#finding the sacred in the mundane

[blessedarethequeer]

there's something so soft and even a bit healing in running errands with friends as an adult. My high school bestie lives a few hours away but stayed over for her birthday last night, and we ended up making a Costco trip with one of our other high school best friends and his partner -- a dramatic hunt for the squishmallow bin (hiding, oddly, back by the frozen food), giggling over nonsense jokes over a children's book that facilitates dinosaur mashups, looking at home goods we hope to one day have or laughing at strange patterns on cookware, one person scouting ahead to claim the spoils of the food court while the rest check out...

there's something sacred there, something holy... a pilgrimage home, many miles from where home once was.

[bunnihearted]

🧸♡ ⋆｡˚

[soothfog]

statistical character personality test. take the linked quiz from the perspective of your character, then select 5-10 results from the complete matches list that you feel resonate with your character the most.

friar laurence (romeo and juliet) 91%

friar tuck (robin hood) 91%

'chief' bromden (one flew over the cuckoo's nest) 90%

konstantin 'kostya' levin (anna karenina) 89%

dr. sean maguire (good will hunting) 89%

nino quincampoix (amélie) 89%

iroh (avatar: the last airbender): 87%

[keplercryptids]

resolutions for 2024

assume the best of the ones you love. their arms are open, not empty.

it is not the end of the world yet. dabble in hope.

demand reciprocity, without apology. build community as an act of celebration.

marvel at the small & mundane.

your body's limitations are gifts, not punishments. honor them.

intimacy is a light you must always seek out, even when the darkness feels safer.

the best antidote is to learn something new. find the sacred in discovering you were wrong.

create & create & create & create.

defend/fight for/embrace/grapple with/embody/trust gender nonconformity.

love infinitely. rest often.

[fishnapple]

How you can find love

This reading is about romantic love, but you can use it for other kinds of love, just change the details a little to suit you better. How you can find it or accept it, what are the obstacles and opportunities.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

AMETHYST

There's an element of downplaying yourself, settling for less, or just wanting to float on the surface. Maybe you've been used to the kind of relationship that only centre around the superficial mundane matters, just gliding on the surface without going deeper like talking, sharing about the past and the future together, about dreams, inspirations, fears, life philosophy, etc.

You might keep going for the same kind of people, those that remind you of something or someone from a distant past, the unconscious memories. Even though these people don't actually bring you fulfilment or help you going forward, on the contrary, some can even hinder you.

You also have the tendency to keep your thoughts to yourself, refusing to voice your opinions and feelings. Maybe it makes you feel vulnerable, or you're not too sure of what you actually feel about someone and how they feel about you. There's maybe lots of crushes, fleeting moments of attraction that you kept hidden, not allowing them to materialise into something more concrete.

All of this needs to be changed. You need to go to the opposite direction of these tendencies, to give yourself a new space to explore and dive deeper. You might feel the urge to runaway, to avoid when things start to get more serious, when you feel like you have to open yourself up and share a part of yourself while receive a part of the other person. Both the act of giving and receiving are scary but necessary.

If in the past, you were more tolerant of many behaviours of others that weren't in alignment with your values or make you comfortable, you would easily accept the possibility of a connection with someone if they managed to remind you of those familiar patterns. Now, you should be more selective of whom you can share that possibility with. There's a need to be more discerning and choose what's best for you. Choose someone who actually can go far with you, not just from shallow compatibility viewpoint. To do that, you need to be more vocal and express your desire more clearly, which starts from keeping a clear head even when you find yourself falling for someone.

But if you're sure of someone, don't try to hide it, don't try to stall for more time. The more you keep them hidden in your head and your heart, the more distorted their image are, you will begin to prefer the distorted version of them in your head rather than the real person.

ROSE QUARTZ

You have many conflicting ideas regarding love. This conflict of different ideas is what makes you feel confused and hard to find a suitable person who can satisfy all those criteria.

There's this definition of an ideal love and partner you've been observing from the community and the society you're living in. A traditional viewpoint that you can't help but subconsciously absorb it. It may be about how you have to do many hard work to be a perfect lover, a perfect spouse, how you have to have this skill or that skill, how you need to behave, how to talk and act in a manner that can attract potential suitors.

Then there's also your own version of idealistic love, what you think love ought to be. You put love on a pedestal, making it a sacred and mysterious concept that hardly any mortals can touch and possess it. This view might have been influenced by what you were taught and what you saw in the media. You've put love onto such a high place that you couldn't find anyone fit for it, nor did you find yourself capable or worthy of it. If someone managed to trigger an association with that perfect ideal, you would put that person also on a pedestal, trying to be the right partner to them, regardless of how you really are. On the opposite end, if they showed a sign of failing, you immediately judge them as not right for you and discard the possibility of a connection.

While a part of you think of love as a fairy tale, another part of you just want to live a normal, realistic life with mundane concerns. So then sometimes you might wonder, when will this ordinary life sparkle, transform into a fairy tale?

You might think that being in love will stifle your independence. The energy is directed inward. You're so used to spending time and effort on yourself, making your life as much fulfilling as possible. There's this tendency of when you are in a relationship, you focus on the security of yourself in that relationship while neglecting the necessary compromises to make a relationship work. These compromises mean changing your routines, making an effort to understand the other person's, working out your own shadows, and taking care of each other.

So to find love, a love that you can hold in your hand, not admiring from afar, you need to take the vision of love down from the pedestal, make it mundane and real with all the ugliness and awkwardness. Stop waiting for the moment when you'll become a perfect human to love and another perfect human will come to love you. Just remove the "perfect" part. What you need to be ready is how to be with another person. Not in an individualistic way like "I do my part, you do yours, then the relationship will work", but more like "we do this together". It's not wrong to look for an ideal love, but you need to realise that love exists just around you too.

FLOURITE

For this group, it is not so much about how you can find love, but it's more about how you can let love in. The thing that you need to realise is that it's okay to open yourself up, and that love can make you feel safe.

I think many people are attracted to you, but you seem to keep them at arm-length, not pushing them away but not letting them closer either. One part of you wants to love and be loved, but another part of you seems to doubt your ability to love and the chance of meeting someone who can truly love you. I think your end goal is marriage or a long-term commitment. So choosing someone means that person has to have the potential to be your life partner, someone you can see a future with.

I sense some negative talks surrounding you. Maybe they come from your own mind, you might worry about how you come across to other people, are you attractive enough, are you lovable. Or the negative talks could come from people around you, they might rush you to find a partner, or saying things that make you fearful of relationships, those opinions could come from their own experiences and their beliefs but their words have the opposite effect of encouragement.

There's a heavy shadow hidden in you that affects how you perceive romance and relationship. This could come from a domineering figure in your life that imposes a set of restrictions and control. Or some painful past memories that left a deep wound in your heart, making you build walls around yourself. There's this belief of being "deserving" or "worthy" of love. You tried your best to be someone loving, but sometimes you might feel that your efforts weren't rewarded, that you weren't appreciated enough. Which made you questioned yourself why it was so, and the answer that you've arrived at might not be entirely objective and correct, you might think that it's because you lacked something and you needed to try harder. While the answer might be just that you haven't met the right crowd, the right person yet.

The greatest components of an ideal relationship for you are the feeling of safety and unconditional love. Some people might seem perfect on paper, they might do all the right things but if you don't feel safe and accepted when you're with them, they are not the right one for you. What can be considered safe is pretty subjective. The definition could be formed by past experiences and upbringing. What one considers safe might not actually be healthy for them, so a certain level of objectivity is needed.

Someone who will not trigger your wounds and hurt you further, someone whom you can be yourself with, someone who can give you advice and guidance when you're feeling lost, someone who is strong enough to be your rock in difficult times. The person having these qualities will likely be the one who can get past your walls.

CITRINE

The answer can be pretty straightforward, you have the Sun stone landed on the centre. You can find love when you put yourself into the centre of your life. When you're confident enough and consider yourself being in a good place in life. It might sound egotistical, but focusing on yourself can mean many things.

One thing is you allowing yourself to shine your brightest. You might have some reservations about expressing yourself fully to people. Maybe you're afraid that you will be judged as selfish or too assertive. There's a desire to be rebellious, to be free, and do whatever you want, but there's also your ego wanting to be in control, to retain your dignity. Between them is a wall of fear that can be linked to the unconscious realm. You might be used to the idea of sacrifice, serving others, being selfless. Acting in any other ways would be considered not desirable. But by expressing yourself fully, you deliver the message to the world that you care about yourself and allow yourself the freedom to be. This message can be translated into the care you have for other people's expressions, the freedom you can give them. This can be very attractive and open up many new opportunities for you to explore.

Another thing about putting yourself into the centre is that you have a chance to examine yourself closely, getting to know yourself, unravel all the hidden desires, the unspoken fears, both the good and the bad.

I see a lack of action. There are things holding you back, gripping you immobile. There are offers of love and connection, but you don't see them, or you turn your back to them while focusing on other things. It's like when things come to you, you dismiss them because it's not what you want, you are waiting for the things that you want to come to you, they have to be chosen by you first. You get into a tunnel vision of seeing only the things you want. But then you tend to be passive and wait for them while falling into over-thinking mode, dissecting every nuance and scenario. In the end, too tired and pessimistic from the conclusion you've reached, you choose to stay still and withdraw. Another failed dream goes unto the archive.

So instead of waiting for love, this group truly needs to actively recognise and find love and seize the chance when it comes to you. This will require you to completely overhaul your beliefs. Especially about how one should act.

There's a greater chance of finding love through groups of friends, through a community of shared interests. An emphasis on communication, talking about what you love, communicating openly, sharing lighthearted joys while also being able to discuss more serious and philosophical matters.

TIGER'S EYE

I see that you're already on the journey of love. It started with an open heart in the subconscious realm. I feel that you're very guided and protected. It might come from your own intuition or a higher spirit. Who knows, maybe they are the same. Right now, there's a gate opened for you, a new opportunity, your intuition can guide you towards it.

But I also see there's a wall obscuring that opportunity from coming into life. You might be dealing with some difficulties in material, physical plane. Trying to stabilise yourself. You might think that now is not the right time to be in love, a relationship right now would be impractical. You would be in thinking mode, trying to be logical and staying still, denying the possibility of love even when your intuition is saying otherwise. It's like you're trying to restrict yourself, trying to control, to bring order into your life, which might be the opposite of what love could bring you. You discard feelings that you deemed frivolous and silly fun, only looking for serious commitment but failed to realise that frivolous fun can develop and grow into something more serious and long lasting. You're sceptical of the feeling when you are in a truly fulfilling relationship. Is that really wonderful like how those romantics are telling us? Or is it just an elusive idea, fused by loneliness and the longing for completion?

But there will be an event or events shaking you out of that mode. It will be when you decide to leave the old way of living behind and try to find who you really are. I see travelling to distant lands, somewhere with a different culture that can open your mind and expand your ideas, somewhere that can make you forget all about your current reality in a moment to find stillness within. Love comes to you when you have the space to hold it and can give it to others

You might find love from a faraway land but sustaining it, keeping it alive and growing with it will be an ongoing lesson that you need to never cease learning. It's easy to slip back into old thinking mode, putting on suspicion and caution. Sharing yourself with another person seems daunting enough, navigating all the ups and downs of a relationship will require even more hard work. But I think you are brave. Beneath all that scepticism is an unwavering faith and an adventurous spirit that needs to come out boldly to take the reign, once in a while.

RED JASPER

I feel that love is something very intense for you, something that you may get drunk on, putting it on a pedestal. When you're in love, you want to be all in, emotional fulfilment comes before anything else. If a connection doesn't elicit strong feelings in you and things seem mild and lighthearted then you could not sustain it for too long.

There's a tendency to be obsessive, especially with potentials. If you catch feelings for someone, you will immediately think about how to cement the connection and then worrying about potential discords. This tendency might have put you in situations that left deep scars. On one hand, you want to love blindly, on the other hand, you are cautious of potential hurts and pains, of the past repeating itself.

There's might be a focus on the unusual, a liking for the differences. The more someone is different from you, the more foreign they feel, the more likely they're to catch your eyes. Exotic features, foreign accents, alternative style and taste, an element of other-worldliness.

Physical compatibility might be an important criterion. You want to immerse yourself with the other person, holding them closely, both physically and emotionally, mentally. But doing that can put a burden on you, everything feels so heavy, sometimes to the point of suffocating. You hold yourself and the other person prisoners of love. And when the unbearable weight keeps pushing both of you down and down without a way up, one of you or both will want to break away, resulting in a seemingly sudden break.

The advice for you is to take things more lightly, lightly is different from not being serious. Seeing things in different angles, imagine being someone else looking in from the outside, detach yourself a little bit. Focus more on the mental compatibility, not just how many things you both agree with each other but also how you can disagree with each other, how different you are and how that difference contribute to the growth of the connection.

You might be in a more masculine energy when pursuing love, the act of going after something and trying to control it requires masculine energy. On the contrary, accepting love and nurturing it needs you to be in feminine energy. I'm not saying which energy is more preferable but there's a need to balance them out, to be in more of one energy when the other is being too dominant.

Then you will find love is not a burden to hold on your shoulders or a fruit that can be devoured completely, but like a plant you want to nurture steadily and see it grow day by day. It's something to be celebrated and enjoy, not something to be chased after and then be kept away in a safe.

[tennco]

"Gensokyo accepts all. That's a cruel, cruel statement."

that's one of my favorite touhou quotes and it's, a fucking generic yukari win-quote from IaMP. but it perfectly sums up all of ZUN's works in my opinion.

you could interpret it to mean simply that gensokyo welcomes in both the good and the bad equally. i think that's boring.

i personally like the idea that Hifuu presents a world that has forgotten its magic, and that it has become less because of it, with the two main characters looking to revitalize it. that's the clearest example of how ZUN romanticizes folklore and mythology, something i mentioned in another post. and he's right in a way, those things have always been a part of human nature, our attempts to explain that which has no explanation. it adds a hint of mysticism to daily life and makes it, just a little bit more special. i think for ZUN this is closely related to the concept of hare and ke, the sacred and the mundane, the extraordinary and the ordinary.

in contrast to the outside world of humans we have the gensokyo of youkai, a place where the extraordinary is ordinary, where magic is real and supernatural creatures roam around free. it is however, a world that exists purely because its residents have no other place to go. they are not welcome in the real world anymore, they are not needed as humans can explain everything by their own means. i think with her words yukari is lamenting this fact, maybe the same way she did when she herself was a human living in that world devoid of anything special.

with all that said the message is obviously not "we shouldn't aim to explain or discover anything, just accept that it was the gods", but rather i think it's a call to suspend your disbelief, just for a bit, and say "yeah, sure, maybe there is more to it than meets the eye". to find something special in the everyday. to not let mundanity overwhelm you.

in other words, gensokyo accepts all. because the world doesn't. don't let it be that way.

[teawithhazel]

How a Birdbath Changed my Witchcraft

This is a personal story that I wanted to share in hopes that it could help other new witches. It's a long one, so buckle up.

One of my goals this year was to forge a deeper connection to the land spirits around my home. I am still very new to the craft and this seemed like a nice way to dip my toes into spirit work while also creating an outdoor sacred space. Little did I know the impact it would have.

I did some research on offerings to land spirits and took into mind that critters may try to eat said offerings, and settled on just leaving water or inedible things. I also had to consider my less than open minded neighbors, they are decent people but I don't feel comfortable with them knowing I'm a witch.

A birdbath seemed like the perfect way to leave offerings as well as disguise the altar from my neighbors.

I set it up in early spring, after the frost was done. It was just a simple ceramic one with blue glaze (I wanted green, but they were sold out), I filled it with water and a small stone so insects could crawl out if they fell in, said a few words of thanks and did that everyday.

At first, it seemed like just a mundane task. I wasn't really feeling much from what I was doing until spring rolled into summer. I got the feeling like I had to keep that bird bath filled. I felt a pull in my gut that I still can't explain.

Then I figured out why.

Drought.

The worst my area has had in years with unbearable heat and humidity. We didn't get rain for months and when we did it was a tiny drizzle that barely dampened the ground. Most of the plants in my area dried up and went dormant.

My little birdbath was an oasis and was getting more than birds as visitors. Deer, squirrels, raccoon, skunk and opossum were using it to find vital water. I ended up getting a 5 gallon bucket to fill as well because the birdbath would get drained so quickly.

The deer got use to me and would wait at the edge of the woods for me to bring water in the mornings.

I could feel the gratitude every time an animal came for a drink. They had nothing but dry grass for miles and in their own ways they showed how thankful they were.

Yup, one of the deer stashed her kid right in my garden for a week. I usually don't read too much into animals as 'signs' from the spirits, but that is a little hard to ignore.

That was over 4 months ago. My garden thrived despite the drought. I had an abundance of cucumber, tomato, herbs, carrots, onions, and sweet potatoes this year.

Was my success because of my offerings to the land spirits? Some would say yes, some would say no. All I know is that I had the best producing garden in the neighborhood this year and a much deeper understanding of the importance of water.

[razrbladekiss]

GUILTY AS SIN? | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: your dad’s ex-best-friend explains just why your old-man no longer associates with the man whose blood once ran through his veins.

PAIRING: dads(ex)best friend!joel miller x afab!reader. joel is in his fifties, reader is early twenties.

WORD COUNT: no idea i raw-dogged this on tumblr dot com.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. kinda established friendship between reader and joel, despite not seeing one another for a few years. insinuated NSFW, nothing strictly dirty. just wordy shit.

PART TWO

He’s a lot grayer than you remember. Broader, too. He looks positively stacked beneath the faded red flannel he’s donning today. For an old-ish man, Joel looks good.

Too good.

Much, much too good for a man who has the audacity—the absolute temerity—to show his face in this town after all that he said about, and did to your father.

Apparently—though, you’ve never been too sure how true the tale of brotherly betrayal had been—Joel had broken the “sacred” pact between himself and your father, when you had moved out of state four years ago, and neither spoke a word to the other since.

Joel left Point Pleasant and took with him his shame for whatever it was that he’d done. But now he’s back—to the dismay of your father—and you’ve just so happened to cross paths with him.

And though you don’t understand—or care to learn about—just what happened between the two who’d been friends since childhood, you respect your old man and his desire to keep you from Joel.

That was, until today.

When you bumbled through town—hunting for a padlock to secure the gate in your backyard that keeps blowing open with the fucking wind—you didn’t think you’d come face to face with him.

You’d waltzed into the hardware store on St. John’s Road, roaming the aisles—feeling uncomfortable in the mundane—for the biggest, brassiest lock you could find and when you got your hands on it, a familiar—though not entirely expected—voice filled the space between you and the monotony of being back home.

He showed himself and you all but shit yourself. You hadn’t expected to see Joel God damn Miller in your town, but you did. And it knocked you for six.

The two of you made small talk for a few minutes—mindful of who could’ve been around—before Joel was inviting you out for drinks later that evening. And being the sweet—slightly intrigued as to what happened between him and your father—soul you are, you said “yes.”

And that’s how you wound up in this position.

Joel sits opposite to you, puttering with the beer mat between his pointer finger and thumb. He flashes you a smile whenever you speak, and you’re filled with a strange sense of warmth in his presence. Nostalgia, perhaps.

“And college was a drag.” You say honestly. “I dropped out after the second semester, but I didn’t tell my parents.”

He laughs in disbelief, not for one second thinking that your father would’ve let that slide.

“What’d dad say?” Joel cringes when he realizes the way he’s spoken about your old man, remembering that they were no longer on friendly terms. “Sorry, Mike.”

Tight lipped, you smile.

“I didn’t tell him for six months. Mom knew, but she never told him.” Breezing past that hiccup, you tell him. “But when he did find out, he kicked my ass. Didn’t speak to me for a year. Didn’t want me back at home for Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, my Birthday. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with me, ‘til I re-enrolled.”

“And did you?”

You shake your head. “No, sir. I moved to Atlanta, instead. Got a job in marketing, worked my way up to a senior position, met a great guy and got engaged, built the best life I possibly could’ve.”

Proud of you—genuinely pleased—Joel smiles. “So what brings you back here?”

The wine glass in your hand is suddenly bone-dry, empty of it’s once fruity contents. You laugh wryly. “Got fired. Fiancé cheated on me with the CEO of my company. Lost my house in the split. So I came back here last summer.. taken me ‘til now to be able to move outta dad’s place.”

“Oh, sweetheart..” He sense that you don’t want his sympathy, but he can’t help it. “How did d—Mike take it?”

Again, you laugh.

“Badly. Didn’t speak to me for a while.” You smile tight-lipped. “Common theme, that. Dad not speaking to me.”

Joel whirls his whiskey around its tumbler, refusing eye contact. “I know how that feels. Been four years since he last said a word to me, and I kick myself for that everyday.”

It’s sad. Meditative. Almost makes you want to keep your nose out.

Almost.

“Yeah,” you put down your glass. “What happened there, then? ‘Cus nobody seems to tell me jack-shit here, anymore.”

Usually, Joel would say something along the lines of “darlin’, it’s best you don’t know,” or “none ‘a your damn business.” But he supposes that it is your business—what with it being your father.

And the fact that you’re the fucking reason for your dad wanting to murder Joel, and use his guts as drapes.

“Well.” He begins—feeling his chest constrict and heart pound wildly inside of its ribcage. Joel takes a deep, drawn out breath, and a swig of his liquor for some well-needed fucking courage.

But it doesn’t work.

He’s a trembling mess, now.

“Alright, you needa know…this ain’t somethin’ I’m proud of.”

You blink at him, feeling crimson bleed into your cheeks while simultaneously knowing that all color is draining from your face.

“And I’ve been on my own for years. Since Sarah’s mother died—“

“Joel.” You say, warningly. “Spit it out.”

He swallows thickly the residual bile on the tip of his tongue. Joel didn’t think he’d ever be in this position. Least of all today.

“Your father and I, we got drunk at a yacht party one night.” He begins. “Some hot-shot at his company invited us and I wasn’t gunna go, ‘til Mike convinced me.”

You can tell he’s trying to drag it out, and so you stare at him pointedly.

Joel clears his throat, continuing. “Anyway. We got hammered, told one another some shit and shared a few heart-to-hearts. And then I crossed a boundary that—darlin’—I know I never should’ve crossed.”

“Go on..” Apprehensive, you say.

He rubs his lips together, sending you a very apologetic gaze.

“I told your father that I had a crush on you.” Finally he admits, and your heart falls out of your fucking cunt. “Now—this ain’t somethin’ I ever wanted to act on—“

“You had a crush on me?” He nods, ignoring the venom in your tone. “Joel! That’s fucking—that’s—“

You can’t find it in yourself to be disgusted with him. In fact, you’re quite flattered, actually. Because for as long as you can remember, Joel Miller was desired by every single woman that he’d ever known, and yourself would’ve been included in that.

Despite being the father of one of your closest childhood friends, you often fantasized about what it’d be like to screw around with Joel. Because he was so handsome—so rough and rugged—and he made you squirm whenever he put a friendly hand to your shoulder or hugged you at a family event.

You’re completely dumbfounded, actually.

He says your name as you’re lost in your lascivious thoughts, hastily plummeting you back to reality.

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be.” Completely unfazed, now, you say. “My dad’s a drama queen. I should’ve known it’d be something stupid that split the two of you up.”

He stares blankly at you, brows fused together.

“If I’m being honest, Joel, I’ve wanted to fuck you for years.” Candid, you tell him. “So I guess that now you and my dad hate one another, I have nothing to feel bad about.”

“What the f—I mean—thanks? But, sweetheart, this is wrong.” He reasons. “Your father ground me into the sidewalk when he found out, and I can’t imagine what he’ll do to me if he finds out you’re sayin’ all these things—“

You wave, completely detached from reality. “Aw, fuck him. Never cared much for him, anyways. Was always tryna control my life.”

Joel actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s like some strange music to his ears, but it feels so wrong.

“And, y’know what? He can’t control me now.” You say matter of fact before you’re hopping off your bar stool, and shifting to stand in front of Joel. “I’d love to hear his thoughts on this.”

In a moment of completely blind, unadultered passion, you fuse your lips to Joel’s. His left hand comes up to take purchase on the skin of your neck while the right lands on your waist. He moans, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You laud the sweetness of Honey on his tongue, and drink the lustrous flavor of him. He’s so steamy. So beautiful, for an older man.

And now that you’re back in the same town, then who knows what’ll happen?

“Joel?”

He hums against your lips, holding tightly your skin.

“Take me home with you.”

[weskie]

Just Pretend [Love is Madness] (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | soft and fuck nasty wombo combo wesker, he whimpers, biting, what if wesker was in love AND denial, p/rn without plot | Fic Directory

You bury your face in the sheets, fists scrambling for purchase in the soft silk.  The moan that leaves you is anything but dignified, though you’d passed that threshold long ago.  He’s had a long day, and you were all too happy to help him get it out of his system.

A hand twists in your hair while another takes a biting grip at your waist to steady you with each punishing thrust.  

So thick, so full… 

“Al…” You mewl, the nickname a sacred utterance only for special moments, whether carnal or tender.  You hear the way he shudders.  You feel the flex in his grip.  Wesker loves it and you know full well he does.  By the stutter of his hips turning to a wet grind, you know it drives him crazy to be called such a sweet, silly name.  To feel every one of your proclamations of love seep into something so… mundane.

You feel him collapse, chest pressing flat and hot against your back as he braces himself, breaths panting in your ear.  He’s not done– nowhere near it.  This is just how he gets away with the softer things.  He thinks you don’t know how much he fucking loves the full body contact.  That he shivers when the whole of you is pressed to him, when he feels completely joined with you.  

He peppers kisses from behind your ear down to the junction of your neck, each one wet and warm and full of unspoken adoration.  Each shallow grind into your heat makes him try and fail to bite back weak little moans until he becomes so fed up, so frustrated that he can’t keep his perfect composure, that he simply has to sink his teeth into your flesh.  At least he could lie and say it was just the taste of you that made him make such sweet little sounds.

“Oh god!” 

You know that’ll drive him wild too.  For in his mind, he is the god to whom you cry out.  

And how right he is…

His hands snake up your waist to grab at your chest, pulling you against him even firmer.  Your hand flies back to thread in his hair, tugging softly at his ruffled locks.  The force of his bite leaves you and is replaced with his tongue laving hot across his mark.  He gives two sharp rocks of his hips before rising off of you, pulling you into a kneeling position– back tight to his chest the way he likes it.  With an arm around your waist once more, he lets loose.  The bed creaks and moans beneath the force of his motions, and you’re fully convinced it’s going to give out one day.  Its song of protest is drowned by your symphony of passion, of skin on skin and desperate noises coming from you both. 

He bites down on you again to hide his sounds, but it’s to no avail.  Nothing can quite disguise the sound of Wesker whining and whimpering as he gives three sharp thrusts and a stuttering fourth before you feel him spilling within you– and oh how he sings for you.  That edge to his voice quakes with every tight moan he can’t suppress and your name finds its way between each heavy breath.  His arms pull tighter than ever around you as if letting go would make him fade into nothing.

But he doesn’t stop.  He never stops– never stops grinding or managing the occasional shallow rut.  The slide of his cock gets wetter with every bit of come that seeps out around it.  You’re on cloud nine, dangerously close to falling over the edge yourself when the hand at your waist finally drops to finish you off.

“Let–” he gasps softly, “let go, now.” 

The sound of him still stumbling over his breaths coupled with the perfect touch does you in immediately. It makes you arch and writhe against his unyielding grip as each wave of raw pleasure beats down on the shores of your mind and body.  Wesker holds you through it, eyes focused on the rise and fall of your chest, the way you quiver and pulse around his cock clouds his mind with the same intense need that got you to this very moment.

He’s not done.  Not even close.  The feeling of your walls milking him drives him further into a madness he knows, deep down, he’s never going to escape.

And why would he ever want to?

[neonoddeye]

SFW Veritas Ratio x Gn! Reader

Bathtime with Veritas Ratio is sacred, an event only known between the two of you.

The scholar’s high regard of the nighttime routine is ritualistic, from the gilded matching bathrobes to the uniform scent that his bath supplies have. You wouldn’t dare to make fun of this; in fact, you find it endearing that he has such a delicate pastime to indulge in. It’s even more endearing that he allows you to accompany him as well.

His bathtub is as elegant as him, and isn’t too cramped to be occupied by two people at once (and maybe a little rubber duck). There is never a shortage of bubbles, or even some epsom salts or a bath bomb if Veritas has had a particularly infuriating day. He tends to enjoy eucalyptus and lavender scents the most for their therapeutic qualities, occasionally subbing them out for a seasonal scent. His soaps are always of the highest quality, and he never settles for anything less (as is seen in every other aspect of his life). And now that you’ve gotten used to them, it’s always hard to go back to whatever you were using beforehand, whether you live with Veritas or not.

Your favorite part (and his, secretly) is taking time to wash each other. Veritas always insists on washing your back for you, no matter how much you insist you can reach every spot yourself. You figure it must be therapeutic for him, as he takes his time gently scrubbing your skin for you. He even massages any sore spots you might have (even if you didn’t know you had them). If it’s a hair wash day, he’ll massage the conditioner into your scalp like you’re at the salon. You often wonder if he enjoys the mundane, repetitive motions that come with pampering you, as if he’s letting his brilliant brain rest for just a bit.

When it’s his turn, you reciprocate the warm gestures, taking your time to reach every inch of his broad back. Although you aren’t as skilled as he is, you also attempt to massage his sore muscles, weary from being hunched over at his desk for most of the day. You’re aware that he carries the tension of his work life on his back (bro probably carries the whole university on it), and you let him guide your hands to where he needs it. Even if you can’t alleviate his pain, he acknowledges and appreciates your efforts.

While you cater to Veritas, he often has a habit of venting about his day to you. He goes on tangents about his “infuriating students” while you pour water down his back, as if to wash the stress away as it comes out. If you’re washing his hair as he babbles, you’ll take extra time to work the shampoo into his scalp to really emphasize the practice of wearing down his tension. Veritas will never admit it to you, but he likes to think that it works, somehow.

After the washing is over, you and Veritas may talk each other’s heads off, be it a philosophical construct or plans for the day ahead, or sit in comfortable silence. Before you, Veritas would never let his skin prune in the bath water; now, he loathes getting out, and doesn’t mind if his fingers are wrinkly. If the universe would allow it, he’d spend hours in the bathtub with you, letting his worries sink into the water and down the drain.

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi // satan // asmo (you are here) // beel // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

asmodeus, who thinks you're interesting for a human. he sees studying you as a sort of self-care, for he too wants to know what was so special about you, how you quickly gained three of his brothers' pacts before he knew it. he'll look up from his mirror with a sharp eye, taking in the intricacies of your interactions, hiding behind his reflection again before you notice. you fascinate him. it's become part of his routine to linger in the common areas to hear his brothers' loud conversations spill from your room into the hallway.

asmodeus, who wants to know everything about you. he studies you like he studies himself-- wide-eyed, thorough, memorizing the curve of your smile, the softness of your skin, the size of your ears and nails and nostrils and every mundane part of you that makes his heart race. in the celestial realm, he was always known to see the good in everyone. with you, though, he doesn't even have to try. you're dawn in the devildom, sunset in the heavens. you're unlike any human he's ever met. when you finally make a pact with him, he feels foolish for not seeing your potential earlier.

asmodeus, who knows you're into him. he can sense when people are attracted to him, but even if he couldn't he'd know. he sees you dodge eye contact, the way you shudder a little at his affectionate touch-- he knows. and it delights him. asmo captures hearts without even trying, but yours is the most precious treasure of all. your genuine, unspoken feelings slip through gaps in conversation, or your smile, or the glow you have when you're around him. he finds you stunning, of course, so don't mind the way his cheeks flush a little when you laugh like that.

asmodeus, who doesn't dare bring anyone over to the house of lamentation anymore. he wouldn't disgrace your sacred space with the bodies of others. there's a neatness to him disappearing for a few hours only to pop back home, to your shared home, slipping in a quick bath before finding his way to your side. he doesn't want his lust to deter you. he doesn't want you to think he's not serious about you, crazy for you, just because he seeks others to satisfy his needs. and a part of him doesn't want to realize how it's affected his sex life, too. he stumbles home from another clandestine meeting after dark and tries not to think too hard about his wandering thoughts. he should have been lost in the moment. their hips moved so beautifully against his, their needy keening delightful in his ears as they approached another orgasm. but he was thinking about you. he wondered what it would be like if it was your lips around his cock, your hips bouncing back into his, your sweet hole milking him dry. he doesn't even realize these lustful thoughts have the power to push him over the edge until the demon underneath him cries out in pleasure. in that moment, he realizes the hold you have over him. oh, what is he going to do with you?

asmodeus, who wants you more than he's ever wanted anything else. he's used to getting what he wants, when he wants-- but he'll wait for you. he'll wait to see if you want to cross that bridge with him, to turn passing flirtations into intimacy, taunts into promises, ginger touches into desperate grabbing for each other's skin. so when a spa night in his room becomes less than casual, he's excited, but ultimately hesitates. is this okay? are you sure? he lowers himself between your legs when you assure him this is what you want, pleased grin disappearing as he pressed kisses to your thighs. his tongue glides effortlessly across your slit, gathering the fluids he finds and spreading them across your sex with careful, methodical strokes of his tongue. your moans are divine, and he saturates his fingers in your juices just to ease them into your tight hole. his lips wrap around the most sensitive part of your sex as he sucks, carefully at first then with renewed vigor as you cry out. you're quick to cum and he's quick to please you through it, deft fingers thrusting ruthlessly inside you to bring you to another peak. then another. when he's satisfied with how pliant you feel around his fingers, he finally sits up and ease himself into you, sliding his cock in slowly, until his hips are flush against you. his eyes are filled with nothing but love as he takes your hands in his. his fingers intertwine with yours. he leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. the gasp that catches in between you two as he slowly begins to move is all the proof he needs-- he wouldn't trade the world for you, for this moment, to have your body intertwined like this with his. because nothing, no other creature alive, compares to you. he'll never be satisfied with anyone else again.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[servantofthefates]

How to Determine Locations with Tarot

Ask any question and perform any spread. Then let the cards’ meanings, helped by your intuition, pinpoint the location.

WHERE WILL I MEET MY SOULMATE?

Cards: Eight of Wands (quick incoming messages) + Page of Swords (social media stalking)

Answer: You will meet your soulmate online.

WHERE ARE MY SUNGLASSES?

Cards: The Chariot (vehicle, carriage seat) + Four of Pentacles (embracing, tightness)

Answer: In your car, stuck between the seats.

WHERE SHOULD I SPEND SUMMER?

Cards: The Empress (mother) + Six of Cups (childhood)

Answer: Go home to visit your parents.

WHERE WILL I FIND FULFILMENT?

Cards: Eight of Pentacles (work) + Nine of Cups (banquet)

Answer: Give catering a try.

WHERE WILL I SEE MY EX AGAIN?

Cards: Three of Wands (ships coming in) + Six of Swords (travel by water)

Answer: On a cruise.

As you can see, tarot can be used to answer a range of questions from the most sacred to the most mundane; from the most complex to the simplest. How? Here are countless tips.

[hwajin]

#! — [ camellia ] hwang hyunjin

— gn!reader // sfw // i've been to a monet exhbition and it made me write this (to be loved by an artist huh)

"I never knew I had a mole there."

"It's my favourite one on you."

A painting of your nude back, and you inspected it with careful eyes. Hyunjin had always had a talent of capturing the mundane, in art or photography as much as in every day life - he loved pointing out the simplicity of a sunset when hand in hand on a walk with you, or how a bee would sit silently on a flower before it made its' journey to the next one; things you'd had never learned to notice if he hadn't had tought you.

The painting was breathtaking. Not life-size - Hyunjin confessed he didn't have the courage for such challenges yet - though it was big; and on the white canvas, against a brown underwash blooming features of you, in most detail. Hyunjin had painted every of your pore, your every roll which had folded on your back when you had craned your neck to look at the artist who had been trying to capture the beauty you bore, right after waking up a morning - he had drawn every mole which adorned your body, as pale and small it was, because he knew each of them by heart, had added most of them from memory. And you've never been aware of it. You've never noticed that his kisses, each and every night anew, walked the same path across your body, travelling up and down the constellations on your skin, memorizing every brown mark, every pale freckle. That his fingers would instinctly find the same spots on your skin to absentmindendly caress while laying together entangled, that he lit up whenever a new mark bloomed on your body to dote on, to love. You never even knew he had a favourite one - a favourite mole, how absurd it was. And yet how teary-eyed you grew from his confession.

You eyed the painted mole by the small of your back, a tiny dot on paint-laid canvas, yet it held the world within. Unnoticed if shown to anyone else - though most sacred artifact for you, his model and muse, his lover for eternity.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

[sugar-coat-it]

Touch Tank

He’s so pretty when he goes down on me… <3

THE MAKEUP FIC LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND EVERYONE IN BETWEEN

Fluff into smut because I am a sappy bitch. It’s actually quite soft despite being dirty. 

Fem! Reader

Contains: Sub! Matty, him being a sweetie pie and guiding her into it, facesitting/riding, makeup ruining, praise kink (good boy, pretty boy, etc.), Matty cumming in his pants, hair pulling, Matty Healy worshiping that cunt idk what else to tell you

WC: ~4,600

—---------------------------------------------------

Matty asks you to do his makeup for him… and then ruin it by sitting on his face

—---------------------------------------------------

You glance at Matty through the reflection in the mirror, your heart swelling in your chest at the adoring look plastered on his face. He looks so incredibly gentle, his eyes soft and practically sparkling as he watches you apply concealer onto your skin. Only a few minutes ago, he’d plopped himself down on the lidded toilet near you and insisted that you show him how you do your makeup while you get ready for your girl’s night out. His longing gazes have proven to be very distracting as your working hands almost slow to a stop.

“Just pretend I’m not here! What comes next?” he urges, leaning his chin against his hand casually.

“Alright, alright! Next is the powder,” you explain, starting to refocus as you run the brush through the pan of skin-toned pigment. 

Matty’s eyes can’t seem to stay focused on one thing, flicking between the product you’re using (taking note of the brand you use), your pretty face, and the way your steady fingers curl around the makeup brush. He murmurs the word “powder” to himself like he’s trying to commit the steps you take in your routine to his memory. Boyfriend training, if you will.

“Right… so, do you really need the primer, the concealer, and the other thing? Why haven’t they just combined them all? It’s an awful lot of work for you makeup users,” he muses, talking as if he knows what any of them are really for. 

“I have no clue, babe. You should really get on that,” you chuckle, stealing another glance at him through the mirror. 

“Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I? What’s that one for, then?” he asks, reaching out and pointing at the powder in your hands. 

“This? It’s to set everything in place that we just put on,” you explain, finding it quite sweet that he’s so curious about this little piece of your life, as mundane as it might be. 

Matty hums and nods thoughtfully, seeming satisfied with knowing more about makeup than he did before. Not just any makeup, but his girl’s makeup that she takes so much time to get right. There’s something very domestic about this moment, everything feels a little softer when it’s just you two like this. Even the moonlight seems to seep through the window gentler. Matty’s life is irregular, there’s no denying that. It’s what makes these moments of calm feel so sacred, so untouchable. 

You continue carrying out your routine, going a little slower than usual to prolong it all, your brush strokes lingering a little longer than necessary as you brush a tastefully shimmery shade on your eyelids. Your boyfriend is unusually quiet as he admires you with those sleepy eyes. It’s not often that he isn’t either speaking or waiting for someone to finish talking so he can get a word in. The silence feels comfortable for both of you, it settles over the bathroom like a blanket. 

“Ah, wait, I know that one,” he interrupts, suddenly sitting up straighter as you take out your next product, snapping his fingers and pointing at it, “that’s mascara.”

Matty looks absolutely triumphant, crossing his arms over his chest with a slyness plastered on his face. You let out a breathy little chuckle, only managing half of an eye roll before a warm smile tugs at your lips. 

Once you’ve finished, Matty clears his throat to get your attention, looking as though he’s mulling over asking you something. 

“Hey, I know you said you liked those pictures you saw of my stage makeup. I haven’t really done it in a while… y’know, if you wanted to do some on me… before you go to your party,” he offers softly, trailing off as he looks up into your eyes. 

“Wait, are you serious!?” you exclaim, your eyes lighting up with a grin on your face that could rival a kid’s smile on Christmas morning. 

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, chuckling as you already scramble to grab all your supplies, sliding them towards the closer end of the counter, “I’m going to trust you here, but you’ve got the perfect chance to fuck me up good, making me look like a proper circus clown.”

“I would never!” you gasp, feigning offense at his comment with a dramatic hand over your heart, “why on earth would I do that when I have the opportunity to make you the prettiest of princesses?” 

“The what? Nah, never mind that, you’ve just lost the privilege.” 

“No, no, no I’m sorry, I’ll behave!” 

Matty eyes you suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at you like he’s assessing whether or not you’ll be calling him “baby girl” or something next. Out of the goodness of his heart (and because he does really does want you to do this), he nods at you, crossing his arms over his chest. You just smile giddily, leaning down to kiss his forehead while he mumbles “Yeah, yeah, c’mon do me up”. 

You’ve decided to go easy on him and not do a full face, just his eyes and lips. With that, you crack open your makeup pallet reserved only for fun occasions, it’s filled with shimmery, bright colors that immediately attract Matty’s distractable eyes. You hold it up to him for him to get a better look, his brows furrowing as he no doubt contemplates what he thinks would look the coolest.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, still very excited that he’d not only agreed to let you do this but was the one to suggest it. 

“Maybe this blueish one? I dunno, is that what any basic straight guy would pick?” 

“You’re overthinking it. I think it would look really nice on you.”

You dip your eyeshadow brush in the pan, instructing him to close his eyes for you and stay still the best he can (not the easiest of feats for one Mr. Healy). He does, his gaze softening before he lets his eyes flutter shut. With your free hand, you reach out and gently tilt his face to be angled properly. You feel a little warmth blossom in your chest as you realize how intimate this feels, especially with how serene he looks as he closes his eyes. Even though it feels silly because it’s just doing his makeup, your heart still thrums a little faster at the little display of trust.

When you touch the brush to his eyelid, he lets out a short, very Matty-sounding giggle as he tells you that it feels “quite nice”. You chuckle along with him, switching to the other eyelid once you’re sure the other one is evenly applied. Your touch is delicate as you hold the side of Matty’s face, your eyes squinting with concentration as you work. He’s warm under your fingertips. You notice how soothed he seems by you handling him like this, almost hypnotized by the brush strokes. He looks so soft. Unjaded. Untouched. 

While his eyes are closed, you reach for your eyeliner, warning him before you touch the point of it to his lash line. Still, he flinches slightly when the liner touches his eyelid, his nose scrunching up a bit as you do your best to trace a steady line, despite the way his eyelids flutter.

“You’re moving, Matty.”

“M’not!” he insists (he is). 

With a bit of fixing, you’d managed to draw out two almost even wings. At your permission, his eyes blink open again and the sight almost steals your breath away. The blue is bringing out the honey tones of his irises, his sleepy eyes defined by the complimentary liner. He’s beautiful. 

“Do I look hot?” he asks, blinking faux seductively.

“Very hot,” you grin, inspecting your work as you keep a tender hold on his chin. 

It’s not even a joke, he does look hot. You’ve always not so secretly adored his more feminine side, getting absolutely giddy whenever he wore a skirt around the flat or painted his nails. You rub your thumb over his cheek affectionately before reaching back over to the counter for your mascara wand, holding it up to him before you unscrew the cap. It’s the only one he’d recognized from earlier, so of course you’re going to tease him a little. 

“Time for your favorite,” you joke, moving to position yourself in front of him. 

Matty glances at the wand for a second before nodding slowly, smiling with his tongue between his teeth boyishly. 

“Mascara,” he recalls smugly.

It quickly becomes his least favorite when he painstakingly can only blink when you tell him to, this wand object being far too close to his eyeballs for his liking. He groans dramatically between the blink breaks that you give him, pulling all sorts of odd, exaggerated faces.

“That was god awful, hated that,” he broods, shaking his head at you. 

You make up for it with an apologetic kiss to his cheek, then wipe away the pink trace of your lipstick on his skin. You reassure him that you’re almost done, now retrieving the same shade of lipstick that you’d done on yourself. You slowly ease his lips apart with the hand on his jaw, Matty being totally pliant while he gazes at you quietly. You start to apply the color to his lips, swallowing thickly as you try not to get distracted by his mouth. Despite your best efforts, your face feels a little hot as quiet tension blooms. His pupils have practically doubled in size at this point from how enamored he is with you in this moment. The tension only grows stronger when you finish, standing behind him as you lead him to the mirror.

“Oh, shit. I look… I look really good,” Matty gawks, his lips parting as he eyes himself in the mirror.

“You do. I’d go as far as to say that you look fucking stunning,” you whisper near the shell of his ear, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

The two of you stay like that for a bit longer, both admiring him in the reflection of the mirror, your hands settled on his shoulders and your lips brushing against his ear. With a smile, you place a tender kiss on his neck before leaving him to gaze at himself some more while you finish getting ready in the bedroom. 

It’s not long before Matty is trailing after you, finding you slipping your “style over comfort” heels on as he frowns at you from the doorway. The fact that you’re not still fawning over him while he looks this good is pure absurdity in his mind. 

“You’re really just gonna leave me here while I’m all dolled up for you? Shame,” he pouts, tilting his head at you as he juts out his bottom lip. Such a drama queen.

Matty comes closer and sinks to his knees in front of you at the foot of the bed, his calloused fingertips running up the expanse of your smooth legs. He looks up at you with lidded eyes as he reaches for the ankle straps of your shoes that you’d just put on, leaning his cheek against your knee as he starts to unclasp one of them with nimble fingers. You don’t stop him. He knows for a fact that he’s putting you in a position where you couldn’t possibly say no to him, not when he’s looking at you like that, his naturally gorgeous features only further accentuated by the makeup you’d done. Maybe being fashionably late isn’t such a big deal… Sarah hosts girl's nights all the time. Besides, Matty seems to have other plans for convincing you that the party is hardly a priority. You swear if you squint, you can see a plan racing to come together in his head as you gaze down at him, drinking him in while he’s on his knees. 

“We don’t really have the time…” you murmur, reaching with one hand to card your fingers through his hair, holding it away from his eyes while he undoes your shoes. 

Sex with Matty is never a casual affair. He takes his sweet time with you, taking you apart with his mouth and his fingers before he even thinks of being inside of you. He doesn’t just please, he satisfies. Matty’s devoted appetite cannot be given a time constraint.

Once he’s finished sliding both of your shoes off, carefully setting them to the side, he clambers up onto the bed and lays down behind you. His head is tilted in your direction as he reaches his hands out to you in a grabbing motion, urging you to come closer. 

“You could sit on my face,” he suggests, not a trace of hesitation in his blunt tone. 

“What?” you gape, your eyebrows knitting together.

“You heard me,” he quips, swallowing thickly before speaking again, “Stay. Use me.”

You shake your head in disbelief, letting out a chuckle at his wanton request. Forcing yourself to swiftly regain your composure, you turn and slink towards him, sitting on your knees at his side. It would probably be faster than sex… right?

“Where is this even coming from? Is that something you think about a lot, babe?” you smile teasingly, reaching over to cup his face, scratching your nails under his jaw. 

Matty’s gaze shifts to the side and he shrugs, a coyness playing on his face as his cheeks become rosier. No one gets to see him like this but you, this is your Matty.

You sigh, your eyes flickering down to his painted lips that curl up with a mischievous quirk. 

“You’d hardly be able to breathe, Matty- no, stop, don’t look at me like that, I’m serious! These things don’t always work out like they do in your pornos,” you laugh, but you are genuinely concerned about hurting him.

“The fuck do I care? If I can breathe, I’m not doin’ it right,” he huffs petulantly, his greedy hands reaching for your hips to guide you into straddling him, “Literally crush me, I can take it, I’m a big boy.” 

You shoot him a look and he just offers a wide, toothy grin, reaching behind you to grab handfuls of your ass through your dress. The fabric rides up your thighs higher with every little movement, feeling a lot shorter when it’s barely covering your panties. 

“I dunno about a big one, but you definitely are a boy sometimes, Healy,” you tease, leaning over him with your hands splayed on his chest for support. 

“You love it. Are you gonna sit that sexy ass down on me or what?” he smirks, only proving your point further as he waggles his eyebrows at you.

You can tell he’s not going to let this go, not till your thighs are locked around his head. Just as you’re about to open your mouth again, he’s easing the fabric of your dress further up your legs, letting out a satisfied hum as it bunches around your waist. He avidly smooths his hands over the newly exposed skin, need seeping through his touch. Matty’s voice is breathier when he speaks again, his fingertips digging into your hips.

“Please, darlin’, want you to ruin the pretty makeup you did for me so nicely,” he whispers.

 Instantly, heat surges under your skin, your breath catching in your throat at the way he spins his sugary words. That’s something you hadn’t considered. The image that flashes through your mind: Matty between your legs with his makeup smudged down his flushed cheeks. It makes a pang of want rip through you. Suddenly, it looks like your girlfriends will be taking the first round of shots without you.

“... okay,” you relent, chewing at your bottom lip. 

“Yeesss, that’s what I thought,” he celebrates, drumming his fingertips against your hips excitedly, “C’mere.”

The actual process of sitting down on his face seems fairly daunting to you, your limbs feel more awkward than usual, and heat is prickling at your cheeks at the idea of actually straddling his head. It’s an awfully compromising pose to be in. Matty notices how stonewalled you seem, his thumbs rubbing encouraging circles into the bones of your hips. 

“It’s okay, I’m serious, I want you to. Here, let me just…” he trails off, urging you to lift your hips by easing them upwards, letting you do most of the movement.

“So gentle,” you tease, noticing how light his touch is, like you’re his most delicate possession.

“I am when I want to be.”

Matty guides you till you’re kneeling above his head, peering down at his warm, sparkly eyes. He looks even prettier from this angle, his sea of dark curls is spread around his head like a halo. The little smile plastered on his face says “See? Not so bad.”. And it’s not, not when he’s holding both of your hands, his thumbs running over your knuckles carefully. He gives one of your hands a squeeze before letting go, placing two tender fingers at the waistband of your panties. He slides them down the front of the lacy fabric till they meet the dampness that’s gathered between your thighs, only setting your skin more ablaze. Matty hums approvingly, the noise rumbling low in his chest as he hooks his fingers under the material, sliding them to the side. 

“Oh, fuck me. Perfect fucking cunt,” he groans, spreading your honeyed folds and marveling at the way your arousal gathers on his digits.

You laugh lightly at how he acts as if he’s seeing you like this for the first time and he just smiles, enamored. Matty catches his lower lip between his teeth as he runs his hands over to your thighs, holding them as he nods to signal that he’s ready for you. 

“Yeah?” you breathe, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs. 

“Yeah.”

Matty blinks up at you eagerly, vying for your complete attention with every flutter of his mascara-coated lashes. His eyes are wide and twinkly, only shining brighter when you start to slowly lower your hips down. His needy gaze is wildly flicking back and forth between your face and your core, slicked and glistening with your arousal. There’s a slight burn simmering in your legs at just how teasingly slowly you’re sinking downward, much to Matty’s vexation. He tugs slightly at the soft skin of your thighs, a little whine escaping the back of his throat as he anticipates the lack of oxygen to come. Matty presses his lips to any skin he can reach on your thighs, hurriedly peppering pink lipstick marks till you’re totally littered with them. He smushes his cheek to your inner thigh, his muss of dark curls tickling at your skin as he pleads with you. He looks so fucked out and you haven’t even started. 

“Please, please- please, baby,” he murmurs, his tongue darting out to run over his pink, plush lips between kisses to your skin. 

You smile down at him warmly, feeling your heart almost burst at just how badly he’s craving this, how long he’s likely fantasized about you using him for your pleasure this way. He’s behaving oh-so politely for a man so normally fond of brashness. 

“I-I need it… please, just fucking use me,” Matty whimpers, his voice breaking slightly, his tone shooting straight to your cunt.

Finally, you indulge him, inching down the rest of the way until you’re perched on his face, your knees on either side of his head. You gasp as he doesn’t waste a single moment before his tongue is working against you with practiced swirls and figures. He’s giving you no time to even think twice about being embarrassed by the lewdness of your positioning. Your hands go flying to support yourself against the headboard, feeling like your breath has been ripped straight from your lungs as Matty laps at your sopping cunt. His shimmery, blue eyelids flutter shut as he groans against you, his hands snaking up the backs of your thighs to your ass, holding you down against his mouth firmly as he devours you. Your whole body shudders as he drags his tongue to your clit, flicking the tip of it against the bud. Liquid, carnal need is filling you right to your bones. 

“Fuck! That’s my fucking boy, so good for me,” you sigh out, tossing your head back as you start to reflexively grind down on his tongue “You enjoying yourself, hun?”

Matty lets out syrupy moans that vibrate against your core, only adding to the dizzying pleasure reverberating inside you as he nods his head. His lashes flutter, his eyes rolling back until only the whites are visible as you start to find your rhythm, rocking your hips into his mouth to chase the climax just beyond your fingertips. You let out a quivering moan as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard to tighten the coiling heat in your belly, he knows all the little tricks to make your head spin. He hasn’t spent all this time learning your body for nothing, sometimes you think he might know it better than you do, effortlessly puppeteering you into the throws of pleasure. 

 Matty’s cock throbs and twitches in his trousers as the plushness of your thighs start to constrict around his head, smiling into your cunt as he truly does enjoy himself, evident in the way his hips are squirming against the mattress. The blissed-out look on your face only fuels his determination that much more, you’ve lit that familiar, insatiable fire in him. You glance over your shoulder and catch the way his thighs flex as his hips jolt upward into nothing, his dick aching and straining against his pants. You always knew Matty got off on you feeling good, but watching him pathetically hump the air while he eats you out is really getting to your head, you feel a little dizzy with a rush of power. Any sense of worry about putting more of your weight onto him is totally dissolved, overshadowed by the sensations rendering your mind fuzzy. You’re weightless. 

“Tastes so sweet, so fucking good,” he rambles, his voice muffled and wavering, barely audible from under you. 

The urge to own, to ruin flares up in you like a struck match. One of your hands strays from the headboard, reaching to grasp a handful of his meticulously cared-for curls (he pokes fun at the amount of makeup you have, yet his curl-care product collection is extensive). Matty whines, his eyebrows sloping, eyes squeezing shut as he feels your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling on it firmly at the root just the way he likes it. He tugs your hips down onto his face harder, like he’s trying to drown inbetween your legs. 

“Oh my god… good boy, Matty,” you croon, panting as the tension compounds with every swipe of his tongue.

Matty’s hips buck particularly harshly at your praise. He’s quivering at the slight friction from the tight fabric of his pants, but he won’t allow himself to indulge in more than that, he’s far too preoccupied with satisfying you. You smile hazily at how instantly he reacts to the pet name, curious to know how far you can take this while he’s so pussy drunk.

“So fucking pretty for me like this,” you compliment breathlessly, watching as the half of his face that’s visible to you contorts with neediness. 

He looks like he could burst like a horny balloon, poor thing. The bed is creaking from the way his hips writhe, rose tattoo lifting up to meet the air. He’s eating you out urgently, his brows drawn together tightly as his tongue fucks in and out of you deeper than you’ve ever felt, the tip of his nose nudging at your swollen clit. You tug at his dark tresses again as the feeling makes your whole body tense, your back arching as it all builds to a fizzling high. Matty doesn’t seem to mind one bit as you start to grind more frantically, your head lolling back with a wail. 

“Close, I’m close,” you pant, your chest heaving with shuddering breaths. 

“Please, please, oh, god, cum on my face,” Matty whimpers as he pauses for just a moment, turning his face to breathe before delving back in, fluttering the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit. 

His begging is what ultimately makes your orgasm crash over you, the tension snapping as you ride the white-hot waves of your orgasm out on his mouth, euphoria rushing through your veins, throbbing at your core. You can’t fully understand him, but what you can make out are garbled moans of your name and babbles of “I love you” as he watches you arch backward, his tongue unrelenting. You let out a cry as the stimulation gets to be too much, your thighs trembling as the sensations crowd you. You have to physically get up off of his face before he stops, gasping for his breath as you settle back down on his hips.

It’s only now that you get to truly see him and god, he’s a beautiful fucking wreck. Your vision is slightly hazy as you peer down at him, the afterglow pleasantly clouding your head as you simply admire him. His eyeliner and mascara have slightly run down his cheeks from the heat, blue eyeshadow smudged and shimmering under his eyes. What’s left of his lipstick is spread around his grinning mouth, glistening with your arousal. Unruly, stray curls stick to his forehead with sweat that glows in an angelic sheen over him. You’ve ruined him, and he couldn’t be happier. 

“Fuck, that was incredible,” you breathe, draping yourself over him to kiss his needy mouth. 

Matty lets out a dazed giggle against your lips, humming contently as you taste yourself lingering on him. When you shift forward, you feel a distinct lack of the hard-on that was against his thigh when you started. Curiously, you pull away from the kiss to find that the protrusion in his trousers is missing, and in its absence, a sizeable wet spot soaked into the fabric. Pride simmers deep inside you as it quickly clicks into place. 

“Matty… did you cum?” you ask, as if it’s not obvious. 

He squirms, biting the inside of his cheek as he glances off to the side like the wall has suddenly become extremely interesting. Your smile is almost wolfish as you lean over him, grasping his jaw with one hand to turn his face towards you. His eyes rimmed with runny makeup get wider. 

“I-I…” he stammers, his voice cracking and trailing off into a little gasp. 

“Felt so good that you came without me even touching you?” 

Matty nods slowly, tilting his chin down to drag his pink-bitten lips against your hand, his breath warm against your skin. 

“Say thank you,” you whisper, purposefully pressing your thigh (still covered in his lipstick marks) against his softening cock, just to get another pretty, breathy sound out of him as his eyes roll back. 

“F-fuck. Thank you. Thank you, baby,” he mumbles, staring up at you like you’re some kind of deity while he kisses the palm of your hand, “don’t go yet, please.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet boy.”

You capture his lips again and he smiles into the kiss, his hands tentatively knotting into your hair and ruffling it. He rolls the two of you over to embrace as you exchange murmurs of sweet nothings. You’re frankly disgustingly in love, and neither of you would have it any other way. 

————————————————————————

This one has been in the works for a whiiiile

I’m dedicating this to Ace @ughgoaway , the biggest makeup fic supporter and one of my dear friends <3

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

"why is it so hard to live an ordinary life?"

seokryu's 'appa' asks a simple question — but this is what i adore most about love next door: it keeps its story & characters grounded. why IS it so hard to just be alive — why does it take so much strength to live through a regular day, (with its regular disappointments); just like everyone else? why do your dreams — small and self-effacing as they may be in the palms of your hands — require so much courage to create in real life?

love next door is an ode to the everyday — the quiet trials and treaures that a normal life holds within it. just because something is mundane doesn't make it any less magic — any less important. seok-ryu's 'appa' just wants to look after his family — be a valued member of it. seokryu herself isn't extravagant in what she wants out of life — her dream is simple too: she just wants to cook.

but just because a dream is prosaic, does it make it any less precious? any less full of longing?

love next door brings so much compassion and subtle grace to the silent experiences of a completely normal life — falling in love with your best friend and not knowing what to do about it. joining a cooking class in your thirties after years of meaningless work because finding your own passion is a miracle at any age. thinking you know a person inside out because you've witnessed every step they've taken since childhood — and then finding out that they can still take you by surprise with the complex intricacies of their behavior.

there's a gentle reverence in the way love next door handles its subject matter — as if the show itself truly believes that simplicity is sacred. that a commonplace life is worth contemplation — deep exploration; empathy, understanding.

the ordinary world is where most of us live. and that's what makes its documentation — the description of its tiny heartbreaks; the daily cuts and bruises of every-day life, the small sparks of joy, connection, sustenance — so beautiful. so necessary.

this is what love next door does so well, and with such infinite tenderness. 🤍

[connorsui]

"In Every Thought, You’re There"

Hajime Umemiya x reader

Synopsis: Hajime Umemiya struggles to express the depths of his love for you, finding solace in quiet moments under the stars as he yearns for the courage to confess.

Genre/ warnings: Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Pining, Emotional Intimacy, Mutual Longing, Slice of Life, Domestic Vibes, Tender Moments, Unspoken Feelings, no warnings tho …ume ain't a heart breaker ..

Note: I always wanted a soft boy like ume to confess to me …like instead of teddy bears and store bought flowers, this man would grow that flower instead to show dedication 🍒

w.c: 1.8K

Hajime Umemiya, the embodiment of unrelenting force, was known for his quiet determination and fierce resolve. In the heat of fights, with adrenaline coursing through his veins and his blue eyes blazing with intensity, he was untouchable. Every punch, every strategic move, had a purpose. Yet, beneath that exterior of control and power, there was a different kind of vulnerability that came alive only when it came to you.

As the final blow landed, securing his victory, the rush of the fight still pulsing through him, his thoughts—inevitably, irresistibly—turned to you. The cheers of the crowd, the adrenaline that made his heart race, all of it was hollow until he saw you. His triumph, no matter how hard-fought, wasn’t truly real until he spotted you in the aftermath, your smile like a beacon that softened the edges of the fight. The bruises and exhaustion faded in your presence, the grin that tugged at his lips incomplete until you returned it with one of your own—a smile that made his heart stutter in a way no battle could ever manage.

And when the fights didn’t go his way—when the world felt heavier, the pressure of expectations became suffocating—it was your presence he sought. A rough day out in the streets or a sleepless night spent replaying the fight over and over in his mind would lead to a simple message: “You awake?” The words were plain, unassuming, but beneath them was a desperate hope for the comfort only you could provide.

Your replies,

no matter how mundane, always seemed to calm the tempest within him, and he found his mind quieting just at the thought of you.

In those moments when you were with his friends, laughing and fitting in so seamlessly with the people he called family, Hajime would catch himself watching you more than anyone else. There was a glow in your laughter, a kind of joy that struck him harder than any opponent’s punch ever could. From across the room, he’d pretend to focus on something else—his plants, his cooking, anything to distract himself from the urge to close the distance between you. But his heart betrayed him, his chest tightening with each moment you smiled or glanced his way. If you only knew how many times he’d almost crossed that line, almost let his guard down enough to tell you the truth.

But instead, he stayed silent, fumbling with excuses or averting his gaze when your eyes met his. It was maddening. For a man so accustomed to strength, so sure of himself in front of his formed “family”, this weakness—this inability to say what was lodged deep within his heart—felt foreign, terrifying even.

And then there were those nights, those sacred moments under the stars on the rooftop. The air was calm, the sky stretching endlessly above, and beside him, the sunflower you’d grown together blooming quietly in the corner. Each snapshot he sent you was a fragment of himself, a part of his heart conveyed through something as simple as a growing flower.

“It’s blooming more,”

he’d text, hoping each time you’d come sit with him under that open sky.

Lately, his thoughts about the future always included you. When he talked with his friends about life or what his next move would be, your name would slip into the conversation so naturally it felt inevitable.

“ — Do you think she will like a garden in the back or the front of the house?”

“— I wonder if she would like to plant another set of tomatoes with me again”

“ — She will like this tulip as a gift, right? ...I mean! Besides the sunflower, right?.....Sakura! What do you think?”

he’d muse, imagining it already—having a life so perfect with you by his side as though it was the only way anything would truly matter. And his friends, ever perceptive, would groan, knowing what even he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.

Everyone could see it, except for you.

“Why doesn't he just ask her out already?”

“I've been questioning that too”

“Does she already know?”

“Nah she's as probably waiting for him to say something”

“Hey, Ume, if you don't ask her out, I will!”

But in the quiet, after the fights and the plans and the teasing, when the world finally slowed, he knew that one day he’d tell you. One day, when the right moment came, when the words no longer seemed like a fight he couldn’t win, he’d let you know what you had been to him all along. Until then, he would let the quiet moments and unspoken feelings say what his voice still couldn’t. Because you—just like every victory, every fight—were worth waiting for.

Though, the confession almost happened one evening, after a ride that felt like freedom itself—gliding along the coastline, the wind in your hair, laughter floating effortlessly through the air. As the day bowed out, the sky turned soft, all hues of peach and lavender, like the world was exhaling after a perfect day. You stood there, by the sea, framed by the horizon, and it struck him all over again: just how impossible it was not to love you.

You always had a way of looking at the world that left him speechless, as if the very act of seeing was somehow more profound when you did it. The way your eyes lingered on the waves, how your lips curved just faintly into that peaceful, distant smile—it was as though you belonged to the sunset, as though you were woven from the same golden thread that unraveled across the sky. He couldn't remember a time when looking at you didn’t make his chest tighten with a familiar ache, like the air had turned too thin for him to breathe. But this time… this time it felt different.

He’d watched you the entire ride, trying to swallow down the way his heart surged whenever you flashed a grin over your shoulder at him. It felt like trying to hold back a storm. You made him feel reckless, alive in a way that had nothing to do with speed or competition, and everything to do with the way your laughter wove itself into the air around him. With every passing moment, his carefully guarded composure chipped away, until he felt exposed in the softest, most terrifying way. His friends had teased him relentlessly about you, nudging him toward what everyone else had already seen. But tonight, he thought—no, he knew—it was time.

He walked toward you, his steps slow, like each one carried a gravity that pulled him closer to something he couldn’t walk away from. His hands, always so steady, felt oddly uncertain as they hung at his sides. Hajime wasn’t afraid of much—he was confident, even reckless at times—but when it came to you, the stakes always felt so much higher.

You turned at the sound of his approach, and when your eyes met his, he felt that familiar tug in his chest, the one that made him wonder if you had any idea what you did to him.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” you said softly, your voice a delicate thread against the hum of the sea.

“Yeah…,” he answered, though he wasn’t looking at the sunset, not really. His gaze was anchored on you, as it always was, and the beauty of the moment paled in comparison. The word ‘beautiful’ felt inadequate when it came to you, but it was all he had, so he let it settle between you, hoping you wouldn’t notice the weight behind it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you was quiet, save for the rhythm of the waves, and he thought that maybe this was what peace felt like—this soft, quiet knowing that in a world full of noise, you were his only constant. He wanted to tell you then, to lay his heart bare and let you see just how tightly it beat for you. But the words—like so many times before—stayed tangled in his throat, held back by the fear that they might not be enough.

Instead, he fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy as he pulled up the latest picture of the sunflower you both had grown. "I wanted to share this with you ...its blooming more,” he said, his voice softer than usual, as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment.

You laughed, that same lilting sound that always made him feel like he could conquer the world. “It's stunning, Ume! — I didn't think you would cherish it for so long?” you teased, but your smile held something warmer, something deeper.

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling, though the nerves still coiled tight in his chest. “How couldn't I?, it's a part of you, isn't it?” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It wasn’t the confession he meant to give, but it was a piece of it—his way of saying that you were the root of everything good in his life, even if he wasn’t brave enough to admit it yet.

The two of you stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the fading sun, and though the air had cooled, there was a warmth between you that neither of you acknowledged. He wanted to say it ...to tell you how his future felt incomplete without you in it, how every thought he had these days revolved around you like you were his North Star. But the words, still clumsy and unpolished, stayed lodged in his throat.

Instead, Hajime just stood there, his gaze steady on you, his heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. The way he looked at you—like you, were the very axis around which his world spun—was louder than any words he could have spoken. Because in that moment, in the soft, dying light of the day, you were everything to him. And that, he promised himself, was a truth he would say aloud one day. When the time was right. When his words could match the depth of what he felt for you.

But for now, he’d keep sharing those quiet moments, sending you photos of blooming tomato plants and planning trips that always had you at the center of them. Because, like love itself, sometimes the things left unsaid were the most profound.

Ugh, someone gimmie a Hajime