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hazelfoureyes · 3 months

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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

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wiliowisp · 9 months

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Sebastian Sallow Headcanons | Pt.3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: i promised you nsfw headcanons and they've been eating away at my brain since! as always, characters are aged up 18+, and this is just a little bit of fun!

What Sebastian is like in bed (18+ only):

➻ he is a switch through and through, but naturally bottom-leaning. sebastian enjoys sex in all its forms and will happily go with the flow; his main concern is that his partner is enjoying it, therefore he can fulfil whatever they desire. they like someone who is rough and can take charge? easy. they like someone who begs and whimpers for them? say less.

➻ his true nature unearths itself as he's about to come, though. no matter how the situation has been set up, as he gets closer to finishing he always becomes a brainless, whimpering mess. any kind of act or decorum leaves him and he's just chasing the pleasure.

➻ on that note, sebastian is vocal. he's not afraid to moan, or whine, or grunt, and he's not afraid to be loud. it comes naturally to him, even pleasuring himself, he has to exert effort to be quiet—which is part of the fun, really.

➻ further to this, he loves talking during sex. words of praise especially. if his partner likes degradation he can play the part, but he naturally leans towards mindless horny babble. "you look so good like that—fuck." "cannot believe how well you're taking my cock, just like that—ohfuckohfuckohfuck." "I'm so close, love—ngh—feels so good."

➻ he has this intoxicating quality of acting in disbelief every time he's intimate. it's like he can't quite believe how lucky he's gotten. his expression when looking at his partner is a mixture of a desire-addled haze and awe.

➻ this is where his 'bottom-leaning' side comes in. if he finds a partner that is happy to take charge, sebastian melts. when he doesn't have to think about his own pleasure, when the reins are taken out of his hands, so to speak, he turns into a raw, hot, mess.

➻ he likes having his nipples played with. he likes being called a 'good boy'. he likes being teased and edged until he's begging for it. "please, please, i wanna cum. i've been a good boy, please." he likes being pounded into the mattress until he can't think anymore. he finds it liberating.

➻ however, on the off occasion, sebastian likes doing the same to his partner. forgetting all the pre-tense and pouncing on them like an animal, bending them over and fucking them until they can't think. "merlin, you're taking me so well—just like that—mmh, so perfect."

➻ he's playful in bed too; cracking jokes, making innuendos. flirtatious until the second his partner's hand flies to his cock and every thought exits through his head like an open dam gate.

➻ his libido is also very high. after graduation when he and his partner are away from prying eyes, sex is almost a daily occurrence. from his teen years, sebastian has been one to wake up horny and go to bed horny; god help his lover who is now the subject of all those desires.

➻ all in all, sebastian is very easy with sex. he enjoys it, he finds it liberating, and most of all he loves the connection. he's devoted to his long-term partner and that devotion never strays. he wants only to please them, whatever form that may take.

(now im thinking of fleshing out my ominis headcanons and starting some garreth ones too! stay tuned!)

#willow writes #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow headcanon #sebastian sallow headcanons #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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moodymisty · 6 months

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How do you think various legions would react to a primarch's lover? Especially if they're mostly a regular mortal. We got a hint of it with your Guilliman piece, so I'm biased and wonder what other headcanons you have for how the Ultramarines reacting to Guilliman's lover. Any ideas you have for Angron, Perturabo, and Dorn would be great to read too! 💙❤️💛

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

[ Part 2, Part 3 ]

Author's Note: So, I might've gotten carried away. I decided to just do the ones you mentioned, but I have drafts for the other legions so if anyone is interested in seeing those as well, feel free to say. I hope this is what you were looking for, and that you enjoy :3

Relationships: Implied Perturabo/Gn!Reader, Angron/Gn!Reader, Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader (because of the term 'lady'), Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader (because of the term 'lady')

Warnings: None really apart from the toxicity that's expected of romancing a Primarch, Typical 40kness

➧ Iron Warriors:

Absolutely not lmao. Haul ass if you see these guys look at you funny.

The legion of brutal industrialism isn't going to tolerate their Primarch thinking of anything beyond the scope of their ambitions for war. Part of you swears it's something that's just hard wired into them.

So while you might love Perturabo, his legion does not love you. Asking for respect would be a joke. Perturabo might be able to beat them into not saying anything, but they have to hold their tongues quite hard between their teeth.

Needless to say, your first introduction hadn't gone well. It's not a scene you want to remember.

It's all sort of a cruel irony; Given Perturabo has always had desires beyond being just a war machine, but his legion treats his foray into love with the same horrible attitude that Perturabo has come to viciously hate about them.

It all makes you feel like you're wedged between two massive walls. Perturabo is borderline obsessive over you, but his Legion treats you as if you're a plague upon their Primarch. Neither is willing to budge on the matter. The walls keep squeezing closer and closer together, and you're trapped right in the middle. You sometimes wonder who is going to snap first.

Most of them just actively ignore you, which you won't complain about. You give most of them- apart from a few of the more amicable Iron Warriors- quite a wide berth. The less time around them the better.

Just let Perty be happy, man.

➧ Imperial Fists:

The way Dorn's legion treats you- you would call it suffocatingly overprotective, but Dorn and his legion call it otherwise. This legion takes everything stupidly seriously. If you leave, you are expected to leave with a retinue of guards, and return by a set time. You will be dragged back if you don't. Your location is known at all times, and while it's reassuring at times to feel safe, at time it feels, stifling.

Though, you knew what you were getting into; So you suppose you can't really complain. You can appreciate that they seem to not think too poorly of you, considering your stature. Being a baseline human amongst Astartes and Primarchs isn't easy, but at least they act somewhat blasé about it. Though it might just be their general dispositions.

They speak to you with the level of formality Dorn orders of them, no more no less. Some of them are a bit confused why The Praetorian even indulges in something like romance, but they don't ask questions. As long as it doesn't interfere with Dorn's ability to do his duty. Any doubts are kept firmly to themselves unless they feel it needs to be brought to attention.

They still treat the Lady of the Imperial Fists with decorum, and some, dare say, even enjoy your company. Communicating with them is certainly interesting however given their stalwart nature. Getting one to crack their neutral expression at a joke is a popular pasttime of yours.

You don't mind it all... Too much. To be respected and protected by them, to even have some you would consider friends- or some odd blending of the term, given some of them have begun referring to you as mother- is something that makes you happy and so unbelievably lucky in this galaxy.

So while it's rigid, it at least makes sense. Dorn makes it up to you by building you your own library room. Don't ask why there isn't any windows.

➧ World Eaters:

Babe, your Primarch has a legion named the 'World Eaters', what do you think is gonna happen?

But to be serious, it probably isn't the worst Legion to be pulled into- but not by much. The World Eater Astartes are desperate to gain the eye and approval of their genesire, so if scorning you squanders that, then they will accept your existence and bite their tongues. Somewhat.

Khârn specifically doesn't enjoy that his Primarch is distracted by such pursuits.

However he's not going to say he isn't somewhat impressed that you are able to stand ground against Angron as he towers near double your height. You would be nothing but a bug beneath his boot if Angron lost control of the nails for even a moment, but Khârn won't scoff at your ability to hold your expression and not completely crumble whenever he turns your way. You seem to understand the Nucerian Primarch well. Not many within his legion can even claim that honor.

Beyond that however, he wants little more to do with Angron's temporary pursuit, same as his battle brothers. Overtime perhaps he might warm a tad, but don't expect it.

You don't spend much time around them at all. You make them angry for shifting the priorities of their Primarch to things as frivolous as love and lust, and they make you sad as you watch them slowly destroy themselves for little more than bloodlust.

A tragedy, Angron and his legion is. You try not to think about it all too much.

➧ Ultramarines:

The Ultramarines have a distinct attitude for you, as Guilliman choosing a beloved wasn't a decision that was taken lightly. It takes time, and while they respect you at first, overtime they'll grow to trust you and even grow fond of you. Titles like Lady of the Ultramarines and Lady Guilliman weight heavy on you, but at least your shock wears off over time. They are still hilariously formal even if they call you titles like 'Legion Mother', and encouragement for them to not act so stiff falls on deaf ears.

They do have their moments where they stop being such terrible sticks in the mud and joke around, and you've noticed they get weirdly prideful if they're the one to make you laugh.

You remember once when Guilliman had left you with one of his lieutenants, you were watching some men getting used to their new Terminator armor. The lieutenant had muttered in disappointment under his breath that one man looked like he had a metal support beam firmly lodged from ass to helm, and you'd snorted into a full laugh. When Guilliman returned, he asked what you'd said when he was gone; Remarking that the lieutenant looked as if he was about to lead a military parade with how puffed he seemed.

There's no time now where there isn't a set of transhuman eyes on you, and part of you wonders the things Guilliman has seen that makes him so willing to splurge such valuable resources.

That's not to say the Ultramarines don't have their doubts about their Primarch's relationship however, at least in a logistical sense. It's mostly thoughts kept to themselves, or spoken by a Captain or Commander to Guilliman in private.

It's not as if they're angry their Primarch is happy, but a normal un-augmented human, one that under the lens of a massive crusade- you are effectively nothing more than a defenseless tool to be used against their Primarch. This behavior and thought process gets dialed up and stays for longer if you're dealing with 41st Millennium Ultramarines, given their zealotry towards their gene-sire's supposed divinity.

The Ultramarines are by far one of the better Legions to 'marry' into so to speak. They are organized, respectful, and many even slowly come to treat you as a sort of respected figure. Many will defend you with everything they have without hesitation. They have their doubts, but you'll admit they are reasonable doubts for them to have.

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #perturabo x reader #guilliman x reader #rogal dorn x reader #angron x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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choicesoutofcontext · 7 months

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desire and decorum | book 2, ch 11

#playchoices #desire and decorum #desire and decorum book 2 #prince hamid #choicesoutofcontext

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uselessgay10101 · 1 month

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Now that I finished Desire & Dercorum book 2, I find myself thinking that It would have been hilarious to have a side mini story just to thank Miss Ida for throwing her wine on Duke Richards-

#desire and decorum #desire and decorum book 2 #duke richards #Miss Ida #She definitely deserves praise 👏 🙌#Duke Richards is the worst #definitely deserved it

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pocketsizedquasar · 9 months

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thoughts about jon, gender, n hair

aka i've literally wanted to write a fic centered around this concept for like over two years but. well. anyway. i still might write the fic at some point but lord knows when that'll happen so in the meantime here are my jon jarchivist headcanons centered around hair and gender, ft. my personal flavor of jon: persian, w/ a white grandmother, n amab nonbinary transneutral/transfemme

⁃ jon's hair was always kept short as a kid. short hair was for boys, his grandmother had said, and besides, she didn't have the desire nor energy to learn how to care for his thick persian curls; the shorter they were, the less tangled and unruly, the better.

⁃ jon explored some more fem/gnc presentation in college, some of which included growing out his hair. he attributed it back then more to just the fact that he was exploring his queerness (in a bi and ace sense) in general & that he spent a lot of time around georgie (also transfemme), and didn't really think about the actual gender accompanying it -- he wasn't actively thinking much about his own gender. questioning and coming to terms with his sexuality was already a lot.

⁃ but he liked the way his hair looked and felt long. he liked the quiet rebellion of it. he liked the way georgie ran her fingers through it. he liked how many different ways it could be worn long -- in ponytails and buns and braids and just loose down his back. he doesn't remember much of his mom, but he's seen in pictures her long, dark, curly hair, just like his now, and he likes the reminder.

⁃ he keeps it long after college, though upon getting hired as a researcher at the magnus institute, he has a bit of a crisis over whether or not to cut it, re: standards of white cishetero "professionalism" and decorum and masculinity, all of which he's doing his best to perform. maybe even early on in his research days he cuts it a bit and decides it makes him feel so bad (for some inexplicable reason) that he decides to just leave it long, though tidy and brushed and straightened and pulled high up into a tight bun so it looks neat and out of the way and functionally short anyway.

⁃ similar thing happens when he gets promoted to archivist. i personally like him deciding not to cut it here because i like him being allowed to keep one (1) thing, though i def understand other hc's where he does cut it short for S1 / being the archivist. he's still very much keeping it pulled up in a tight bun and out of the way, and removes anything else remotely feminine about his appearance -- earrings, more fem clothing, nailpolish, etc.

⁃ i read mossy's @coulson-is-an-avenger "shopping for gender in a british wal-mart" fic like 2.5 years ago and i still love it so much and it's still canon to me basically re: he tries a skirt Once to work at the sort of peak sweet point where he's settled in enough to feel comfortable trying to wear a skirt but not yet paranoid enough about Prentiss. sasha talks w him about gender and femininity and stuff, though he's not quite ready to confront it yet.

⁃ then prentiss/season 2 hits and he regresses again hard into self-defense mode; the performative masculinity goes Harder. his hair is still long but it's messy; thick curls and flyaway strands frizzing about his sleep deprived and paranoid face.

⁃ by the time s3 rolls around, everything else in his life has gone to shit, so mostly he's just like "fuck it" re: his presentation in general, including his gender presentation. there's also a sense of just.. "this it the one thing in my life I have control over," so he sort of starts just wearing whatever. even if he's not really acknowledging the actual gender feelings to himself. but his hair and his clothes are One thing he can control about himself, one thing the watcher can't really take away from him. so with s3-s4 it's like. yeah he feels like he's becoming less and less human and yeah he's being kidnapped once a month and yeah the world is going to end but at least he can wear a goddamn skirt.

⁃ i do think there's also an element of it too where, there's obvious anxiety and concern about him being a visibly brown and trans/gnc person in fucking London of all places, but as time goes on i do think there's a bit of like. even if i face violence for this what does it matter. i hardly leave the archives anyways, and even then, would that really be anything? in the face of everything else that's happened?

⁃ in the safehouse jon and martin (who to me is a trans man btw) talk about gender a bunch and Jon realizes they want to try using both he and they pronouns and maybe jon decides they want to do some more feminine things, want to try wearing skirts and maybe painting their nails again and martin braids flowers into their hair and things are good

⁃ and then season 5 and the apocalypse hits.

⁃ for the first little while in the safehouse jon's hair is still long. but before they leave, he cuts it, for several reasons -- first like, if keeping it long and presenting femininely was partially about control for Jon, this is them letting Go of that, of what he perceives to have just been an Illusion control. yeah it might make them a bit dysphoric but so what, my body was never mine tobegin with.

⁃ and i think he's also doing it as a mental preparation for leaving the cabin, after jon and martin have had the initial talk about eventually leaving. long hair is a liability; hair can get pulled on and tugged on when being kidnapped and grabbed at; hair can be drenched in shampoo and twisted by plastic hands; hair can be tangled and snag on the walls of a coffin; it can be full of dirt days and days later; hair is a hassle and a hazard and an illusion of control and above all it was a comfort to jon and this is no longer a world where you can trust comfort, martin.

⁃ martin walks in on jon in the bathroom staring at themself in the mirror with a pair of scissors. they ask martin to cut it for them. (martin gets a haircut too, in a show at solidarity and some levity. also undercut martin rights)

⁃ anyway, Somewhere Else Jon wears flowy dresses and grows his hair long and leaves lipstick stains on martin's face when they kiss and hikes his skirts up above his knees when they work in the garden and their hair is long and dark and thick and curly and he likes it; likes the way it looks and feels, the way martin runs his fingers through it, the way it reminds him of his mother and the way it makes him smile at the person they see standing in the mirror.

⁃ and it's good. it's really good.

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wnderkoo · 8 months

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♡ BUILT FOR LOVE - TEASER 2!

It's been years since Jungkook left to pursue his dream of being a volleyball star, and while you couldn't be happier for him, you missed that love in your life. Years after your breakup, just when you finally think you might be okay without him, he comes back. After falling back into old patterns, you realise that Jungkook is a love worth fighting for.

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: second chances au | fluff, angst, smut word count: 18k+ (2.3k for this teaser) tags: volleyball player! jungkook, lovers to strangers to friends to lovers, tba!

read the first teaser here!

teaser 2!

A month goes past of living with Jungkook and in those few odd weeks a genuine friendship had bloomed again between you, and soon enough you're looking forward to coming home and the impromptu movie nights you sometimes have.

You start to notice more and more of his belongings around the apartment, like his toothbrush beside yours in the bathroom, his shoes on top of yours in the pile beside the door, little things that feel so awfully domestic you have to remind yourself not to ruin it by imagining it as something it isn't and never will be.

You don't realise just how used to his presence you are until you come home from a day at the office to an empty apartment, lights off besides the one lamp in the living room hinting at the absence of a certain brown haired man.

His bed is still neatly made, like it was in the morning when you'd woken up to find Jungkook cooking breakfast.

Despite your best efforts to wake up earlier and be a good host and cook breakfast, he always beat you to it, a plate of bacon and eggs always ready for you in the morning.

Toeing off your shoes, you collapsed down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.

While the last few weeks had been fun and you were glad Jungkook was your friend again, he was just a friend and there was an itch that needed to be scratch and a desire that needed to be satisfied that you couldn't ask of your newly reintroduced friend.

There were times where you'd tried to satiate yourself in the privacy of your bedroom, but it had always felt too dirty to do anything with Jungkook just outside the door.

The thought of being heard was too mortifying for you to get anywhere.

But tonight, in the buzzing atmosphere of a city nightclub, you let your hips sway like no one was watching.

Because tonight, you looked hot.

And tonight, you were going to get laid.

In a maroon red dress that reached your lower thighs, the fabric hugging your curves perfectly, and heels to match, you looked nothing short of ravishing. Your hair was out, flowing over your shoulders in soft curls and making you look angelic under the ambient lights of the club.

"Find anyone yet?"

You turn at the sound of Hari's voice, meeting her kind eyes as she grins at you expectantly.

You'd dragged her out tonight, calling her as soon as you got home and asking if she wanted to have a night out on the town, and ever the party girl, she'd said yes. You made sure to invite Jimin, knowing he'd have your asses if you left him out on a club night, but he had other plans, telling you to have fun without him with a frown and a wink.

"Not yet," you reply, looking out across the club floor.

While you did find eyes on you more than once, entertaining the advances that men made on you throughout the night, you hadn't felt a real spark with anyone and even if you were just looking for a hook up, you had to have at least a little decorum.

It took you a year after things ended with Jungkook to even think about being with anyone else, and even then your relationships never made it past a month or two. There was always something missing, it never seemed to feel 100% right.

So you settled for the temporary high that relationships and hookups gave you, hoping that you'd find that 100% when the stars aligned.

"You'll find someone!" Hari encourages before being whisked away by the guy she'd been gravitating toward the whole night, laughing as the tall blonde led her back out onto the dance floor.

You watch as she disappears into the the crowd and only when she fades against all the other silhouettes do you let your smile drop as you realise you probably weren't going to get laid tonight.

You'd been here for two hours, and there was only so much one could take before their social battery died and all they wanted to do was go home and pass out in the warmth of their blankets.

The two hours of drinks and dancing finally start to affect your depth perception and as you make your way back from the bathroom, the low lighting of the hallway causes you to trip on nothing and stumble forward.

A surprised noise leaves your lips when you crash into a broad chest, your arms come up to stabilise yourself. Whoever's chest you found yourself leaning against was warm and smelled nice. Tropical.

"Yn?"

Your head snaps up, eyes blinking rapidly as they focus on the unexpected face.

"Jungkook?" you ask with a quiet gasp as if your eyes might be playing a trick on you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him at the club at all, though your attention had been focused on what was in front of you, namely the men you were dancing with.

You're too comfortable with the warm weight around your back and the hand holding your arm to steady you, making no move to push him away.

Jungkook just stares down at you for a beat before clearing his throat.

"You called me.." he answers and your brows knit together in confusion.

"What? I never called-"

A rush of heat flames his cheeks as Jungkook watches you reach into the top of your dress, pulling out your phone. Your brows crease as you unlock it, looking at your recent calls and true enough, there was an outgoing call to Jungkook from twenty minutes ago.

"All I could hear was background noise so I wasn't sure if you'd meant to call me.." he says, running guya hand down the back of his neck awkwardly.

"But I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Ugh. Why did he have to be so considerate?

"From what I heard on the phone, I assumed you were at a club and this is the only one I know you've been to so I thought I'd come here first."

You were way too drunk for this.

Too drunk for his kindness and the onslaught of feelings that it brought.

There were at least ten different clubs in this part of the city alone, what if you hadn't been here? Would he have gone to all of them looking for you?

You didn't want to know the answer to that question, because it would just make you love him even more. And you couldn't love him anymore.

"Are you drunk? Do you want me to take you home?"

A gentle hand brushes the hair out of your face as Jungkook takes in your figure. Flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, clinging onto him like you'd fall if you let go.. you were definitely more than a little tipsy.

You can't stop staring at him, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt where they're pressed against his chest. Your fingers twitch with the need to touch his face, brush over the scar on his left cheek, the only imperfection on his otherwise perfect face.

Sure you were drunk, but you could still appreciate beauty.

"Come on," he smiles, moving your hand to his bicep as he walks you back to the main part of the club.

You cling onto him drowsily, coming down from your high and crashing straight into exhaustion.

"I'll be right back, stay here, alright?"

A gentle thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into the touch before it disappears. You manage to nod and watch as Jungkook disappears into the crowd, finding Hari amongst all the moving bodies.

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for her to turn her attention from the blonde she's dancing with and notice him.

She does a double take when she sees Jungkook standing in front of her, surprised to see him here of all places. Taking in his appearance, he wasn't exactly dressed for the club scene. Black bomber jacket and cargo pants, he looked like he came straight from an illegal car race.

"I'm taking Yn home!" he shouts over the music, melting Hari's confused expression into one of understanding.

Craning her head over the crowd of people, she sees you leaning against a wall by the entrance staring awkwardly down at your feet.

"Thank you!" she shouts back, sincerity in her voice.

Ever since the breakup, she hadn't exactly been his biggest fan.. but for him to come and take you home- which she knew you hadn't planned- Hari could appreciate that Jungkook still cared about you.

"What about Hari?" you ask as Jungkook appears in front of you again and offers his arm.

Even drunk you looked out for your friends.

Jungkook assures you that she had told him she was okay to get home when he had asked. Happy with his answer you let him lead you through the entrance and out the doors of the club.

The cold air sobers you just a little and a shiver wracks through you as the breeze carries through the night, brushing against the bare skin of your arms before it winds down the city streets.

Your hand is suddenly cold, missing the contact when Jungkook shrugs out of his jacket before draping it over your shoulders. Warmth blankets around you and his scent fills your senses, somehow comforting and tormenting at the same time.

You mumble out a thank you before Jungkook takes your hand again, leading you the rest of the way to his car.

"Just a bit longer sweetheart," Jungkook murmurs softly.

Kneeling on the floor beside your bed, he removes your heels one by one and caresses your feet, which he knows would be in pain from all the dancing.

It was a miracle that you hadn't fallen asleep in the half hour it took Jungkook to drive from the club back to your apartment, but it was starting to become a challenge to stay awake when you were perched on top of your soft blankets, and the way Jungkook was massaging your feet only pushed you closer to sleep.

You barely register his words before you're being pulled up onto your feet, which are now in socks.

You grumble out a whine, making a move to fall back into bed before Jungkook stops you by sliding his arm around your waist to keep you upright.

"I need to change you, Yn."

You definitely heard that.

You can't find it in you to protest, too tired and desperate to just pass out on your bed.

You were way past feeling embarrassed at the thought of Jungkook seeing you naked, but the idea of it was still mortifying.

You let out a non-commital sound letting him know it was okay, and Jungkook carefully slides the zipper of your dress down. His fingers graze the sides of your thighs as he drags the fabric down, making you inhale sharply. His touch is like electricity on your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

He helps you step out of the dress and your eyes are too close to shut to see where he goes when he steps away.

You suddenly feel awkward standing in nothing but your underwear, swaying the way that drunk people do.

You ease a fraction when you feel his presence in front of you again. Jungkook helps you into a hoodie and sweats, being incredibly patient as you take your time putting your legs into your pants, gripping onto his shoulders tightly.

After removing your makeup and making you drink an entire glass of water, Jungkook tucks you into bed, fluffing your pillows and bringing the covers up to your chin just how you like them.

When he's sure you'll be okay, he reaches for the switch to your lamp but it's your soft voice calling out to him that makes him freeze.

"I miss this."

He stares down at you, almost thinking he imagined the words when he sees your eyes closed, blinking as he waits for you to continue. He laughs quietly to himself when he realises you probably dozed off.

"Miss what?" he asks quietly.

He stares at the soft features of your face as he waits for a reply.

"This. You taking care of me."

The next seconds are quiet enough that the cracking of his heart can be heard over your gentle breathing. Guilt slams into him, every thing that's been hanging over him for months comes down and crushes him under the weight.

He'd thought you'd moved on, you'd made it seem that way. But he should've known from the first night when you couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him before you were running out of the club into the cold.

He'd blamed it on the alcohol and built up emotions, but Jungkook knew now that there was still a million things that needed to be said.

This was the first time you'd ever brought up the past, always avoiding saying anything that would remind you of another time.

A past where you didn't have to walk on eggshells around each other, afraid of doing or saying something that would cross the line between friends and lovers.

A past where you could bring up inside jokes and they'd just be jokes, not a reminder of what used to be and the people you were.

A past where he didn't need to be afraid of loving you.

He hoped you wouldn't remember this in the morning. He'd already done enough, barging in on your life and being selfish enough to stay here. If you realised how vulnerable you'd been by bringing up the past, you'd be wrecked.

And if meant you could have your peace of mind, he'd hurt enough for the both of you.

Leaning down, Jungkook smooths a hand over your hair before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Goodnight, Yn."

built for love is sooo close to being published! i can't believe it omg im so excited to get this out to you guys, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

🏷️: @tarahardcore @kissyfacekoo @hoseokteardrop @jkkkkkay

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