#why new Year’s resolutions suck

[studentbyday]

*cue pre-new year existential crisis*

[vault81]

found my notepad list of locations to get screenshots of for the travel log series!!!! I thought I lost this lol

[imsaunteringvaguelydownwards]

I think for once in my life I’m gonna try and not have a mental breakdown on new years, instead we’re gonna try living like it’s the 70s, we’re on drugs and we don’t give a fuck

[babychic]

REASONS TO KEEP GOING:

so when it’s the first of january, you no longer have to make “lose weight” a new years resolution

because you have been craving your dream body for way longer than that high calorie, greasy food you’re craving right now

because as much as people try to deny is your worth is tied to that number on the scale.

because of how many summers have already gone by and you’re still saying “next summer”

because thin is beautiful. thin is classy and elegant. thin is chic and feminine.

so that you look good even if your fashion sense lowkey sucks. why? because skinny is the outfit.

because that 11 year old little girl deserves the skinny future she dreamed of.

because you owe it to yourself to go through life in a beautiful, fit body

because if you’re actually honest with yourself, fat doesnt fit your aesthetic does it?

because you dont deserve to complain about having to start over when its you who keeps giving up.

because you actually have potential and you’re just wasting it all by allowing yourself to be fat

[kooldewd123]

For as much as I love Animorphs, I’ve never actually read it in order all the way through. It was always scattered entries, whatever I could find at the library or buy at garage sales. There’s even a small handful I haven’t read at all. That’s why, for my New Year’s resolution, I plan to reread the series in its entirety. However, I know how my brain works, and I’m afraid I might lose motivation and quit too soon. That’s why, after each book, I will add to this post with, in my opinion, the most fucked-up part of the book, as well as the silliest part (because anyone who’s read these books knows that those are the two main tenets of the series). That way, I’ll have a publicly available record to hold myself accountable to if I start slacking, plus a nice thread of propaganda to hopefully suck more people in. I plan to read one mainline book a week, starting with:

If you're seeing this version of the post, click here to jump to the full version (it's really long, sorry)

[heartfullofleeches]

Richboy bunny yan who keeps trying to pay bodyguard werewolf reader to see their fat tits - Cholly's Scarf

Richboy Bunny Yan who's initially pissed when his folks inform him they've gotten him a bodyguard. He's a grown ass man who can take care of himself. Sure people think he's easy pickings because of his size...and he's been held for ransom once or twice in the past, but that doesn't mean anything! He'll just have to be the worst boss imaginable - if his family wanted to treat him like a child he'll be the most insufferable brat to work with till the bastard they hired runs out the door with their tail between their legs.

Richboy Bunny Yan waits patiently for the arrival of his new bodyguard - smug with his resolution. They'll be out of his fur before he knows it and things will go back to the same way they used to be-

"You my new boss?"

Richboy Bunny Yan who can't get a good look at the wolf's face from where he's sitting. It's hard to see anything with the werewolf's large chest blocking out the room's artificial light. Bunny had his fair share of run ins with their kind, but he had yet to see a wolf so.... endowed in that particular area. Richboy Bunny Yan who has to wipe drool from the corner of his lips as he opens his mouth to speak, carefully calculating his first words to his new guard.

"....Can you unbutton your shirt for me?"

Richboy Bunny Yan who instantly becomes obsessed with his wolf and their massive tits. They may have a scary face, but they aren't so bas once you get to know them. His teddy bear, his giant puppy. Buys his pup low-cut shirts and tank tops to wear, salivating at the occasional slip of their skin through their clothing. He's such a clutz sometimes - spilling his drinks all over their chest like that... It's okay, he can just suck the alcohol from their shirt like any good boss would do.

Richboy Bunny Yan who calls his bodyguard hours after they've gone home to complain about the lumpiness of his pillows. If only he had a soft, warm place to rest his head.... Richboy Bunny Yan who's out like a light the moment his bodyguard caves and runs over to be his living mattress.

Richboy Bunny who despite claiming to be independent needs to be carried everywhere by his big strong wolf. They're paid enough not to care when their boss is groping their tits in broad daylight usually while waiting in line. He has to do something while waiting for his turn.

Richboy Bunny Yan who adores spoiling and dressing up his puppy. Orders them a new collar every other week and begs on his hands and knees, offering to pay their rent for the next ten years if they get nipple piercings, preferably with his initials on the jewelry. He doesn't even know why they go home anymore. They should live with him so he can fondle, wait- no, he means suckle... that's not right either.. lick?-

He just really wants his puppy within arms reach at all times okay?

-

Bodyguard Werewolf Reader, meeting their boss for the first time: Good after-

Richboy Bunny, swooning: Titty.....

Bodyguard Werewolf: Pardon?

Richboy Bunny: Ti.... Tis nice to meet you! Haha, why don't we start off by asking questions to get to know each other better? I'll go first, Kay? .... What's your bra size??

[leafostuff]

No Strings Attached [Ft. Billlie's Sheon and Tsuki]

Author's Note: Im out of Hiatus!!!

And finally the continuation of No Names Needed, fun fact - this idea of a sequel with both Tsuki and Sheon was in my brain for a long time, i only now found the inspiration, time and energy to write it.

By the time this will come out, it will be 2025 so happy new year everyone, hope yall thought about your resolutions and had the a blast for 2024, Soon also my writerversary will come as well (Feb 5th) so that is hype as well.

Lastly, just want to thank @defmaybe for helping with beta reading the fic, it kinda is quite a mess when it comes to plot but i honestly enjoyed writing this so much.

And without further ado, hope yall have a fun read

================================================

So after that entire situation at the club’s bathroom with the mysterious girl, a couple of questions are now stuck in your head:

Firstly, how did she manage to convince you for a second round at her place so easily?, It’s not like you were in the right headspace for any reason considering you just reviewed the best head of your life and you were excited to see more of her but still.

Second, what are the odds that just as you were ready to take off your shirt, her roommate just so happened to arrive from her shift? Having to sit quietly on their couch listening to the awkward argument of having to leave the dorm for tonight so her roommate could sleep in peace after a long shift.

And lastly: why are they now making out on the bed with their underwear only?

“Nghh…Sheon…” is the only her roommate (which you are still not sure about

Her name) can mutter between kisses, her voice is sweet on the ears, especially when she moans with how her partner latches her luscious lips (which you can vouch for by experience) latch on a particular spot on her neck, “so good…”

“Yes unnie, it is so good” it's the way Sheon elongates the last two words which raises the sexual tension inside the room, and her hands are not left idle, rubbing her right thigh back and forth. 

“And look, he is so hard for us right now” she adds before slightly tilting her roommate's face toward your naked erection, everything happened so fast you don't even remember when you took off your pants. “What do you say, oppa, ready for round two?”

“Fuck, as long you tell me your cute roommate's name,” you finally respond, already inching closer to them with impatience and lust. However, it seems like Sheon has other plans.

“That’s not how it works” Sheon lets out a disappointed sigh, “You can't just get a girl’s name like that, first you need to let her suck your cock.” To any other person, Sheon’s response would be fucked up, but to you and the two girls? For some reason, it just makes sense. “But before all of that, let me get unnie to show her tits to us”.

Words quickly turn into actions as Sheon unclasped her roommate's bra, letting it fall onto the sheets, giving her mounds the full view they desperately needed. It's hard to pinpoint exactly her size, especially with how Sheon is not wasting a second by slowly pushing her friend’s face lower to face the tip of your hardness.

The last stretch though, she does by herself and honestly? Those two girls might as well be sisters since like Sheon, as soon as her lips wrap around the tip of your cock a switch flips in her head, immediately starting with slow and steady bobbing movement toward the base of your cock.

She even has the same deadly stare Sheon has when she looks up, seeing your eyes closed while biting your lips every time she gets your cock deeper inside her, letting out a soft mumble resembling a chuckle before increasing the pace and the passion she uses to drain you.

And it drives you fucking insane.

���Oh my god unnie, you suck his cock so fucking amazing” Sheon is shocked at the oral assault her roommate expertly does. “Let me just get naked and then I will start sucking his balls, okay, unnie?” Even with the immense pleasure you receive you can still see how Sheon quickly takes off her bra to reveal her rather small mounds before diving downward, facing your cock with a hungry gaze.

She shifts around to find a comfortable position near her roommate and then, without leaving you a place to get used to it, she immediately reaches her tongue forward, giving it a teasing lick that sends shivers to your brain never felt before.

The only thing you can do is grip the mattress of the bed, trying to find some semblance of control over your body while two professional arsonists set your body aflame with pleasure that can only be described as messy and the sounds they make doesn't help your situation.

“Mm shewon-” the black-haired girl muffles with your cock still inside her mouth, “he is swo hawrd-nghh…” she manages to say to her friend, who seems to get excited with each moment seeing her friend being fucked.

“I know, right? I bet he really likes it when girls like us suck his big, thick cock,” Sheon responds while her hands go to her roommate's hair, moving it from her face to give more space, then she turns to you. “What about you, oppa, getting close for my unnie?”.

You can only nod in response, as any other will take too much energy from you. “That's great oppa,” Sheon adds, taking a look sideways and see how into the feeling the other girl, you could bet she’s not even hearing a word of your conversation as her entire soundscape consistent of licking, slurping and moaning, all which gets you closer to what they have been waiting.

But then, Sheon rises from her position, moving herself from near her roommate to now sitting behind you. You can feel how one of her hands snakes up from behind, gliding across your naked chest before leaning her mouth to your right ears, whispering the magic you didn't know even existed.

“Fill her”

And all hell breaks loose. This simple request is enough to send you into overdrive, as you quickly put each of your hands on the black-haired girl’s head for control before releasing your first shot of your load into her mouth.

And it just doesn't stop, your mind is all hazy only focusing on that request, each buck of your hips forward gets you reaching the back of her mouth with your cock and then unloading another round of cum down her throat, getting the both of you to release a moan.

Sheon? She’s ecstatic, jumping up and down behind you frantically. Each pump of yours gets her giggling and smiling wider. “Yes, yes, yes!!, fill her oppa, fill my Tsuki unnie, she's such a slut for your big cock, let her have all of it” As if she knew all of your sweet spots, she reached her lips to your ear, giving it a loving kiss which gets you hornier.

Below you, Tsuki lets out tears from the pleasure overtaking her entire body, each drop of cum getting inside her gets her moaning while her hands gripping your thighs to not faint, meanwhile managing to mutter a slutty, needy “more” every time she takes her lips out to catch her breath, before taking you in further.

Your last drops of your white load eventually gets swallowed by Tsuki’s, pulling her lips out of your cock and letting you fall onto the bed, pleasure blurs every bit of your vision, finally having time to catch your breath for the first time of the night and your heartbeat to slow down.

“Fuck…you two…are insane” is the only thing you manage to say between heavy breaths.

“And the best part, oppa? We're not over yet,” Sheon says, her voice still seductive, you manage to raise your head and see the two girls as you suddenly notice something: their panties are off.

In front of you are now two girls, fully naked, presenting themselves to you in their full glory, Sheon with a slutty smile and a bite on her lower lip while Tsuki demeanor is more reserved however her eyes share the same curiosity and excitement as her roommate. Immediately, this gets you up and running once again.

“That's right Oppa, you still didn't have the chance to cum on Tsuki unnie's thighs…or inside my ass, and especially…” She then goes behind Tsuki, quickly inserting two digits into her pussy while her other hand goes to grope one of her tits, getting Tsuki to gasp in surprise from the surprising touch over her body.

 “You didn't get to cum inside our tight little pussies, Oppa,” she adds, now you're fully immersed in the show in front of you.

“Who knows, maybe a round or two later we could hear your name, right?”

It’s that question that guarantees both to them and to you that tonight's gonna be unlike any other night you ever had in your life.

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[propertyofkylar]

kinktober day 22: pegging (m!sydney x gn!pc)

word count: 1421

tags/warnings: pegging, anal fingering, no gendered terms referring to reader but has a vagina and uses a strap-on, the importance of using lube

note: HIIII REMEMBER ME i write things i do...sometimes... im SORRYYYY that its december and i havent finished kinktober. i got overwhelmed. the good news is that time is a construct and kinktober is not merely 31 days in a month...oh no...it is a state of being and babey im here year round

“You’re sure you want this?”

The dildo in your hands was unlike any real cock you’d seen - of course, real dicks were not purple and sparkly. You wiggled it in your hands, watching it bounce. Would this fit into Sydney’s ass?

Sydney nodded, a resolute expression on his face. This was something you’d discussed together for a while now. You’d done some experimenting - just some light fingering - and now it was time for the real deal. 

You were going to peg your boyfriend. 

Since Sydney had his eyes opened to what he called “the world of sin,” he’d been a lot more interested in the intricacies of sex and kink. That led the two of you to where you were today. 

Sitting on Sydney’s bed, a harness on your body, a fat dildo in your hand, and a bottle of lube beside you. 

“Okay,” you said in response, and gently stroked Sydney’s cheek. “But don’t forget we can stop at any time.”

“I know,” he smiled and nuzzled his cheek into your palm. “I trust you, my love.”

With that, you crawled into Sydney’s lap and began to kiss him. You had already stripped entirely naked, while Sydney was still in his underwear. As your tongues swirled in each other’s mouths, you could feel him rapidly hardening beneath you. 

“Someone’s eager,” you breathed against his lips. He nodded. You threaded your fingers through Sydney’s dark hair the way you knew he liked and tugged, eliciting a moan from him. 

You pulled away briefly to rig the dildo into the harness - you’d practiced - before returning to kiss Sydney some more. As you did so, you ground your hips into him, frotting your fake cock against his real one. Sydney’s breathing got heavier, and yours did too. The harness had a bumper that rubbed your clit with each thrust. 

Warmth spread through your body, the two of you huffing as your hips moved in tandem. You almost got carried away with the dry humping when you suddenly remembered why you were actually here. You pulled away again, Sydney whining at the loss of contact. 

“Take them off,” you said softly, and Sydney instantly did as told, tugging down his boxer briefs. His heavy cock smacked against his belly, flushed and hard after your fit of grinding. The sight was enough to almost make you drool. You couldn’t believe the temple had tried to lock this thing away from you. 

You grabbed the bottle and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto your fingers, coating your digits thoroughly. “I’m going to go slow,” you said, tossing the bottle aside and lightly scratching Sydney’s chest with your free hand. “Tell me to stop at any time and I will.”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling your hand to his mouth. Sydney kissed each of your fingertips. “You don’t have to keep telling me. I want this. Trust me.” He sucked your pointer finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around. The submissive act made you whimper and your hips unconsciously bucked. 

With one lube-covered finger, you gently stroked his hole, before slowly pushing it in. It wasn’t much, of course, but it had Sydney groaning already. After a moment, you began to move that finger. 

“More,” Sydney whispered, and you were happy to indulge. Your middle finger slid in too, and you pumped the two fingers faster, scissoring inside of him the way you knew he liked. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, and that did something to you. The sound of Sydney cursing always felt electrifying. With your other hand, you pressed against Sydney’s shoulder, forcing him to lay down on the bed. His dark hair spread around him like the halo of a fallen angel, yet he gazed up at you so adoringly there was no way any of this could be sinful. 

You pumped your fingers for a few more minutes and then retracted when you felt he was stretched enough. He whined at the loss, but eager anticipation flashed in his eyes for what was yet to come. You grabbed the lube again and squirted it on the dildo, probably more than necessary, but you wanted to be safe. Sydney watched intently as your hand jerked off the dildo, ensuring every centimeter was thoroughly coated. 

The two of you locked eyes as you leaned forward, pressing the tip of your dildo against Sydney’s hole. “I love you,” he said softly, which made you shiver with pleasure. And with that, you eased into him.

You went slowly, knowing full well for yourself that a cock was much different than having fingers inside of you. As you stretched Sydney out far more than he had ever been before, you watched eagerly as his eyes rolled back and his cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Fuck,” Sydney whimpered. His reaction was possibly the hottest thing you had ever seen. You rocked gently against his hips, excitedly watching his eyes glaze over from sheer pleasure. Sydney’s fists clutched desperately at the bedsheets beneath him, the fabric wrinkling under his grip. “It…it feels so good…”

“Does it?” You smirked, suddenly overcome with the urge to tease your adorable and sexy boyfriend. “How about when I do this?” You thrust into him again, slightly harder this time, and were filled with joy when he gasped suddenly.

A moan escaped your own mouth when the grinder in the harness pressed against your clit. Your thrusts were languid, trying to ease into a rhythm without overwhelming Sydney.

But that didn’t seem to be working for him, because he whined your name. You looked up into his eyes - pupils fully blown out - and shivered at the sight.

“Fuck me,” Sydney begged. “Hard. Please.”

Who were you to deny such a polite ask? You channeled memories of being penetrated yourself and almost entirely pulled out before slamming back in fully. Sydney let out a pleasure-tinged moan.

“Again!” He demanded, and you thrust hard into him repeatedly. Over and over, watching tears gather in the corner of Sydney’s eyes, pressure building deep in the pit of your belly. You stabilized yourself on the bed with one hand and moved the other down to grip his cock, sloppily trying to jerk him off in tandem with your thrusts. Your rhythm certainly wasn’t perfect, but Sydney’s sobs told you that you were doing a well enough job.

“Fuck,” you moaned, looking at him fucked out and hot below you. “You look so fucking good like this. Taking my cock so well.”

Sydney gasped. “Y-your hand – it feels so fucking –” his words were cut off by moans and he didn’t finish the thought.

The sight of him was too much. “I’m gonna cum,” you grit out, your tempo lost entirely as your hips went wild, hand barely keeping a grip on Sydney’s precum-soaked cock. “Oh, fuck, Sydney,” was all you could manage as your climax hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut, stars dancing in your vision. You could only imagine how good it would feel to cum inside him with a real cock, and that made you orgasm even harder.

Sydney was mumbling your name over and over like a prayer. As you came down from your high, you could feel his cock twitching in your hand. He was close, too. Leaning your head in, you pressed soft kisses to his neck, nibbling on his earlobe before whispering “let go for me, baby.”

And with a strangled cry, hot ropes of cum shot out from his cock, spreading over your hand and his stomach. The two of you breathed heavily, watching him twitch as finally, his cum ran out. Then, you looked at each other and giggled.

Ignoring the sticky mess on him that would surely spread to you, you flopped down on top of Sydney with an oomph, easing the dildo out of his ass. You couldn’t formulate coherent enough thoughts to speak, and you figured that he couldn’t, either. So you both sat in silence for a few.

“That was…” Sydney let out a shaky breath and chucked. “Yeah. It was.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a giggle. “For sure.”

He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and flipped you, so he was on top. Then, he nuzzled his head into your neck. The feeling of his hair on your skin made you giggle more.

“Let me lay here for a few minutes…” he murmured. He was so cute, it made your heart melt. “Then…I wanna see how well you can take my cock and the dildo together.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

Yo pumpkin pie, quick question: What was the Worst New Years Eve party on the SOLDIER floor?

( @izunias-meme-hole )

New Years Eve(ryone is insane)

• Shinra's annual New Year's Eve party is in full swing. Angeal and Sephiroth are sitting at a table, watching a group of Third Class SOLDIERs dive under the table and start eating their 12 grapes.

Angeal: People take their New Year's traditions so seriously. It's not like any of it actually changes anything. Progress is about the work you put in, not resolutions.

Sephiroth: Actually, I disagree. This year, I've decided to make a resolution and stick to it, starting tonight.

Angeal: Oh? What is it?

*Sephiroth grabs the plate in front of him, throws it frisbee-style across the room, and hits Kunsel in the back of the head*

Angeal: !

Sephiroth: That was part of it. Don't worry, it'll all make sense in the end.

Angeal: What does that mean??

Sephiroth: Oh, I can't say. I heard that if you state your resolution, it loses its power.

*A hand shoots out from under the table and grabs Angeal's leg. Angeal screams*

Genesis: Pass me the grape platter on the table.

Angeal: WHAT ARE YOU DOING??

Genesis, chewing: Eating grapes under the table for good luck.

*They lift the tablecloth. Genesis is under there with thousands of grapes like a doomsday hoarder*

Sephiroth: How many grapes do you have?

Genesis: One for each hour of the year, obviously. Why stop at one for every month when I can maximize my good luck?

Sephiroth: May I have a grape?

Genesis: Perish.

Sephiroth:

*Zack walks up to the table*

Zack: This New Year's Eve sucks. I can't find anyone to kiss me at midnight. Everyone's already paired up!

Sephiroth: Don't look at me. Affection goes directly against my New Year's resolution.

Angeal: That sentence makes me feel unsafe.

*Sephiroth stands up, walks over to Tseng and Rufus' table, pours a glass of champagne onto Tseng's plate, and walks back*

Genesis: You just made Tseng have a panic attack.

Sephiroth: It'll all make sense in the end.

*Sephiroth walks away*

Angeal: He's going to kill someone. I'd better follow him.

*Angeal gets up and chases after Sephiroth. Lazard walks by, dressed head-to-toe in a designer white suit*

Genesis: Director, you look fantastic.

Lazard: Thank you, Genesis. It's good luck to wear white on New Year's Eve, which is why I've gone all out.

*Genesis accidentally sneezes and the grapes he'd been eating sprays all over Lazard's suit*

Lazard: …

Zack: Director, will you make out with me at midnight?

Lazard: …

• Angeal and Sephiroth are walking around the party. They stop by the refreshments table, where Sephiroth takes a slice of cake and smashes it into a decorative ice sculpture. Angeal is terrified.

Angeal: Seph, please just tell me what your resolution is. I won't judge!

Sephiroth: For the last time, no. Your lack of faith in me is concerning.

Angeal: Your current behavior is concerning.

Sephiroth: It'll all make sense in the end.

*Cissnei walks by, Sephiroth stops her*

Cissnei: Hey guys!

Sephiroth: Angeal's charisma and charm are strictly limited to platonic friendships, which explains why he's perpetually awkward around women, and why he's still single and lonely.

Angeal: WHAT?

Cissnei: Uh, I—I just remembered I have to check on something. Nice seeing you!

*Cissnei quickly retreats as Angeal turns to Sephiroth*

Sephiroth: It'll all make sense in the end

Angeal: NO IT WON'T.

• Zack hit the peak of desperation and is now trying to flirt with Kunsel.

Zack: Come on, man. Midnight's almost here. Just one little kiss?

Kunsel: Sorry, buddy. I already promised to kiss someone else.

Zack: Who? Who could possibly top me as a kisser? Does all our years of friendship mean nothing to you? After everything we've been through together? People dream of kissing me! I'm practically SOLDIER's most eligible bachelor!

Kunsel: SOLDIER's most eligible bachelor just begged me for a pity kiss.

Zack: That's not pity! That's loyalty! And apparently, you don't have any! Now who could you possibly want to kiss over me!

*Darkstar comes padding over and licks Kunsel's hand*

Zack, sobbing: I HOPE YOU TWO WILL BE VERY HAPPY TOGETHER.

• While Angeal is busy wrestling an entire turkey from Sephiroth, who wants to throw it at Professor Hojo, Zack slumps back to the table, defeated. He starts venting to Genesis.

Zack: Maybe I should just give up. I'm never getting kissed at midnight.

*Genesis starts choking on a grape*

Genesis: !!!

Zack: I can't believe I have to sit here, alone, as the clock strikes twelve, watching all these people get their good luck kisses. It's so unfair.

Genesis, stil choking: !!!

Zack: Wait, you know what? That's a quitter's mentality, and I'm not a quitter!

Genesis, turning blue: !!!!

Zack: I'm gonna get back out there and try to find my midnight kiss.

Genesis, on the brink of death: ! ! ! ! !

Zack: Thanks, Genesis! You're a great listener.

*Zack pats him on the back, the grape flies out*

Genesis, completely fine: ….

• Zack goes back out to the party to try to find someone to kiss at midnight. Meanwhile, Angeal and Sephiroth return to the table. Genesis is still force-feeding himself grapes.

Angeal: Man, you're going to make yourself sick.

Genesis: Perhaps, but at least I'm not as bad as Zack, who's darting about like a lovesick puppy, chasing the faintest flicker of a midnight flame.

*Zack runs by, chasing Reno*

Zack: JUST KISS ME!

Reno: HELP!

*Lazard approaches, his designer suit is crisp and white again*

Sephiroth: Director, you've outdone yourself.

Angeal: You've never looked better.

*Genesis sneezes grape all over Lazard's suit*

Lazard: WHAT THE F—

• Everyone starts counting down. Zack is pacing nervously while the others gather around the table.

Zack: Now or never! One of you have to kiss me.

Angeal: I honestly wouldn't mind if you were anyone else. But considering that I'm your mentor, it'd be too weird.

Zack: What about you, Genesis?

*Genesis, sick from eating too many grapes, is slumped against the table*

Genesis: Ugh…

*Sephiroth grabs the decorative flower vase in the middle of the table, pours out the water, takes the flowers, and bites the arrangement*

Angeal: STOP THAT AND TELL ME YOUR RESOLUTION.

Sephiroth: Midnight's coming. Patience.

Zack: SOMEONE KISS ME ALREADY! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!

*Cloud suddenly appears out of nowhere, kisses Zack, and vanishes just as quickly*

Zack: ! <3 ? <3 ! <3 ?

*The whole party cheers and welcomes the new year*

Angeal: Sephiroth, for the love of Gaia, just tell me what your resolution is! Whatever it is, I won't judge you. You're my friend. I'll support you in whatever you wish to pursue. I'll even support you if it's something challenging. But please, trust me with your resolution.

Sephiroth: Oh, there is no resolution. I was just messing with you.

Angeal: SON OF A FUCKING BIRJWOJPOEIXBDFQSBDHWWD AWEDFGYHNKOJNBGV TGYHUJIDEMKHBGFTC G7YHUJIMKL

Sephiroth: I don't know what language that is, but don't insult my mother in it.

[aflamboyanceofflamingos]

Bruce: Tim, your turn, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Tim: It has come to my attention that some people view my absolutely hilarious self deprecating jokes as concerning, so I’ve elected to redirect that hatred…

Bruce, under his breath: thank god

Tim, as he goes into his supervillain pose: To being more mean to others

Jason, as he laughs at Bruce putting his head in his hands: That’s brilliant, I want to change mine

Dick: From ‘Making more people uncomfortable with jokes about my gruesome death’?

Tim: Moving on, I plan on getting a head start on my resolution. Duke, does Ms. Prauss still teach?

Duke: The chem teacher? I don’t have her but from what I’ve heard from my friends she sucks

Steph: SHE DOES! Oh my god she was so sexist- she would yell at the girls for the littlest things but let the boys obviously cheat-

Babs: She was even worse when I had her!

Duke: My French teacher is the exact same way!

Cass: Mr. Lovegood? He’s like the best

Duke: No, he was great, we got a new one and she doesn’t even have a teaching license and we know more then she does-

Luke: That was just like Mr. Goldhorn, could not teach and always stuck me with this one guy who couldn’t get a single lab right- We were in AP Physics

Tam: Wait Tim, Steph, I think she was in your year- Do you know Alana-

Steph/Tim: OH MY GOD-

Bruce, Gordon, and Lucius as they watch their children shit-talk various teachers and classmates from highschool for a full hour: I don’t know why I expected this to go well

Tim, very happy with himself: :)

[corseque]

one of my new year's resolutions was to stop thinking about how DA4 sucks, and I failed within a week because I was thinking about how good Emet-Selch is and I started mentally comparing them and getting So Mad. The BioWare devs played FFXIV!! They had the exact framework of how to conclude a complicated antagonist's story. Why was it so fucking difficult? Almost every single element was the same, it just fell on its face because the world and Solas were simplified and stupid. Poor Solas. I'm actually so glad that Emet gave me Solas closure years ago, but I'm surprised at how bad the re-opened wounds hurt me.

I made a Spotify playlist of all the canon FFXIV music that is related to Emet-Selch in my mind, and the playlist is literally 3 hours and 45 minutes long. Imagine if Veilguard had music!! Imagine if Solas had that much music after two video games. Imagine if the music related every character under a beautiful overarching theme. ARGHH I tear my hair out. We were so close to greatness. It really was within reach. It didn't even need to be AS good as Emet-Selch, it just needed to be at least one step of complication in a way I couldn't predict. I'm just frustrated that there was not even a SINGLE further step than what I had already thought about. There wasn't any kind of complication. It was exactly what I thought, and then it was over as soon as everything I already knew about for 10 years was finally revealed to everyone. The key to the story was Solas saying "oh my bad." What kind of simple and easy story is that?? I hate everything so much always forever ahhh I can't even type coherently. Filled with a baby rage about it months later.

Emet-Selch, please give me closure again

oh well, I'll just go back to trying not to think about it now

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Don't cha wanna dance?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: T

CW: Vague boner references again

Tags: No UD AU; dancer Steve Harrington; good neighbor Eddie Munson; Flirting; Sexual tension

Notes: Continued from day 22. This is for @sourw0lfs and @wormdebut specifically, who very gently bullied talked me into writing more dancer!Steve. 🩰

Eddie has never understood new year's resolutions. He believes that, if he wanted to change something about himself, he could do it any time. Like quit smoking. Or stop biting his nails. Or be less of a goddamn push-over. 

Okay, so maybe the latter is something he should really, really work on, ‘cause it's gotten him into a whole shitload of unfortunate situations lately. As if chauffeuring Max to her stupid ballet classes wasn't enough. Now he's also helping out at the dancing school’s annual Christmas recital, because he's just such a nice guy, apparently.

While he tries to arrange the lopsided folding chairs into something resembling a neat line, he struggles to remember when he agreed to this shit. For the life of him, he can't recall. His brain was probably flat-lining when Max asked him, as it tends to do around a certain very hot dance teacher and his muscles and his tights and-

“Looking good!” 

He whips his head up. Steve is standing a few paces away. The tights are a pale pink today. Jesus Christ. 

“You too,” Eddie blurts. Steve's eyebrow arches and shit, he wasn't talking about Eddie, was he? “I mean, thanks, I … ow, son of a-”

“Oh, shit!” Steve is next to him in an instant, freeing his hand from the maws of the folding chair. Eddie swears, sucks his throbbing thumb into his mouth. “Sorry, these things are ancient. You need an ice pack? I've got some-” 

“‘m good,” Eddie says. Tries to go for suave. Fails because he's still got his own thumb up his mouth like a fucking two-year-old. “Had worse.” 

Steve’s face is a mask of doubt, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Anyhow,” he smiles instead, putting the offending chair in line with the rest. “I just wanted to say thanks again. You're probably busy enough around the holidays, but Max insisted you'd be happy to help.” 

“I'm not,” Eddie says. Pauses. Grabs a strand of hair to hide behind. “Busy, I mean. I am happy to help, so … don't sweat it, or whatever.” 

A heartbeat passes in awkward silence. 

“So, what's with the, um …” Eddie says. Watches how Steve tilts his head at him, hair swooshing with the motion. Briefly considers stuffing his thumb back in his mouth to shut himself up. “... with the y’know. The getup.” 

Something flashes across Steve’s face, something dangerously akin to hurt. 

“What?” he asks, doing a hesitant three-sixty. “Something wrong with it?” 

Screw the thumb, Eddie thinks. He needs to find a way to fit his entire hand in there. And Steve, for what it’s worth, needs to stop twirling, or they're about to have a massive fucking problem.

“It’s fine!” he says. Maybe a bit too fast, because he thinks Steve’s mouth curls into a smug smile. “I just mean, um … you’re not … dancing today, are you?” 

Is he? Oh dear God, please no. The place is gonna be swarming with proud parents and relatives, Eddie is not ready for the inevitable consequences of Steve in his pink tights on that stage. Not in the skinny jeans he had to wear today, stupid fucking moron that he is. 

“Huh? No, tonight is all about the girls,” Steve says. Eddie is so busy sighing in relief and nodding that he doesn’t catch the next words.

“Sorry, what?” 

“That other recital I was talking about earlier? You coming to that, too?” Steve repeats, and fuck, what other recital? Eddie really needs to work on his listening skills. If he actually listened instead of staring at the guy like a catatonic caveman every so often, he might be able to maintain a halfway intelligent conversation. 

He’d also probably know why Steve is suddenly coming closer. Eddie tries to take a frantic step backwards and almost crashes into the folding chairs. 

“Oh, erm …,” he stammers. “When was it again?” 

Stever reaches up to run a hand through his hair, boyish and bashful. 

“Um, New Year's Eve,” he says apologetically. “I totally understand if you already have plans, it's just… There's a little get-together after the show, too, with drinks and snacks, and I thought-”

“Sure, I'll be there,” Eddie says. 

See, what did he say? Total push-over. 

The thing is, with the way Steve’s eyes light up, he can't really find it in himself to regret it. 

*

“Ew, what happened to your finger?” Max looks about as disgusted as she sounds. Which is probably fair, because Eddie’s thumb has turned a vibrant purple. 

“These little babies did,” Eddie gestures offhandedly at the chairs they're stacking against the wall. “So be careful.” 

“Were you staring at Steve again?” 

“Fuck off, I wasn't.” 

She pushes the hair that has come loose from its bun out of her eyes so she can give him a deadpan stare. Eddie glowers right back. 

“And even if I was, what's it to you? You can be glad I keep showing up to these gigs. Today, on New Year's Eve, it's really getting-” 

“What are you on about?” Her entire face scrunches up in confusion. “There's no recital on-” 

“Oh no?” Eddie pulls the flier Steve gave him from his pocket and pushes it into her chest. “Then what's this?” 

“That's not our school, dumbass. Check the address.” 

She studies it for a second.

“Huh? What d'you…?” Eddie is already squinting at the letters again. Sure enough, the address doesn't match the one he's been driving Max to. Instead, it's somewhere downtown. “What?” 

“That's the studio Steve goes to,” Max has already returned to stacking chairs. “Super fancy place. He used to be a pro, y’know? Before he tore that muscle?” 

When Eddie doesn’t reply, she tugs the flier from his limp fingers, folds it neatly and puts it into his jacket pocket. 

“Happy new year, doofus. Better wear bulky pants.” 

All my holiday drabbles

[tortureddarkstar]

✩ IS IT NEW YEARS YET?

IS IT NEW YEARS YET? / / I’M GETTING BORED SO, CAN WE SKIP AHEAD?

STANFORD!SAM WINCHESTER X AFAB!READER

18+ CONTENT. MINORS DNI.

✩ BACK TO… NOURA’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

summary: the typical on and off couple at college.. everything would be easier if they were just off.

warnings: sex, cunnilingus, no aftercare, regret

inspired by: is it new years yet?- sabrina carpenter

this was the seventh time in the span of six months that you’d found yourself in sam winchester’s arms as told your self ‘this is the last time’.

you had broken up with him six months ago, however evidently, the orthodox concept of being ‘broken up’ hadn’t really taken to your situation.

it was quite strange to describe- you’d ignore each other on campus, in class, pretty much altogether in public, but as soon as you stepped foot in the apartment you and sam had once shared, it was as if the words “we’re over.” had never been said.

sam would come pounding on your door most times, drawing out pleas and apologies and anything he could come up with that he knew would make you crumble and open the door.

after about the fifth time, you’d changed the locks and told yourself, even looked yourself in the eyes and said:

“this is the last time”

there had, so far, been one more “last time” since then.

now, would be the second.

today, he came in through the window, all puppy-dog eyed and frazzled hair, he almost got on his knees to beg you for one more time.

and as soon as the word “okay.” fell from your lips, he was on you like you were water in an empty desert.

sam’s hands were all over you. his hands were soft and attentive, and calculated and brazen all at once. his lips were the same, gently grazing rhythmically against yours before sucking his way into your mouth, all the while maintaining that delicacy.

and then, when he got you into bed, the same bed you’d spent with him, without him, thinking of him, he’d made you come once more than the last, which today, was three. and his method, today, of beating his own record was eating you out.

“sam… sam, please.” you whined out, pushing his face deeper into you, while he pulled back. sam held an admiration for the way you’d pulse for him just before cumming. it was something you found only happened when you’re were with him, which is probably why you’d kept going back to him every few weeks since ‘breaking up’.

frustratingly, your hands moved from creasing the sheets to grasping sam’s hair, drawing out groans accompanied by slurps from him as he continued to bring you closer to the edge you’d been teetering towards the past ten minutes.

with one more long, pressurised suck on your clit, you came undone. shaking, writhing, twitching, and all sam did was watch with an almost evilly accomplished smile painted on his face, before falling next to you.

god, number one on your list of new year’s resolutions was definitely ‘no more sam’ written in permanent ink, on your eyeballs if needed.

and as you stared at the ceiling, out of breath with sam’s sleeping hand around you, you could only wish for new years to come.

a/n: god… i changed my mind about it the plot of this so many times and again, i had no intention of making it smutty it just happens sue me i guess (i haven’t written the next one im sorry lol)

[drarry-reccage]

the call of sweet things by @softlystarstruck (88k, E)

Tags: Trans!Draco, Reconciliation, Found Family, Harry has pink hair and secrets!, Boys in Skirts

“Can I help–” Draco blinks, really looking at the person, at their mess of pink curls, their round gold glasses, their knit sweater with little white sheep. They’re short but stocky, with an arcing scar that trails over their eyelid and down their cheek, and Draco sucks in a breath because– because– “Draco,” the person says, and that brightly dimpled smile is all Harry, and Draco drops his book on the counter in shock, barely registering that he’s lost his place. “Harry?” Draco says, his voice cracking. He coughs, then pulls his sleeves over his fingers, trying not to panic. “Hi.” “Hi.” Harry rocks on the balls of his feet, still smiling. “Your hair is pink,” Draco says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and the last time he saw Harry his dark curls were nearly brushing his shoulders, but now they hit the top of his ears and look like fairy floss. “It is.” “Well.” Draco picks up his book again, opening to a random page so he can look away from Harry, who seems too bright against the dark winter night outside. “Let me know if I can help you find something.” “Draco,” Harry says, sounding confused. Draco resolutely stares at his book, not reading a word. “I– how are you here? I mean. Why are you here? I didn’t expect–” “I work here,” Draco says. “As you can see.” “Yeah,” Harry says softly. “Okay.” He moves away from the counter, and Draco exhales, holding the book so tightly to keep his hands from shaking. What the hell is Harry doing here, out in the middle of nowhere, in Draco’s town? It isn’t fair that he can just show up, looking like a spring flower, grown into the roundness of his face, to ruin Draco’s already dismal Christmas season. No.

(rec by @cailynwrites)

🎧 The lovely podfic for this fic is organized by the wonderful @melcarrianna who recruits podficcers from across fandom to create a 25 days advent podfic every year. Stay tuned for a new one coming very soon! 🎧

[lovelyjj]

can u pls do younger sister! reader of jj where he comforts her cause she's scared of the fireworks from New years

New Years

jj maybank x younger!sister!reader

a/n: sorry this sucks

Everyone you knew always made a big deal about new years. Every year it made you nervous. You hated the fireworks. They were too loud and it hurt your ears. The loud booms gave you anxiety. It practically sent you into a panic attack. You were seriously dreading new years. It was the morning on new year’s eve, the calm before the storm.

“So what’s the plan for today?” You asked your brother.

“Hmm I think the pogues are gonna have a countdown here at the château.”

“Oh okay,” you replied.

You and the other pogues hung out for a while, for most of the day actually. Everything was going fine. You enjoyed the company. You loved your friends dearly. Everyone was buzzing and excited for the new year.

After the year you had you were excited for a fresh start. Constantly dodging your father and practically living at the château. Almost loosing your brother who is constantly on the bad side of the police. He’s adventurous and reckless and you love him but god you can’t stand the thought of loosing him some day.

JJ was always there for you. He was the best brother you could ever ask for. He truly cared for you and your friends. Not only was he your brother but he was your friend. He was protective and everything an older brother should be.

“So you got any new year’s resolutions?” John B asked JJ.

“Hmm, let’s see maybe win the Enduro and possibly go full kook.” JJ smiled.

“Sounds good,” John B replied.

“What about you Y/N, do you have any goals for this coming year,” John B turned towards you.

“I’m I haven’t really thought about it but maybe get better at surfing.”

“That’s a good one,” JJ commented.

You and the other pogues gathered outside around the fire. It was getting later and later and soon the countdown was about to begin. Kiara got her phone out and started the countdown.

“10!”

“9!”

“8!”

“7!”

“6!”

“5!”

“4!”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“Ahhh!” you screamed.

“Happy New Year!” Everyone shouted.

There was an onslaught of fireworks. They were everywhere and they were super loud. The giant booms made your heart quicken in pace. Your palms got all sweaty and you covered your ears trying to drown out the noise but it was no use.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” JJ asked looking at you concerned.

“The fireworks I hate them, they scare me,” you told JJ.

“Hey no need to be scared I’m right here and I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

JJ put his arm around you and took you into the house. He sat you down in the kitchen and started to make you a cup of tea. The warm mug sat in front of you and you sipped it from time to time. “Thanks J.”

“You’re welcome.”

BOOM!

You flinched and cursed. “Fuck, I hate those high pitched screaming ones.”

“Don’t swear,” JJ scolded.

“You do it all the time,” you countered.

“Yeah well don’t be like me I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not.”

*BOOM!*

You covered your face with your hands and you were shaking. JJ felt terrible and he wanted to do whatever he could to help you feel better.

“The fireworks won’t last forever.” JJ tried.

“Seems like they will,” you replied.

*BOOM!*

“Ahh!”

“God dammit those fuckers,” JJ yelled.

Then JJ looked at your face that was close to tears and he softened.

“shh s’okay,” JJ soothed.

JJ gave you a bear hug and then patted your shoulder. “Why don’t you go lay down in my bed and try to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Eventually the fireworks subsided and you were able to catch a few winks of sleep. JJ helped you through it because he’s always been the best big brother ever and you were really lucky to have him.