#i also kept running out of layers because it was all on one canvas lol

[wild-battlebond]

because the sky is there

[missgeniality]

A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonna​for hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again.  Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids. 

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.” 

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want. 

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink. 

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’ 

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand. 

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it. 

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all. 

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in. 

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation. 

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek. 

“Sooo I was watching Filter…” 

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through. 

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away. 

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces. 

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way. 

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come. 

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe. 

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup. 

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly. 

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast. 

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions. 

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance. 

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge. 

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs. 

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word. 

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time. 

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him. 

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up. 

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in. 

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks. 

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!” 

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.” 

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him. 

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line. 

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up. 

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either. 

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed. 

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition. 

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost. 

But you’re not done being an idiot. 

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient. 

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!” 

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one. 

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral. 

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go. 

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night. 

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow. 

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams. 

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder. 

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now. 

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone. 

So there is no reason for you to be able to move. 

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too. 

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known. 

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise. 

You were a sucker for the whole man. 

But the sucking will probably have to wait. 

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.” 

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this. 

“You know my favorite part?” 

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body. 

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream. 

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward. 

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm. 

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general. 

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work. 

Well, you must get to work. 

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties. 

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard.  Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack! 

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness. 

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes. 

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him. 

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips. 

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.” 

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down. 

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result. 

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth. 

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines. 

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering. 

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs. 

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away. 

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you. 

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him. 

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you. 

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now. 

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you. 

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion. 

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside. 

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue. 

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want. 

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? ��Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon. 

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.” 

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech. 

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish. 

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole. 

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans. 

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well. 

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours. 

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot. 

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable. 

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping. 

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down. 

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do. 

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

[tomicaleto]

30+64 for the fanfiction trope mashup game? love you and your writing btw!! <333

Ahhh thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my writing! <3

Also, this is so silly xD I went with a silly take on star crossed lovers and it does get a hopeful ending too because I can't bear to give them an unhappy ending but anyways, the first couple of paragraphs are pure appreciation for Anakin's body lol

From this prompt list game

30 - Holiday Fic and 64 - Star Crossed Lovers

It’s really stupid, Obi-Wan keeps telling himself, while applying another heavy layer of sunscreen onto his arms. His freckles have been running out of control under the heavy summer sun of Argentina’s beaches.

Two meters across him, his personal torture was sunbathing in the smallest swimsuit he had ever seen. What looked like kilometers of golden skin taunted him from across the beach. The man in question had been going down at the beach the last couple of days almost at the same time Obi-Wan did. He always set a canvas on top of the sand before laying down on it.

Obi-Wan desperately wanted to run his hand down the man’s naked chest while his other hand tangled in lovely golden curls and tugged them until the lovely lips would fall open with what he was sure was gonna be a lovely moan would leave them.

But alas, from what Obi-Wan had caught one time walking towards the water, the man seemed to be a local, his ‘r’s rolling perfectly out of his mouth and what he was sure was a rioplatense accent sounding natural on his lips.

And Obi-Wan, despite choosing Argentina on a whim to escape from everything, did not know any words in Spanish apart from “where is the bathroom”, “please” and “thank you”.

So he had turned to pine from afar, playing with his beard every time the man turned around and he got to enjoy the round curve of his ass in those tight swim trunks he chose to wear to the beach.

But the night of New Year, as he convinced himself to go to a bar to enjoy the evening with other people instead of alone in his hotel room, something new happened.

As a singer performed a song on a stage in a bar and Obi-Wan feasted on a delicious stout, someone approached the bar and sat down next to him. “Fancy meeting you here,” said the person on his side, the English marked by what could only be some kind of accent. And when Obi-Wan turned around, the man of the beach was next to him, an almost see-through shirt covering his chest. “You’re the man that always sits nearby at the beach. I heard you mumbling to yourself the other day, where are you from?”

Obi-Wan almost swallowed his tongue. The pretty man had noticed him? “I’m from Scotland,” he answered. “My name is Obi-Wan, nice to meet you.” He added, extending a hand towards the man.

“Anakin.” He said, a prosthetic meeting Obi-Wan’s naked palm. “You decided to visit for the New Year?”

As the conversation flowed, so did the night, until Obi-Wan found himself walking Anakin down towards his own hotel (“I live in the capital, took the days off work to forget all about it, start the new year fresh.”) wishing the night wouldn’t end.

And the next couple of days, Anakin would set his canvas next to Obi-Wan’s, and chat with him as he sunbathed, even buying them churros one afternoon.

But the clock kept ticking and he would have to go back soon.

And the day did, with him leaving on a bus back to the capital as Anakin stood on the platform, still some days off work for him.

Obi-Wan was sure he would never see the man again.

Until he sat down on his assigned seat and a crumpled piece of paper on his back pocket made him uncomfortable until he managed to pull it out.

Inside of the paper was a phone number and a silly doodle of Anakin’s winking face on it.

[splodge04]

So, phone, or if I've already given that one because I don't remember lol then headset, or I can also give bowl 😁

This one was a quick one. Nothing special.

-------

Laura loved listening to Bill Adama on the phone. They all knew that he had a husky voice, a tone that rattled so deep sometimes she was sure that she could feel it all the way down to the pit of her stomach. When she heard his voice in person, it had more of a honeyed tone, slightly lighter and less rumbly. Either one she would kill to hear as she lay freezing cold in her bed.

The rain currently pounding on her tent made it sound like rocks were falling from the sky, a loud thumping as the canvas dipped and buckled with each concurrent tap. The planet had nothing going for it, and every morning when she woke up, she'd hope it had all been a nightmare.

Unable to sleep, she got up and grabbed her thick woollen sweater, pulling it over her head before sitting down to pull her boots onto her feet and tie the laces. Life on this planet was horrible, and whenever she'd seen him, she'd done her best to make out like she was doing just fine. The desire and need to speak to him became lost under her desire to appear happy, and then he'd backed away to let her live her new life. Then the Cylons had come, and the chance to hear him had jumped away along with the Galactica.

Never go out in the rain at night on your own, people said. Don't risk being out there when the sound of the falling water could hide your shouts and struggles if the Cylons decided they needed more people to fill the detention centres. Go out in the day, go out when the night was clear so you could hear the metallic whirring when they were close. Laura needed to speak to him, and that need seemed to outweigh the risk at that very moment in time. Even to hear him say 'hey' would pick her up. Maybe if she manned the wireless for a few hours, they'd finally hear something? How amazing would it feel if she was there as their first contact? It was wishful thinking, but she needed a slither of hope to push away the despair.

Once outside of the tent, the rain hammering like cold hard bullets, she felt the water soak through every layer of clothing in seconds. It ran down her face, sticking to the strands of hair that peeked out from beneath her hood, and she lifted her frozen fingers to push them back inside so they wouldn't stick to her face.

There was a route that she had that kept her out of any light, her slender frame ducking through the shadows as she trudged through the thick mud that threatened to send her to the floor when it would suck her boots in.

"Psst."

Laura stopped dead in her tracks, straining her eyes to see where the noise was coming from. "Hello?"

"Cylons up ahead. They're doing a sweep."

Suddenly, the risk versus need seemed very out of proportion, and she pulled her hood tight around her head and turned around to try and jog back.

Never go out in the rain because you wouldn't be able to run when you needed to. The mud became like quicksand as she tried to flee and hide.

The whirring noise of the Centurian came up behind her so quickly that she didn't have time to react, the long slender fingers wrapping around her shoulder so tightly that she could hear her bones creak.

All she'd wanted was a hello, the melting sound of his voice to soothe her tired and broken soul, and instead, she'd put herself in a situation that was not going to be pleasant. The first time they'd taken her, it had been fine. The second time they'd taken her, it had been much more unpleasant. She was sure that her third time would be worse.

All she'd wanted was to hear his voice. All she'd ever wanted was to have him by her side so they could spend the rest of their time together in peace. Instead, she'd pushed him away by making out like she didn't need him when really, he was the only thing she needed, the only thing she wanted. If she made it out of detention in one peace, and they made it off of the planet, she'd have to show him that he was more than just an Admiral to her. They'd shared a kiss, shared intimate moments at the beginning of this colonisation. It'd ignited something hot within her that only he could control. Laura Roslin was an idiot. An idiot for letting him leave thinking that she didn't need him, an idiot for going out in the middle of the night in the pouring rain to try and hear his voice again. Laura Roslin was an idiot for Bill Adama, and it was as simple as that.

[dependsonwhospitching]

show your process

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES - When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you'd like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours.

thank you to @essercipertuttienonperse for tagging me with this faith in the future edit and @evilovesyou for tagging me with this 369 edit! I made this series back to back bc I couldn’t get louis and LT2 out of my head (what else is new) so I’m doing these together!

X

like emma, I use Canva - and I usually use the Instagram post dimensions on my edits. I had a specific vision in mind for the faith in the future edit, but it kept changing as I thought about it more.

I knew I wanted a skull and a triangle for the “A” in “faith in the future”, but I didn’t know what else. first i wanted a smiley face over the skull, and then i wanted a galaxy effect, and then and then and then lol

and then i thought about the pink floyd logo and wanted to use the skull as the prism: so i went ahead with that. canva has great elements that you can layer really easily so actually making the edit was pretty easy

there is also a mock-up feature that Canva recently added, so i used that to create the hanging-from-binder-clip effect

i have a couple copies that I liked a little better because they took up space better, or i liked the color filter better, or i wanted a vinyl.

X

for the 369 one, I wanted to replicate moth collections, but cohesively, so i made two versions. Canva has transparent elements to use, so it wasn’t too hard:

and of course, the tracklist!!!! based off of defenceless and others:

into a flame: i come running to you like a moth into a flame (defenceless)

faith in the future

27 club: on our way to 27 (don’t let it break your heart)

cheap wine: drinking old cheap bottles of wine, shit talking up all night (for the first time, the script - bc HELLO)

the dog days: (dog days are over, florence+the machine - it was on one of his playlists)

billie: (billie jean, michael jackson - yeeeeeeah lol)

369

next to me: I will be the best of me, always keep you next to me (two of us)

copy of a copy of a copy

loved by you: just wanna be loved by you (defenceless)

head up: keep your head up, love (perfect now)

addictive: god i’m missing you and your addictive heart (habit)

home-bound: i had some version of home on each tracklist to close them out

and i took the little barcode from the walls album, and same deal with the little credits at the bottom, but i replaced sony and simco with TBD lol

and yeah, that’s about it! thank you emma and evi, that was really fun lol I'm glad I had all my old downloads

X

okie, if you'd like to partake, i’m going to tag these peeps (and no pressure to do this exact one or do it at all):

@taylorswiftz and this set

@wabadabadaba and this fic

@cowboylarries and this edit

@zaynsalbum and this piece

@bitnotgood28 and this piece

I wanted to tag @quitecurlyart but they document a bunch on their tiktok, highly recommend checking it out

@thetriangletattoo showed us a time-lapse here, which i thought was insane, thank you

and @stelloulas did a time-lapse too and linking to it here bc it was phenomenal

[corttana]

hello gamers @canidrook​ was interested in how i made this gifset so here’s a (hopefully not too long) tutorial under the cut :^)

this won’t cover how to make gifs, just the rest of the process, and i guess there’s also a couple of photoshop tips in here too okay let’s gooo

i started with the two gifs of chief, then both gifs went into their separate 540px panels with dark gray backgrounds (resized and put together in one gif for the purposes of this tutorial). i recommend sharpening the gifs at this (or any time after this) point because starting at 540px and scaling down will cause the gif to lose its sharpness. i did not do this myself because i was too lazy to correct my error lol

coloring came next, i used clipping masks to affect the coloring of only the gifs. honestly you probably won’t be using clipping masks a lot when making gifs, but for anyone interested and/or unaware, clipping masks are layers that alter and are visible only on the layer below it

for example, if i were to create adjustment layers without clipping masks, the canvas and layer tab would look like this

however, by clipping the adjustment layers to the layer directly below it, the coloring affects only the Gif group. you can create a clipping mask from any layer by right clicking the layer in the Layers tab and selecting “Create Clipping Mask”, or by holding down ALT and clicking the bottom border of the layer

here’s the canvas and Layers tab with clipping, where there are now little arrows inside the adjustment layers on the left to indicate that they are clipping masks

of course, there are other ways of achieving this same effect, but i find clipping masks to be faster. and again, not always applicable for making gifs, but i do use it often when painting or editing

here are the colored gifs

then i moved on to adding text. i used two fonts, Couture which is the bigger, chunkier font and Avenir LT Std (not actually the exact link where i downloaded it from because i can’t remember anymore, but i think it’s close enough) which is the smaller, skinnier font

the default settings of Couture weren’t wide enough for my liking, so i edited the vertical scaling through the Character tab (found in Window -> Character)

the left is 100% vertical scaling, the right is 70%. i kept this setting for Couture for the whole gifset

a lot of fonts (~*technically*~ they’re called typefaces if you wanna be TECHNICAL) have variations included within its family, e.g. italic, bold, light. some fonts have an outline variation as well, but since Couture does not, i had to do it manually. i won’t go over how i did it though because... it’s kind of a dumb method LMAO

honestly i would just find a font that already has this outline variation included, it’s way easier. the Swiss 721 typeface has this, which might be a default font already installed? also i would have used this Outer Sans font, but i found it after i posted this gifset rip

anyway these are the gifs with all the text included

there’s also a purple to pink gradient on top of the tiny text on the bottom of the first gif. to add gradients to text layers, right click on the layer in the Layers tab -> Blending Options -> Gradient Overlay

the last thing i’ll go over is that little animated soundwave (it’s not really a soundwave but Whatever) in the first gif, which is basically just overlayering a gif on top of one another. it’s actually stock footage that i cropped to get rid of the watermark lol shoutout iStock

1. is a screencap of the original video, 2. is the cropped portion that i used

i won’t go over how to overlay gifs, so here’s a tutorial on how to do it. no i did not specifically choose this link because it’s of destiel, but it does use the same method of gif-making as i do, which is the frame animation timeline. it’s just a thousand times funnier that it happened to be a destiel gif

at this point, the soundwave gif should be layered on top of the original gif, and the Layers tab should also be grouped similarly to this (as the above tutorial suggests)

it’s actually important that the Soundwave frames are grouped because it’s how i changed the group’s blending mode to screen, which will make the black background turn transparent. to change the blending mode, click the necessary group, navigate to the menu next to Opacity in the Layers tab, and switch to Screen

the black should now be transparent, and the gif will look like this

to make the waves purple, i added a gradient map and clipped it to the group, at which point the gif and Layers tab should look like this

there are some other shapes like the plus signs and the colored squares and stuff, but you don’t really need reference pictures for that. one last tip is to use ruler guides to make sure everything is lined up with each other. you can access the ruler with CONTROL + R, then dragging from the ruler out to the canvas, which should create a cyan line that runs infinitely. you can also snap objects to it to make lining up elements like shapes or text that much easier

and that’s it :^) save that bad boy and post it on tumblr dot com !

i apologize if this was confusing, too short, too long, or otherwise incomprehensible, so if anything was unclear/if there are any questions, you can always message me or send an ask! good luck!

[chiscribbs]

I love the way you sketch out your ideas. I really want to do stuff like that myself, but I usually just end up writing things out because it’s faster. Most of the time when I try to doodle my ideas I just make rough sketches that I never finish because it feels like too much work. It’s very frustrating. >_

Haha! Everybody has their own preferred method of brainstorming.

Honestly, I’m trying to train myself to write my ideas down first, because I don’t always have the time or ability to sketch everything that I’m thinking. And unlike with writing, I can only sketch a single frozen frame at a time. Which is annoying, because the vision in my brain is always so much more animated and detailed.

Which is why I’ve recently started creating short scripts for scenes that I come up with, and also sketching extremely rough, simple thumbnails just to get the basic lay-out of the scene down.

However - sketching a scene does allow me to remember specific expressions, poses, and oftentimes phrases, pretty vividly!

So if you want to adopt that style of brainstorming, here’s a few tips I can offer:

Don’t try to make a detailed sketch right off the bat. Instead, focus on getting the bare-bones of each scene/image roughly laid out first.  Then, go in and add details to each one as you see fit. This will help to prevent running out of space on your canvas. And also, you may decide to change or replace one of the images at some point, and believe it me it’s much easier and less painful to erase/delete a rough version than a nice, detailed version that you spent a good half hour on.

If you can, use color-coding. I like to assign a certain color to each character, so I know who goes where. Or, if the characters are divided by teams/kingdoms/alliances of some kind, use the colors to help differentiate them by that. **I would highly advise you steer clear of dark or vibrant colors when sketching. You can always go back over with a dark color later, but sketches should be kept as light and loose as possible to start. My go-to’s are usually light blues/greens/purples or the occasional soft red/pink for contrast. (Avoid yellows and oranges!!)

Embrace the folder function. This is specifically for digital art. If the program you’re using allows grouping (whether it’s by folders or another similar feature,) use it. And use it generously. I like to create a folder for the entire page, then smaller folders within that folder for every individual sketch. This makes editing a lot easier. I also like to create a separate layer for every character/group, so that there’s no awkward overlapping of colors or lines.

If you want the sketch to include dialogue, LEAVE SPACE FOR IT. Always plan where you want the words to go and make sure there’s plenty of room to spare. The last thing you want is for the writing to be squeezed awkwardly into a corner or to have to erase part of your drawing just to get all of it to fit. (I’ve done both. xD) The dialogue is just as important as the picture, so treat it as though it were part of the sketch, don’t just make it an after-thought.  Finally -

Focus on what you want to remember the most/what you want the audience to notice the most. Basically, this is what the entire process boils down to; putting the idea in your brain down on paper(or digital canvas) so that you can hold onto it. So ask yourself, first an foremost, what the camera in your brain is accentuating in this scene: Is there a certain pose/expression/action that a character is doing that you really want to remember? Focus on getting that down first. Or is there a certain detail, like a prop or piece of clothing, that you have a specific image of? Make that the focal point. Do you have a particular perspective in mind for this scene? Get that mapped out! Whatever stands out in your brain should stand out on paper too - everything else is just there to help bring the eye to it, so try not to worry too much about making the rest of the image as detailed or compelling as the main focus(in fact, doing this can sometimes distract from the focal point if you’re not careful, so I’d say the simpler the better.)

Sorry that went on a little long, lol. For the record: these are all experience-based, not professional advice. So take everything with a grain of salt, try it out, and see what works for you and what maybe needs to be adjusted to better suit your style. ❤