lip butter

Zodiacs Text Aesthetics

Aries: Lighting a match, lacing up sneakers, bitting your lips

Taurus: Peanut butter on the roof of your mouth, feet sticking out of a blanket, inhaling the smell of peppermint tea

Gemini: Bouncing on a bed, getting glue on your fingers, lying on the floor in the summer

Cancer: Opening your window, classical music in the background, soft and clean clothes warm from the dryer

Leo: Stroking a cat, running into the waves, the sound of flip flops while you walk

Virgo: Potting a plant, the sound of typing, getting a smile from a friend in passing

Libra: Heels clicking on the floor, turning the lights on, sipping coffee

Scorpio: The feel of piano keys, looking at the stars, the sound of water dripping

Sagittarius: Crunching on leaves, the smell of cinnamon, stringing lights

Capricorn: The froth on cappuccinos, reading till your vision is blurry, jingling keys

Aquarius: Being outside in the rain, licking ice cream, the dimming of lights for a movie

Pisces: Getting paint all over yourself, sipping lukewarm tea, braiding your friends hair

Soft

It starts with a bar of soap.

For God’s sake, Kent thinks to himself in the “personal care” section of the grocery store. Why does Dove think I’m allergic to purple just because I’m a guy?

He picks up the lavender-scented bar soap and inhales. It smells heavenly. Next he tries the sandalwood-scented from the men’s section. It comes in a gray box and costs fifty cents less. It smells good but it reminds him of floor polish.

I’m a grown-ass man, Kent thinks, and buys the lavender soap.

The next time he’s out of body wash, he spends thirty minutes trying to decide on one of the many “manly” smells before caving to “Cocoa Cabana” in the women’s aisle because it smells like Valentines Day in a bottle. 

After that it’s his deodorant body spray, trading in “Bold” (whatever the fuck boldness smells like) for “Fresh Cotton.” 

The first time Jeff catches a whiff of it on him, he asks, “New fabric softener? It smells awesome.”

“Nah, switched deodorants.”

“Huh.” Jeff nods in approval. “Well, you smell like fresh blankets out of the dryer. I have a physical urge to hug you.”

Kent laughs. Jeff hugs him and he laughs more. It’s nice.

After five months, nearly every toiletry Kent owns has been switched over from an endless variety of blacks, grays, and occasional dark greens and blues to white, purple, soft brown, yellow, and pink. Showers have transformed from a perfunctory necessity to something luxurious. Women’s products are so indulgent. They make Kent feel and smell like he’s been at a spa. He does have to learn to juggle the fragrances appropriately or risk smelling like a perfume store vomited on him. But it’s worth it, for how good he feels after. He feels pampered. His skin is softer, his hair shines, and even his pits and crotch look and feel cleaner. He doesn’t know if it’s the products or because he really cares about the maintenance, now, since he’s got all these specialty items to try. It doesn’t matter. He feels great.

Kent now has honest-to-God bubble baths and detox-salt-soaks. He’s got body butters and face masks and a lip balm in almost every flavor. The ladies at the Lush at the mall know him by name.

Kent’s still single. He’s got his cat for company, though, and the guys, who drop by or come over for movie and game nights and get drunk and eat all his food and pretend to chirp him for the specialty lemongrass-scented hand soap in his bathroom. Sometimes, on roadies, Swoops will plop down next to him on a bus or a plane and say loudly, “Damn, who’s got chocolate and isn’t sharing? Oh, it’s just Parser. Fuck you for getting my hopes up,” and then he’ll noogie Kent or grab his fingers and gnaw on them.

(The coaches have had to break them up before and it’s very unbecoming of two adult men.)

More than once, one of the guys has fallen asleep next to Kent and ended up face-first in Kent’s shoulder. They’ll wake up blearily, rubbing their eyes and saying, “Whoops, sorry man, didn’t mean to drool on you.” Kent was confused at first but he’s realizing that it’s because they gravitate towards the scent of him in their sleep. He smells like comforting things: honey and chocolate and cotton and Shea. He smells like warmth and safety. It’s why he likes all the things he buys, so it makes sense the guys would like that, too.

Nobody rags on him for it. They chirp him, but that’s different. Chirping, light-hearted and giggly, means acceptance. Soon his teammates start coming up to him in the locker room or nudging him on a bus and saying, “Parser, can I borrow some of your stuff?” and leaving with key-lime lips or cocoa-butter hands.

But it’s when he catches Sunny—big, burly, greatly-bearded d-man Sunny—pulling a bright orange tube of passion fruit lip balm out of his bag and slicking it on in front of everyone that he knows for sure that it’s okay.

Bittle’s quiet, at first, when Jack kisses him. It isn’t what Jack would have expected, had he allowed himself to expect anything. The Bittle he knows is bright as a sunbeam, a starburst, singing and cajoling and regaling and chirping. He bestows pet names on those he loves and “bless your heart"s on those he doesn’t.

He’s the guy belting Beyoncé too early in the shower, getting it stuck in Jack’s head day in and day out until Bittle’s there at the back of his mind and–

Honestly, Jack thinks, he really should have figured things out sooner.

When Jack kisses him, though, Bittle goes quiet, soft and pliant in Jack’s arm, warm and smelling of flour and brown sugar. He melts like butter, their lips clinging, and Jack’s heart aches with everything he feels.

But he wants to hear Bittle. Wants to hear him sigh and moan, to say his name–*oh, Jack*–breathless and overwhelmed. He’s felt it, just beneath the surface. Pressed his hands to the span of Bittle’s shoulders, the small of his back, and Bittle has parted lips against his own and pushed forward. Kissed Jack within an inch of his own life.

It’s wonderful. Jack loves it. He loves kissing Bittle. He loves Bittle.

Bitty.

Jack nuzzles at the line of his neck, the curve of his shoulder. Fits his mouth there and sucks. Against him, Bittle stiffens. His hands on Jack’s shoulders tighten. A sound, barely there, gets caught in Bittle’s throat, stopped before it’s released.

"Bitty,” Jack says, voice rough, muffled. “Please. I want to–I want to hear you.”

A breath. Another. “You do?”

Jack pulls away to look at him, taking in his dark eyes and flushed cheeks, his kiss-bitten lips. “Always,” he says. “Yes.”

“Jack,” Bittle sighs.

This time, when Jack kisses him, Bittle isn’t as quiet, and all (well, maybe not all) Jack can think about are the times he tried to shut Bittle out and how happy he is to let him in.

Zodiacs Text Aesthetics

Aries: Lighting a match, lacing up sneakers, bitting your lips

Taurus: Peanut butter on the roof of your mouth, feet sticking out of a blanket, inhaling the smell of peppermint tea

Gemini: Bouncing on a bed, getting glue on your fingers, lying on the floor in the summer

Cancer: Opening your window, classical music in the background, soft and clean clothes warm from the dryer

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P R E S S PLAY 🎥
@facebullyface
Details: 🖊
Strobe cream “goldlite” @maccosmetics
Stick foundation “chestnut” @bobbibrown
Concealer “toffee” @lagirlcosmetics
Setting powder “translucent” @lauramercier
Highlight “My Mimi” @maccosmetics
Lip liner “chestnut” mac
Lip “cookie butter” @nyxcosmetics
Lashes “babygirl” @gxldroom
_____________________________________________
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Okay, let’s just observe Rhett a little bit here.

  • He stares at Link applying lip balm, licking his own lips while staring directly at Link’s eyes, then lips.
  • When Link sees Rhett staring, Rhett furrows his brow, then turns and looks at the table.
  • He tensely presses down on the table, then balls his hands into fists before staring at Link again.

Someone’s thirsty.

(From GMMore Let’s Play: Muscle March following GMM 792)

She's Testosterone

Read the sequel: She’s Testosterone 2
Words: 2.4k
Genre: Crack Fic. No lies here.
Summary: Drop dead gorgeous, cute and sassy - you adore your best friend. But is there more beneath the surface? Who exactly is Min Yoonji?

Cr. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

“Turn that fucking shit off!” A groggy voice calls on the other side of the tiny room.

It takes less than a second for you to spring up from your bed with a big inhale and stretch.

It’s a new day!

A new future!

A new you!

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