Mar 13, 2023
the rest of the old heads have been updated with mm hair (+ i figured I’d include Xavier’s ass to round out the set) and like...............who are they~
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Belarus
seen from Belgium
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Australia
seen from Canada
seen from China
the rest of the old heads have been updated with mm hair (+ i figured I’d include Xavier’s ass to round out the set) and like...............who are they~
Spirit animal SQH
thinking about butterfly kisses with satoru ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒
“i wish i had lashes like yours, toru.”
you sigh like he’s committed some sort crime. maybe, in your defense, he has— no one should be allowed to look that pretty without even trying. especially not your boyfriend, who already has enough going for him.
and yet there he is, lounging like a cat next to you, one arm thrown lazily over your shoulder, the other tapping at his phone. his blindfold is off, pushed up into his snowy hair, and those stupidly long lashes could as well brush his cheeks every time he blinks.
“mm? what brought this on?” his tone is airy, teasing— he knows exactly what he’s doing.
you scoot closer, narrowing your eyes at him. “they’re longer than mine. it’s not fair.”
now that gets his attention.
satoru tilts his head, bright blue eyes locking onto yours, amusement already blooming in them. “are you jealous of my eyelashes?”
“obviously.“ you cross your arms. “why do you get lashes like that for free? i have to suffer with mascara and you just wake up like that.”
then he laughs.
not just a chuckle, a full, obnoxious, head-tilting-back kind of laugh that makes his shoulders shake. “that’s a new one,” he grins, leaning in closer. “out of all the things to envy about me…”
“don’t push it,” you mutter.
his smile softens— just a little, just enough that it isn’t teasing anymore. “c’mere,” he murmurs.
you don’t question it. you never really do with him.
phone long forgotten, his hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly under your eye as he guides your face closer to his. your noses bump first, then your foreheads.
one of your hands come to rest on top of his thigh— and then you feel it, the faint brush of his lashes before anything else.
soft and ticklish. and then he blinks, slowly.
his lashes flutter against yours, a delicate, feathery sensation that makes you squirm and giggle under your breath. instinctively, you do it back. closing the distance just enough, blinking against him, your lashes tangling in the strangest, softest way.
it’s kinda ridiculous. and yet— you do it again. and so does he.
a quiet little rhythm forms, nothing but the faint brush of lashes and the occasional stifled laugh between you.
“you’re weird,” you whisper, though your voice betrays you with a smile.
“so mean,” he shoots back instantly.
you pause for a moment, lashes still brushing his.
“…this is kind of nice.”
his grin widens, impossibly pleased. “thought so.”
and then he leans just a fraction closer— enough to steal a proper kiss this time, slow and warm and entirely smug.
“still jealous,” you mumble against his lips.
“mm,” he hums. “you can keep complaining.”
his lashes flutter against yours again, softer this time.
“in my eyes, you’re still the prettiest.”
You love when Jack teases you. You also hate when Jack teases you, especially when your cunt has decided you've had enough of said teasing with its taut, gripping pulse around nothing, when she should be pulsing around his fat cock, as you commit to payback while you do, fondling his fatter, saggy balls.
But...no. Jack decides he had a tiresome shift, which means he thinks you haven't had enough.
The ounce of control you give him, Sleepy. It's heaven.
"Feel how wet you are for me? Think we can get you leakin' a little more."
Jack drags his cock, dripping with his precum and sticky with your slick, along your stomach. His palm flattens there, squeezing your waist.
He humps. And humps. And humps. And thrusts. And thrusts. And thrusts.
"Leaking just from my cock sliding on your belly, kid." Jack clicks his tongue as he thrusts harder, cause he's a bastard. "Gonna ruin this pretty cunt before I even get inside you. Never surprised how selfish you are."
Every deliberate grind makes your breath hitch, and you're just angry when he takes his other hand to smooth over your pubes.
"J-Jack, you're being mean---"
You moan when the head of his cock catches on your swollen clit. Jack glares before he makes this low, humming noise.
"I'm being mean? I'm not the one who introduced the concept of cockwarming to a fifty-one-year-old fuck."
You buck against him, and you're sure he's the meanest man in the world when he locks your hips with a harsh strength, denying your seeking of more pressure. Awful.
...But watching Jack angling his hips so his cock slides lower, the thick vein on its underside grinding wildly against your clit as he hump, hump, humps your stomach...
That's a silver lining, you guess.
You whimper. Jack shushes you.
"Got you so worked up, bet you'd cum like this, huh? Wouldn't you? It's..." His voice drops to something even more raspy. "It's okay, baby. That's fine."
Your breath grows ragged...because Jack just has to thrust his belly forward, trapping your groin and nub between said belly and the stone-length of his cock.
"No...I n-need---"
"It's okay, baby. You can cum like a bitch in heat. It's okay."
And somehow, you can hear how genuinely he means that. In a room of cruel, filthy jokes on your pussy, there's not an ounce of teasing in his voice then and there.
Your pleas dissolve into a choked moan. Jack kisses your cheek as his cock slips on your skin, humps growing faster.
"To be fair...the...the fact your stomach has me about to blow is just as bad."
Alright. He's maddeningly endearing. And maybe he got you there, with the cockwarming. Somehow, that convinces you you deserve this.
"Bet she's going crazy, Sleepy. She fluttering?"
"Mhm."
"...Mm. Yeah. I'm about to blow."
...Yep. You so, so deserve this.
“I Can’t Pay The Rent This Month”
ɞ You tell Damian you can't pay the rent this month.
ɞ Warnings: fluff, but you can see a tiny bit of sexual tension at the end.
The apartment was quiet in that rare, comfortable way; no comms, no alerts, no urgency. Just stillness. Damian sat on the sofa, one arm draped along the back, the other holding a book open with practiced ease. His posture was relaxed in a way very few people ever saw. And you were sprawled across him like you belonged there. Which at this point you did. Your head rested against his chest, legs stretched along the couch, one arm loosely draped over his side.
Damian turned a page. His hand, almost absentmindedly rested against your side, fingers lightly tracing slow, idle patterns.
Neither of you spoke for a minuate but then you shifted slightly, tilting your head just enough to look up at him. “Damian?”
He didn’t look up immediately. “Mm.”
Your tone changed with something soft. “I need to talk to you about something.”
That made him pause. He put the book he was holding down on the other side of the chair and straightened up with you in his lap.
“What is it?”
You clasped your hands together, just enough to look nervous. “I… I don’t think I can pay the rent this month.” You said, sighing.
Damian only blinked once. “I’m sorry Hayati, but what?”
You looked down, avoiding his eyes committing to the performance. You tried not to laugh at the confusion on Damian's face. “I’ve just had a lot of… expenses,” you said, quieter now. “Unexpected things.”
He leaned back slightly. Damian pushed a few strands of hair that had fallen across your face behind your ear, studying you like something in this equation had fundamentally broken.
“Y/N.”
“Yes, my love?”
“We do not pay rent.”
You nodded solemnly. “Right.”
“And you have never paid rent.”
“Yes.”
“And you own this property.” He said, as if stating an obvious truth, "You know I had your name put on the title deed, right?"
“Yes.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. Damian spoke as his hand slid from your face to your waist. “Then clarify your statement.”
You finally looked up at him trying very hard to stay serious. “I just think,” you said carefully, “it would be irresponsible of me not to bring it up.”
Damian’s expression didn’t soften, but it changed just enough to notice something “You are testing me,” he said.
Your lips twitched. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You are simulating financial distress in a scenario where it is structurally impossible.”
“I wouldn’t say impossible-”
“It is impossible.”
Damian's hand tightened around your waist as you bit the inside of your cheek. He leaned forward slightly now, eyes narrowing you. “Oh,” he said quietly. “This is one of those… trends.”
You lost it, just a little. A small smile breaking through. “Maybe.”
Damian exhaled slowly through his nose. “You are aware,” he said, voice flattening in that very particular way, “that I am a physician with multiple income streams and access to-”
“I know baby,” you cut in, stepping closer, smile growing now. “I know.”
“You are also aware,” he continued, ignoring that, “that I would not permit you to assume financial burden regardless of circumstance.”
“I know that too.”
“And yet you chose to present this scenario.”
You nodded, completely unapologetic now. You could even call that shameless, because you were having so much fun. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand why.”
You tilted you head slightly, your eyes were soft but unmistakably amused. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”
“You wished to observe my response,” he said.
“Mm-hm.”
“And what outcome were you expecting?”
You shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d panic a little.”
“I do not panic.”
“I’ve seen you panic.” You said, laughing. Because you'd seen him panic, especially when it came to you.
“You have seen me adjust rapidly.”
You smiled. “Sure.”
Damian leaned in, just slightly. Close enough that his voice didn’t need volume.
“If this were real,” he said quietly, “there would be no discussion.”
Your smile softened just a fraction. “Oh?”
“You would not be responsible for it,” he continued. “You are not responsible for any of it.”
Your expression flickered briefly, because even knowing him, hearing it like that still did something. “You say that like it’s obvious,” you said.
“It is.”
“So you wouldn’t make me sell my things? Or I don’t know, take on a second job?”
Damian’s expression shifted instantly, offended on a conceptual level. “I would prevent you from attempting either.”
You laughed softly. “I know you would.”
“You find this amusing, aren’t you?”
“Very.”
“You derive enjoyment from fabricating problems I cannot logically solve.”
“Yes.”
Something in his expression shifted again. “You are aware,” he said slowly, “that if you wished to test my responses, there are more… effective methods.” He said, his hand sliding from your leg down to your hip.
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You could simply ask for something,” he said.
Your breath hitched, barely there. “Like what?”
He shook his head from side to side as if he was stating the most normal thing in the world. “Anything. You would receive anything you want.”
“Even if I asked for something unreasonable?”
“I would evaluate it,” he said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I would still provide it.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you persist.”
After a brief pause, you added, becoming serious. “For the record, I can pay rent.”
“I am aware.”
“I just don’t.”
“I am also aware.”
“And you don’t let me.”
“That is correct.”
You smiled, leaning just slightly closer. “Good.”
Damian didn’t move away. “Your concern is resolved, then,” he said.
“Completely.” You said, and murmured as your hands traced across his chest, “Actually, I think I want something right now.”
A glint appeared in Damian’s eyes, and he leaned back, encouraging the small movements of your hips.
“Will you provide for me?” you said while your lips curving towards him.
Damian murmured as he reached for your bra strap inside your shirt. “Always.” And that was the only answer needed to bring your lips together.
😝😝
Okay, okay, I'll stop writing for Damian. The last four posts I shared were all about him. I just can't stop myself 😔
you'd both known what this arrangement was from the beginning—a mutually beneficial relationship strictly for sex (and well-cultivated cannabis).
satoru doesn't do commitment, and you never cared for more than a good, no strings attached fuck occasionally with how your schedule is set up. your dealer (who could maybe classed as a friend if you squinted) offered that and good weed? how could you possibly say no!
the scent of smoke hangs in the air, thick and cloying, joint burning steadily. a singular gram seemed like more than enough to pass between you two, and satoru's always so inclined to share with you free of charge these days. the filter end is held in an easy grip between his thumb and index, free hand warming your naked hip.
this hadn't been your plan for tonight, really. unwinding by smoking with the man had been, yes... just not half-naked with your shirt shoved above your bra-clad tits, practically cockwarming him. you'd only come over here to leech off of him—for free weed from a familiar face.
his gaze locks on yours, cherry glowing red in the dim light as he takes a long drag, exhaling a white, wispy cloud out of the direct path of your face. then he's taking yet another one, free hand sliding up from your hip to hold your face in an easy grip, fingers pressing in to squish your cheeks, head tilting toward yours. the smoke he exhales this time travels in a slow, deliberate stream. it's warm and earthy as it rolls along your tongue, clinging to your taste buds, settling at the back of your throat. you lips press together, holding it for a few seconds just to feel that slight burn in your lungs, body already beginning to hum as the high settles even deeper. "mm.." you exhale with a low sigh, smoke a cloudy puff that obscures his face momentarily.
"good?" he questions, thumb tracing the gentle slope of your cupid's bow, smoothing over the dip before his hand falls away again. the loss has you squirming just a little, trying to get some sort of attention in your hazy state—which he quickly puts an end to, hand heavy and solid as it closes against the curve of your hip.
"nuh uh," he hums, barely biting back a smug grin, not even giving you a second glance. "you’re good where you are. don’t be greedy."
🐺 “why are you on tinder?” inspired by this tiktok
bang chan x reader
prank | fluff | jealousy | comfort | playful ending.
setting: A quiet night in, half-watching TV on the couch. You’re tucked into Chan’s side, the kind of comfortable that makes you forget the world exists—until you remember a stupid TikTok prank that suddenly feels like a really good idea.
ten minutes
You’re in your room with Alexia.
Well.
Alexia is in the bathroom.
You’re on the bed, spread across it, actually.
Completely useless.
Earlier, it had been you, Alexia, Alba, your friends, a boat, and far too much time under the sun.
There had been too much alcohol, too.
By the end of it, you were tanned and drunk, a combination that should probably be illegal for you.
Which was how Alexia finally lost what little patience she had left.
And honestly?
Fair.
Very fair.
She’d warned you.
“You’re going to pass out. Don’t drink too much.”
“Okay, captain.”
Message received.
Message ignored.
Spectacularly ignored.
And now look at you.
Sun-drunk.
Alcohol-drunk.
Alexia-drunk.
Completely limp.
Not a single functioning muscle left.
You should probably get up, because you planned a dinner, a beautiful restaurant by the sea, food you normally love, food you’d probably be excited about under normal circumstances.
But these are not normal circumstances.
You are tired.
The AC is freezing and the room feels like heaven.
You want to stay here. You want Alexia to come back. You want her to get in bed and the two of you to watch something stupid on TV or sleep.
Preferably sleep.
Definitely sleep.
Actually, no.
Not sleep.
Coma.
A nice little vacation coma.
But that’s not happening. You know it’s not happening.
The bathroom door opens.
No.
Fuck. Fuck.
You don’t move.
Maybe if you don’t move she’ll think you’re dead.
Not dead, asleep.
Dead is dramatic.
Although you are suffering, so maybe not that dramatic.
You hear Alexia walking around the room, drawers opening, a bag zipper.
The unmistakable sound of somebody getting ready while you continue your long-term commitment to becoming part of the mattress.
Maybe she’ll leave you here. That would be nice.
Actually, no.
That would be worse.
You want to stay here, but you also want Alexia to stay here.
This is a complicated situation.
You hear her stop moving.
Silence.
Which means she’s looking at you.
You can feel the stare.
The one that says, look at yourself.
Unfortunately for her, you’re not looking at yourself.
You’re looking at a pillow.
A very nice pillow.
“You alive?”
Barely.
“Mm.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
Another silence.
You can practically hear her rolling her eyes.
Which is unfair.
You’ve had a difficult day.
You made questionable decisions, repeatedly, and now people expect you to attend dinner.
Honestly, nobody is thinking about your needs.
“You’re taking a bath.”
No.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, Ale. I’m going like this.”
There’s a pause.
A dangerous one.
“Naked?”
You lift your head just enough to look offended.
“What? No. I’ll throw on a dress and we’re done.”
Alexia raises an eyebrow, which is never a good sign.
A raised eyebrow from Alexia is basically a formal warning.
“A dress isn’t the problem.”
You narrow your eyes, or try to, but everything requires too much effort right now.
“Then what is?”
Alexia looks at you for a second.
Then at your hair.
Then back at you.
“You have sand in your hair.”
“Not true.”
“You smell like sunscreen.”
“I was at the beach!”
“And alcohol.”
You stay silent, because it’s expected.
“And poor decision-making.”
Rude.
“That one isn’t a smell.”
“It is on you.”
This relationship lacks respect.
“I’ll survive.”
“You’ll survive. Alba won’t let you.”
Oh.
That’s worse.
Much worse.
You stare at her.
She stares back.
Completely serious.
“Do you want Alba making comments all through dinner?”
A horrible image immediately appears in your head.
Alba noticing.
Alba grinning.
Alba making one comment.
Then another.
Then another.
For two straight hours.
You sit up immediately.
“Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
Alexia points toward the bathroom.
“Bath.”
You fall back onto the mattress.
Then you feel the bed dip and a hand run through your hair.
Immediately, all your complaints disappear.
Alexia pauses.
Her fingers catch on a knot.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Be nice to me.”
“I am being nice to you.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“I’m touching your hair, aren’t I?”
You smile into the duvet.
“You said one drink.”
You laugh.
“I believed that when I said it.”
“You never believe that when you say it.”
You hate when she’s right.
The room is quiet again.
The bed is comfortable.
Alexia is next to you.
See?
This is nice.
This is exactly what should happen.
Nobody should be going anywhere.
The restaurant will survive without you.
Your friends will survive without you.
Alexia stands.
The mattress shifts.
No.
Come back.
You don’t say it, mostly because that would sound pathetic and also she already knows.
“You have ten minutes.”
You groan, a long, miserable sound.
The sound of a woman being oppressed.
“Five.”
What?
How did it get worse?
“I didn’t even do anything.”
“You were thinking about not doing it.”
As you start to drag yourself out of bed, Alexia walks over to your suitcase.
Opens it.
Pulls out your favorite dress.
Then your earrings.
Then the shoes you were already planning on wearing.
You stare.
“How do you know?”
Alexia stares back.
“You’ve worn that exact outfit three times.”
“Oh.”
“You were always going to wear it.”
“Oh.”
You immediately get up.
Alexia barely has time to react before you’re wrapping your arms around her.
“Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.”
“Mm.”
“Te amo.”
“You said that one already.”
“Te amo.”
Alexia huffs a laugh, one hand settling automatically at your waist.
“Yo también te amo.”
You grin against her shoulder.
“Again.”
“No.”
“Again.”
“Yo también te amo.”
You squeeze her tighter.
“Again.”
Alexia pulls back just enough to look at you.
“Bath.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Baño.”
“Ale.”
“Ahora.”
You groan dramatically.
Alexia kisses your lips.
“Now bath.”