’m flattered. You ever done a self-portrait?” Tony inquired curiously.

"Nah, it'd just make me never wanna look in a mirror again.”

“You’d just be unable to capture every last ounce of beauty,” Tony argued with a teasing smile.

"What ever you say, Boss," you snorted as you reached for a blending stick.

Tony could only stare in astonishment as his blatant flirting went straight over the artist's head. Had you been living under a rock before they met?

It wasn't until after the billionaire had left and you replayed your conversation in your head, did his comment finally register.