#contour and contrast practice lol

[arriathedragon]

Finsihing an animatic that took far to long for only being seconds long hahaha help

excited to finally get some actual story out for my Warrior AU tho

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi!!! I am a fellow Mary gore enthusiast and i had this idea.

You were a sibling of sin at the ministry, a relatively new one, but you had a secret. You were raised catholic and only recently converted, so you were a virgin. Mary can practically smell the innocence and can’t keep his hands off you.

Ugh what I’d do for this baby 😭

ugh I know!!!! I’m so down bad for Mary it’s embarrassing

thanks for reaching out! here’s a little something something under the cut for your time. :)

everyone please feel free to send in requests/suggestions! I want to get back into writing and could definitely use the motivation lol

quick cw: no smut, but definitely mature content. also maybe stalking? idk Mary is a little creepy here but reader definitely likes it.

The evening dew soaks into your habit, and you squirm uncomfortably as it chills your skin. Mary’s lithe figure presses into you from above, pinning you to the grass with a surprising strength. Backlit by the full moon, you can just barely make out the contours of his face, high cheekbones and a blunt, straight nose. Now that it’s drying on your skin, you can smell that the blood they wear is fake. After everything you’ve experienced in the last month, that actually comes as a surprise.

Mary kisses you again, humming contentedly against your mouth. There was little resistance when, on your way back from the initiates’ bonfire, they ambushed you in the garden. Despite the warnings, all the rumors passed around about who — or what — they are, you were under their spell from the moment you first felt their eyes on you.

“Oh, Mary?” The Sister asks. She blows on her cup of tea, the steam dissipating into the air in faint swirls. “No one quite knows what their deal is.”

“I’ve seen them a few times now,” you note. “He’s always there when I cut through the cemetery. Groundskeeper, maybe?” She shrugs.

“I’m there all the time and I’ve never seen him.”

If they’ve been watching you, as you suspect, it certainly took them long enough to make a move.

“Look at you,” Mary growls, a grin splitting their pale face. You hang on to each word, not quite used to the sound of his voice yet. After all this time, the only thing exchanged between you being glances across rows of graves, hearing them speak is new and exciting. “Beautiful.”

I should be afraid, you think. Instead, your cheeks flush.

“M-“ You have to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. “Me?” You’re shaking. A part of you worries this is all a mistake. Maybe you misinterpreted his attentions? You’re just a lowly initiate, after all. You’re still wet behind the ears. Inexperienced.

Naive.

Mary laughs, and it’s like music. He brushes his cheek against yours affectionately, stubble just barely tickling your flesh. Your eyes flutter shut, and lost in the gesture, your guard drops.

Before your eyes open again, he’s latched himself onto your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there. A tremor wracks through you at the unfamiliar sensation, wrenching your mouth open and pulling out moan so loud the ghouls can probably hear it down in the dens. You should be embarrassed — the other initiates in your cohort will likely tease you relentlessly if you’re caught, but you couldn’t care less. None of them, it seems, are of interest to Mary. This mysterious, beautiful stranger has eyes only for you.

Pressing his nose into the junction of your neck and shoulder, Mary takes a deep breath, full of your scent. They sigh, flicking their tongue across the spot on your neck you know is already deep purple.

“I can practically smell it on you,” he says, taking another whiff. You consider asking what they mean, when you remember you’re still using the bar of soap you brought from home. Sweet-pea and violet; such a mild scent underneath the wine on your breath and the bonfire smoke that’s seeped into your clothes, but the contrast is so heavy even you notice it now. The irony isn’t lost on you. It reminds you of your old life; pleated skirts and tacky polos, of dragging yourself out of bed when, in your heart, you know Sundays are for sleeping.

The gears in your head click into place. Your eyes widen.

They’ve figured it out.

Mary retreats from the crook of your neck, but suddenly you can’t meet his gaze.

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Mary asks. The flush from your cheeks creeps downwards as embarrassment grips your whole being. You squirm beneath them, trying to find the right words.

“It can’t be that obvious…” Mary cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion.

“What do you mean, baby?” He wants you to say it. Fucking hell. Trying to prolong the inevitable, you surge upwards, crashing your mouth into his. Mary groans into the kiss, and you feel a bit more of his weight press down on you. “Hmm?”

You huff and roll your eyes, finally defeated. If they don’t keep touching you, you’re going to get desperate. “It can’t be that obvious I’m a virgin!”

Mary grins, and for a faint moment, you swear you see something in his eyes flicker unnaturally.

You gulp.

[neonponders]

For the forced proximity tropes list: how about riding the same horse or teaching the other how to do something from behind them? :)

Harringrove seems to be going through a cowboy!au moment right now lol I do love a horse-girl!steve (and have written him a couple of times already lol).

BUT

I’ve been blessed with this painting on my dash, so here’s some art studio boys (and I’m sorry that it ends with bullet points. I ran out of time and it blew up into like a full fic idea lol).

~ CW for sex worker!Steve ~

• • • • • • •

The giggles and taunts building up to the day about having a nude model in the studio went silent once the young men fully realized what they were in for. Anticlimax. It’s not like Aphrodite was in the room, and there was something humbling about being with a naked body for so long.

That was the first day. The lady was clearly a regular, based on how she and the professor spoke to each other.

The second day...was not a woman. And they were late.

Billy looked up from his station when the young guy rushed in, ready with apologies to the professor. Billy wondered if he was a student from another class, here at a different hour in order to make up a session - but then he went behind the folding partition at the back of the room. Reemerged in a robe and Billy had the minutes it took the professor to introduce their model to prepare.

Maybe the others did not have their Aphrodite, but Billy found it hard to breathe. The man sat on the makeshift furniture on the raised palette in the center of the room and slipped the rob off, letting it fall back in aesthetic ripples and lines.

Simply, he was beautiful. Moles as small as freckles dotted all of him. If his dark hair were curly, he would be a living statue from antiquity, but the straight, voluminous tresses swooshed around his elegant bone structure. He even had the prominently arched, Cupid’s lips.

Where did he find this guy? Billy wondered with a look at the professor slowly pacing around the room. Billy had to get started. They only had a few minutes of each pose, and if he had nothing to show for it, Billy did not want the judgmental scrutiny of his pages.

So he gets to work, focusing on capturing the likeness of those limbs instead of gazing empty-headed at them. The room is loud with pages turning in the large sketch books whenever a new pose is called for, and it becomes almost easy to focus like it’s any other day.

The professor marked the halfway point by closing the curtains and igniting the lamps for harsh lighting. Pencils and crayons are exchanged for charcoal or even ink to practice contrast. The man stood up, and Billy felt his lungs freeze and his stomach slip all over again. Like his arteries were ice as his heart were an ember, beating warmth through his extremities and cracking himself open.

The light put the man’s lean muscles into blatant contrast, but for every shadow and long gleam of light, he looked soft. Real. Touchable.

Billy wondered if he ought to have gone into the marble studio; let the sound of hammers dull all of his distractions.

From the shine on his hair to the darker flesh of his groin, Billy sketched it all and then went back over it in patches, shading the contours of a shoulder and the side of his throat. Mapping out some moles while he was at it.

The man held his hands loosely behind his neck, as if he’d just risen from the bath or bed, naked and alive and honest and why are his eyes so big -

“We’re just about there. Finish where you are and pack up. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve. Billy wondered if that was his real name. Bit of a lackluster name for someone so pretty. A modest piece of art’s hypocrisy. Models with fake names; sex workers looking for safe and easy surplus income. Renowned artists making a living off of their portraits while their models stayed categorized as rats of society. Expect a man’s wife to attend his exhibit and charm the guests who come and see every lover with which he neglects her.

Plenty of models were just confident people spending their days off helping students. The man went behind the partition and dressed quickly. Being the last class of the day, Billy took his time and resolved to stick around. Goodness knew there were never enough pieces in a portfolio...

• Basically Steve comes back for some reason (Billy doesn’t know for a while) and sneaks up behind him to see what he’s working on.

• Scares the heck out of Billiam but Steve actually has genuine encouragement and advice for the art piece (the teaching him from behind prompt).

• Billy asks how he knows this stuff and Steve says something like, “One of my clients is an artist,” confirming that he is a sex worker.

• They spend weeks just being art pals until Billy just can’t take it anymore. He takes the leap and goes to Steve as a client. 

• But there’s drama like someone’s stealing art supplies from the studio and Billy thinks it’s Steve. But he doesn’t know why Steve would steal until Steve reveals that he was disowned from his family for wanting to pursue art and bisexual shenanigans.

• Steve doesn’t have an artist client. He is the artist.

• It takes even longer for Billy to find his art pieces and then realizes that the mystery, nameless artist that’s become all the rage is Steve.

• Steve is caught because he’s now successful enough to not be a sex worker. He’s loyal to Billy and in love (duh). But he can’t reveal who he is because of the scandal with his family and time as a sex worker.

• Billy is caught because he wants Steve to be safe with the money he now has, but could get kicked out of school for standing by while supplies went missing. And he can’t bear to look at Steve’s work because he believes every model is one of Steve’s clients.

• Steve tells him to come to his next show. It’s a challenge and a taunt. If Billy doesn’t like what he sees, then Steve will agree to be done. He’ll even reveal his identity for Billy, if Billy chooses.

• Billy almost doesn’t go, but he does, and he sees a whole gallery filled with fragmented portraits of himself. He knows his own lips, his own freckles, the mole on his shoulder.

• It’s when people complain and criticize the artist for repeating paintings and figure studies in the exhibit that Billy realizes that Steve’s portfolio isn’t a catalogue of johns. Steve’s work, his head, and heart are full of Billy. They’ve always been full of Billy, and he was too paranoid to notice.

• Billy is his muse. They get married. The end.

.

.

~ Prompt list here ~

[ener-chi]

Yesterday I was completely wiped out from doing so much energy and spirit work with my friend on Tuesday. I was soo depleted that I felt like I had lost all of my abilities and gifts 😂😂 but I knew that this wasn’t the case. I did some recharging and let myself rest. Sure enough, today I was feeling a lot better. But I still feel a low level of depletion, so I’m taking it easy and not pushing myself at all.

Something did happen today, though. After dinner, I was in a really weird, kind of bad headspace for some reason. I think that it was the amount of food I ate lol. ANYWAYS something that was contributing to it was that I felt a kind of nagging. Like something was trying to get my attention, and it was bothering me.

I went up into the astral plane and sure enough, as soon as I sit down I have someone join me. They looked kind of human, and definitely appeared male. He had a bit of a thinner build... a slim, contoured face that was contrasted with hard facial features. He looked to be maybe early 40′s.

I asked what he wanted. I won’t talk about the whole conversation, but he mentioned that he was also some kind of “practitioner.” He came to give me a tip, more of a heads up. He noticed that I was channeling a lot of energy the other day, which was the day that I was cleansing my friends’ house. And that was the big thing: he noticed it. I immediately knew what he meant; if he was able to notice it, then certainly there were others that noticed it as well. 

I’ve heard about this before, actually. Where if you do a lot of energy work, you need to be careful and make sure you ground yourself, because a lot of energy is like a big neon sign that could potentially attract... not so great individuals. But in my case... I was just doing a big energy work project. I wonder if there is a way to like... hide, the area while I’m doing it. This is something I’ve never thought of before.

Anyways, we finished up our conversation. I could tell that he was expecting some kind of compensation, so I through him a little bit of energy, and he walked away, fading out as he did.

I also worked with the grass - now that I think about it, it might be like a sprite or something?? Anyways there’s a field near my place that I like to walk to and do tai chi, and every time I do I always do a little bit of energy work with it. I haven’t been there in a while; but I did today, and it was happy to see me, and gave me a small gift of energy. It felt wonderful.

I was thinking about it today... I think this is the most spirit and energy work I’ve done... ever? I don’t think I’ve ever been this active in my practice before. I’m not complaining at all - just comparatively I am quite busy with my Path. Also, I am very grateful to be back up and practicing again.

I’m also full of love this evening. I was on my walk, with more awareness than usual... everything was just so beautiful, and alive, and I was feeling all of the energy all around me. I felt closer to the world than I have in a while; I’m so grateful for it all.

I think that’s it for now. I hope that everyone has a wonderful evening.

Blessings!

[randombtsprincessa]

Bells and Roses

All Rights Reserved © Randombtsprincessa/Tulips98

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Smut

Summary: You pay your muse a visit. Or alternatively; you and Jimin haven’t defined a relationship but does it stop you from turning it wild? Lol no.

Warning: Jimin dancing, no real relationship defined, pink! Jimin, a lot of handsy behaviour, fingering, oral (female receiving), riding, sub! Jimin, unprotected sex (be safe kiddos)!

A/N: Happy Birthday, my love, my life, my beautiful Park Jimin! I was inspired for this fic from Cake Waltz! You can listen to it while reading this!

I love feedback!

An idle glance was cast at the delicate chain watch circling your wrist, eyes flickering over the glittery digits before returning to the front of the hall. A hush fell over the murmuring crowds surrounding you, the well-dressed masses shifting and straightening in their plush seats with their eyes drawing to the front as well where the spotlights had been directed.

You waited keenly, the rest of the ambient lights dimming till darkness hid you in its embrace, masking away the slight change in your face, if any occurred.

You, of course, knew it was inevitable. You were an expressive person, some might say a little highly strung, but it was all in a day’s work. You were here to have fun, let loose. Maybe even get another stroke of inspiration but you weren’t going to be specific about it.

This wasn’t about you, not really.

The curtains rose and colors exploded in your vision.

A dusky shade of pink was first, circling spotlights forming a halo upon the wooden stage where stood perfectly posed, curled ballerinas in glittering costumes of the same pink. The pink light dimmed, the ballerinas sinking to the floor with their feet curled behind them, a bow of sorts.

Another light burned, a blinding silver this time, hitting just the edge of the curtains and unbidden, your body lurched forward in anticipation.

The light flickered, building tension as a brush of strings echoed, followed by a deep thrum of beats that pulsed in your blood. It was an unusual combination, mellow, sweet tinkles that contrasted against the sultry bass, sending chills down your back.

The spotlight was back and from it – just as the beat dropped – emerged the reason why you were here, sitting among people who held no delight for you.

The figure threw itself into a spin that had you gasping in concern, feet flying over where a head should be, before landing squarely in the centre of the second spotlight, this time a raging purple. Loose, white shirt that hung around the torso and black tights caught the light, glinting and winking at the audience with its sequins.

No, your delight lay in this, watching the figure unfurl, standing straight and proud, a tilt to his head that had him eyeing the crowd, a particular trance in those orbs that made you bite into the glossed surface of your lip.

The ballerinas moved in synchrony, as they reached up on their toes, a perfect throw arabesque pointing towards the figure of your interest but he still didn’t move, taking his time to study the audience that watched. You sent a silent thanks to the darkness that shielded you because when he was done, he turned his back to the stage before opening the dance with a pirouette, a brush of his fingers trailed onto each dancer that had been turned to him.

You slumped in your seat, chin stuck to your chest as headiness clouded your mind. Your eyes never strayed, fixed on the man that pranced, settled and then took flight (almost literally) on the stage. The bass never seemed to reduce his pace, his feet, encased in white, following the faerie precision of the composition.

The dance was a mix of his contemporary and ballet, the ballerinas more an accessory on the stage, paling next to his vitality but of course you could be biased. It wasn’t like you even saw what the girls and boys in the tutus were doing. Your eyes were fixed on the man who with a roll of his neck, turned a seducer and then as innocent with big glimmering eyes and a too familiar pout.

The music went on, and your delight soared with him.

It was almost too short but it was more than enough for you, overwhelmed as you got to your feet with the rest of the audience when they rose for a standing ovation.

He finished off the dance with an over exaggerated flourish, a mischief that he loved when he knew that he had rendered a mind blowing performance. His head was tilted again, eyes roving.

You could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk brewing on his face but there was no way it could’ve been aimed at you. You had shrouded yourself from him exquisitely. He had no business having that smirk on his face.

Park Jimin

The name lay as exquisitely upon your tongue as the finest wine, the sweetest delicacy. Meeting him had been the rarest coincidences, but knowing him now felt like serendipity. You had been a fresh out of college artist, eager with your skill and your degree.

Everything had been lovely until you were prompted to hold your own exhibition in one of your friend’s galleries and you were struck without inspiration. Landscapes…cityscapes…abstract…nothing seemed to fit. Canvases were discarded, paints tossed around, palettes and brushes broken in frustration and quite a few tears shed before an impromptu walk through the city landed you standing dubiously in front of the Theatre.

Slumped in one the same chairs as you had been, you’d laid eyes first on the lead dancer for Calico Dance Academy, the rising star. You had both been much younger back then but even then he had been graceful, sleek like a striking cobra and just as entrancing.

He had basically pried your third eye open with his beauty. So, when you learned that his doors were open for admirers, you knew you had to take your chance.

You gazed at the bouquet in your hand, clasped loosely within your fingers as you studied the flowers.

“How may I help you?”

You flinched at the customary questioned posed to you by the cheerful florist, soft cheeks lifting as she welcomed you to the counter.

“Yes, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat. “I would like some flowers, please.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” The girl laughed softly, but not deprecatingly, moving to the side so you could see the arrangements behind her. “How would you like them?”

You studied the shelves, moving from the simple collection of a few stems tied neatly together to an extravagant affair of lilies and daffodils, too big for you to carry.

You thought back to the night before and the lapels of the man’s costume.

“Can I customize a bouquet, with sunflowers and roses? And could you add those small bells to it?”

It was relatively easier, finding Jimin’s delivery address and dropping the flowers off. The studio was not too big, considering the academy was still finding itself but Jimin was certainly quick to find you, following you out one day when you were done leaving the flowers at the front desk.

“Hey, you’re the secret admirer.”

You turned to see the beaming man taking quick steps towards you, still in a tight black shirt and leggings that enhanced his thighs. You were surprised to say he was much shorter up front and that much more beautiful.

He smiled at the startled look on your face and you could’ve sworn flowers blossomed from the cracks of the concrete sidewalk.

“You leave me flowers,” he prompted.

You nodded, more for your sake than his as he stuck out his hand. “It’s not much of a point being a secret admirer. Let’s make friends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Some people would like a secret admirer.” You told him, catching his hand in yours nevertheless.

“Some people would also be creeped out by it but you seem nice. I’m Jimin, and you are…?”

You stared at the expectant look on his face, a part of you itching with some indescribable emotion.

“Y/N,” you managed at last. “I’m Y/N.”

Park Jimin proved to be a great friend. With the most charming disposition, he was also equally brainy. As clichéd as it seemed, he helped you see things that you didn’t in your not so humble artistic perspective. He was a storm, bubbling with gossamer energy and you had never been so grateful to have your life thrown in the path of so impressive a storm.

So, after a soft afternoon spent in the park with ice cream after his practice you popped your question.

“So…you know, I am a painter right?” you asked lightly.

Jimin slurped at his strawberry scoop delicately. “Yup,”

“I was, just thinking, you know, that – if you don’t mind awfully – I could paint…you, I guess.”

Jimin stopped with his tongue still gracing the side of his scoop, his eyes flickering to yours in amazement. “You want to…paint me?” He asked.

You shook yourself a little, ready to save face. “It was just a thought. I mean, you don’t have to even consider it. I know most people get freaked by the thought of getting painted and it’s a whole lot of hassle.”

Jimin cut you off, laughing as he streaked an ice cream soaked finger across your cheek. You squealed in turn, sliding away from him on the seat.

“Stop trying to put me off, Y/N. Of course, I’d model for you. I’d be honored. We can go now; I have all the time in the world.” Jimin leaned in and before you could even register the motion, he’d kissed the line of pink sugar from your skin, popping his lips as he did so, careless and ignorant of the way your eyes lingered on his mouth.

Four hours later, your masterpiece was ready of sorts. Jimin held still the way you told him to, hair fluffed as he stared out your window in one of his somber stage expressions.

“God, Y/N,” Jimin grinned, peering over your shoulder, watching you apply the small shades and contours to his neck and collarbones. You’d yanked his sweater down a little, much to Jimin’s amusement to reveal the sharp bones beforehand. You thanked your insight now; they looked beautiful in the fading evening sunlight.

“Is that a good god or a bad god?” You halted your hand, staring at the picture in trepidation before Jimin laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Good, Y/N, I can’t wait to see myself up on your friend’s wall.”

You invited Jimin with your customary selection of flowers, delivered to his house this time, the invitation to the exhibition tucked within the stems.

It seemed Jimin was much more excited about the exhibition because he showed up an hour before you; seeking his picture while you ignorantly mingled, clueless until you spotted a familiar figure, studying the one picture you were responsible for.

“Jimin,” You called the man, his head tilted to the side as he stared at his likeness against the lavender wall.

“Y/N,” he greeted, not looking at you, thankfully because you were blatantly staring at your friend.

You had never had occasion to see Park Jimin in a suit but by god, it was a sight.  

Tight black satin clung to his figure, stretching over his shoulders and hugging his waist. “I see you found your picture.” You had to smile.

Jimin turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t know if it’s the lighting or the finishing touches but I do look mighty fine. You picked a fantastic model.”

You shoved at him. “That’s just your ego talking. I have it on good authority that the painting is just fine.”

He pouted at that. “What have I said about the self depreciation, Y/N?” He didn’t wait for an answer, aiming a hopeful look at his own self. “So, when do you need another painting of a hunk?”

It was during the third painting that you and Jimin ended up on your too messy bed. Fast, rough and brilliant, Jimin rolled off of you in a daze, eye glimmering in the shadows.

“If I’d known you felt that good, I’d have jumped on you sooner.” You managed in a huff, causing Jimin to break out in a guffaw that lasted well into the minutes that you took to clean up and slip into a nightgown.

He stayed on his back, gloriously naked with no signs of wanting to pull the comforter up across his body. You stepped cautious when you saw that the light in his eyes had changed, something deeper and serious flickering in them now.

“What’s wrong?” you’d asked.

Jimin was mum for a while before speaking, “I don’t want you to think of this the wrong way.” He said slowly before wincing, realizing the start had been wrong itself.

He sat up, finally tugging on the covers to recover some dignity. “I meant, I don’t want you to think that I’m just into the whole wham-bam-thank you ma’am thing.”

You continued to frown, silence prodding him into further speech.

“I want this, I really do but I don’t know how much time I can devote to you.” He said finally.

You broke out laughing. “Jimin, you know we don’t have to define a relationship just because we slept together one time. We can still be friends.”

“I don’t want to just be friends though. I want to define something, just in case you go and find some other muse.”

It had taken a few days to discuss out terms to define a relationship between you and Jimin. Both of you were busy people, what with your exhibits picking up and needing you to focus on extensive travel while he toured for his own shows.

You didn’t want to look it to face but you knew Jimin was a very attractive man with a healthy amount of libido that needed to go around along his charisma. That was one of the first things you’d brought up; exclusivity. However, your friend turned potential lover had quickly shot the idea down, vehemently stating he would very much appreciate some form of stability, something solid to come back to.

Did that answer any of your questions? No, neither did you manage to put a finger to what exactly it was that Jimin and you were.

However, it did not stop either of you from falling into bed with each other whenever Jimin and you happened to be in the same city.

You were at your florist again; much more upright and sure of your order this time as you smiled at the long term girl friend behind the counter.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” She greeted, straightening the uniform cap perched on her bleached hair.

“Hey Solji, yes it has.” You agreed, your eyes screening the assortment of flowers.

“I take it the special receiver of the flower is back in town then?” She asked, moving to the usual selection of sunflowers, fresh and dewy, high near the sun.

“How do you know?” you gasped, looking around as Solji smirked, wrapped a pretty blue paper around the roses and sunflowers.

“I’ve been wrapping flowers for a good many years, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of flower givers. You’re timed and only get one particular customization. Of course, he or she is special.” She plucked out a tiny string of small bells before tying the package off.

“Pretty observant, I’ll have to be more careful.”

“Or one day you can just introduce us,” she teased back, cashing you out. The soft giggles followed you a good way as you carried the bouquet towards Jimin’s building.

It had been a few months since Jimin had moved out of the small apartment that he’d had to share with roommates. With the success and acclaim that followed his dancing troupe, he had purchased an apartment of his own, making it easier for you to show up whenever you wanted to.

You deigned to be sneaky about your approach, leaving a small painting of his last performance, on cheap canvas first at his doorstep, sliding it in and ringing the doorbell, quickly concealing yourself in the alcove of the stairs. You watched the door swing open quickly before a head peeked around, looking slyly around before shutting the door again.

You let out a giggle, flitting down again to place the bouquet in front of the door when the door flew open again, nearly scaring you into heart palpitations as you were met by the crinkle eyed grin of none other than Park Jimin.

Clad in baggy grey pants and a pale blue shirt, stood the man who’d been your muse ever since you’d laid eyes on him. As your eyes drifted over his features you fixated on one change that had you gaping.

“Jimin,” you gasped out, “…your hair is pink!”

On his part, he looked sheepish, raising a hand to pat at his head before opening the door wider to let you slide in, swiping the bouquet from your hand and taking a whiff.

“Ah, my favorite,” he sighed, complacent as you looked down the apartment you hadn’t stepped into for months now.

The deep, woody scent of new furniture still lingered, clearly from having been locked ever since he got it and you wondered if you should’ve gotten a bigger bouquet so he could smell something better than varnish.

The sweet bliss of his arms wrapping around you diverted your attention, turning to look up at him.

“I saw your name in the audience listing.” He mumbled, lowering his head to nuzzle within the crook of your neck.

“And hence the smirk,” you realized, placing both hands on his chest. “You knew I was there. And here I thought, I’d surprise you,”

“I always check audience listings in case some company is scouting.” He shrugged before smiling slyly. “So, did someone miss me?”

“Nope,” you shrugged away, walking off to remove your coat, knowing that Jimin was sporting a spectacular pout by now. Such a spoilt baby…

“Ugh, come on, I missed you, you know…pay attention!” He whined, catching you near the couch, back to wrapping his arms around you.

Spinning you around he caught your lips in a nostalgic kiss, scorching in the way his plump petals caressed yours, trying to find a break in your armor.

You let him find it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tugged you closer, a satisfied hum escaping the pair of you, his hand drifting over your waist and back before pulling away.

“I wanted to come back ever since I got on the plane you know,” he told you.

You smiled, remembering the pained expression with which he had dropped your hand, disappearing through security with his eyes returning to you every few seconds.

“I know, I could tell.” You brushed kisses over his jaw line.

He tilted his head back before looking down at you, amber eyes glinting in the afternoon sun beaming into his living room. “Stay with me.” He whispered, a lull of command in his voice that made the dull ache in your stomach sharpen, keening you towards him.

He raised his eyebrows in a way that told you he knew his effect on you and you allowed him to bask in the knowledge. “I already planned to.” You let him know.

“Good, because I’m taking you to bed and not letting you up until we’re hungry and gross.” He said, not waiting for a reply as he tugged on your hand, leading you further into his home.

You barely had time to glance around the space before Jimin was locking the bedroom door, pressing your bodies up against it and leaning over you. Warm breath wafted over your bottom lip when he brushed his against your tingling skin.

Your hands crept up his back, moving to pink fleece on his head. It must’ve been hard to maintain it without getting it fried completely but the strands felt silky enough with your eyes closed.

Jimin walked backwards, hands drifting down to his shirt and pulling it off and moving to his windows, drawing the shades and casting the room in gloomy lighting.

“Come on then,” he grinned and you followed, pulling at your clothes until they decorated your steps towards him where he sat on his bed, watching you with his lip caught between his teeth. The strip tease probably wasn’t as sexy as you wanted it to be but at least you tried and by the looks of it, it was enough.

Jimin’s hands wrapped around your waist, squeezing with abandon. “I missed your skin, your warmth.” His eyes drifted to you lazily, his fingers moving to the band of your simple underwear. You placed your hands on his shoulders, balancing yourself as he began to tug the garment down your legs, the action even more erotic when he groaned; catching sight of your glistening slit.

Jimin’s thick fingers landed first at your knees, slipping around the back and sliding upwards, his eyes still glued to yours, minutely examining each expression or change that passed over your face. The way you tilted your head back before down again to look at his actions, the small pants; they were only making Jimin harder, wanting to rip into you with wild, wicked intentions. He held control, of course, no need to rush.

His breath hitched when his thumb finally made contact with the apex of your thighs, eyes flashing to the point of contact before up at you again. Was that a hint of apprehension?

“You’re already wet.” He mumbled, your eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening but you held fast to him.

Jimin had clearly been working out. His shoulders were broader; muscles more pronounced at you latched yourself on them while he attended to you in his gentle yet teasing ways.

And then he lowered his mouth…

You were glad that you had had the foresight of grabbing Jimin before because even before those luscious lips touched your skin, you were buckling, a rampant moan escaping you when he carefully parted your slick flesh, exposing your clit to his punishing tongue. Jimin pulled away, his tongue swirling before retreating back.

“I missed your heat.” He said before diving back in.

There were few things in your life that compared to Jimin giving head. Maybe the first time you had seen him naked, his skin glowing but still full, nothing chiseled about him as of then. Now he was harder, his planes more defined but you loved him just as much, the rake of your fingernails still shone the same and your kisses worn with as much pride as he used to.

Jimin was far into you for you to think much ahead. The way his hand migrated to hitch your leg up, placing it on the bed next to him to give him more access before dipping his fingers into you, curving the way he knew he reached your sweet spot, waiting for the groan to be satisfied before he returned to sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue pushing forward so he could collect more of your juices on his tongue.

He barely took a breath, finally pulling away and retracting his fingers from you gently, feeling the tightness of you close on his hand, trying to keep him there.

“Fuck, don’t be greedy, babe. You’ll get what you want.” He chuckled, deep and throaty. His eyes were nearly black now, pupils blown out.

You’d loved that, how he could be so fucked out even when he barely received any pleasure himself.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, studying him carefully. His cheeks were sunk in, a little more angular than you remembered. His biceps bulged where he leant on them, his thighs were thicker. You made a mental note to feed him while you had him here and another to ride his delicious legs while you were at it.

Jimin smiled a little at your scrutiny, “Y/N, what are you thinking?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching up to undo your bra, letting it drop at his feet. “I’m thinking…I want to ride you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped, you could see him clearly swallow before he was nodding. “Yeah, okay, we can make that happen.”

He began to back further onto the bed but you stopped him, placing a hand on his knees to bunch the material of his sweats and tugging at them.

Your lover gave you a wide eyed stare. “Like this?”

Your eyes ran up the newly acquired abs, placing a kiss directly on them. He clenched at the contact. “Like this,” you whispered.

Jimin was quick to lose the sweats at that, eyeing you for further instruction as you flicked your hair behind you, placing a knee on the bed beside his hip and the other on his chest, anchoring yourself as he held himself at the base, angling the tip to brush against your entrance. You sighed, the thrum of his groan as you sat down on him bracing you.

The stretch burned you deliciously, the girth of him sliding against the right spots as you tried to get him in as deep as you could.

Jimin’s back arched, the tips of his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he mumbled unknown, unheard words. His eyes opened to see you kneeling over him.

“Fuck me, please.” He begged, a hint of desperation plaguing him that you couldn’t ignore.

Raising yourself, still using your hands for support, you dropped back down, using his pants of breath as a metronome, your hips gyrating and thrusting in time with him.

Jimin lay obediently still below you, letting you fuck the both of you into a pleasurable oblivion. His skin was starting to collect sheen.

You bent over him, feeling him whimper before bracing himself against the floor and thrust up into your warmth. His hands moved up your back, digging into certain special spots before wrapping into your hair, trapping you against him as you sunk your teeth in his shoulder, hiding cries of pleasure that he could hear anyway.

“Are you close?” He asked, yanking on your hair to look at your face, contorted a little.

“So close,” You arched your back, further pushing your body into his skillful hands.

“Good, me too, I want you to come with me.” Jimin let his hand cup a breast, while the other fell where your bodies connected. His thumbs set to work, rubbing sparks of extra pleasure into your peaking nipple and clit.

You whined, back tilting as your nails dug into his thighs as you exploded on top of him, a similar groan sounding below you as Jimin let go as well.

You felt his seed flood you as you convulsed on him and you probably would’ve toppled over if Jimin hadn’t sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close while he kept thrusting, slowly letting you both come back down to earth.

By the way his hand moved back to your ass, a light squeeze placed on it, you knew you were far from done.

[evadingmytaxes]

Contrast - Archie Andrews

Ayyyyo whaddup it me. This is a shoddy thing I wrote that I don’t really like but whatever. Thought id share cause sharing is caring. Also first time posting my writing on here so pls be nice. Thanks enjoy lol.

I stared at him unnoticed, for the moment at least. I watched as he scanned the room without lifting his head before retrieving his pencil from between his teeth and continuing to jot down line after line.

I couldn’t help but become encapsulated with the way that his stained purple flesh revealed its depth in colour with each tilt of his head. It was much easier to stare at people during detention, I’d found. Although the bruise surrounding his right eye might be seen as unsightly to others, it captured my interest.

Did it hurt? I’d imagined so, though I’d never gotten a good idea as I’d never had a black eye before.  How had it happened? I’d wondered briefly if it was the result of the brawl in the debate meeting a few days previous. I’d dispelled that theory though; he didn’t seem the type to fight another. Although I didn’t know him and, how else could it have happened?

I’d found his form the definition of contrast; his hair ablaze, the purple stain beneath his eye, the bright yellow and blue of his letterman jacket and, what I’d found most enticing, was the contrast of his light to my dark. I’d had no idea how I’d missed this before. He was perfect and I needed him in my portfolio.

Detention had hardly begun before Mr. Fryer had announced our time was up. I suppose he’d wanted to suffer his loneliness in solitude. He didn’t hesitate to stow his belongings in his bag before fleeing at top speed. I was almost unable to catch up, almost.

“Archie!” I called to him down the hall while attempting to reach him. His footsteps ceased as he pivoted to witness my arrival.

“Hey,” He’d obviously not been expecting a conversation as I could tell he’d wanted nothing more than to continue running far away.

“Um, I just wanted to ask if you could help me out with something.”

“Depends on what that something is.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact with me for more than a few moments.

“Can I draw you?” That drew his brown eyes to mine.

“What?” I’d had no idea why he was so surprised, it wasn’t unusual for me to be drawing students. He’d seen me on campus. Heck, I’d drawn Betty a number of times.

“Can I draw you?” I’d asked again, although the question he’d meant to ask was ‘why?’

“Uh, I guess. I-I mean yeah. Yes.” When he’d smiled and his eyes had shined, I wondered again why I hadn’t asked before.

“Awesome!” As I gathered my thoughts my eyes shifted between his, “When are you free?”

“Um – I don’t have practice tomorrow, so how about then?” He was wringing his hands.

“Okay, how about we go to Sweetwater? I’ve got a car; I can take you home after.”

“Uh yeah, cool. Look, I’ve really got to go but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” He kept looking toward the doors.

“Alright, see you later.” I muttered to his back as he jogged to the end of the hall and through the doors.

“Sit!” The tartan of the cheap blanket was dark and distracting, spread out over the bright green of the grass on the bank.

“Okay.” He seemed intimidated, though I had no idea why. “How do you want me?”

“However you like.” I hadn’t time for specifics, now how was this gonna work? I hummed quietly while trying to match his shade of ‘Weasley Orange’ to my limited array of colours. I settled on ‘Blood Orange.’

As I raised my gaze to him, his shifted to the river. The water was flowing smoothly, softly gliding over the stones on its shallow floor. It was marvellous.

“Would you explain your process to me? I’m curious.” His voice was quiet, a beautiful contrast to the, frankly, loud sunset painted on his left cheekbone.

“Uh – Sure. But keep facing the river for me, okay.” I was only half-way through the rough outline of his profile.

“So, I start with a rough outline.” Starting at the chin as a central point I began to stage the rest of his face on the page. The ridge of his eyebrows and the slope of his nose, all dotted out carefully, if slightly disproportionate.

“Then I add the other smaller stuff, like ear and eye shape and hair placement.” There was a silence as I added a few smaller details from memory. I was so engrossed in the work that I hardly had time to notice Archie’s stare grazing my face.

I shaded the soft contour of his jaw and cheekbone before attempting to study the shape and hue of his black eye. I smiled shyly after catching Archie’s warm gaze, he smiled back.

“Face the river, I’m nearly done.” I sketched a rough shape in a shade named ‘Deep Purple’ before adding depth in lighter colours, scattering patches of yellow-green around his cheek.

The result could be considered ‘Abstract’ or even ‘Unfinished’ but it was perfect.

“Here.” I thrust my sketch book into Archie’s hand and he viewed it silently for a few seconds before a smile adorned his face.

“This is amazing! I love it.” His tone was bright as our eyes locked on each other.

Archie’s shyness had gone now as he placed a warm hand on my cheek as I shivered in the autumn wind. The sketch book now rested forgotten on my knee as I leaned closer into his warmth. It wasn’t until our lips brushed that I realised my reason for being so drawn to Archie’s beauty. Our contrast was in fact not a contrast at all it was a mixture.

We mixed both physically and emotionally, we were one in the same. Archie’s bruise did fade but our connection was wired, internal not just external. We melded like the pigment of his bruise melded back into his creamy complexion.

[buttercreamwrites-blog]

Catfish || Conor Maynard

send requests here!

summary: where y/n is convinced the guy she loves is a catfish

word count: 1.4k

request: Hi! I love your writing! Can you please do an imagine where Conor meets the reader on a chat room and they fall in love even when there’s distance between them and Conor is afraid to tell her who he is and when he does she doesn’t know who Conor Maynard is and it’s all funny and fluffy (idk if it made any sense lol)

//

She knew from the start that it wasn’t practical, but her head and her heart never typically agreed on important matters.

For months, Y/N found herself becoming completely infatuated with him.  He was the person she needed him to be, to be the comfort and escape from reality she so desperately wanted.  She found herself thinking of him all hours of the day, even making excuses with her friends to sneak in short a phone call, just to hear his voice.  However, there was one small problem: the pair had never met in person.  Actually— neither had a clue what the other looked like.

Late night boredom, which arose from avoiding a massive amount of uni assignments, somehow led Y/N to an online chatroom, something she hadn’t done since she was in her early teens.

It was all for fun, she didn’t expect anything to come out of it.

She spent over an hour chatting away with strangers, discussing shows and movies, and other aimless topics the others brought up.  It wasn’t until she mentioned her music taste that the two struck up a real conversation.   They bonded over old school artists, and it seemed that all of their most loved songs of all time were identical.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had asked for his number rather than any form of social media.  Maybe she liked the anonymity of it all. There were no limitations when she couldn’t put a face to the person on the other end of the phone.  He felt the same. They had never talked to someone quite like each other. No judgements, no expectations, just a connection that was indefinable.  

Their conversations lasted all day.  From the moment they woke up to seconds before they went to sleep, they were talking to each other. She told him secrets she hadn’t ever explained to anyone else.  He told her she was the only person he felt like just wanted to talk to him for who he was, without any personal gain.  She never quite understood what he meant, but accepted it nonetheless.

It’s not to say that they weren’t curious.  Despite living a few hours away, they had made plans to hang out a handful of times. But every time they were set to meet, Conor suddenly had an emergency pop up hours before.  

Time after time, she had forgiven him, because she could feel that she was in love with him.  He reassured her that he felt the same, and that he wanted to meet her more than anything, but there were some things he couldn’t say no to.  It was always the same sort of excuse.

“Y/N, I really am sorry, something just came up with work.”

“At the job you never want to go tell me about,” she snapped.  They had been talking for almost a year, but he still avoided the topic, only giving minutiae details.  He said he worked for a music label in London, but couldn’t tell her everything in case he accidentally spilled something important.  “You know, I’ve always been honest with you, it’s not fair that you can’t be like that with me,” she added.

“It’s just more complicated than I can explain, I have to go. I’ll call you later okay?”

“I guess so,” she sighed before ending the call.

After he bailed for the fourth time, she was starting to think her friends were right.

She had waited five months before she ever mentioned Conor’s name to her friends.  She was apprehensive to what they might say.  And she was right.

“Y/N, how can you say you’re in love with someone and not have any clue who they really are? You don’t even know his last name. For all you know if could be a forty year old man and that’s why he won’t meet you, he’s probably a catfish.  This isn’t a real relationship.”

It didn’t make sense to the outside world. But it made sense to Conor and Y/N.  It was theirs, not anybody else’s.  They decided it wasn’t the right timing to make it official, since they weren’t just a short drive away.  But they talked about how maybe one day they could be.  She only had a few more classes until she finished her degree, then they could be together. But with the way Conor continuously backed out, Y/N didn’t think that dream was ever going to become a reality.

Every time her mind drifted to those thoughts, she was reminded of all the conversations they had, and what they meant to the both of them. All the times he told her that it had been years since he felt this way about someone.  He was telling her everything she wanted to hear, and maybe that was her problem.  Maybe it was too good to be true.

When he called her later that night, she was determined to get real answers from him.  No more fabricated truth, no more little white lies, he was going to own up to his dishonesty.  Either that, or she would have to try and move on.

“What would it mean to you if one day we just stopped talking?” Y/N said into the phone, walking around her apartment before settling onto the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like if one day I just stopped answering your calls or texts, if I completely cut you off.”

“I’d be absolutely devastated, probably cry a little,” he joked, unpacking a bag from his latest excursion.

“Well, I’ve been debating if that’s what I should do.”

He paused at the foot of his bed, taken back by what Y/N had just told him.

“And why would you do that? You know how much I love you, I thought you felt the same.”

“Well I know I love you.  But I don’t think you’re telling the truth when you say it to me.”

“What do you mean? I wouldn’t just say it if I didn’t mean it.  You know how hard it is for me to open up to someone, Y/N.”

“Because when you love someone you don’t keep things from them.  And make up excuses when you had plans with them.  Four times.”

Conor realized he was going to have to come clean about everything, unless he wanted to risk losing the only person who kept him sane in the past year.  “If I tell you everything, will you promise not to think of me any differently?” He pleaded.

“I don’t know why I would treat you differently, unless you’re a fugitive on the run from the government or something,” she responded.  

He smiled to himself before readjusting the phone to his ear. “First thing’s first, I don’t work for the label.”  

She waited patiently for him to continue, hoping everything would make sense in the coming minutes.

“I don’t work for them, but I’m signed to the label.”

“So you sing?”

“Yes.”

“You never told me that,” she said.

“I didn’t want it to be a giveaway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked, confused.

“Because I’m Conor...you know, Maynard,” he replied, sighing.  “If you heard me sing, you’d probably recognize my voice.”

There was a brief silence before she responded. He was terrified that he was about to lose the girl who made him believe in love again, all because he couldn’t be truthful from the start.

“Conor?”

“Yes.”

“Not to be dramatic or anything, but I really have no clue who Conor Maynard even is,” she laughed.

“Seriously? You really don’t know?”  He replied, half-offended, half-relieved. “You’ve never heard of the album Contrast? Really big like five years ago? It even went number one,” he joked.

“I’ve told you, I’ve never really listened to the radio, I only like old stuff,” she confessed, giggling to herself.  “I’ll google you, give me a minute.”

“Oh god..”

Scrolling on her laptop, she searched through dozens of articles and images.  “Apparently you’re famous.”

“I mean, I guess, yeah.  That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, everyone just wants something from me.  I can’t believe you don’t know who I am, I’m kind of hurt actually,” he said sarcastically.

“None of that matters to me, I love you for you.  Not because of an album call Contour.”

“I think you mean Contrast,” he chuckled.  It was like a weight was lifted off of his shoulder, he could finally be his full self.

“Isn’t that what I said?” She smirked to herself, still amused at the whole thing. “Now that the secret’s out, I expect a proper date.  And no more excuses, Mr. Maynard.”

“I promise, love.  At least you’ll know who to look for.  Do I get to see what you look like now?”

“Nope, I guess you’ll just have to actually show up this time,” she smiled.