#reposting bc I kept finding small but very noticeable mistakes

[umbrellainkart]

I think they’d be too similar to get along

[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!

[an-ordinary-roach]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. Nathanial Montay Costa  Barbor PRONUNCIATION. Bah-Are Bo-or NICKNAME. Bor, Roachie, Pest  GENDER. Transmasc agender HEIGHT. Veries, [ 2′ - 4′ as a roach or small fae, 5′6″ glamored, normal-sized fae, happy buddy bor.  7′1″ Base bor,  8′1″ - 9′1″ Bug boss / Plague goat] AGE.  137 ZODIAC.  Gemini SPOKEN LANGUAGES. Italian, English, latin, spanish( still very new to it and confuses it with latin and italian), Sylvin(for when they’re in Jabberwock’s forest.)

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. grey with a magenta/cyan shine when light hits it EYE COLOR. can turn white when surprised or excited but other than that it’s all black, plague goat got black sclera with white pupils BODY TYPE.  skin in bones in most forms, cockroach bor is pretty plump and well-fed, fae/ glamored/ happybuddy is athletic and lean, but looks a tad underweight ACCENT.  sounds like a new yorker’s accent though that hint of italian seeps in whenever they’re thinking out loud VOICE. Can’t verbally speak it but has an amalgamation Collection ( overlapping with young, old, femme, masc, androgynous)  small roachie and base form, this for  fae and glamored(dossa’s/first part), and plague goat/ bug boss DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous  POSTURE. slouches in fae, glamored, base form and happybuddy, the rest is usually straight   TATTOOS. sigil of them on all their forms but base (can be seen when their asleep, them not thinking they can’t shapeshift in their base form keep’s it away)

BIRTHMARKS. As a human, they had a foot-shaped birthmark on their foot MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Proto eyes on all their forms( even happy buddy n glamored fae), face can split vertically in all fourm’s (even base form), can survive without a head(same as base form, they dunno they can do either of the face split or head removal), uses their wings to work their necromancy,  chewed up antennae(on the left I think),  back as a human they had  Heterochromia, the missing eye was hazel but they barely remember even having it since they lost the eye at a young age

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. in or near the hospital’s elevator- HOMETOWN. New york, new york city BIRTH WEIGHT. average  BIRTH HEIGHT. chubby bab FIRST WORDS. ‘Fuck!’  supposed to be fork because they kept seeing their fam use it and they want it~

SIBLINGS. 2 older brothers, 1 younger sister (all deceased ) PARENTS. Mother &  Father (also deceased! ) PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.  mother and father were good to them, though their mother wanted Nat(pre-human bor) to keep them away from the mob life with the help of afterschool music classes and singing clubs. They oddly enough the only time they had fun in the church is when they're either playing the organ or singing in the choir.  While it took some persuading on Nat’s part to have him even allow them in some missions, though he eased up on his control on what they do once they got into the mortician line of work. They helped their dad get rid of bodies safely and discretely, patched up fellow gang members' wounds, and helped them get some extra money.

adult life !  

OCCUPATION.  Freelance Cadaver removal, on-call doctor, necromancer, jewelry maker, sells potions for Jeze at the Canopy Market, familiar  CURRENT RESIDENCE. has a heck ton of common rest stops!  Usually, in these places, they’re in their mammoth femur bone or matchbox hidy hole CLOSE FRIENDS. Eerie , Jeze,  Xaallo, Stanley, Burt, Kavi, Bill(another bill!) and a few others I may be forgetting?? ;w; RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single ( depending on the verse) FINANCIAL STATUS. if they can’t steal the money they’re middle class, but if so they’re technically rich?? DRIVER’S LICENSE. nope got wings and portals! CRIMINAL RECORD. petty crimes, theft, shoplifting, murder, arson, robbery, vandalism, restraining arrest, property damage, smuggling, trespassing, money laundry, accomplice to any one of these. (these are during their days in the mob, most of these are unchecked after being a demon, though magic places are a tricky spot too though) VICES. long-lasting grudges, impulsiveness, sometimes don’t learn from their mistakes, can be childish and a bit wishy-washy, sometimes putting their work before others, sometimes. (Only if they’re not friends with a person.) can’t really leave that gang mentality behind.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. pansextual  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.  Pan-aroflux? they’re romo positive but it isn’t always on their mind most of the time. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant |  switch   PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant  |  switch LIBIDO. mid-high (spring-summer)  mid-low (fall-winter) TURN ONS.  peeps giving them gifts( doesn’t gotta be high end, could be things that the person reminds of them), confidence, peeps who know their way around science, smooches to their antennae or beak/snoot by their crush, peeps who are good with their hands(I’ve noticed the trend with them)     TURN OFFS. rich people, CEOs who think their hotshots, peeps on their grudge list,  there’s probably more to this list but I dunno ;w; LOVE LANGUAGE. gift-giving(It’s a grab bag of actual valuables or random knickknacks they remind them of the person), starts requesting to join in their activities, actively makes things for said person instead of poofing them in, loves to cook for peeps, allows close ones cover their small little eyes, please squish them full access, grooming is a big thing for them either by tongue or offering to paint nails, brush hair, etc RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  always eager to please( genuinely doesn’t mind the rejection or isn’t doing it out of anxiousness), can and will tease but mostly can’t take what they dish out(so it’s probably why they do it randomly), Does have a habit of dipping away without a word(mostly bc of work or a knoxonk hunt going on) Gets anxious about future commitment stuff may be reaaaally slow with that stuff (mostly bc of what happened to their last relationship as a human). or anxious if the loved one still enjoys being with them, the feeling comes and goes honestly. If sick will want to find a way to help you out first before seeing a doctor (if it’s not too serious. If they die they will revive them). They can be jealous if they don’t like someone and the partner does. will say ‘want me to fuck them up’ in case there’s a person giving their loved one a mild inconvenience. Will have a set form for that particular person, if it’s in a multi relationship it’ll still be a common set form. 

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. 1. Superbug · King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard 2. Necromancin Dancin - Bear Ghost 3.  Gravedigger's Chant - Zeal & Ardor 4. Voltaire - The Headless Waltz 5.  Mr. Pinstripe Suit -  Big Bad Voodoo Daddy 

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Jewelry making, music playing, spelunking, singing, urban exploring, working on their virus / fleshscape, testing on peeps(with their consent), medicine & illness research, collecting wine and variety of things MENTAL ILLNESSES.  not sure if this counts?? but they have ADHD,  if there’s anything else I gotta workshop and do research on! PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. visual snow syndrome( had it as a human but it’s non-visual symptoms carried over into their demon life: tinnius, brain fog, depersonalization(you’ll see them in roach mode aka: act like a common pest roach you’ll find in the kitchen, this usually last for a day if it does come about)  and the very rare occasion of tremors.) LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained FEARS.  phobia of dolls, rejection, future biz, some failure, being trapped against their will, being ‘fired’ and having their friends/family get the brunt of the punishment, this is specific but the saying ‘money survives all hardships’ SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  fake it till they make it (it fluctuates but it’s usually in a good place) VULNERABILITIES. iron, holy stuff, red rope/thread to make wards against knoxonks, some mystery substance to limit their power(mun gotta work it out), their kill word, magic nullifying items Stolen from: @idjibivdu​ thank!~ tagging: steal it!~

[trinkets-and-spirits]

Gettin’ to Know Me. 😉

Rules: Tag 5 witches you wish to get to know better. Repost—do not reblog.

How old are you? — 16. Whoa, shocking, right?

What do you go by? — Free, or Eph. I’m cool with either one.

How long have you been practising witchcraft? — I started practising witchcraft in February 2017, so a little under one year. However, I’ve been a strong believer of the Pagan Paths for a little while longer; as I’ve been following Norse Paganism since March 2016, but I’ve only recently started witchcraft. c:

What type of witchcraft do you specialise in? — Hmm, I’d probably say Hedge Witchcraft & Divination; as my path was built up onto the Hedge after I kept experiencing over-exposure to the other side, and I wanted to learn how to keep myself from being scared upon waking up & seeing the dead in my room. And divination, I’ve always been the sort to experience very specific Deja vu whilst asleep or lost in thought; but I never remembered it until doing the act, as any sorta typical Deja vu moment would do, until I had a very specific thought about one of my best friends—and low & behold, she experienced the thought detail for detail only a week or two later. So! Instead of freaking out alone, I took it upon myself to learn the beautiful art of divination; specifically dream & tarot. c:

What aspect of witchcraft are you best at? — Well, as stated above; I have an uncanny amount of luck with Hedge Witchcraft & Divination. However, I’ve noticed that I’m specifically fortunate with blessings; sigils; and warding magick. Crystals and anything to do with accent herbs or plants, too. I dunno, honestly.

What is a big goal you are working towards/have already achieved? — Hmm, I guess my big goal is to learn as much about witchcraft and the different paths that I can; for personal benefit, and to help teach others about the craft. And I’m not being specific about new/baby witchlings out there; I want to be able to express knowledge to those who are a little bit sceptical, or towards those who downright hate on witchcraft & practitioners, due to the old stories of Salem. Not that I believe that my word alone will change their frightened minds, but still! I’d love to learn all about witchcraft, because I find it interesting; and want to. c:

Who do you worship? If you worship anyone at all? — Well, I follow Norse & Celtic Paganism; though I do happen to follow Norse Paganism, predominantly, and I do believe in each & every single God/Goddess/Other of both religions. However, I tend to sit beneath Loki’s Hearth; and focus & follow on his teaching.

What’s your aesthetic? — Nature; trees, forest wildlife, owls, mountains, lakes. Although I’m a big fan of cemeteries & graveyards, too! I love reblogging scenes from cemeteries, or of singular graves in a beautiful scenery, or something! :3

What are some of your favourite smells? — Hmm...I really love the smell of firewood being burnt; or coal fires; or log burners. It just has one of those smells to it that makes me feel all happy & cosy, and I love passing by fields where the farmers are burning wood, or houses where someone has a fire going. Like yas.

Do you collect anything? — Jars, books, crystals, jewellery, owl ornaments, and plants. Although! I’ve recently started working on building a bone collection, for different practises that I have yet to dabble with directly, because...bones! c:

What are your favourite tools of witchcraft? — Crystals, tarot cards, sigils, and herbs. Sea salt mixed with some water is also a favourite, and incense! c: 

What’s a non-witchcraft pet peeve of yours? — Noisy eaters, or people moving my shit two inches to the side. Like, you’re ruining my aesthetic, stop it. Or, people who are just loud for no fucking reason; which makes it difficult to live in a bungalow with my mother...because she does all of these things. -_-

What’s a witchcraft pet peeve? — Well, I know I’m gonna get a lot of hate for this one: but I really hate the witches who try to make white witches feel like scum, in comparison to POC witches. I’m not talking about the witches who try to give everyone a fair chance to be recognised; and that book document going about where only POC witches are allowed to add their spells? I think that’s gr8. However, there’re certain witches on this site who behave as though white witches should be throwing down their hats, and proclaiming they’re bad people; specifically because of their skin tone—not because of anything they have very specific control over, like an argument that took a turn b/c they chose to let it. :/

Like, I’m sorry to all those tumblr witches who think that white people should be treated like scum, because our ancestors (and present assholes) treated POC like scum; but I don’t agree with you. And I’m not a straight white cis girl who is racist & privileged, so the fuck outta here with those anon hate comments; I’m fully for #BlackLivesMatter & the support for POC that has been rocketing recently, but I just don’t agree with the treatment that y’all are giving white folk. I mean, I’ve seen literal posts where witches are demanding that their followers don’t buy from small businesses (such as those on Etsy, etc.) if they’re run by white people, because “POC are more important.” Like sure, Barbara; but deliberately attempting to ruin people’s passions? That’s not a way to help the movement for equality go forwards; it’s discriminative in it’s own way, ya walnut.

Sorry, I went off on a rant. xD But might as well be detailed, so that I have something to reference, when all of the haters come & claim that I was shoving my opinion down their throats. I hope I was respectful as possible with my opinion, bc I honestly know that a lot of witches I follow are cool beans about white people & such; or at least don’t flat out try to run people outta business, and I really just wanted to state my opinion that my biggest pet peeves are the witches who try to ruin lives and slap “POC” onto it to make it seem justified. c:

Good advice not relating to witchcraft that you can give? — Okay, so there’s this Welsh folktale that I’ve been told since I was a little girl; called Gelert. It’s a very fascinating story, and I would recommend anyone to go read it, tbh. Anyway, it’s a story about this loyal dog to the Prince Llewellyn; who protects the Prince’s baby from a wolf that has been terrorising the countryside for the past couple of months, whilst his beloved owner is out hunting for the same creature. Llewellyn returns; and sees the room of his baby destroyed, blood on the blanket that had been in the crib, the baby missing—and Gelert laying on the floor, soaked with blood. Immediately, Llewellyn loses his shit & decapitates Gelert, without taking a moment to look around; and then...he hears his baby crying. He rounds the side of the tipped over crib, and finds his kid; and the body of a wolf mangled to pieces, and Llewellyn realises his mistake of decapitating Gelert, but now it’s too late, and his mistakes haunt him for the rest of his days. He buried his most trustworthy companion, and placed a stone on his grave, and blah blah.

Anyway, my advice is to keep a level head in situations that you might find emotionally distressful. Don’t act on your first emotion, because you might end up causing more hurt than relief. Look at the situation; look at every possible angle, and once you’ve done that, make a decision that will benefit everyone. c:

Do you have any good advice pertaining to witchcraft that you can give?— Not really. The only advice I can hand is to question everything; never give up on researching things, even if you stumble across a blog that seems to be legit AF with their fancy spells & recipes, always double check; always triple check; check until you’re 100% certain that the magic you’re thinking of performing isn’t harmful towards you or your surroundings. Also, don’t allow others to declare to you what makes a real witch, or any of that shit; we’re all individuals—so own it.

Do you have a familiar? — Yes, I do! n w n My deceased cat was my beloved familiar when he was alive, and it would seem that he’s not straying too far into the afterlife, as he is often with me in both energies & spirit; I’ve bumped into him on the other side, too. He’s such a brilliant cat, and I’m so blessed to have him as my familiar; he’s always there for me, and offers me guidance & protection. c:

Altar? — Not yet! Since I recently moved from my old house, I had to take down the starts of my altar back there, and I haven’t had time to start building it up. ; - ; However, I’m planning to start building it up over the Christmas break, because I feel unsettled without a visible representation of my worship in my bedroom. :c

I was tagged by @insert-a-catchy-name-here — thank you for tagging me, dear!

In turn, I’ll tag the following people — @lunaesteria, @eyeliner-of-cups, @orriculum, @onyxmagik, and @maddiviner...because y’all are honestly the only blog names I remember straight off the top of my head. xD Plus, I do wanna see this lil tag catch on, because I think it’s pretty sweet. c: x