#plaid cake

[winter-christmas-aesthetics]

From @sarahrosacakes on TikTok

[scarlett-bitch69]

Making a Plaid Cake for Christmas 🎄 🍰

[andallshallbewell]

[ai-satin-chic]

"Well.... maybe just one".

[thatcakelovingwitch]

Photos taken moments before disaster

for @felixcosm

[icestory-is]

[misschatz]

[cpahlow]

[chaotickittychild]

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Christopher Radko CHRISTMAS IN OHIO Italian Plaid Lady Ornament 99-419-0 ebay My Favorite Holiday Store

[krivanekphotographicestate]

[lukearchive]

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 10: baby photos

What they love about yours. Warning, this one is a little more characterized than usual, I think— reader is a bit less vague and general.

Gaz is obsessed with your baby fashion. That time you wore a little denim overall dress with a little denim bucket hat…. That’s peak style to him. Your tiny little sweatshirt that had Ernie from Sesame Street taking a bubble bath on it, worn with the tiny plaid shorts, socks with the ruffled edge, teeny tiny white sneakers…. Mfer is taking notes.

Soap is the guy who insists you haven’t changed at all. He sees these photos of you sleeping in your crib with a little part in your lips and he’s like “it’s uncanny, hen… how y’still look just like that when yer sleepin’”. He’s cooing over how you still have that same little cowlick, the same little smile when he lets you have some of his ice cream that you used to get when your parents would do the same.

Ghost feels hopeful when he sees your childhood photos. God knows he doesn’t have any of his own— wonders if any images of him as a baby even exist. When he thinks of having a family with you, he’s terrified because he has no idea what a real family is supposed to be. But your pictures make him think that it won’t be so hard.

Price is using your baby photos in his mental blueprints. He’s wondering if your baby will be born with his eyes or yours, with your nose, with your cheeks… It makes him excited. He already knew that any baby he had with you would be beautiful, but this just feels like more undeniable proof that your baby won’t just be cute, it’ll be perfection. Just like you are.

König is perhaps the most into your baby pictures. Like he’ll keep on in his wallet if you let him. He’s not even really sure why. He finds the images comforting, maybe because he still sees you as being this fragile, soft thing in his arms. And it makes him feel like a part of your family, when you point out all of your relatives, when you tell him what was going on the day the picture was taken, when he sees cake all over your cheeks and nose from your second birthday. He met you rather late in his life for his liking, perhaps. And the photos make him feel like he missed out on less of you.

Nikolai is a special case in that it seems he spends less time looking at your baby photos as he does looking at your adolescent photos. Noticing there are far fewer of them, how you’d put your hands up to block the camera, how you didn’t like to smile, and when you did it was awkward and apologetic. He sees how vivacious you were is a baby, and how little by little it was stripped from you as the anxiety and the self doubt was learned. It gives him a sense of determination. He wants you to feel as carefree as you did in those first few stages of life, with him. This is his reason to be.

[fushiguho]

Synopsis Suguru Getou isn’t sure what it is about you that makes him lose all sense of himself, that makes his blood both run cold and southward. What are you? A fallen angel? A succubus? A mere figment of his imagination? God, does he want to know, he needs to know because there is no way that you’re human. So, that begs the question... what are you?

Poor Suguru. He caught you red handed, but god, what a sight for sore eyes you are — your bare, perspiring body trembling as you hump against his pillow, sweet cries of his name spilling from your raptured tongue as you lay in a tousled mess of plaid, unkempt sheets. Suguru wonders, what possesses someone to do such a thing? To creep into their housemate’s sacred space, climb into their bed, and fuck themselves against their one and only pillow? Why is it making his cock jerk against the fabric of his briefs?

Maybe it’s the simple fact that you just don’t care. The fact that you’re so flagrantly conquered by your overbearing lust that you lack half the decency for respect, for shame. Maybe that’s the very reason he’s drawn to you in the way naive moths are to rampant flames; in the way curious bumblebees are to bright, beautiful flowers; in the way sweet, respectful men are to women who embody such raw and salacious feminine vivacity.

There’s such a dark, seductive energy that manifests in the way you walk, talk, breathe. Suguru can see it — the colorful ripple and billow of the overwhelming ambience that emanates from your entire being, it surrounds you. It hums and crackles in haphazard spurts of electricity and he feels it, he smells it. He needs to be inside it — inside of you. You overwhelm him, fogging his brain to the brink of utter confusion. He’s grossly enthralled by your unfathomable beauty, yet he’s terrified of what you'll turn him into.

For months, his fruitless attempts to suppress his growing infatuation has only made stronger, louder — it’s a low, ravenous growl that’s hungry, it craves satiation, it craves you. Now, he feels your presence even in your absence. Remnants of your sickly, sweet perfume clinging to the couch, the walls, your used towels in the shared bathroom. Everywhere, you linger. What is it about residing in such close quarters that morphs his cordiality into carnality? Is it something more? Something beyond human comprehension?

You’re even appearing in his dreams now and he’s sure that he’s completely lost it. In the sick, repressed depths of his subconscious, there is a facet of his latent mind that works overtime, conjuring the vilest, most debauched scenarios that feature you — obscene amounts of dried, caked over arousal kissing his abdomen each morning a testament of his late night ministries, the honeyed redolence of you lingering.

Whenever Suguru is around you, he can’t breathe, he forgets how. He chokes on a breath, the thick, protruding vein that adorns the underside of his cock throbbing painfully as you shamelessly rut against his pillow, breathless whines and gasps of pleasure dragging from your gaped mouth, oblivious to his bashful eyes. Incredulously, he observes you, wordlessly peering through his cracked bedroom door, the subconscious clamp of his thighs dulling the thrum of arousal that pools in the fat of his balls.

A large hand is cupping the unmistakable bulge that weeps milky tears of desperation, silently begging to be taken care of because it hurts. Your poor, sweet roommate is so hard to the point that it physically pains him, and unbeknownst to you, you’re the culprit. A strained whimper is prying his jaw open, thick, sable brows knitting so prettily in tandem. His fruitless attempts to dampen the cries that yearn to be heard are done in vain.

Suguru can’t help the guttural moan that belts from the depths of his chest when your darkened gaze eventually catches his. You’re whorishly sprawled apart now, head suspended from the side of his bed as you press a pretty, pink vibrator against your swollen clit. His timid gaze falls from your relentless prowl to the girthy, wet wand that hums and glides between your drooling lips.

Unabashed, you smile. “I see you, handsome,” the discernible tent that lurks beneath the restricting fabric of his bottoms makes your core sink in arousal, “him too.” You purr and he breathlessly follows the descent of your gaze, the both of you peering down at the unquestionable bulge at once.

Suguru chokes on a breath, averting his gaze. “Oh,” a deep, crimson hue is creeping up his neck, spilling across his cheeks, the peak of nose, and the tips of his ears, “you… you’re… you’re…” his mind falls barren.

Giggling, you beckon him. “C’mereee,” you jerk your head, smiling, “I missed you, Sug,” his jaw gapes as your legs fall open just a bit wider, almost serving as an invitation. “Please? I need your help...” your hips buck sluttily as you frown, the hum of your vibrator ebbing as it disappears into your sopping cunt over and over and over again.

A timbre, helpless groan rumbles from the pit of his sternum when your back arches off of his sheets, a desperate slew of whines tumbling from your slacked jaw. Bewildered, he shakes his head, utter confusion etched within his gradually widening eyes. No, maybe this is just another one of his deep, repressed sexual fantasies — a cruel desire within a dream that he’s unknowingly played a hand in conjuring, because no, this can’t be fucking real.

The slick, translucent arousal that drools from your cunt, pooling into a sinful puddle beneath you is not real, nor is the sweet, repetitive prayer of his name that spills past your lips like a sacred mantra. Your hand is enticingly reaching out, waving him over and he subconsciously obliges, slowly creeping further into his bedroom. As he inches closer, the muted glow that pours from the full moon reveals the subtle glint of lust that pools within your darkening irises. You are going to eat him alive and he’s ready for it. He needs it, undoubtedly.

Suguru audibly expels a breath he wasn’t aware he held, cock drooling against his tightening briefs as he nears the purely erotic mess that adorns his ravaged sheets, you. The palpable thump! of his heart is deafening. His knees want so badly to buckle beneath him, sending him flying to the carpeted floor and at your mercy. He huffs another loud, incredulous breath, blown out pupils falling to the warm, gleaming arousal that seeps from your pretty pussy, gossamers of your essence stretching and snapping between your slick, tautly stretched lips.

“Fuck,” it’s quiet, teetering a breathless moan, “can… can I taste it, please?” He’s sinking to his knees, peering up at you so obediently from between your plush, outstretched thighs. “You’re so fucking pretty, pleasepleaseplease let me taste you…” every hot, raptured breath he pants fans your swollen lips, he’s drooling, for it — or rather on it, “please?”

The sweet, tantalizing giggle that parts your lips is like kindle to a rampant flame, his cock aches. “You don’t ever have to ask me, Sug,” an ethereal smile is gracing your face, “it’s yours to taste whenever you want it, hm? After work, as I’m cooking… while I’m sleeping.” The insinuation makes his heart lurch.

Another audible breath parts his lips. “Yes… yes, p-please I want that,” Suguru is nodding dumbly before you can finish, “I can do that for you, please let me do that for you, fuck… I’ve always wanted that. I… I can be a good boy for you, your good boy.”

He’s indubitably blinded by his ineffable lust — babbling reckless pleads amongst his erratic breaths of utter incredulity. All he can do is feel; his warm, ever growing touch haphazard and clumsy and needy and so gentle in all the right ways. His soft hands are politely abrupt and unsure, yet there’s an inborn, animalistic urgency that completely consumes him, heedlessly drawing him into you. There’s a fleeting, unintentional forcefulness that guides him and it’s setting your skin ablaze.

Two, large hands are gripping the supple underside of your thighs, unintentionally prying you wider; his long, burly thumbs are spreading your pretty, gleaming lips, removing the toy that hums inside of you. It’s sudden — the longgg, searing drag of his curious tongue from your drooling hole to the head of your quivering clit. It’s pleasantly abrupt, pulling the nastiest whine from your gaped mouth. A dazed hum of satisfaction thrums against your cunt, his wet, open mouth wrapping so eagerly around the mound of arousal that drools endlessly.

God, he’s already drunk off of you, the taste of you like sweet, forbidden fruit from the sacred garden of Eden. He’ll hardly remember the way he’s whorishly pulling his cock out, whining so prettily against your puffy clit as he desperately ruts against the side of his mattress. The poor, aching head weeping against his cotton sheets, crying tears of desperation in syrupy, white ribbons — he’s cumming, hard. Long, droning whimpers drag from his open mouth and into the mess of slick that laminates your cunt, his pretty lips quivering against yours.

“Oh?” Utter arousal pools in your widening eyes, a gasp following. “Are you cumming?” Several of your fingers are carding through his mussed hair, a deep, pleasureful groan kissing your cunt as you tug him closer. “Are you making suuuch a mess for me, huh?” The gyration of your hips has him slobbering into your pussy, unbroken hums of rapture pouring against you. “Show me how much you came for me… show me what a mess you made.”

His eyes are screwing shut. “Oh, god,” he’s gasping, reaching a large, obedient hand down to gather the prolific arousal that soils his sheets, “it’s… it’s so much.” The sweet quaver of his voice makes your heart swell. Pure, unadulterated submission seeping from his wet, whiny tongue. He’s adorable.

Suguru is dutifully delivering his dripping fingers to you, a dark set of meek, forbearing eyes peering from behind the long digits, patiently awaiting your next command. An obscene amount of cum dribbles down his knuckles and palm, painting the expanse of his hand in a sheer, white mess. It drips against your perspiring skin, trickling down your plush thighs and tummy. His gaze meets yours timidly — waiting, pleading.

“Touch me with it…” you whisper, sitting up to rest on your elbows so you can eye the sweet, hungry man that peers up at you, “use your fingers and fuck your cum inside of me.” A slow, bewitching smile is marring your face and it’s sick. He nods stupidly, bewildered, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. “Yeah? Can you do that for me, baby? You gonna show me how your cum feels inside of my pussy?” God.

Suguru expels another loud, shuddered breath, cock twitching. “Yes... yesyesyes, fuck. I can do that for you… I’ll do anything for you." He’s sitting up higher on his knees and leaning closer, the audible pant of his breath fanning your skin, "you're s-so pretty, I'm so lucky to do this to you... to see you like this." He’s creeping even closer.

The entirety of his wet palm is running up the expanse of your cunt, smearing his viscous arousal across your clit, between your swollen lips, then deeeep inside of you. A long, drawn out whimper is pouring from your gaped mouth as his cum-slick digits are sinking inside of your slobbering hole, an obscene, gut wrenching squelch!  crying from between your thighs. God, the sound alone could make him cum again, and again, and again.

Wide eyes are flitting up to catch yours. "Like... like this?" He breathes, thick, sable brows furrowing incredulously as you buck against his pawing hand. "Is this good? Does my cum feel... good?" Over and over again, his fingers disappear into your pretty pussy, bottoming out at his burly knuckles each and every time, pulling the sluttiest cries from your parted lips. "Am... am I being a good boy for you?"

Nodding, you gasp. “Yes,” your jaw falls slack, hips canting in the air, “such a perfect boy… listening so good for me, mhmmm.”

“Can I taste it again? I… I wanna taste us, please?” His lips are subconsciously parting, drool almost spilling from the corner of his mouth. “Please, I’ll make you cum over and over again if you want that, just tell me what to do… tell me how to please you.” He almost wants to cry, sweet, pleading eyes so so close to watering with fat tears of desperation.

You can hardly nod nor fix your lips to speak because he’s practically diving into you, wet lips instinctively latching to your ravaged clit, tasting himself. Satisfied, he hums to himself, savoring the marrying flavors of arousal on the tip of his tongue, his lithe fingers steadily pummeling inside of you. As if it’s his sole purpose in life, Suguru is eager to please — so willing and enthusiastic and completely devoted to you.

He wouldn’t mind if this became a reality for him, or rather the both of you — a common occurrence that becomes so regular that it’s just ordinary, normal. He wouldn’t mind if you crept into his bed during the dead of night to sit on his face or if you only sought him from here on out for a quick fuck. He doesn’t care. He needs you to want him, to want to be pleased by him.

He pants against your drooling cunt, begging. “Please cum for me,” his vacant hand paws at the thick of your hip, desperately pulling you closer, warm tongue gliding between your glossy lips, “pleasepleaseplease cum for me… on my tongue. Please, I want it — I need it.” He whines between the frantic drag of his tongue.

Amused, you smile, his cock throbbing in turn. “Stop asking, Sug,” you’re carding a hand through his hair, sweeping away the several, inky strands that occlude his vision, baring his drunken mien, “I’ve already given you permission to do as you please, baby. Don’t ask me again.”

Suguru nods eagerly, choking down the groan that threatens to part his lips. The sweet, subtle sternness that drips from your tongue is killing him. He can’t help himself, he’s so incredibly conquered by his insatiable desire to please. All he sees is you and the pretty, pink vibrator that lays alongside you, beckoning him. He’s hastily snatching the toy from the tousled sheets and toggling the power button on with a click!

He exchanges one, last look of pleading, wordlessly seeking your assurance a final time as he nears your weeping cunt with the loud, humming vibrator. You nod down to him, a big, toothy grin playing your lips. Yes, this is exactly what you wanted — for him to lose himself in the taste of you, to be so utterly prevailed by his carnal and overbearing lust that he lacks half the decency to ask for permission anymore. This is exactly what you need.

His mouth gapes, a loud gasp ensuing. “Hah — oh my… god,” he groans and he could fucking cry as he replaces his fingers with your vibrator, slowly easing the girthy, pink wand inside of your welcoming hole, “oh my fucking god, you’re s-so wet.” Suguru is so plainly subdued by his aching need to satisfy that it exudes in the way he speaks, in the way can’t help but to moan out his words, simple vowels and consonants laden with his discernible lust.

“Yeaaah, that’s a good fucking boy, spit on it,” you gasp as he’s leaning forward to loll out his tongue, rivulets of drool spilling from the wet muscle and onto your perfectly swollen clit, “yes — fuuuck, god.”

A longgg, drawn out whine is dragging from your hoarse throat, the repetitive batter of the buzzing toy beating up your tightening walls. He’s lapping you up, grunting and moaning and drooling onto your cunt as if he’s on the brink of death and you’re an oasis amidst a barren desert — as if he’d simply die if not for your saccharine essence.

Suguru’s cock aches, growing impossibly hard yet again, the red, swollen head leaking a sinful stream of arousal onto his carpeted floor. A slew of guttural moans disappear into your cunt, his vacant hand wrapping so desperately around the length of himself, fist tightening to dull the mind numbing throb of his poor, weeping erection.

“Yes,” your hips are bucking so sluttily, meeting the mindless jerks of his tongue halfway, fucking yourself on it, “yesyesyes, fuck… so good, such a good, pretty mouth fuck.”

His fist tightens impossibly tighter, a helpless, high-pitched whimper thrumming against your clit. He can hardly help the hand that’s beginning to tug at the length of his cock, the slick remnants of his previous orgasm the perfect lube. The not-so-subtle buck his hips into the palm of his hand forces pant after breathless pant from his occupied mouth, his audible gasps for air separating the purposeful drags of his tongue.

Suguru is drunk, so plainly intoxicated and it’s purely from you — your slutty moans, the near feral buck of your hips, your greedy hands and how they possessively steer his head exactly where you need it, even the palpable throb of your aching clit has him squeezing his eyes closed in his overwhelming arousal, but he loves every fucking bit of it.

Not a single, seraphic inch of your cunt is left untouched. His tongue is relentless, completely consuming you and everything you have to offer; it’s sliding up the length of your lips, his erratic breaths hot and loud against the juncture where your thigh and pussy meet; it’s licking up the expanse of your plush, inner thigh, a glistening trail of saliva left in his wake; his tongue is even lapping against the vibrator that plunges in and out of your greedy hole, drinking the married, syrupy mess of arousal that leaks out of you. It’s exactly what has you unwarrantedly gushing down the length of your drenched toy, his name on the tip of your beautifully raptured tongue.

And god, Suguru has never seen anything like it — the deep, depraved arch of your back, plush tits pressing against the thick, tangible air; the discernible hitch of your breath that interrupts your sweet cries of his name, even the subtle glint of amaranth that gleams within your beckoning irises instills an innate sense of fear in him, yet it’s the most erotic thing he has ever experienced and he wants more, he needs to find out what the fuck you are.

“God, please fuck me,” he pants, his pretty, fucked out face gleaming, “m-make me your good boy forever.”

He has no idea what he’s asking for. Poor Suguru.

A/N i actually had no idea where i was going with this drabble. i started with the idea of making the reader a succubus, but it kinda got lost in translation. maybe it can be left up to the reader’s interpretation. but i like it i think? do you? let me know :p

[usedpidemo]

Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks. 

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake. 

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart. 

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife. 

She never lets up. 

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes. 

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf. 

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council. 

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you. 

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession. 

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour. 

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success. 

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand. 

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

—————

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.  

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—” 

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face. 

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.” 

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to. 

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious. 

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable. 

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.” 

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.” 

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further. 

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all. 

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally. 

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one. 

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric. 

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought. 

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again. 

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine. 

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.” 

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

[msmiseryxoxo]

supa!

Soldier boy x fem reader

🎧 hoe cakes- MF DOOM

tags- canon typical misogyny, throat fucking, gagging but that’s it, daddy kink, unspecified age gap but it’s quite big ( he is 115), sleazy and kind of mean ben, reader has hair that can be pulled but no other physical descriptors!

Ben teaches you some things in the room of a cheap motel.

1.2k words

me when this was in the drafts for a month

At first, Ben didn’t understand as to how you got in this group that takes down the most powerful beings in the world. You’re not particularly strong, he doesn’t know what your deal is. Maybe you’re smart or whatever.

What he is sure of, however, is how fucking annoying your happy go lucky attitude is. You act like a first grade teacher for god's sake.

“I was up all night making these. So if you don’t like them, please lie to me and say you’ve never tasted anything better.” You exclaimed, bringing in a heart shaped tin with a lace trimming, with chocolate chip cookies inside of it.

The rest of the team sans Butcher ( as he was nowhere to be found) was delighted. He scoffs at this.

Surprisingly, the two of you began to bond over the course of a couple months. You talk about the band America and the films of jimmy stewart. He’s surprised that a sweet young thing like you knows the references soldier boy goes on about. Of course he always wanted to spank your cute little librarian ass, but he found you sweeter to be around lately. You infected him with your sweetness, hell, your melting his blood red american heart.

So it’s no surprise when you find yourself on your knees, by the legs of the bed frame, on the grimy floor of a dingy motel. It was a long

day,and Ben was tired of being restrained.

It was a classic “there was only one bed situation” when you arrived at the motel, as butcher sent only the two of you on a mission. He received concerning looks from the the team, but he didn’t care. You were to be martyred in a sense, for the sake of taking down homelander. Solider boy was estatic of course, he would get the chance to fuck you. He was no hero in a romance novel. He thought about shoving your head into a pillow, slobbering so sweetly, losing your mind as he pistons his cock into your slick heat, small little panties soaked and pushed to the side.

He’d have to settle with his cock down your throat because of course…

“ I haven’t done this before. I don’t know what to do, maybe you can teach me?” you so impishly put it. You sat criss cross applesauce on the beige comforter looking up . He was wearing plaid boxers and a slim fitted white tee, cock throbbing so hard it hurt. Soldier boy hadn’t fucked since the 80s, and normally he wouldn’t have much patience but he knew the pay off of this would be way sweeter.

“mhmm, bet you would like that huh? want me fuck your pretty little throat?” He scoffs and steps back, allowing you to slowly slip down to the floor. He strokes your face with the tip of his fingers, ever so softly. He then grabs your checks and spits in your face. Your walls pulse at the unsuspected act, increasingly getting slicker.

“ I bet your pussy is so wet right now. She needs someone to help her out. But not now. No, he needs a little lovin right now.” He points down to his boner.

He reaches to his side of the night stand and pulls a cigarette out of his box, and a red lighter next to it. He focuses on lighting his cigarette, smoke blowing through the side of his mouth. He scratches his beard before he tugs at your hair.

“Mmm” you squirm.

“Take it out of my boxers, will you doll?”

Fingers find his waist band, brushing past the cotton of his underwear. You toy with it, as you begin to take out his length. It’s perfectly thick, but you begin to wonder if your mouth could even take it.

“Christ, you’re huge.” He begins to chuckle . Ben is amused at your bluntness and look of adoration.

“ Wanna hold him? I think he likes you.” God he was disgusting, but he found you much too amusing to take this seriously.

You take him in your hand and start to stroke at an excruciatingly slow pace. Visibly, he gets a bit flustered at this and puts his calloused hand on top of yours, helping you find a faster rhythm.

“Spit on it, make it wet for me.” He demands. A wad of your spit finds itself on your hand, rubbing up and down at his length. You begin to find a good pace, he groans in response.

“That's it sweetheart, just like that,” He holds his firm grip on your hair while you begin to peck small kitten licks on his balls. His lips pressed together, holding the cigarette, stifling a groan. The smell of tobacco and the musk of length fill your nostrils, almost intoxicating and laxing your body.

” Think ya can take him in your mouth? I think you can do it. A pretty broad like you is made to take cock.” In response, you hum against him, on your knees.

He slaps his cock across your hot cheeks. He smears his precum, the warmth of him filling your being.

He lets go of his firm grasp of your hair, and shows you a short bit of kindness. Soldier Boy can be gentlemanly if he wants to, petting your hair. He guides himself to your mouth, tapping two fingers against you signaling for you to open. He starts slow, letting you get acclimated to his girth. His dick is not abnormally long, but it is abnormally thick.

“C’mon honey, a little wider for daddy.” Solider boy growled, bucking his hips against your face. You’ve never told a soul about this little thing you had for older men being your daddy, so it’s a lucky little thing he mentioned it before you did. Your pussy clenches against the carpeted floor, wet spot forming on your panties. The feeling of your vibrating moans against his cock make ben groan. He bucks his hips, the tip of his dick kissing past dip in your mouth, urging you to gag. He doesn’t seem to care about this, he can feel his release coming.

“ Bet you want swallow daddy’s load, I know you’re into the whole daddy thing. Makes sense, a sweet young baby like you needs a daddy huh? Need someone to teach you how to be the best little cocksucker.” His eyes roll back. Fat globs of tears fall down your cheek. The cigarette is still being smoked, he holds it between two fingers in one hand as he places his other hand on your head. You’ve become a hot mess of sticky skin and saliva dripping down your skin. A mascara smeared beauty, he thinks. Ben thrusts begin to get sloppier, and he pushes your head up and down on his cock.

“Oh, fuck, going cum all over you, all over your cute little top.” He pinches your nipples, your cries around his girth send him over the edge. He pulls out of your mouth, giving you a moment to catch your breath, as he pushes your shirt up to paint his love all over your chest, rising up and down.

He puts out the cigarette on a small heart glass ashtray you got him as a gift. As he sips on his glass of bourbon, you grin up at him, asking, “did I do a good job, daddy?”

“ If you keep acting like a little tease we can do this all night.” But hey, you weren’t one to complain.

thank you for reading! I kind of hate this but i hope someone likes it. got the idea when listening to hoe cakes specifically one line: “treat her like a daughter, taught her how to bust a nut” and it was so gross i thought of ben :((( he’s so supa!!!