#he carries chapstick around

[bug-slappy]

hey you guys what about reigen going outside in the winter to grab him and serizawa lunch at work but serizawa stops him to put his gloves on him and reigen is being all “your not my mom it’s fine gloves are annoying” and serizawas like “reigen i know how your hands get cold easily in the winter you’ll be annoyed by how stiff they are when you’re back”

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[moonyflesh]

dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

[ddejavvu]

James making sure to always carry a sweet lip balm around for his girl in the winter months (she won’t kiss with dry or cracked lips)

At James's call, you turn your head. He's said your name, and you expect him to show you a neat rock that he found, or your name written in the dirt, but as soon as you're turned to him you're being assaulted.

James smears chapstick messily over your lips, one hand holding the back of your head to force you to maintain contact with the lip balm. It's unpleasant only in its aggressiveness, but the chapstick tastes like strawberries where he accidentally gets it on the inside of your lip, and you get a taste.

You let out a muffled shout in surprise, but James is done in seconds. He's evidently applied a thick layer over his own lips already, because they've got a muted red tint, and you take a heaving breath in through your nose when you see James lean forwards to kiss you.

It's a strawberry-flavored kiss. A desperate, pushy, abrupt strawberry-flavored kiss, but strawberry-flavored all the same. You're more than happy to grip the curls near the base of James's neck while he gets his fill of your lips, scraping your nails against his skin and laughing breathily as best you can when you feel a shiver run up his spine.

He parts only after oxygen drops to short supply, panting as he stares at you with a pink-tinted grin.

"Thanks," He breathes, licking his lips, "'Knew you wouldn't kiss me 'nless I had it on."

"Put it back," You nod approvingly at his words, holding your purse open for the chapstick in his hand. He doesn't listen, though, slipping it into his pocket instead.

"It's mine," He assures you, "Yours is in there."

Your brows furrow, and he reaches into your purse to prove it to you.

"Here, see? Yours is here." He withdraws your chapstick from your purse, right where you'd left it. It's the same size, brand, and color as the one he'd tucked away into his pocket, and you tilt your head to the side in question.

"Well, y'don't always have your purse on you," He explains, rubbing the back of his neck like he's sheepish but grinning like he's proud, "And I know you don't like kissing without chapstick. So I bought some myself."

For that, James Potter is awarded his very own desperate, pushy, abrupt strawberry-flavored kiss.

[blaire-apricity]

Lip balm

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : Chapped lips are always a hassle, but you found a solution to it.

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : short fiction, soft, fluff & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

You grumbled softly at the uncomfortable sensation of your dry lips. It had been a constant problem lately. Fortunately, you always carried a chapstick with you. You shifted slightly from Xavier’s warm embrace, where you had been cuddling, and his eyes followed you, curious. As you rummaged through your bag, he silently observed your movements with a calm fascination.

Pulling out the chapstick, you removed the cap, the pop sound breaking the silence of the room. You applied it slowly, biting and plucking your lips gently to ensure the balm spread evenly. When you turned back, you found Xavier watching you intently, his eyes filled with a curious softness, as if he were studying something new. He looked almost childlike in that moment, an adorable curiosity lighting up his features, which made you chuckle.

Returning to his side, you snuggled back into his arms, and he welcomed you without hesitation, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you in closer, his warmth enveloping you again.

“What was that?” he asked, a hint of curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Lip balm,” you replied casually, looking up at him with a playful smile. “For dry lips.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his usual composed expression softening as he mused. That’s when you noticed his own lips, slightly cracked at the edges. “You’ve got some dry lips too,” you pointed out, mimicking the motion on your own lips.

Xavier blinked, touching his bottom lip absentmindedly. You reached for the chapstick again but paused, a mischievous idea forming.

“Xavier,” you called, drawing his attention with a sly tone. He looked at you, still innocently curious, and you cupped his cheeks gently. Leaning in, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the balm transferring smoothly onto his lips.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t hide your triumphant smirk. His reaction was priceless—his ears turned a faint shade of red, and a soft blush crept over his cheeks. He blinked a few times, his gaze softening as he smiled at you, as if you had just made him fall for you all over again.

“Again,” he whispered, his voice even softer than before.

“What—”

“Kiss me again.”

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

“Ugh… my lips are cracked again,” you groaned in frustration. The cold, rainy weather lately had done a number on your skin, especially your lips. It was becoming annoyingly routine.

Zayne, sitting at his desk reviewing surgical documents, sighed softly at your complaint. Without looking up, he shook his head in mild exasperation. “You should drink more water. Hydration is key.”

You pouted at his statement, knowing full well you’d been drinking plenty. “I do drink enough,” you countered, unconsciously licking your lips, which brought a brief but welcome relief.

Zayne glanced up at you from his papers, his sigh a bit louder this time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tube of lip balm and handed it to you. “Don’t lick your lips. When the saliva dries, it’ll make things worse.”

Accepting the balm, you stared at him, your eyes narrowing as they landed on his lips. “Wait, do you usually use this stuff?” you asked, a little surprised.

“I do,” he answered simply, his attention shifting back to his documents. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth and slightly glistening his lips looked, a fact that made you impulsively want to lean in and kiss him. You leaned forward slightly, but Zayne was quick, placing a firm hand on your shoulder before you could close the distance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone calm but knowing.

Caught in the act, you huffed in mock annoyance, retreating with a playful pout. “I wanted to kiss you since you’ve already got balm on your lips…” Your voice trailed off, a little embarrassed by your boldness.

Zayne didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he set his papers aside, cupping your cheek with one hand as he expertly uncapped the balm with the other. He applied it to your lips with a gentle touch, the cool sensation of the balm contrasting with the warmth of his hand.

Just when you thought it was over, he finished applying the balm, then leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The kiss was tender, yet it left your heart racing, as if it had been your first kiss all over again.

“There,” he murmured, pulling away, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile. You were certain you’d melt into a puddle right there on the spot.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

“Rafayel! You need to put some lip balm on, your lips are cracking,” you said, arms crossed as you lightly scolded the ever-dramatic mermaid.

He huffed in response, crossing his own arms in an exaggerated manner and turning away from you with a sharp flick of his hair. “No! I’ve never used that stuff, and I don’t plan on starting now. You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny!”

It was impossible not to laugh at his theatrics. Most of the time, you felt more like you were babysitting him than anything else, whether you were on duty or spending time together outside of work.

Rafayel narrowed his gaze when he heard your chuckle. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, a suspicious edge to his tone.

“Not at all,” you said with a smile that betrayed your denial. “But seriously, if you don’t use something, your lips will start bleeding.” You held out a tube of chapstick, but he shook his head vehemently.

“I’ll survive,” he retorted, turning his head stubbornly.

You rolled your eyes and opened the tube, stepping closer. He backed away immediately, like a startled cat. “I don’t need it!”

“You do!” you insisted, gripping his chin gently, but he kept squirming and moving, making it impossible to apply the balm. You probably smeared it on his cheek at this point.

“Stay still!” you laughed, struggling to keep up with his evasive maneuvers.

“No!” he whined dramatically, but you had a trump card. Without warning, you leaned in and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His eyes widened, and he froze in place as your lips met his, allowing you to finally apply the balm.

Pulling back, you smirked and gave him another quick peck. “See? Now your lips are nice and smooth whenever I kiss you.”

Rafayel was left speechless, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He blinked, clearly malfunctioning from the surprise kiss.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus chuckled as he examined your collection of lip balms, spread across the bedside table. His deep voice resonated in the room, a soft echo in the intimate setting. “Why do you need so many different lip balms?”

You were lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, only half-listening. “In case I lose one,” you said nonchalantly, barely glancing up.

“Uh-huh,” Sylus drawled, clearly amused. “And you need two extra pairs?”

“They smell different,” you added, more engaged in your screen than the conversation. When you finally glanced up, you saw him inspecting the melon-flavored balm you used most often.

He twisted off the cap, raising it to his nose. “Smells like melon, all right,” he commented.

“Don’t you use one?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied him.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the bed. “Not really,” he replied smoothly. His eyes flickered with interest as he glanced at your lips. “What flavor are you wearing now?”

“Strawberry, I think?” you replied, a bit unsure. You touched your lips, trying to catch the scent.

Sylus smirked at your uncertainty. “Why don’t you try tasting it?”

Your brows furrowed, about to respond when Sylus leaned in, pressing his lips to yours before you could say another word. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue darted out, grazing your bottom lip.

The kiss took your breath away. When he pulled back, his signature smirk was firmly in place. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “There’s no taste.”

Your lips tingled, and you could only stare at him, still processing what had just happened. Sylus motioned to his own lips, now coated with your chapstick. “Guess I use lip balm now too.”

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: I had this idea for a while now HAHA, glad to have written it off. For once, I didn't stumble much on Zayne's part actually. Also I apologize for the different blog designs (especially my pinned post) but I was trying to keep the designs more minimal since at some websites and especially in phones there's some symbols that can't be seen. I hope I eliminated that one.

I probably should work more on my tags as well.

[viaxslz]

₊ ✦‎ . . . ₊ 𓈀 🫧 SKZ WHEN THEY WANT KISSES

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet name, this has been in my drafts for a while,not proofread :P

CHAN

Chan would just straight up tell you. Bud doesn’t waste anytime and just goes straight to the point. “Hey y/n can you please give me a kiss?” He blurted out, out of nowhere. “But didn’t you—“ he cut you off by placing his lips on yours.

LEE KNOW

His lips would be puckered like a duck whenever you’re near him. But you’re too oblivious to get the hint causing him to get more needy. “Come on y/n just give me a kiss already” he whined, almost on the verge of giving up. “Oh! Is that why you’ve been acting like a duck??” You giggled placing a kiss on his cheeks just to tease him. “Hey! Not my cheeks my lips!” He grumbled pulling you closer, placing the kiss on your lips by himself.

CHANGBIN

“Come on babe, don’t you think I deserve a kiss? I’ve been the best boyfriend today. I literally did whatever you asked for” Changbin pouted following you around the house like a lost puppy. “No you ate my ice cream that specifically said DO NOT touch!” Your rolled your eyes as you continued to judge the channels showing on the tv. A small smile tugged the corner of your lips as you tried to avoid eye contact with Changbin. You finally gave up and pecked his lips.

HYUNJIN

“Don’t forget to call me if you maybe burn the house!” You added, opening the door to leave. “Ah!” Hyunjin stopped you by grabbing your arms. “???” You gave him a questioning look. “You’re forgetting something princess” he smirked leaning closer. “No I’m sure I carried everything” you responded with a skeptical look. “Nope!” He shook his head pointing his index finger towards his lips. You sighed with a chuckle, leaning in closer to close the gap between the both of you.

HAN

Han furrowed his eyebrows as you instantly rejected his attempt to kiss you. He tackled you down to the couch licking the back of your ears causing you to squirm under him. “Hannie stop it tickles” you giggled trying to break free from his grip. “Nuh uh. Not until you give me a kiss” he added leaning over to your ear once more. “Alright, alright I’ll give you a kiss!” You gave in. Han smiled with satisfaction as he pulled away, puckering his lips towards you excepting a kiss on his lips.

FELIX

“Mmm my lips are so dry right now” Felix pouted as he watched you apply your chapstick. “Then use this” you handed him your chapstick not bothering to spare him a glance. “No I don’t want your chapstick” he pushed your hand away. “I want your lips on mine” he smirked gently using his hand to turn your head. “Wha—“ he cut you off by placing a soft and tender kiss on your lips.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin definitely wouldn’t tell you how desperately he wants your kiss. So he’ll just find an excuse. “Hold on y/n there’s something on your face” he spoke softly tugging you closer to him. He placed one hand on your waist the other cupping your jaw as he pretend to analyze your face. With no warnings he leaned in closer pecking your lips. “You could’ve just told me you wanted a kiss you know” you spoke playfully rolling your eyes.

JEONGIN

“You’ve been awfully quiet today” you pointed out, glancing over at your shoulders from the kitchen. “Well maybe it’s because someone didn’t give me any kiss today” he grumbled folding his arms over his chest. “Innie what are you saying?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “What I’m saying is, I want a kiss” he responded walking closer to you. “Now kiss me!” He demanded puckering his lips towards you.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[box-of-roses]

♡.﹀﹀Chapstick﹀﹀.♡

Characters: Tsukki, Kageyama, Hinata, Makki, Mattsun, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Atsumu

Warnings: None that I can think of <3

Synopsis: What chapstick I think the different Haikyuu characters would use

Tsukki

Strawberry

Probably not one to just have chapstick on him at all times so he steals yours

When you first notice he’s been stealing your chapstick you can’t help but smile

Everytime you kiss it tastes like strawberries now because he’s started carrying his own supply of chapstick so you kiss him more often (not that he would admit that)

“Kei, have you seen my chapstick?” You ask as you start looking around the room. You were sure you left it in here. Not on the table, not on the couch…where could it have gone?

“Yeah, I have it right here. You really need to be more careful where you leave your things dummy.” He rolls his eyes and holds out the chapstick to you. You notice a sheen across his lips though and smile a little. 

“Did you use my chapstick?” 

“And if I did? What are you gonna do about it?” You laugh a little and lean into his face. 

“My lips are a little chapped if you don’t mind.” With that you kiss him and while he’s still in shock take your chapstick back. “You know if you wanted to use it you could’ve just asked.”

Kageyama

Milk Tea

He unlike some others on this list would keep chapstick on him

You’re the one who steals his chapstick

He gets the same flavor every time and goes to one specific store because it’s the only one that carries that flavor

“Tobi, take me with you!” You cling to him. He rolls his eyes and shrugs a bit to get you up and walking by yourself. 

“Sure, you can come with me. Maybe you can get some of your own chapstick while you’re at it.” He teases and gives you a smile. You shove him playfully.

“Then where would be my reason to kiss you?”

“Maybe you can just kiss your boyfriend?” He raises an eyebrow at you and opens the door to the store for you. 

“Nah! It’s more fun this way.” 

He gets jealous when you do in fact find a chapstick and stop kissing him when your lips get chapped

He 100% hides the chapstick so you have to come to him again

Hinata

Cake

Another one to steal your chapstick

It was a random one you had in your bag so you just gave it to him from your stash

Definitely only uses cake flavors now because it reminds him of you

Hinata looked around everywhere for the small tube of vanilla cake chapstick you had given him. He was upset that he couldn’t find it. Where was it? He looked everywhere before he gave up. He was sulking on the couch when you returned home. “Y/N, I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

You rush over to him and sit down in front of him. “Oh, Sho, what’s wrong?” You cup his face.

“I lost the chapstick you gave me.” You start laughing. 

“Is that it?” You smile and rummage through your bag before pulling out another chapstick. “I have more, you know.” You hand the chapstick to him. Birthday Cake. 

You noticed he liked the cake flavors so you kept a stash with you at all times incase he happened to lose another one

He found the chapstick he lost the next week, turns out he left it at practice

When you lose your chapstick though he’s there proudly offering the one you gave to him

Makki

Hot Coco

Got it on a whim

Now during Christmas time he stocks up because you told him you liked how his lips tasted once

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t like playing tricks on you though

Remember that trend where people were kissing their partners with lip plumper? Yeah he 100% did that to you

Makki smiled as his plan was coming together. You were going to come home any minute and he was the picture of a doting boyfriend. Sitting on the couch waiting patiently for you to return so you could give him a kiss. 

When you do finally walk through the door you smile and rush to your boyfriend. He’ll never get over how your face lights up when you see him. It’s probably one of his favorite things, that he can make you happy just by being there. You immediately go down to kiss him. After a few minutes though your lips start tingling. Your eyes narrow at him. “Makki. Did you put lip plumper on?”

“Are my kisses that electric to you honey?” He says with a shit eating grin on his face. Well, that answers that question. 

It’s okay though, you get back at him 

You two keep each other on your toes but there’s no denying that when you kiss him and taste hot coco you fall in love all over again

Iwaizumi

Mint

A traditional man

Not against changing flavors if you give it to him though

He always has one on him, a habit he picked up from Oikawa

Definitely teases you though when you first kissed him and recoiled because you weren’t expecting mint

You had finally worked up enough nerve to kiss Iwaizumi. You lean in slowly but once your lips touch you jump back. Your lips tingle and you’re not sure why. Iwaizumi starts laughing though. “My lips are so tingly!” You whisper-yell and put your hand over your mouth. It’s then that you notice the smell of mint. “Hajime! How could you,” you push him back a little. 

“Sorry my love! I didn’t know you would react like that!” This time though you’re prepared when he kisses you again. The tingling of the mint fades away quickly and it’s replaced by the warmth of his lips

As a result his kisses are cold and then warm

You learn to love the cold and find it refreshing, especially if he’s coming back from his morning run and you need a kiss to wake you up

Pair that with his mint toothpaste and you’ve got a recipe to wake you up and get ready for the day

Mattsun

Blueberry Poptart

He tries to find the weirdest flavors he can

He just also really likes the Blueberry Poptart flavor though so it’s the one he always comes back to

It’s a hard flavor to find but he thinks it’s worth it for the smile you make when you notice the flavor

Chapstick game with his collection

Mattsun thought with his collection of wacky flavors it would be fun to play the chapstick game. A good excuse to kiss you as much as he wanted to without any other reason. Of course you agreed so here the two of you were, sitting on your bed with chapstick splayed out on the blanket. 

“So, do you want to go first?” You ask as you look at all the options. Mattsun smiles and nods. 

“Yeah, sure. Close your eyes though. No cheating.” He could care less about if you cheated or not. He just wanted to kiss you for hours. Hence why he brought out his full collection of 60 different flavors. You were going to be here for a while.

It was the chapstick you were wearing on your first date when he kissed you (That’s why he comes back to it) 

You two also definitely play the chapstick game again whenever either of you want to kiss each other without a good reason

Sakusa

Cherry

Another simple man

He just wants his lips to be hydrated

Enjoys your smile when you kiss him and realize it’s cherry though

There’s nothing sentimental about it you just like the taste of cherry chapstick

Your first kiss wasn’t anything spectacular. The both of you were nervous but weren’t sure why. The two of you had kissed other people before so why was it so nerve wracking this time? Sakusa is the one who gets his head together first and cups your face. He pulls down his mask and smiles softly at you. “Are you ready?”

You nod your head with a shaky smile. Both of you lean in and it’s a very nice kiss. It’s gentle and you’re not sure why you were so worried before. The both of you pull away with a smile. “That wasn’t so scary. We were just being silly. Also, the cherry is nice. I like it.” You say and lean back in for another. He lets out a small chuckle and leans back in too. 

Will only try a new chapstick if you’re the one wearing it

If he really wants to try it he’ll give you a quick kiss before standing back up and acting like nothing happened

Atsumu

Fanta

Another weird chapstick connoisseur 

He just really likes Fanta so he keeps some on him wherever he goes

He has at least 6 of them at a time; One in his gym bag, school bag, pants pocket, jacket pocket, one at home on the counter, and one on the bedside table

Also on that enjoys the shocked look on your face

He had only just started carrying around chapstick after he learned your lips could get sunburnt. Needless to say when you kissed him goodbye that morning Fanta was certainly not what you were expecting to taste. He just stands there smirking as you lick your lips confused. “Is that…Fanta? Do you have Fanta chapstick?” 

“Guilty as charged.” He says and leans against the door frame. “Want another one?” You roll your eyes but pull him into another kiss. 

“Not what I was expecting but it’s not bad.” 

Switches it up with other soda flavors

Loves surprising you but that doesn’t mean you can’t surprise him too

You find a Pepper chapstick and rewrap it so it looks like the Fanta one

Payback for all the times he’s pranked you

I hope you guys enjoyed! Once again an impulse post 💀 let me know if you want a part two with different characters!!! <3

masterlist

rules

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[beachyma]

orange soda.

a. donaldson , you | nsfw |

The quiet sprinkle of evening dew quiets your racing nerves with each pitter-patter splashing against the pavement. You lay rested comfortably on the mattress of your boy-best friend's dormitory. You can hear the quickening hum of his heartbeat as you lay against the headboard. You estimated a near 120 beats each minute. A soft smile tugs on your lips at this realization, gently adjusting your position so that your forearm rests recklessly close to the curve in his aqua tennis shorts. He faintly chokes back a cough, a pink hue tinting his cheeks and nose. You glance up at him warmly, "You need water?" a sarcastic laughs leaves your lips. His flushed-red lips widen into a teethy smile, "It's on my nightstand, if you want to hand it me." You snootily roll your eyes in 'way to brush me off' way, twisting your body to grab the aluminum water that rest on his wooden night stand. "Why don't you get a smaller water bottle- this thing weighs a shit ton Art." You complain, surveying the vividly scattered stickers casually placed on the bottle. He places the water bottle to his lips, taking a sip before leaving it to lay in between his thighs, "I need to stay hydrated." he promptly says. You notice the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, his jaw flexing to a cast a gentle shadow, lining his chin and neck. You scrunch your eyebrows together in disagreement, "and there aren't smaller water bottle that can do the same thing?" you quiz. His coy gaze softens your facial expression, "No." he denotes. "Doesn't it get heavy carrying around every day?" You urge, grabbing the water bottle, swiftly grazing his inner thigh. The sudden movement causes him to flinch, wincing as the cool metal is subsisted by your thumb and pointer finger. You cock an eyebrow at him, a curious look coats your face, "You good?" His body shifts as he sits up from leaning on the headboard, the wooden bed frame creaking in retaliation. "Yeah, I'm fine." he opposes. His pink-hue is punctuality replaced by a cherry-red tinge. A vivid red tints his face, followed by his neck and hands. He almost looks like he'd be hot to the touch. "Never had a girl touch your leg before?" you sarcastically joked, positioning the water bottle back onto the nightstand. "Shut up." He palms his face in mortification, brining his knees to his chest. "Stop acting like a virgin Donaldson." you tease, gently shoving his shoulder to the side. "Fuck off." he groans in desperation. "Oh I bet you'd love me to do that to you." your index finger playfully tracing the length of his thigh. He can only whine in an effort to retaliate, his skin glowing a deep red. "You can do better than that." you mockingly place your hand on his upper thigh, tenderly messaging the muscle, your fingers working carefully near the leg-holes of his tiny shorts. He whimpers at the contact, jerking his leg to the left. A grin dances across your lips, the grip you have on his thigh loosens. Your fingers begin to sketch the lining of his waistband, gently tugging on the stretchy fabric. You pause, gazing attentively at him for a brief moment, his eyes struggling to meet yours. " Art?" you ask, his stare coming to acknowledge yours, a look of desperation masks his face. "Please." he mutters, voice low and soft. "Please what-" you are interrupted by the warmth of his lips against your nape, his hands trailing down the length of your waist, to your hips. A soft moan escapes your lips, fingers rushing to pull at his blonde locks. You can feel the sensation of a cocky grin tug at his lips while he bruises your neck with his mouth, his hands desperately gripping your hips. "Art-" your voice breaks, husky, and rough. "Shit-", you breathe. Art places gentle kisses from your neck to your jaw, finally meeting your lips with his own. They are soft, and have that generic chapstick flavor. He kisses you with a gentleness you're not used to, like as if he made one wrong move, he would hurt you. That thought brings a warmth to your stomach, its tickling and teasing you.

Art beckons you closer, pulling you to his chest with his bicep. You lean into his muscular body, palming his jaw with your hand. His hands restlessly travels your body, cupping your ass with one hand, and gripping the fat of for waist with the other. You shift your body so that your leg rests between his thighs, and you both are kneeling on the mattress. You groan in the kiss, your free hand trails his clothed abs. He whines at your touch, the veins in his hands pop as he shifts his attention to massage the fat of your ass with both hands. Your body jolts at the sudden gesture, causing friction between Art's thigh and your sensitive bud. You moan instinctively, lips parting from his. A quiet whine of absence leaves his lips, his eyes glare lewdly at you."Do that again." he presses, guiding your hips to move forward. You groan at his words, bucking your hips up to achieve that friction once again. Art remains silent, his grip on your hips tightening each time you move back and forth, the lining of your athletic shorts is the only barrier between skin. "Art-," you breathe, "Fuck." your head falls into his shoulder, your hands resting neatly on either side. He winces when your knee promptly grazes his cock. "Please Art-" you slur, the warm feeling in your stomach is replaced by a tightness, Art needily rocking your hips on his thigh, quiet whimpers of approval every time you moan at the slightest change in pace.

(not proofread + im cooked) 👩🏽‍🍳🥰

[emmyrosee]

"Baby, have you seen my lip balm?"

Koutarou’s voice carries down the hall from the bathroom, and it makes you chuckle slightly as your thumbs don’t pause their scrolling. His words of slight panic have you not even a little surprised as you ignore them.

He’s always. Losing. Something. You’ve lost count of how many lip balms you’ve gotten him. The pairs of socks that end up scattered in the most obscure places. The phone chargers that are left randomly could power the entire city.

And while you’re not necessarily fed up with it, it definitely happens more than it should, and you’re not sure how to keep things from getting lost in his grasp and out of his sight.

With a sigh, you get up and make your way down the hall, grabbing your own lip balm and opening the bathroom door. The room is turned upside down, cabinets opened and flipped inside out, there’s stuff everywhere, and sure enough, no lip balm.

“Koutarou,” you scold, fake in your tone but serious enough to make him whine. You take out your own lip balm to rub it in just slightly.

“It was an accident!”

“Where was the last time you had it?”

“When I went to practice.”

“….okay. Which day of practice?”

“I’m not sure,” he whines.

“Koutarou.”

“Don’t say my name like that!” He whines. “I swear this one was supposed to be the last one! God, baby, this is killing me, I’m so sorry-“

Your hands move up to ungracefully cup his cheeks, pulling him down towards you with no real effort from him, given his surprise. With that, you offer him a big, noisy kiss, which he returns excitedly. Your lips press together, parting slightly to tease before pushing back again.

You hear him hum happily, trying to connect the kiss more before you gently push him away, sending him off with scarlet cheeks and a slightly glossy pout and a dopey look on his face.

“One more. I will buy you one more,” you say firmly, patting him on the chest before stalking away from him and leaving him in shock.

“Or you could do that!” He yelps. “Kissing me works just as good!”

“That won’t help you learn your lesson!”

He calls a quick “i won’t need a lesson!” after you, but you just chuckle and shake your head, picking up your phone to order a few extra chapsticks to scatter around the house.

[victorbutnotreally]

"Shh" - Yang Jeongin x Male Reader

title credits to lovely anon.

warnings: brother's best friend, three years age gap if that's a thing, jeongin calls Mn "hyung" during sex, size kink kinda, choking, sex with clothes on, spit as lube (doesn't work but it does in fiction)

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He's been obsessed with Mn ever since he was a kid. Mn was three years older than him and always came over to play with his brother. And even his brother's less closer friends were considered by Jeongin as his brothers, but not Mn. Oh absolutely not. That laugh, those hands, the way he would always bring him a candy or something when he came over?? The way he would help him with his homework and teach him better than his teacher did?? Jeongin used to debate in his head if he should run away and hide or go spend time with him. And as they grew older, the attraction grew too. And then he became and idol, and Mn moved to France for university.

Right now, Jeongin was home. Finally on a well-needed break from idol life as he lazed on the couch, eating chips and binging shows. He heard the doorbell ring, but he was one with the couch now, ain't no way he's getting up.

"Eomma!!," he called, hoping his Mom would answer the door. He could hear his mom tsk affectionately as she made her way over to the door and opened it.

He couldn't see who was at the door, but his mother's excitement and the way his brother bolted down the stairs made the butterflies in his stomach return. Was it Mn? He slowly got up and went towards the door, carefully for some reason, as if approaching a snake. He almost choked on his chip when he saw who was at the door. Mn. Mn, whose cuteness was still there despite him losing his baby cheeks. Mn who looked like a damn model. He grew up. A lot. Seeing Mn's sculpted body, and his mature face which still had the boyish charm made the butterflies in Jeongin's stomach turn into birds which clawed at his stomach. In a good way, of course.

He watched as his brother tackled Mn in a hug, and Mn returned it. He could only watch as Mn's forearms rested on his best friend's back, flexing due to the strength of that hug. He gulped, smiling awkwardly when he saw Mn's eyes on him.

"H-Hi hyung," Jeongin smiled, a laugh coming out when Mn hugged him as well.

"Hi little rockstar."

Jeongin, his brother, and Mn were watching a movie. Everyone else was asleep. He could hear Mn's laughs at the movie. He wanted to smile and admire how pretty the older man's laugh is, but his mind just had one image: Mn's forearms. God. Not just his forearms, but him in general. He loved how big Mn was. How he was always bigger than him. He tried keeping his thoughts pg, but his mind was just not letting him. He put a pillow in his lap to hide his erection, but the ever so observant Mn noticed. He smirked and put an arm around Jeongin's shoulder, feeling how the younger tensed under his touch.

As the movie ended, Jeongin's brother went to the kitchen to see if they have snacks, knowing damn well they don't. He sighed and went back to the living room.

"We have no snacks. I'm gonna go get some, wanna come with me Mnie?"

"Nah. Jet lag, man."

"Alright."

Now, Mn knew how much time his best friend would take at the convenience store. He knew he'd get carried away, he'd walk around, get tired, and then end up eating ramen or something at the convenience store, then resume his shopping, and then walk home. He had plenty of time. Once his best friend left, Mn turned to Jeongin.

"What's with the pillow, hm?"

Jeongin was too enamored with Mn's forearms to notice that accent before. His cheeks tinted pink, he spoke, "Nothing."

"I know it's not nothing, innie. Don't worry, love, it happens to all of us."

His tone made Jeongin want to pounce on him, and so he did. He crashed his lips to the older's, relishing the taste of his chocolate chapstick. Mn smirked against his lips, hands moving to rest on Jeongin's waist. He nipped at his bottom lip, sliding his tongue in as the younger let out a moan at the soft bite. He could feel Jeongin's hands up his shirt, exploring the muscles underneath. Mn broke the kiss to catch his breath, but dove right in once he saw Jeongin's hands slip down his sweatpants. He let out a low moan once Jeongin started stroking his dick.

"Need you, hyung. Please."

"Aw, look at you. So cute."

Mn's spat on his fingers and slid them in one by one into Jeongin's hole, peppering kisses down his neck, making the younger moan more. He moved his fingers in a scissoring motion, and Jeongin grabbed his hand and led it to his throat, making Mn smirk as he wrapped it around his neck.

"You like that, baby? God, you look so good right now. Makes hyung wanna devour you."

"Please do, hyung…please.."

Mn had to control himself when he saw the slight pout on the younger's lips. He pressed a soft kiss to it before pulling out his fingers and spreading Jeongin's legs with that hand. He slowly slid himself in, watching as his mouth gaped open, gasping at the intrusion. He started moving once he bottomed out, hips snapping against him at a pace which made the other male moan so loud. He put a hand over Jeongin's mouth to muffle his moans.

"As much as I want to hear your pretty sounds, baby, you gotta stay quiet, yeah? Don't want your family to hear now, do you?"

Jeongin shook his head frantically, eyes rolling back as Mn's thrusts grew stronger. He hooked Jeongin's leg over his shoulder to go deeper and moaned as the younger clawed at his back. He captured his lips in yet another kiss, tongue exploring his mouth as he quickened his pace, the searing kiss swallowing both their moans.

"Hyung…I'm gonna cum"

"Go ahead, baby."

Jeongin threw his head back as he came, soft whimpers leaving his pretty lips. Mn pulled out and jerked himself off. He pulled up his pants and went to the kitchen to grab paper towels to wipe everything off after washing his hands. He cleaned Jeongin up who quickly put his pants on when he heard footsteps. Mn settled himself casually on the couch, wrapping an arm around Jeongin's shoulder, looking up when he saw his best friend.

"Finally. What did you eat at the store today?", he asked, as if he wasn't just fucking the man's brother minutes ago.

"Tteokbokki."

"Mhm."

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taglist:

@forever-atiny

[msmk11]

I’m just thinking about how if James Potter was your boyfriend, he’d be your own personal human purse/bag/etc.

Like one day when you’re with him you’re carrying a tote bag or backpack or something and you ask him to hold it while you go to the bathroom. When he takes it he is shocked by how heavy it is (though of course to Jamie, our strong boy, it weighs nothing) and when you come back from the bathroom he has this big frown on his face and is like, “sweetheart, your bag is so heavy. I can’t have my angel carrying this around.”

You tell him that of course it is, how else would you carry all the things you need, and he immediately responds that that’s what he is there for. To carry things for you. Despite your repeated protests, he insists from then on out, when it is in his power, you will never carry stuff when you are together. Whether it’s your school books for class, shopping bags, etc. you won’t carry a damned thing.

In particular though, Jamie would have all the little necessities on him at all times. If your hair is long enough, he will always have at least one to two hairbands on his wrist in case you want to pull your hair back. Your favorite lip balm/chapstick will always be in one of his pockets (and if he’s especially missing you he might even put some on himself).

If you have a period, boyfriend James will always have tampons/pads on him in a little pouch in his pocket.

Need a quill or a pen? He has it?

A tissue? Has that too.

He, magically, somehow has it all. And also this is Mr. Moneybags we’re talking about. So in the off chance he doesn’t have something you need, best believe he will buy it for you so fast.

When you profess to James that you feel really bad that he is always carrying your stuff, he reminds you that a) he loves you and b) he’ll be damned if his partner ever has to lift their pretty little finger ever again.

God I love him.

[000-pawz]

princess treatment (bnd) ˚ · .

ot6 headcanons , fluff , just bonedo treating u like the princess u r!!! (gn reader)

rest of the members under the cut!

a/n: 2am brainrot takeover hi

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ always pulls you into his lap whenever possible!!! loves having you close to him and it gives him an excuse to be a little possessive for a bit...><

𐙚₊˚ gives you random gifts and flowers just because he the smile you give him every time (and the thank you kisses too)!!! you'll wake up to a text from him saying "check your mailbox <3" and boom, there's a brand new necklace in there, all shiny and pretty...(he also asks you to wait to put it on so he can do it himself)

𐙚₊˚ puts on your socks and shoes for you!!! pecks your leg after pulling your socks up because duh.... you are royalty!!! even stops in the middle of the sidewalk to tie your shoes if your laces come undone

𐙚₊˚ cooks for you all the time!!! if you even slightly mention craving something, he's in that kitchen before you can even blink >< he lets you sit on the counter and feeds you little bites to taste test because you're his mini chef!!!

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo

𐙚₊˚ if you order something and you don't like it, he'll happily trade his food with you <333 he's content just seeing you eating well

𐙚₊˚ sings you to sleep and strokes your hair...and if you've been struggling with sleeping lately, he'll stay up with you until you fall asleep first so you don't get lonely :<

𐙚₊˚ if he sees something that reminds him of you at the store, trust that he'll be buying it in .3 seconds..."oh y/n would like this", "this is y/n's favorite color", "they were thinking about getting one of these"... like he's always thinking of you

𐙚₊˚ "i don't ever want you to be upset, darling. let's talk about this, okay?" like he's so serious about communication. he values your point of view and input over anything and makes sure you always feel seen and heard!!!

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ opens every single door for you because why would his s/o ever have to touch a dirty door handle when he's literally right there???

𐙚₊˚ writes you lengthy handwritten notes and poems...sneaks them in your bag when you aren't looking or leaves them on your side table to wake up to <3

𐙚₊˚ surprises you with a bubble bath and tea when you get home from a stressful day...gives you a massage after and encourages you to vent to him so he can hold some of your burdens for you :((

𐙚₊˚ brags about you!!! he loves sharing your achievements with people, showing you off to everyone he knows because he's so proud of you and so so so lucky that you chose him <3

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan

𐙚₊˚ your personal photographer!!! takes pics of you all the time, whether you ask him to or not (he prides himself in getting the perfect candids for your feed)

𐙚₊˚ notices the super small things... like oh you don't like tomatoes in your food so he picks them all out for you <3 and he knows you always carry chapstick in your bag, so he buys you a bunch so you never run out

𐙚₊˚ buys you so... many... clothes... you're sure more than half of your wardrobe is made up of taesan's contributions... it's not his fault you look good in everything!!! he just has to get everything for you so he can see you in it himself <3 (and mayyyybe show you off to everyone else)

𐙚₊˚ makes you personalized mixtapes and writes love songs about you!!! (for your ears only!!)

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ "hey beautiful", "you're so gorgeous", "my pretty baby" and any other sappy compliment he can give you at every waking hour of the day

𐙚₊˚ chivalry is not dead for as long as leehan is around!!! he'll give you his coat if you're cold, walks on the outside of the curb to keep you safe, carries your purse/bag for you, pays for all your dates (even if you insist on splitting the bill), etc.

𐙚₊˚ he does all of the planning for trips and he's so intentional and thoughtful about everything so you never have anything to worry about other than being pretty and enjoying yourself <3

𐙚₊˚ loves giving you his clothes to wear like nothing makes him happier than seeing you in his big hoodies and t-shirts!!! he'll even take his hat off and place it on your head simply because "you look cuter with it" like he's so obsessed

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak

𐙚₊˚ #1 hype man!!! even if you aren't feeling too confident, he'll be showering you in compliments and praise because you're always beautiful to him, no matter what

𐙚₊˚ leaves you a bunch of texts throughout the day just to check in on you, sends you silly selfies, makes sure you've eaten, and if he asks you to recap your day to him, you better type 4 whole paragraphs about every single detail or he won't accept it ><

𐙚₊˚ posts you every. single. day. like it's actually crazy... you'll click on his Instagram story and boom, there's a cute picture of you picking flowers at the park with the caption 'they're the prettiest flower in the world' and it's so so so cheesy but it makes your heart flutter every single time

𐙚₊˚ shares your hobbies!!! if you're into crocheting, he will sit there for 3 hours making a blanket with you...or if you like to do makeup, he'll let you practice on him!!!

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

[belovedcloud]

Sick Days | Roommate! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Notes: Been pretty bedbound recently and thought about how Leon would be if he was sick and had his roommate help him out. This is literally just Leon and you being lovestruck by each other but you both are too scared to say it until he does.

WC: 1.9K

CW: Talks of Ada leading Leon on, nervous Leon but cute outcome. He loves you a lot and just can't convey it well. Fluff, maybe a Part 2?

➽───────────────────────❥

Lazing around in bed was nice every now and again, but that's when you haven't got a tissue shoved up your nose and the highest temperature possible. Leon never meant to get sick in the first place - but when you magically find yourself in a sewer and get stuck in shit-rotting clothes for a good few hours in the cold, it tends to happen. So here he was, trying to breathe properly whilst you tended to him every hour and so. If he wasn't sick he would've thanked you properly by getting you a gift but being bedbound was difficult enough. So his forms of gifts to you were sneezes and coughs as he tried to stomach the pills and cough syrup you gave him.

"Maybe try and not sneeze on my arm..." You jokingly said as he grumbled in bed, wrapping himself in his sheets. "Shut up.." He coughed out as he tried to hide his smile from you, it was impossible to not smile around you. The feelings you gave him were indescribable at the very least. It was like he was a teenager again, fumbling over his words sometimes and not being able to make sense of himself as you would smile at him. Your soft hands swat away the hairs that fell in front of his face as he sniffled, groaning in pain as his head ached continuously. "When can I have my pills again?" Leon asked as his teary eyes travelled up your face, taking in your beauty as you placed down another hot chocolate on the nightstand for him to gulp down any minute by now. "Uhh.. give another 30 minutes, I don't want you feeling even worse because you took your pills too early." You chuckled out as you saw his disheveled state, he really could be dramatic at times. "Fuck.. as if I could be in anymore pain." He muttered, taking the hot chocolate into his hands as he painfully sipped at it, the hot liquid seeping into the cracks of his lips. The lack of hydration causing his skin to dry out.

"Hold on let me get you some chapstick." Seeing you walk out Leon couldn't help but sigh. You were too kind to him, too kind to a man who killed monsters for a living. Yet you wouldn't mind hearing him sob out his monstrous nightmarish stories, you wouldn't mind helping him when he needed help. You would always be there, and that's why he fell in love with you. It took him a while to understand the concepts of love after being lead on by Ada back in Raccoon City. But he got there in the end and he was content with having a crush on you. Even though he thought you would never get with a man like him. Your smile and friendship was enough for him. For now. Your love for Leon was no different. The way he carried himself and his strength mentally was always something you looked up to. He was courageous, no normal person could be like him if they put up with what he was put through a few years ago. His kindness still resided within him - something that you longed for.

Moments later, Leon sees you coming in with a stick of chapstick. The pop of the lid makes him shuffle up from his homemade pillow and blanket mess, his groans apparent as he sat up. "Remind me to not lay down like that again.." He moaned out in pain as he saw you level up the chapstick. "Even when you're sick, you're still funny." You laughed out. "Finally admitting I'm funny now, when I'm on my deathbed?" He playfully rolled his eyes as he put his hand to his head, reenacting how someone would faint. "You are so dramatic Leon." The flick of your finger on his forehead made him yelp. "What the fuck?" Leon chuckled, turning his eyes back on the chapstick. "Red chapstick... really?" He looked at you with tired eyes as he saw your hands approach his head. "It's either this or you can have chapped lips, which one will it be grumpy?" You retorted out jokingly as your left hand tilted his chin up towards you. His face couldn't help but feel warmer... How the hell could it feel warmer when he was ill? A sense of embarrassment overwhelmed Leon as he pursed his lips, a sigh eliciting out his throat. "Fine, chapstick it is."

His gaze wondered over you as the feeling of chapstick replenished the moisture in his lips, slowly rubbing his lips together as you stopped applying it. "Looks like you have lipstick on." He heard you snicker out as your remark slowly made you burst out in a fit of laughter. "Shut uppp.." Leon couldn't help but laugh with you - your giggling made him smile. It was harmonic as he saw tears of joy appear in the creases of your eyes. Laughter slowly died down as you put the chapstick in your pocket - sitting down on Leon's bed. "Does princess Leon need anything else now?" You joked at him as he snuggled back into his fort of blankets. Leon rolled his eyes and averted them towards the side of the room. "You're so kind to me when I'm ill." He grumbled out, a small smile appearing on his lips. "You're welcome." You quipped back as you ruffled his pillows, fluffing them back up to their original shape.

"Thank you..." He hushed out, nervous as it escaped his mouth. Fuck, was that too obvious? "Huh? For fluffing your pillows?" Your head tilted in confusion as your eyes gazed back onto Leon's face. Even when ill, he was so handsome. "No, I mean yeah but.. Thanks for looking after me these past few days. When you could've been having fun with your friends." Leon stuttered out. His heartbeat felt rushed all of a sudden, scared of what you would say back. "You don't have to thank me Leon, it's nice being able to help you out." A soft smile appeared on your lips, he couldn't help but give a weak smile back. "And anyways, you would've done the same thing for me right?" Your hand slid to caress his. Aiding him in some sort of comfort as he mumbled out what he said next. "Yeah.. of course. I would help you with anything."

Leon felt himself get too hot as he hushed out his words. You couldn't help but feel nervous in this situation. His raspy voice hit spots in your heart where you thought it could never be reached. The way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. Were you both really just friends? "I uh.. Sorry if that came out weird." He broke the silence between you two, feeling scared if he had made things awkward. "No, don't worry. It was really sweet of you to say that." You stumbled over your own words trying to make him think otherwise. The way your soft lips moved as your hand kept caressing his hand made Leon crazy. All he wanted to do was kiss you, hold you in his arms. Make you his. "Leon?" You nudged at him. Oops. He forgot he was mid-conversation with you.

"Sorry." He chuckled out. Fuck it. "You're really pretty." He whispered out meekly. It had felt like you short-circuited. Did Leon just call you pretty? "Huh?" Was all that managed to come out of your mouth as you stared at Leon in bewilderment. "Pretty?" You asked him, as if you were begging him to say it again. A soft chuckle erupted out of Leon's throat as his gaze wondered all over you. "Yeah, really pretty." He made it clear to you his thoughts. "Inside and out, and I'm sorry if I made this awkward I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore." He groaned out as he plopped his head back on his pillow. A subtle smile emerged on your face, looking at the man who just confessed to you. "It's okay, I just didn't think you thought of me that way." A mellow laugh elicited out your throat. "What? Of course I do, I mean look at you... You're beautiful and oh my God.. you treat me so well. I can't help but be in love with you." Leon rambled out, hushing himself as he realized the last part. "Shit..." He mumbled out, knowing he had fully confessed his love to you. He anticipated a rejection, instead he felt a soft kiss press on his forehead.

"I'm in love with you too Leon." She couldn't help but have a wide grin as she relapsed his confession in her mind. Leon on the other hand couldn't believe what just happened. It soon sent him into a coughing fit, with you patting his back and laughing. "Agh.. fuck." His voice rasped out of his throat. "How about you get some rest?" You stroked his face, getting the stray hairs out of his eyes. "Uh.. so we're going to just forget that you kissed my forehead?" He joked as he looked at you with teary eyes, still struggling to breathe from him coughing fit before. "Well I can't kiss you on the lips can I?" You snickered as you pinched his cheek, a small whine escaping his lips. "Yeah.. okay. I'll make it up to you when I'm not dying." Leon groaned out as he melted into your touch. "How are you gonna do that?" Confusion laced in your voice as you asked him that question. "Well if I tell you that'll ruin the surprise." He laughed as he looked into your eyes. Feeling your body leave his made him whine. "Where are you going?" He held onto your hand.

Your lips pressed against his forehead again as you stood up. "It's time for your pills." Leon yanked you back down to him as he rolled his eyes, a yelp leaving your lips. "They can wait." He grumbled out, his arms slowly wrapping around you. "Weren't you just crying about not having your meds?" You snickered out as you melted into his touch. "Hush, I don't need them now." He murmured as he lifted up the blankets, covering the both of you. Leon couldn't care less about the medication if it meant having you in his arms, at least for a bit. "Leon.." You whined out, "You're going to get me sick." You tried to escape his embrace, but to no avail. "We can be sick together." He joked as he kissed your neck, feeling content in his sick body. "Shut up, I'm getting your medicine." Getting up from his tight embrace was hard, but it was possible in the end when he felt you kick his kneecap. "You're really going to leave me when I'm like this?" He huffed out, a small pout forming on his lips. "I'll be back soon with your medicine, it's not like I'm leaving forever." You flicked his forehead as you walked out the door.

He was so in love with you.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

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[moonstruckme]

Can you maybe do something with one of the marauders being protective of reader (not poly just a marauder of your choice)

Thanks for requesting!

cw: slightly possessive behavior

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 883 words

“Who-oa.” James gawps as you walk past his room, and you turn your head to hide a little smile. “Where are you going so dolled up?”

Your smile slips, brow pinching. “Do I look dolled up?” You backtrack a couple of steps, stopping in front of James’ doorway. “Is it too much?” 

“I don’t think so,” he says, regarding you from where he sits on his bed. He leans back on his hands. “You look nice. I only say ‘dolled up’ because you’ve got a tad more makeup on than usual, and you’re wearing that top that makes your eyes look pretty. I guess, ah, whether it’s too much might depend on where you’re going. Which is…?”

“Is the makeup that obvious?” 

“No, but I see you every day. Where are you going?” 

“Dinner.” You blow out a breath, starting back down the hall. 

You hear James’ mattress squeak, and then he’s following you. Down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Dinner with whom, may I ask?” 

“A friend of a friend. Have you seen my chapstick?” 

“Is this a date?” 

You pause for a second in your search before jump-starting again. “Using the word makes me nervous.” 

“Sorry,” James laughs, the sound like sunlight refracting off water. It relaxes you slightly. “I thought you hated going on dates.” 

“I’m trying to get over it.” You check behind the coffee maker, frowning. “Seriously, I don’t have another tube of chapstick. I thought I left it in here yesterday.” 

“Did you maybe put it in your bag when we went for pizza last night?” 

James’ eyes crease with his smile when your expression lightens. “You’re so right,” you say, starting back for the stairs. “Thanks.” 

“No problem. So, have you met this guy before?” 

“Nope.” In your haste you miss a step, but James’ hand is right there to steady you. You keep going. “It’s like an arranged marriage, except instead of meeting him at the altar I’m meeting him when he picks me up.” 

“Charming. And when is he picking you up?” 

“Any minute now.” Your voice is pitchy with false cheer, betraying the hummingbird-fast beating of your heart. 

“Doesn’t it worry you that you’re entrusting your safety for the night to this man you’ve never met?” 

Your hands are actually trembling as you grab the chapstick from the bag you’d used last night, sticking it in your pocket. “It does, yeah. Thanks for the reminder.” 

You turn back around, but James catches you. His hands are warm on your upper arms and his gaze is kind. Steady. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to freak you out. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. Are you bringing your alarm?” 

“It’s a public place, James. Ideally he’s not the type to try anything regardless, but surely he won’t in a restaurant.” He looks dissatisfied. “But yes, it’s in my pocket.” 

“Attagirl.” James gives your arms a squeeze before releasing you, flopping down on your bed. 

It’s not a second later that the doorbell rings and he’s popping right back up again, hot on your heels as you go down the stairs. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, batting him away as you go for the door. “Go be somewhere else!” 

James holds up his hands in surrender and sits down on the couch, but his eyes are trained on the door as you open it up to greet the man outside. 

“Hi,” you say, plastering on a smile. 

“Hi.” He smiles back. He’s handsome, well-dressed, and carrying flowers. You’re instantly charmed. “Are you y/n? My friend gave me this address.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh, and it comes out awkward and pitchy. “Yeah, that’s me.” 

“And you are?” Suddenly James is behind you, leaning over your shoulder.

Your date blinks. He says his name like it’s a question. 

“Sorry, this is just my roommate.” You laugh again, the nerves in it even more prominent now, and try to shoulder James back from the door. 

Unfortunately, James is an immovable wall of solid muscle. He acts like he doesn’t notice. “Nice to meet you. And your last name?” 

“James!” You turn to him, appalled. Tell your date, “Ignore him. I’m so sorry.” 

“I just feel like it’d be good information to have,” James says with a shrug. You think he’s trying to look intimidating, but it’s really not a very practiced air on him. His big frame does something to make up for it though, biceps bulging where they’re crossed in front of his chest. To you, he still looks decidedly huggable, but your date appears as though he’s garnered a different impression. 

“But anyway, you two have fun.” James smiles. You’d have to really know him to know he doesn’t mean it. “Enjoy dinner, and have her back by ten.” 

You and your date both chuckle, though you can tell from your roommate’s expression that he’s not fully joking. He keeps up the affable grin anyway. 

“Okay, dad,” you tease, squeezing out the door and starting down the front steps. Your date follows. “I’ll see you later.” 

“See you at ten.” James steps into the doorframe, waving. “I’ll be here. Don’t forget that your safety alarm is in your pocket!”

Your face heats. When you get home, you’re going to kill him.

[nonranghaes]

heads up: mark calls reader 'bro' but readers gender is never stated/this is still gn!reader, mark is just being mark

"okay... like, don't freak out, but..."

mark's voice is quiet over your phone's speaker, and you think it's because it's almost one in the morning right now. he has roommates, you (luckily) don't, hence why you can talk relatively normally compared to mark's hushed whispers. this isn't the first time he's said something like this, your best friend always dragging you into something crazy or dumb or both. but this time he hesitates a little.

either this is really stupid or he's actually nervous.

"what if..." a pause. you can hear his lips smack together as he licks them nervously. you've seen him do it enough times when he's around you, and it's always punctuated by you rolling your eyes and digging into your pockets for the second stick of chapstick labeled MARK'S that you carry for him. "what if..."

"you're killing me, lee." and maybe he is, but you don't mind. not if it's mark.

"what if..." he pauses yet again, and he really is trying to kill you, isn't he? "we, like... we kissed?"

you jolt up out of bed, immediately looking at your phone. "what?"

"haha, yeah, it's stupid. anyway, what if we go fuck around the aquarium again? you can point at the ugly fish and say they're me if you want--"

your mind is racing. what if we kissed? what--where did--huh? when did he...? he's still rambling about the aquarium as he's recounting all the shit you did the last time you went. you'd been caught staring at him and pretended you were looking at the fish right behind his head--saying the dorky little thing reminded you of mark. and maybe, in a way, it did, but...

"hey, mark?" you speak up after a moment. when did your voice become so small? so shy? "i'm going to the park."

"bro, it's like--it's one in the morning."

you're already getting out of bed, pulling on sweatpants. "then i guess it'd be nice if i had someone to meet me there."

"what, like johnny--ohhh." and you wonder if he's smiling now. you think you hear it in his voice when he speaks again: "yeah. i'll meet you there."