Or it did, and my eyes simply refused to see it. The footsteps echoed on the cold tile with a cadence that wasn't entirely mine, as if someone were walking inside my body, using my feet as an instrument. The buzzing persisted in my temples, low and constant, mixed with the sound of breathing that came muffled, distant, as if it belonged to another being. The substance was still running through my veins.
I could feel it in my wrists, in the accelerated rhythm of my blood, in the way the walls breathed along with it. The fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling with an almost deliberate slowness, and each interval of darkness brought with it a flash, my mother's voice, the smell of smoke, the sound of something breaking very far away.
My feet kept going.
The door to the office appeared at the end of the corridor, finally. The Grimshade symbol carved into the iron seemed to pulse, or perhaps it was my own eyes that were pulsing. I stopped before it for a few seconds, my hand suspended in the air before touching the wood. Steven had his back turned when the door opened.
The room smelled the same as always: extinguished cigar, old paper, the varnish on the desk that never dried quite right. A single lit lamp cast my father's shadow against the wall like a figure far larger than the man he actually was. He didn't turn around immediately. As if he knew and had decided not to rush.
I stood in the doorway.
"Steven…" I breathed the words and realized they were beginning to tangle in my throat.
The flashes returned in a sequence too fast to be contained. My mother's face overlaid the room. The smell of smoke swallowed the smell of cigar.
For an instant, the floor beneath his feet was no longer tile, it was burnt wood, and the sound I heard was not the silence of the office, but the crackling of something consumed by fire.
Then my father spoke:
"Noah…" Stumbling steps carried me into the room after I closed the door behind me. I felt so small in that place, I was no match for the elegance with which the well-pressed suit dressed his old body. I was dirty, foul-smelling, wearing clothes that more closely resembled rags, the remains of someone who had once been alive.
Not that my condition was so different.
Was he staring at me with that astonishment because he also thought my appearance was identical to that of the deceased? Could my father see my dull eyes and my skin without vigor? Dry lips and a torso so thin my bones could be counted?
If I could no longer hear my heart beating, could he hear it?
"I missed you, father…" I said quietly; I had difficulty moving my dry lips. "Why didn't you come see me?"
He cleared his throat and tried to conceal the look he was giving me, surveying my condition from head to toe.
"What are you doing…"
"Outside my cell?" I finished, taking another step forward. "Does it surprise you that I can move through the Grimshade premises like an ordinary human being? Even though you no longer see me as one?"
"Stop talking nonsense, boy." Steven tapped his fingers against the desk; that was common when he was pressured and couldn't respond. "You know exactly why you're here and why you cannot parade through the sanatorium as if you were one of our staff, Noah. You represent risk and instability; many things have already happened here due to negligence around your cell. I cannot put other people's lives at risk."
And his voice undid the vision like a knife cutting through smoke.
"Because you're speaking as if this wasn't imposed purely by you?"
"By me?" Steven pointed to himself. "I wasn't the one committed for killing my fiancée."
My father's words arrived with a delay, as if they needed to cross water before reaching his ears. I heard the timbre, recognized the cadence, that specific intonation of sarcasm. The voice that shaped every boundary I had internalized.
The voice that remained even when everything else was erased.
"But you should have been when you killed my mother and Cianan."
I spat the words with contempt dripping from my lips.
I didn't know exactly what I said; the words came from a place that wasn't exactly thought, it was impulse distilled into syllables. My body moved with a precision my mind couldn't follow, like two systems operating on different frequencies, one of them far older than the other.
My father took a step back. It was the first time in my life I had seen that happen.
"Where did you get that heap of imbecilities, Noah?" He shook his head, indignant. Steven picked up the phone and put it to his ear. "Your medication will be changed again; you're starting to hallucinate."
What followed lasted a short time. Or lasted an eternity. The time inside that room had folded in on itself, and I existed somewhere between the beginning and the end of a tension I had created myself since I walked through the door. With a single movement, I took the phone and put it back on the hook. I just wanted him to pay attention when I spoke to him, was that so difficult?
Why could he never listen? Why did the last word always have to be his?
"Why did you do this?" I said, choking on the words. "Why me? Why wasn't it enough to watch my mother and my sister die in front of me, you needed me to live with it in a part of my brain? Hidden away as if I were your goddamn safe?"
Silence. Heavier. More permanent.
"ANSWER ME!" I slammed along with the shout on his desk. Our gazes were locked; my father was now swallowing hard. "Why me, father? What did I do so wrong, when I could barely read, that made you decide it was a good idea to condemn my fate like this?"
I stood still, feeling my eyes burn. The same red as always stained my vision and made it blurry like a smear. The same texture I knew from another moment, another place, now like waves in place of consciousness.
"I had a brilliant future planned for you, an absolute certainty that you were born to be more than that house, that island. This entire world would have been too small for you, Noah." he explained, calm. He kept a tranquil, didactic tone of voice, like a teacher.
My brow furrowed, confused.
"But you would never have reached half of that if you had kept being that immaculate stone your mother intended you to be. I needed to prepare you for the world, I needed to make you strong, I needed you to grow up and learn how being a real man would save you from being a failure like your mother. She wasn't like us, Noah. She had no potential, she was weak, without resilience, without a firm pulse. She had barely learned how to conduct herself in high society, and that had been staining our name with some frequency." The way he said it was unsettling, and my eyes burned even more. "I kept you from having a future full of failures by putting an end to that in time to prepare you for what was still to come."
"That was the life you had planned for me? That was the brilliant future I deserved to have?"
I shouted with another slap on the desk, holding his gaze. My voice was trembling, I had lost control and was breathless when I needed to have more composure and confidence.
"Being locked in this place that barely has clean water to drink, in a dirty cell with no natural light, with a chain around my feet as if I were an animal. I don't know how old I am, I didn't finish my studies, I didn't marry the woman I love and I'll never have my body functioning normally again. All of this because you thought you knew what was best for me? What the hell is wrong with me?"
I demanded, anguished.
"FATHER, LOOK AT ME!" I screamed, letting the tears run down my face. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"
"Just so you can see how my effort was in vain, Noah," he lamented. "Even keeping you away from her, allowing your mind to repress the trauma so you could live a normal life and follow the future I envisioned, it had no effect whatsoever. Because I could have wrapped you in gold and the most solid and efficient upbringing, but nothing would have been able to fix the imperfect son who was born to be."
A nausea settled at the top of my throat.
"You ruined everything you had going for you when you let yourself be taken in by that whore."
"SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH!"
"WEAK!" He screamed.
Through my peripheral vision, I saw my father move his hand slowly across the desk; he was trying to reach the marble Venus statue at the edge of the table.
His body was leaning further forward in the chair; he was no longer in as defensive a position as he had been at the start of our conversation, and I needed to think fast, if my headache would allow, but I was certain he was going to strike me.
"But I really did deserve all of this, Noah." He nodded in agreement, wiping his lips with a wet tongue. "I had Travis at my disposal; he, from a young age, showed himself to be an excellent successor. Rune was focused, selfish, had concrete ideals and desires, and the lack of opportunities he had made him commit the most absurd maneuvers to get what he wanted. He always had everything you never had."
"But you couldn't value him enough because he was the maid's son."
"Because a bastard would be bad for my image, but I should never have wasted time trying to fix you like a damned old car in a workshop, building a less sick mind in that despicable body of yours instead of simply giving him the opportunity he always deserved."
I swallowed hard.
"But he keeps trying, doesn't he?" he asked.
My attention was still fixed on the silent movement of his hand across the desk.
"I can bet that the moment you were at the perfect point to finish executing his plan, suddenly Travis decided it was time for you to stop being a caged monster."
"He wants me to get better."
Steven let out a laugh so loud he nearly lost his balance.
"But who said it's possible to undo everything the two of us did to you over all these years, Noah?" He asked in a tone of challenge. "I started all of this and you're right, but Dr. Rune allowed you to keep being drugged, imprisoned, reevaluated in exploratory tests to make money from the research he keeps abroad. What use would you be to him dead if you hadn't yet done everything he wanted you to do, dirtying his hands in his place? As I said… he was always so much smarter than you."
My father's hand finally reached the statue. I saw the movement before I processed it, a reflex faster than any conscious thought. The marble cut through the air with a dull whistle, and I dodged by instinct, feeling the weight pass close to the side of my head. The world stopped for one entire second. Then came back with violence. It wasn't a decision, but a floodgate giving way after too much pressure during that conversation.
My body acted before any rational part of me could intervene, and the rational part was already so diluted by the substance in my veins that it barely existed as a concept. He tried to step back, but the desk was behind him.
I don't remember everything that happened between one moment and the next. Memory kept fragments: the sound of the chair toppling, the smell of cigar mixed with something warm, the reflection of the lamp on the marble that was now in my hands and the first blow that struck him full on with a force so absolute that it drew an immediate mouthful of blood.
The silence that followed was unlike any I had ever known. My father was on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood so dark it resembled oil. His face was disfigured, with parts of what had once been his eyes, the cartilage of his nose and the cupid's bow of his lips enveloped in deformity. Only his dental arch with broken teeth and the spilled blood remained. All the fury that had been eating me alive had been unleashed against each blow to his face.
For my mother, for Cianan, for me. Every day he had forced me to separate myself from the image of being human and accept being seen and treated as a lab animal. Every twisted lesson he believed would make me a sadistic executioner with a putrid soul like his.
He had destroyed my life forever.
I stood still, breathing heavily, my arms aching from an effort I had barely registered. The lamp was still on, casting shadows in the same places as always, as if nothing had changed in the geometry of that room. I looked at my hands.
The red was the same as always. The texture, the metallic smell rising through the air with a familiarity I wished I didn't have. I dropped the marble. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed like a period at the end of a sentence.
The door opened without knocking.
I didn't even need to hear the footsteps to know who it was. I recognized their rhythm, cadenced, precise, without any hurry. Rune stood in the doorway for a moment.
His eyes swept the room with an expression that showed not a single drop of surprise. His glasses reflected the faint light of the lamp. Hands in the pockets of his coat. No expression on his face, no start, no reaction that wasn't completely calculated.
There was something else in him. Something that took me a few seconds to identify because I had never seen it before at the corners of his mouth, in his breathing slightly looser than usual.
Relief.
He walked in slowly, stepping around what was on the floor without looking away from it, only registering, the way a doctor registers an expected symptom. He sat in the chair on the other side of the desk with the naturalness of someone occupying a place that had always been theirs.
He stared at me.
"What a mess you made in here, didn't you?" He raised his eyebrows.
I was completely confused, with an intense headache; a sequence of voices and flashes seemed to flood my brain like a current of water.
Sitting on the floor, I hugged my knees and put my head between them, as if staring at the ground could help me regain control over my human actions.
"I figured it would take a little longer." he said, his voice low, almost casual.
"I didn't want to do this… I…" torment clouded my vision.
"I think you need to rest and clear your head; then, we can talk about how things will go from here on out. Can we agree on that?" Rune asked, resting one arm on the desk.
His tone of voice conveyed an almost tangible empathy. Welcoming.
"A-alright." I said, getting up from the floor.
I brushed invisible dust off my pants, wiped beneath my eyes a liquid that was about to dry. My brow furrowed immediately when I saw him pick up the phone and put it to his ear after dialing a few numbers, a smile on his face.
"Code 6875 - central," he said without taking his eyes off me. "Patient Noah Blackridge escaped from his ward in the Hidden and has just brutally murdered director Steven. I need containment and removal immediately."
My body went paralyzed, and he flashed a sadistic smile that revealed nearly every tooth in his jaw. I was unable to move, and I attributed that to what he was registering on his wristwatch.
"Thank you for your help up until now, Noah… I promise to take good care of you for the rest of your life at Grimshade."
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Noah chants beneath his breath with every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, each deep stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He’s faltering now, every movement edging him nearer to his climax. When you gaze up, you catch the beautiful sight of him in the mirror ahead of you—Noah behind you, your ass raised, chest pressed down into the bed.
Your mouth hangs open, soft moans spilling between plump lips. The sharp slap of his hand against your ass draws a yelp, quickly followed by the rough kneading of his large palm, and then another swat.
“I’m gonna fill you, baby,” he grunts. “Fill you up nice and good. Make your pretty little pussy all mine.”
His hips quicken as he slams into you from behind, each thrust making your fingers tighten around the sheets, your eyes rolling back as moans of pleasure pour from your lips. He’s pulling you apart bit by bit, unraveling you around him, and you feel the final thread snap, dragging him over the edge with you.
Noah leans down, pressing his forehead to your back as a shuddering whine slips past his lips. He grips you tightly through the wave of his climax, hips jerking erratically as he falls apart inside you. There’s nothing you love more than this, the way he breaks, the heavy throb of his cock, the way he presses as deep as possible, warmth flooding you with every spurt of cum.
It takes a moment for the wave to fully wash over him, for both of you to come back to yourselves. When he finally does, he slowly draws himself back.
You shudder as he slips out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whine as you clench around nothing, determined to keep his cum inside despite the way you feel it slowly leaking, a sticky, warm mess trailing along your cunt and down your thighs.
“God,” he mutters, leaning back to admire the mess spilling from you. “Your pussy looks so pretty when it’s filled with my cum,” he coos.
At his sudden, unexpected touch, you let out a moan, leaning back into it as Noah watches his tattooed fingers drag between your folds, collecting the cum leaking from you, mixed with your own. Your hips buck as you try to press back against his fingers, but he pulls them away, bringing them to his mouth.
Slowly, deliberately, he rubs his fingers over his lips, coating them in the blend of your juices. In the mirror, you watch as he taunts you, a quivering moan slipping past your lips while you press back against his still half hard cock, grinding along his shaft, aching to feel him inside you again.
“Noah, please…” you beg, gasping, but all he does is smirk, slipping his tongue out to lick over his fingers, an audible groan leaving him at the taste of you coating them.
“You want more?” he asks, hazy eyes fixed on your reflection as his hand glides up to your waist, guiding your rhythmic, desperate grinding against him.
“Yes…” you breathe, doing your best to keep your eyes on him in the mirror. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, desperate for more, desperate for him. As he reaches a hand down, he grips his cock and guides himself, rubbing the mushroomed tip between your folds, teasing it back and forth until he tilts his hips forward and you press back, meeting him.
He gasps and his other hand moves to your waist, gripping you firmly as he holds you still. A soft, trembling “fuck…” slips from him, a shiver rippling through his body at the sensation—his cock still sensitive as it’s squeezed between your tight, needy walls, feeling you clench and drag him deeper.
Holding you in place, his thumbs rub at the divot in your lower back, grounding both of you. Leaning over you, he crowds you easily, teeth grazing your jaw as you tilt your head back to give him more access.
“I want you to make yourself cum over my cock,” he urges, and you already know you’ll do anything for him. Your body quivers with pleasure, eyes fluttering as you try to keep them fixed on him in the mirror. His teeth nip between kisses along your jaw as you reach a hand beneath you, slipping it between your thighs.
You find your clit easily, met with the slickness of his cum mixed with your own wetness, circling the sensitive nub as you squeeze around his cock. Noah groans against your jaw, his head pressing close to yours as his hands settle at your hips, keeping you in place while he grinds into you—the drag of his cock between your walls encouraging every slow, desperate movement of your fingers.
The pleasure builds quickly now, rising with dizzying intensity. Turning your head, your mouth meets his in the best kiss you can offer—sloppy, heated, hungry, moaning into each other’s mouths as he continues to grind, using your cunt as his own personal fleshlight, working you like a fuckdoll.
You feel him twitch inside you, the stutter in his movements as he’s edged closer. Your cunt squeezes around him again, recognizing the signs, urging him, needing him to cum with you, to cum inside you and fill you all over again.
He doesn’t disappoint. His movements stay steady until you feel it, the shuddering, dizzying climax crashing over you, soaking him and your fingers. His hips jerk as his cock pulses inside you, spurting hot ropes of cum deep into you, filling you once more as his hips press flush to yours, pinning you beneath him.
Chest heaving, he drops his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, leaving faint kisses wherever his mouth brushes. He clings to you for just a moment longer as your body sinks into the mattress, the slightest movement making your walls flutter around his twitching cock in your shared, oversensitive state.
December 2nd ❤️🩹 The Quiet Battles We Don’t Talk About
Perfectionism [9/15]
I chose this one today because December tends to wake the perfectionist in people. Deadlines, expectations, comparison, the pressure to finish the year strong. I see it in the messages I get, in the tone people use when they talk about themselves, in the way they apologize for not being enough while they are already carrying more than most.
Perfectionism is not about wanting things to be good. It is about being terrified of the moment they aren’t. It is about tying your worth to your performance, about thinking one small mistake erases everything you’ve done right. Most people who struggle with perfectionism are not demanding, they are scared. Scared of disappointing, scared of being seen in their humanity, scared that ease is something they must earn.
So today is for you, the one who tries too hard without ever calling it effort.
Start gently, not perfectly
[] Name one thing you did well today. To break perfectionism you must train your brain to notice success, not only failure.
[] Do one task at 80 percent instead of 110. Letting something be “good enough” teaches your nervous system that the world does not end if you stop polishing.
[] Take a five minute pause with no productivity attached. Perfectionists fear stillness because they tie worth to output. This pause separates your value from your performance.
[] Write one sentence: “I am allowed to be human”. It interrupts the automatic self criticism and gives you permission to exist without earning it.
[] Put away one tiny thing that has bothered you for days. A small victory against chaos reminds your mind that progress does not require perfection.
For the ones who want more
[] Choose one thing to leave imperfect on purpose. This rewires your tolerance for mistakes while staying safe.
[] Ask someone for help or clarification. Perfectionists avoid asking because it feels like failure. This step weakens that belief.
[] Stop when your body says stop and not when the task is flawless. This teaches you to prioritize yourself over the performance.
Motivation of the day
Perfection never loved you back. Progress will. Let today be the day you loosen your grip and remember that you do not need to be flawless to deserve peace.
Next in this series
Tomorrow I move into Need for Grounding, how to return to yourself when your mind drifts too far ahead or too far back.
Limits
Michael Taylor x OC
Chapter One
Word Count: 3881
Warnings: 18+. Minors do not interact. Rough sex, sub/dom dynamics, consensual sex (always), heavy smut, explicit language.
Taglist: @concretejunglefm, @lacy1986
Chapter One
His tattooed hands traced lines on my body as if to memorize every inch of my flesh as we laid naked under the covers of his bed. My head rested on his chest as my fingertips lazily traced over the many lines that covered his skin, smiling to myself at how normal all of this felt. He moved slightly underneath me as the light of the moon peaked through the blinds, and our bodies stuck together with leftover sweat from the sex we had earlier.
I knew this routine of ours would end as it always does. I would slip into the pajamas that I wore to his room last night after leaving my own bed a few doors down in this massive house we shared with some of our most cherished friends, and I would go on about my day as if nothing happened, and he would ultimately do the same. Today was no different.
I sighed silently to myself as I softly got out of his bed and slipped on the black satin dress and hastily made way back to my own room before anyone else was awake. I closed my door softly and clicked the lock, wanting a few moments to myself.
I hopped in my shower and let the water wash away the scent of his cologne, scrubbing my skin red to rid myself of any remaining evidence of his touch, even though the memories would be burned in my brain forever.
The feeling of his hands pinning me down on his bed. The feeling of his mouth on mine, kissing me with force that screamed of hunger and desire; need. The feeling of him inside of me, making my walls clench and ache as he moved roughly, forcefully. The feeling of his hands over my mouth to keep me from making any noticeable sounds so that our other roommates would remain clueless as to what was going on behind closed doors, even though we both knew that they had their suspicions.
I despised the routine we had, and I hated feeling the need to hide what we already knew would eventually surface. I also hated that this love was a one-way street. He and I would never happen. I screamed internally at myself for thinking that he could ever feel the same way, and yet, I still held on to the small glimmer of hope that maybe one day, he would. No one could blame me for that, as we’ve been doing this pattern for weeks now; hooking up and playing dumb. It’s what we both did best. There would never be any real harm in it, we both knew that this was temporary, no feelings and no strings attached, even if we never discussed the logistics.
My fingers tenderly touched the marks he left on my shoulder with his teeth, and I smiled as I reminisced him inside of me, gripping onto me as if I was some sort of lifeline, marking me as his own. His guilty pleasure that we would never discuss, nor ever talk about, even between the sheets laying naked next to each other, exposed completely bare, but not bare enough to share our darkness, our desires, and our secrets. I was his good time girl; nothing less, and most certainly nothing more.
I crawled into my own sheets feeling empty. No body to hold onto. Just me, myself, and my unrequited love for Noah. Dreams of him filled my sleep, and I tossed and turned to no end, waking up just as the sun was about to rise.
Then I heard it. The sound of a soft guitar on the other side of my wall that I shared with Michael. I got lost in the melody, my body inching closer to the wall so that I could get a better feel for the music. I loved hearing him play, especially when he thought that everyone else was asleep and wouldn’t hear him.
Then I heard his voice. Soft, melodic, pristine. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply, taking it all in. My alarm went off and I jumped from my spot on the floor to turn it off, knocking over a plant in the process.
“Shit,” I muttered as I scooped up dirt and debris from the floor. A soft knock on the other side of the wall gave me away.
“You know, if you want to listen, you can just come into my room,” he spoke from the other side of the wall. “No need to be sneaky about it,” he laughed softly.
I didn’t move, stunned at what had just happened. “I was not sneaking,” I muttered to myself.
He continued playing and sang softer this time, and my heart fluttered at the sound.
I always liked Michael, but the fact that he was Noah’s best friend made him entirely off limits.
I sat on my bed and drew in my sketchbook, when my phone buzzed next to me.
“I’m going to have someone over tonight. Might be better for you to stay in the basement,” Noah’s text read.
I was dumbfounded; shocked. “What?” I whispered aloud. It was only a few hours ago that I was in that bed, underneath him, on top of him, and on my knees in front of him with his cock in my mouth, and he somehow found the time to text someone else to have instead? The tears welled in my eyes and landed on the fresh ink on my sketchbook, smearing the art I drew.
“Damn it!” I cried. “Fucking damn it!” I could care less if he heard me. I wanted him to hear me. I wanted him to hear me break.
A soft knock on my door made me wipe the tears away quickly. “Not now,” I called out.
“I made you tea,” Ashley whispered from the other side of the door. “Let me in? Please?” She was the only other girl in this house, and we stuck together like glue. She was the only person that knew of the situation that Noah and I were in.
“Fine, come in,” I muttered. She closed the door softly behind her.
“What happened last night? Because it sounded…” she stopped when she noticed the tears on my face. “Oh, babe.” She sat the cup down on my bedside table and sat down next to me.
“I hate him,” I whispered. “I fucking hate him.”
“What did he do? Did he hurt you?” She looked at me with worry and concern.
“He is having a fucking girl over later. He fucking texted it to me a few minutes ago. He’s such a dick.”
“He did not,” she shook her head and furrowed her brows. “He wouldn’t!”
I sighed and showed her my phone with the text. Her jaw dropped as she read it.
“Fucking text him back, right now. You’re having someone over, too,” she smirked.
“Who? Because the only other guy I can think of is off limits.”
“Betty, you have to hit low. Hit him where it hurts. He deserves it. Text the guy!”
“What if the guy is Mike?” I grimaced as I waited for her reaction. Ashley did nothing but shove my phone closer to me.
“Text him.”
I knew she was right, but it still felt forbidden. She left my room, leaving me with my thoughts.
I wouldn’t text him, no. I would be more direct than that.
I pulled on a pair of high waisted shorts and a cropped Chief sweatshirt that I had, and walked over to his door that was still closed. I knocked softly, and when I heard him say “come in,” my heart started pounding in my chest. I opened the door and when I saw his shirtless frame and his basketball shorts with a notebook and a guitar on his bed, my heart started beating faster.
“Hi,” I whispered. “Look, I’m sorry for listening through the wall earlier. I just… it was good. What you were working on. It’s good,” I smiled softly.
“You’re good, promise,” he smiled at me. “Do you want to maybe, uh, help me out? You’re good to bounce ideas off of.”
“Yeah, I’ll help,” I smiled. He moved his guitar over and motioned for me to sit next to him on his bed. My movements were slow. This was nothing new, but it felt foreign now. I read the lyrics he had written in the notebook, the notes scribbled between them, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Mind if I give it a go?”
The day was spent in his room writing music, laughing, and losing track of time.
“Do you wanna get lunch or something?” He asked. “We can go to the beach or something.”
“It’s freezing out,” I laughed.
“Oh come on, Midwest, you and I both know we are made for the cold.” He laughed. “Come on, go get ready,” he smiled at me.
“I will only need a few minutes,” I smiled and I sauntered out of his room and bumped into Noah in the hall. I glared at him as I slipped into my room and closed the door behind me. I grabbed my purse and a pair of slides and headed down the stairs.
“Okay, what’s going on,” Jesse confronted me in the kitchen.
“I do not know what you’re talking about,” I stated firmly.
“Noah and I share a wall, babes,” he smirked at me. “I did not think Noah was the ‘daddy’ type.”
I froze and stared at him like a dear in headlights.
“Relax, I won’t tell anyone. You’re good.”
“Please, don’t tell anyone,” I begged, my voice shaky. “Plus, that’s over.”
“Wait, what?” He asked, obviously shocked.
“Don’t. Please, don’t,” I sighed. “It’s done.”
“Hey, are you ready to go?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I smiled as I grabbed my water bottle and waved bye to Jesse.
The drive to the beach was quiet, Death Cab playing softly over the speakers in his car. “You do know that I know, right?”
“What are you referring to, exactly?”
“You and Noah. I know what’s going on. Betty, I am warning you, it’s better to avoid him right now. He’s not in a good spot.”
“How did… why do you care about that?”
“You two suck at lying. And I care because I ultimately care about you,” he whispered and reached his hand over the center console and grabbed my hand. “You are worthy of more. And I am saying this as not only his best friend, but as yours too. You deserve better.”
“Thank you,” I whispered and grabbed his hand tightly.
We stopped at In-N-Out on the way to the beach and ate by the ocean, splashing in the waves occasionally. We stayed until sunset and headed back. The drive was spent laughing, sharing memories, and talking about music.
When we pulled into the driveway, my heart began to sink, and Michael picked up on the shift. “We can wait out here a little bit more if you need to,” his voice was soft as he spoke.
I groaned, “I really don’t want to think about him right now, but all I can think about is that he’s probably fucking her brains out right now. And knowing him, she’s probably fucking gorgeous.”
“Elizabeth,” he muttered, “are you actually jealous?”
“No!” I yelled a little too loudly than intended, causing him to smirk. “No. I just, I’m angry, I’m hurt, and I fucking hate him and I want to wreck his car!”
“Don’t wreck his car. You could easily do worse than that.”
“Oh yeah? Like what exactly?” I asked, my voice laced with anger and annoyance. He laughed softly and slowly reached for my neck and pulled me close to him, a gentle touch but filled with desire and longing. Our lips met, and I felt the weight lift off of my shoulders. His lips were soft against mine, and grew hungry as we collided over and over, my hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck. He pulled away and sighed softly against my neck.
“You could fuck his best friend.” He whispered the words so matter of factly that I was too stunned to speak, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the words. As he pulled away, my eyes scanned his face for any sign on sarcasm or a crude joke, but all I could find was the honest words of an even more honest man.
“I, um…” I wracked my brain for the right words, but the way he looked at me gave me a feeling that I haven’t felt in a very long time. My brain was void as he stared at me, watching my mouth open slightly and the soft smile that was plastered on his face as my cheeks burned red. When he traced my jawline with a calloused finger, my stomach filled with butterflies.
“I hope you know I meant me,” he chuckled softly. “I mean, I like you. But if you’re not ready, that’s okay, too. I’ve waited months to kiss you. I can wait a few more for all of you,” he whispered, his eyes still scanning my face as if to memorize this moment.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I whispered.
“Well, I make you knock over plants when you eavesdrop, and I make you blush, and I’m pretty sure that if you allow me to kiss you again, you won’t be able to stop based on the look in your eyes. I make you nervous.”
“You’re not wrong,” I blushed harder, feeling overly exposed.
“Then let’s go inside, yeah?” He was out of the car before I could even respond, and he opened my door for me and held a hand out to help me out of the car. He rested his hand on the small of my back as we walked into the house. “Hello?” He called out, and when no one responded after a few seconds, he pressed his lips against mine, his hands gripping my body close to him.
The kiss was demanding, rougher than before, and his hands travelled lower and lower until he roughly grabbed my ass, causing me to gasp, He took advantage of that, and gently bit my bottom lip. “Mikey,” I whispered when he pulled away and rested his forehead against mine, as we both tried to catch our breaths.
“Upstairs?” He asked.
“Uh huh,” I nodded. He grabbed my hand and we quickly walked up the stairs and into his bedroom.
“I want to make sure that you want this, and that you’re happy with this,” he stated as he sat on his bed. “If you’re hesitant, we don’t have to. We can literally just hang out, watch a movie, and sleep. I’m fine with that. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
My heart fluttered at his words, and I felt seen. I slowly walked up to him and positioned myself over him, straddling him. I rested my arms on his shoulders as I looked down at him, our eyes glued to each other. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you,” I whispered, my eyes taking in every feature of his face. “I want this. I want you. I want to make love to you if you’d let me.”
He grabbed my waist and fell back onto the bed so that I was straddling him fully now. My hands played with his hair as our lips and tongues collided in hunger and desire. I lifted myself off of him and pulled my shirt over my head and threw it onto the floor. His eyes locked onto my bare chest, admiring me.
“Do you know how absolutely beautiful you are?” He perched himself onto his elbows as his eyes travelled over my body. “You’re perfection.” All I could do is stare at him. Noah never called me beautiful, and hearing those words from Michael sent my brain into overdrive. I felt his hands on the button of my shorts. “Can I take these off?” His voice was soft and careful. When I nodded, he tilted his head at me. “I need words, baby.”
“You take off your shirt first,” I whispered. He sat up and stripped the shirt off of his body. He was fit. Fitter than I expected him to be. His chest was built, his arms muscular, and his stomach was incredibly toned. “Fuck,” the word was so quiet, but he heard it and smirked. My hands travelled over his bare chest, feeling every muscle and the heat of his skin. I pressed my lips to his shoulders and his neck as my hands worked on undoing his jeans.
“Easy, baby. I don’t want to rush this,” he paused my hands. “You take those off, and I won’t be able to control myself.”
“As in?” I whispered against his neck.
“As in, I won’t be able to take my time with you. And I want to take my time. I want to admire you more.” He lifted me off of him with delicate ease and made me stand in front of him. He licked his lips and stared up at me as his fingers once again found the button on my jeans.
“Yes,” I whispered, and he carefully undid them, pulling he zipper down slowly, and pulled them off of me. I heard his breath hitch when he saw my black satin thong that barely contained my folds.
“Elizabeth, you are something else,” he whispered. He didn’t ask for permission this time, but he didn’t have to. I was his now. He grabbed the thin band over my hip in his teeth and pulled them down, his hands on my thighs, gripping and grabbing me gently. “Your landing strip is cute,” he whispered, a smile on his face as he stared at my core. He guided me back onto his bed, and I watched as he took off his jeans and his underwear, and I gasped at his size.
“Oh, wow,” I stared at his length. “Fucking hell.” I didn’t want to think about Noah, but the fact that Michael was not only longer, but also thicker, was more than satisfying enough already. The tip of his cock was already gleaming with pre-cum, and I wanted nothing more than to taste him. I got on my knees in front of him, and wrapped my hands around his length. “May I?” I asked as I looked up at him into his eyes. He was already lost in the sight of me. He grabbed his dick and placed the tip on my lips, and I parted them and slowly took him deep into my mouth. I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, and he muttered an apology and pulled back a bit, but when I grabbed the back of his thighs and pulled him closer, he lost any ounce of control he had left.
His hands grabbed the back of my head, bunching my hair in his hands as he fucked my mouth. “You are such a good girl, Betty. Such a good fucking girl,” he growled. “Taking me so well. So fucking perfect. You feel so fucking good. Yeah, keep gagging around me. So fucking sexy, baby,” he praised me. I locked eyes with him, my mascara running down my face as he got rougher and rougher, but still somehow managing to be gentle. I moaned around him as I felt him harden even more, and I knew he was close. He pulled back before he could climax and lifted my chin to look into my eyes. He helped me up and gently placed me onto the bed. “Are you good?” He asked me gently and wiped off some of the mascara stains on my face.
“I’m good,” I nodded at him as he climbed on top of me. “I’m really good.”
“You’re about to be even better,” he smirked. He grabbed a condom from his bedside table and slipped it on quickly. I stared into his eyes as he lined himself up with my entrance. “If at any point you feel like you have to stop, tell me. No hard feelings.”
“Please, Michael,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around his torso, my nails gently scratching his back. “I want you. Please.”
“I never said you had to beg, but it’s cute when you do,” he smiled. He softly pressed against me, my walls stretching around him.
“Fuck, you’re big,” I whispered.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby. You tell me what you need, okay?” He softly stroked my cheek with his thumb and kissed my forehead. “I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”
“Keep going,” I whispered. I felt him push himself deeper into me, and my walls ached at his size. “Oh my god,” I moaned. Just when I thought he was all the way in, he pushed in more. I looked down to where our bodies connected, and I couldn’t look away. Watching him fill me with his length and feeling my walls stretch was enough.
“I’m so proud of you already, darling,” he whispered.
He grabbed my face gently and locked eyes with me, and then slowly moved my legs onto his shoulders. My eyes rolled into the back of my head in bliss as he moved in and out of me, the pace starting off slow and gentle, but got rougher and faster as my core gave into him. “You are so fucking beautiful, baby. Holy shit you’re fucking perfect,” his breaths were uneven and raspy. I grabbed onto his arms as he bent down to kiss me.
“Michael, I’m so fucking close,” I moaned.
“Hold on a little longer for me, Betty, please,” he gasped between thrusts. His moans got louder as he felt me tighten around him, and I felt his movements stutter as he got closer and closer to orgasm. “Come on, baby, come for me. Now,” he demanded. He thrusted harder and faster as I came all over his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he moaned and pulled out of me and ripped the condom off as he came, coating me in his flavor. He grabbed his shirt and wiped me clean, as best as he could, and laid down next to me. I rested my head on his chest as he played with my hair.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I whispered as I traced lines on his chest and stomach. “Definitely worth the wait.”
“Guarantee you, I’ve waited nearly just as long. And I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” his voice was rough.
“I loved every second of it,” I smiled and looked up at him. “It was perfect.”
“I would have loved to take more time to explore you, but it was pretty perfect,” he smiled.
“You have all the time in the world to explore me,” I promised him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good, because I’m never letting you go,” he kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms tightly around me, the sound of his beating heart lulling me to sleep.
November 18th ❤️🩹 When You Feel Like Too Much or Not Enough
Low Self-Worth Moments [7/15]
There are days when the mirror feels sharp, when your thoughts turn against you, and when every mistake feels heavier than it should. Low self-worth doesn’t always look like sadness, sometimes it looks like silence. Like pulling back from people you care about. Like convincing yourself that others deserve more than you. Like believing you’re too much, too emotional, too complicated… or on other days, not enough, not interesting, not lovable.
I chose this topic today because I’ve seen how many people fight this battle quietly. They carry themselves with strength on the outside while privately wondering if they matter at all. And the truth is simple: the harshest voice in your life is often your own. But that voice is not the truth, it’s a reaction to exhaustion, hurt, and expectations you were never meant to meet. You don’t need to become “more.” You need to stop believing you are less.
Let’s rebuild your sense of worth, gently and honestly
[] Start your day by naming one thing you did well recently. Small counts. You’re training your mind to see reality, not fear.
[] Write down one negative belief about yourself, then write one sentence that challenges it.
[] Look in the mirror for ten seconds, not to judge, but to recognize yourself as a person who deserves kindness.
[] Do one small act of self-respect today, dressing with intention, cleaning your space, making a nourishing meal.
[] Speak to yourself the way you would speak to someone you love. Replace one harsh thought with something human and true.
[] Limit comparison today. Don’t scroll through someone else’s life when you’re struggling with your own.
[] Before bed, whisper: “I am not defined by today’s thoughts.”
If you want to go deeper
[] Ask yourself where the feeling of “not enough” comes from. A memory? A voice? A past wound? Naming it takes away its authority.
[] Write a short list of things you bring into the world, compassion, creativity, humor, loyalty. These are worth more than perfection.
[] Tell one person something honest about how you feel, even if it’s small. Connection dissolves shame.
Motivation of the day
Your worth isn’t something you earn, it’s something you already have. Even if your mind forgets it, your existence is enough. You don’t need to be perfect to matter. You only need to keep showing up as yourself.
Next in the series:
Tomorrow i’ll talk about Cycle-Related Mood Shifts, the emotional storms that come with hormonal changes and why they don’t make you weak, they make you human.
your first time with him was supposed to be slow and careful—but tenderness turned to need, need turned to honesty, and honesty left you tangled in his sheets, learning exactly how it feels to be wanted in every possible way.
cw: explicit smut, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex (discussed + consensual), creampie implications, praise, soft dominance, emotional vulnerability, future-talk, intense intimacy. if i missed anything let me know.
You didn’t expect tonight to turn into anything more than a quiet evening.
You were curled up with him on the sofa, your legs stretched across his lap while he absent-mindedly traced patterns on your thigh. He looked soft and warm in the lamplight—hoodie draped over broad shoulders, hair slightly messy from running his hands through it, the relaxed version of him that only appeared behind closed doors.
His hand rested on your leg with a familiarity that made your chest tighten. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just comfortable. Just his way of reaching for you without thinking.
After a while, he shifted a little, turning so he could actually look at you. His expression had changed—quiet, but not tired. Something careful. Something warm.
“I don’t want to go anywhere tonight,” he said softly, voice low.
“You weren’t planning to,” you teased lightly.
He let out a soft breath of a laugh. “No… I mean I want this. Just you. Just being here with you.”
The warmth pooled low in your stomach, slow and steady. His fingers slid a little higher on your thigh — gentle, deliberate—and your breath hitched before you could stop it.
His eyes flicked up instantly.
“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.
You nodded.
He brushed a knuckle over your cheek, thumb lingering near your chin, his voice quieter now. “Can I touch you tonight? Properly?”
Your heart stopped for a beat.
You’d talked about it before—the boundaries, the nerves, taking things slow. He’d never pushed, never hinted, never begged. Just waited. Patience woven into every step of your relationship.
“Yes,” you breathed. “I… want that.”
His eyes softened so much it almost hurt.
“You’re sure?” he asked, thumb stroking your jaw.
“Yes,” you whispered again. “I’m sure.”
He kissed you—slow, warm, gentle. The kind of kiss that made everything else dissolve. One hand slid into your hair while the other steadied your waist, guiding you into his lap without breaking the kiss.
Straddling him, you felt the shift immediately: the heat of his hands, the firm press of his body beneath you, the low sound he made when you settled against him.
He froze when your breath caught.
“Too fast?” he murmured, breath warm against your lips.
“No,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over the back of his neck. “Not too fast.”
He groaned softly—the kind of sound he never made around anyone else.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice deepening. “You drive me insane.”
You rolled your hips instinctively, testing, feeling him harden beneath you. His head fell back slightly, breath hitching as his hands tightened on your hips.
“Oh—sweetheart—” he breathed. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna embarrass myself.”
You laughed softly, kissing his jaw. “I like that you want me that much.”
“Want you?” His grip tightened just enough to ground himself. “I’ve been trying not to think about this every night since we started dating.”
The admission sent heat through your chest.
He tugged gently at the hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off you?”
“Yes.”
He lifted it slowly, like he was savouring every second your skin was revealed. When you were bare from the waist up, his breath caught as though he’d forgotten how to inhale.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss along your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the swell of your chest—slow, careful, reverent. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
His hands cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples until your breath stuttered. He kissed your neck again, murmuring between each touch:
“Tell me what feels good.”
“Tell me if you want more.”
“I want this to be perfect for you.”
You tugged at his hoodie, and he let you lift it off him. You ran your hands over his warm skin, the relaxed muscle, the faint shiver he couldn’t hide when your fingers traced down his stomach.
His hand slipped between your thighs.
“Can I touch you here?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” you breathed.
His fingers pressed softly against you through your leggings, finding heat and dampness instantly. You gasped, clutching his shoulders.
“You’re already so wet,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Let me see you.”
You nodded.
He slid your leggings down slowly, kissing each inch of exposed skin as it appeared—the back of your knee, the inside of your thigh, the softest parts of you. His hands were steady, patient, giving you every second to breathe.
When you were bare beneath him, he looked up at you with a hunger so gentle it made your heart ache.
“Tell me to stop if you want,” he murmured. “Anytime.”
“I won’t.”
His mouth met you.
The first slow lick pulled a gasp straight from your chest, your back arching instinctively. He groaned softly at your reaction—a low, warm sound that vibrated through you.
His hands held your thighs tenderly open, thumbs stroking soothing circles as he explored you with his tongue—slow, warm, patient pressure that made your pulse stutter.
When he found the exact spot that made your hips jolt, he moaned against you, gripping just a little tighter.
“There,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “That’s it.”
Your fingers slid into his hair, and he groaned again, leaning deeper, hungrier, licking you like he’d been dreaming of it. Every sound you made pushed him further, made him shake a little, made him devour you with slow, devastating precision.
“You taste so good,” he whispered before sinking his mouth back onto you. “Give me more.”
It built fast. Too fast.
He felt it.
Your thighs trembled. Your breath broke. Your hips rocked against his face.
“It’s okay,” he breathed against you, voice thin with need. “Let go—let me feel you fall apart.”
One more slow, perfect curl of his tongue and the orgasm hit you hard—shaking, breathless, gripping his hair as he held you through every wave, licking gently until you finally slumped back against the cushions, dizzy and warm.
When he lifted his head, his lips were flushed and parted, breath unsteady.
You were still catching your breath when he said it—“Come here.”
His voice wasn’t commanding, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was something in between, something warm and raw, pulled straight from his chest.
You climbed into his lap again, legs trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He steadied you instantly, hands warm on your waist, pulling you close like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his.
He kissed you hard—not rushed, but hungry, tasting you on his lips. You could feel him beneath you, thick and painfully hard through his sweatpants. When you shifted even slightly, his breath caught and he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, trying to collect himself.
“Baby,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I need to be inside you so bad I can barely think.”
Heat rushed through your whole body.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, pupils blown wide, expression soft but desperate.
“Do you still want more?”
“Yes,” you murmured without hesitation.
His lips parted, relief and hunger mixing in his expression like he wasn’t sure which feeling would win. He kissed you again, slower this time, hands sliding down your hips, your thighs, like he wanted to feel every inch of you before anything else happened.
“Then we’re going to my room,” he breathed, standing and lifting you effortlessly—hands under your thighs, your body pressed against his. “Hold on.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him as he carried you down the hall. Your skin brushed his chest with every step, and his breath kept catching like he was fighting the urge to pin you to the nearest wall and take you right there.
He nudged his bedroom door open with his foot, set you gently on the bed, and paused—just for a moment—to take you in.
His chest rose and fell quickly. His hands flexed at his sides like he was trying not to grab you too roughly.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said softly, almost like it hurt him to say it out loud.
You reached for the drawstring of his sweatpants, but he shook his head.
“Let me,” he whispered, voice low.
He pushed them down, along with his boxers, and freed himself—thick, flushed, heavy, the tip already wet as he watched you watching him. You felt your breath stutter, your body instantly heating at the sight of him.
He reached into the drawer beside the bed, grabbing a condom with hands that trembled slightly. You sat up and helped him tear it open, and his breath caught when your fingers brushed his length.
“Sweetheart,” he groaned, jaw tightening. “If you touch me like that again, I’m not gonna make it.”
You smiled softly and pulled your hand back.
He rolled the condom on slowly, exhaling shakily through his nose, like he needed to stay focused.
“Lie back,” he whispered.
You did, heart pounding.
He crawled over you with a quiet growl of desire, settling between your thighs. His hands slid up your waist, your ribs, your breasts—warm and slow, like he needed to memorize everything.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured, brushing hair away from your face. “Tell me and I stop.”
“I will,” you whispered, touching his cheek.
He lined himself up, the head of him pressing gently against your warmth—and he froze.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“So are you.”
He huffed a soft laugh and kissed you—slow, deep—before pushing in just a little.
Your breath hitched. His did too.
He forced his eyes shut for a moment, jaw clenched, like entering you was the most overwhelming thing he’d ever felt.
“Fuck… you’re tight,” he breathed, voice broken. “Feels so good… so good…”
He eased in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. His breathing turned ragged, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he worked past the initial stretch.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” he whispered.
“Don’t stop,” you breathed, nails dragging lightly down his back.
He groaned—low, deep, helpless—and pushed the rest of the way in, bottoming out with a shaky exhale that felt like a prayer.
He didn’t move at first.
He held you there, pressed against him, your bodies fitted together like they were meant to be.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
You nodded, cupping the back of his neck. “It feels good. Really good.”
He kissed you—soft at first, then deeper, needier. Only when your body relaxed fully under him did he pull back slightly and thrust, slow and smooth.
Your breath caught.
His did too.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice undone. “You feel… incredible.”
His hips rocked into you gently at first, careful, testing—each slow stroke sending heat curling up your spine. His hands framed your waist, holding you steady as he moved deeper, finding a rhythm that made your toes curl.
Your soft moan made his hips stutter, a broken sound spilling from his lips. He dropped his forehead to yours.
“Tell me what you need,” he panted. “Faster? Slower? Harder?”
“More,” you breathed. “Just… more.”
He kissed you fiercely and picked up the pace, each thrust deeper, stronger, making your back arch and your fingers dig into his shoulders.
“Baby—” he groaned, voice barely holding together. “You feel so good around me, I can’t— I can’t—”
His rhythm faltered for a second as pleasure washed over him.
“Don’t stop,” you whispered against his mouth.
He didn’t.
He moved harder—the sounds of your bodies, your breath, his low groans filling the room—and you felt yourself spiraling fast, pleasure building sharp and deep.
“I’m—” you gasped, nails dragging down his back.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed, thrusts deep and precise. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you cum.”
His hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit with perfect pressure.
Your body arched.
Your breath broke.
And you came hard—shaking beneath him, moaning into his mouth as the orgasm crashed through you in waves.
He groaned loudly, thrusting deep as your body clenched around him, pleasure ripping a raw, desperate sound from his throat.
“Sweetheart— fuck— I’m gonna—”
He pushed in once, twice, and then he was gone too—shuddering, groaning your name against your neck as he came, hips twitching with each pulse.
He collapsed gently over you, careful not to crush you, breath shaking against your shoulder.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then he lifted his head just enough to kiss your forehead.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough and soft all at once.
You nodded. “You?”
He smiled—small, tired, impossibly tender. “Best I’ve ever been.”
He stayed inside you for a moment, not for pleasure, but because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of being that close to you. His breath was still uneven against your collarbone, his hands warm and open on your waist like he was holding something fragile.
Eventually he exhaled, kissed your jaw softly, and eased out with a shaky breath.
“Be right back,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to the corner of your lips before slipping out of bed.
You watched him cross the room—warm skin, slow steps, muscles still trembling faintly. He returned with a warm cloth and cleaned you gently, carefully, checking your expression every few seconds like he was afraid he might hurt you.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “Perfect.”
He let out a breath like he’d been holding air in his lungs since the moment he kissed you on the sofa. When he finished, he dropped the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling you against his chest with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.
His arms wrapped around you immediately—protective, steady, warm—while your leg tangled with his. He pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in like he needed the scent of you to calm himself.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“So are you.”
He huffed a soft laugh and pulled the blanket over both of you. His hand slid up and down your back in slow, absent-minded strokes, each pass settling your heartbeat a little more.
For a while, the room was quiet except for breathing and the slow thump of his heart under your ear.
Then, softly:
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.
You looked up, and he met your eyes with a sincerity so bare it made your chest ache.
“I don’t mean the sex,” he said. “I mean… you. How safe this feels. How right.”
You swallowed. “I feel the same.”
His brow softened, his thumb brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“I don’t let people close,” he admitted. “You know that. I’ve always been good at keeping walls up. Too good.”
You traced small circles on his chest, waiting for him to continue.
“But you…” His voice cracked, just slightly. “You didn’t break them down. You just waited outside until I opened the door.”
Your throat tightened.
“And now?” you whispered.
“Now,” he murmured, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in closer, “I want you here. I want you in my life. In my space. In my future.”
The word future hung between you—warm, real, thrilling.
“What kind of future?” you asked quietly.
He didn’t hesitate.
“The kind where you stay,” he whispered into your hair. “Where you wake up here. Where I get home from tour and you’re the first person I look for.”
He paused, voice going even softer.
“The kind where I don’t have to pretend I don’t miss you every second I’m away.”
Your breath caught.
“You think about that?”
“Every day,” he admitted. “I… I see things in my head sometimes. Little things. You sitting backstage with me. You curled up in one of my hoodies because you get cold during soundcheck. You asleep on my chest in some hotel room after a long show.”
He kissed your forehead.
“I didn’t even know I could picture that with someone.”
Your fingers tightened on him involuntarily.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
“What about you?” he whispered. “What do you see?”
You swallowed, cheeks warming. “I see the same things. Us. Not just now—but later. I want all of that with you.”
His eyes softened into something almost vulnerable.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment, he tilted your chin up and kissed you. Not like before—not hungry or desperate—but slow, tender, full.
The kind of kiss people give when they mean every word they’ve just said.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I don’t know where this goes,” he admitted. “But I know I want to find out with you.”
Your heart melted.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.
He exhaled—a quiet, relieved sound—and pulled you onto his chest, wrapping both arms around you like he needed to keep you there forever.
As your breathing synced and your bodies relaxed fully into each other, he whispered one more thing into your hair:
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
And the way he held you after…
like you were something irreplaceable…
made you believe every word.
You were still draped over his chest, your legs tangled with his, your fingers tracing soft circles over the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He looked calm now—sleepy, warm, relaxed—but there was something else beneath it. A faint tension. A little spark.
His hand slid down your back, slow and deliberate, stopping just above the curve of your hips.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured.
“So are you.”
He huffed a soft laugh, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at you. “I’m trying not to get hard again.”
Your breath faltered. That was all it took.
He felt it—the shift in your body, the tiny inhale you couldn’t hide—and his gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there like gravity pulled him.
“Come here,” he whispered.
You climbed up onto his lap without thinking. His hands gripped your thighs instantly, fingertips digging into soft skin, control slipping in real time as he ran his gaze over your body like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.
“Round two?” you whispered, teasing, a little breathless.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “If you want it.”
You kissed him—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier—and that was all it took to unravel him. His hands seized your waist, pulling you flush against the hard length of him, already heavy and warm between your thighs.
He groaned into your mouth. Not soft this time. Not controlled. Something raw.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “I swear you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. He shuddered.
When your hips rolled forward, brushing against him, his breath hitched and he grabbed your waist tighter.
“Baby,” he said, voice cracking. “If you do that again, I’m not putting anything on.”
Your body pulsed with heat.
“What if I don’t want you to?” you whispered.
His eyes snapped open—dark, wild, wide.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
He swallowed hard. His grip tightened. His voice dropped to a low, shaky whisper.
“We shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“But you want to,” he breathed.
“I do.”
He cursed under his breath and sat up, kissing you with a hunger that bordered on desperation—hands everywhere now, grabbing your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you closer like he needed to feel your whole body against his.
“You sure?” he whispered against your lips. “Really sure?”
You nodded, chest rising and falling with quick, hot breaths. “I want to feel all of you.”
His reaction was instant.
His hand slid between your thighs, testing, feeling, groaning when he found how warm and slick you already were.
“Fuck… sweetheart… you’re soaking for me,” he rasped. “You really want it raw?”
“Yes.”
He let out a broken sound—half relief, half disbelief—and guided you gently onto your back, settling between your legs.
He paused only once, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
“I’ll pull out,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to.”
He froze.
You felt him throb against you.
For a moment, he just stared at you—like you’d ripped the air out of his lungs.
“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he whispered.
Then he pushed in.
Slow, steady, deeper than before—and the difference made your head fall back instantly. Skin-to-skin. Heat meeting heat. No barrier. No distance.
He gasped—a sharp, guttural sound he couldn’t swallow back.
“Oh my—baby—you feel so warm—so tight—fuck—”
He buried himself fully inside you and went still, shaking with the effort not to thrust too soon.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, breath ragged.
“Yes,” you breathed, nails digging into his shoulders. “God—don’t stop.”
He kissed you hard, relief and hunger mixing into something overwhelming, and when he pulled his hips back and thrust again, the sensation made both of you moan into each other’s mouths.
“Fuck—”
“Oh—”
“More—please—”
He moved slowly at first, savouring the raw slide of your bodies, the warmth, the closeness, the way your thighs tightened around him like you never wanted him to leave your body again.
“Feels so different,” he murmured against your neck. “So good—so fucking good—”
You tightened around him and he choked on a moan.
“Don’t do that—I’m trying to last—”
“Then don’t hold back.”
He looked at you like you’d just handed him the universe.
His movements changed instantly—deeper, harder, hungry but still gentle enough to show he cared. His hand slid under your thigh, lifting your leg higher to open you for him, and the new angle made you gasp loudly, body arching.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”
You did—each thrust sending heat spiraling through your stomach, your hands clinging to him, your breath breaking under the sheer intensity of the feeling of him inside you without anything between you.
“You feel like you were made for me,” he groaned, voice shaking. “Like your body was fucking built for mine.”
Your orgasm hit fast, sharp, overwhelming—your body clenching around him so tightly he nearly lost it right there.
“Oh my god—sweetheart—don’t—” he gasped. “You’re—I’m gonna—fuck—”
He tried to pull out. He did.
But your legs tightened around him at the same moment your walls pulsed hard around his length—and the feeling dragged a raw, helpless moan out of him.
“Baby—please—I can’t—”
You pulled him closer, whispering into his ear: “Stay.”
He broke.
With a desperate sound, he thrust deep, one hand gripping your hip, the other buried in the sheets beside your head as his orgasm hit him hard—body shaking, hips stuttering, breath falling apart in your neck as he came inside you in hot, pulsing waves.
“Fuck—fuck—oh my god—” he gasped, voice cracked and trembling.
He didn’t stop holding you even once the aftershocks faded. Didn’t stop kissing your shoulder, your neck, your lips. Didn’t stop running his hand through your hair like he was overwhelmed by how close you were.
Finally, he whispered against your mouth: “You’re mine. And I swear—I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”
There’s a specific pain that only certain people understand. The moment you finally sit down, breathe, slow your pace… and instead of feeling relief, you feel guilt. Your mind whispers that you should be doing more, achieving more, fixing something, proving something. You’ve been trained to believe that rest must be earned, that stillness is laziness, that slowing down means you’re falling behind. I’ve seen this in people who give too much, carry too much, expect too much from themselves. They rest only when they collapse, and even then, their mind keeps running.
I chose this topic today because I’ve heard this sentence too often: “I feel guilty when I’m not productive.” And every time, it tells me the same thing, that someone has been strong for far too long. Rest is not a weakness. It is repair. It is the moment the weight slips off your shoulders, even if only for a breath. And the people who feel the most guilt when they finally slow down are usually the ones who need rest the most.
Let’s unlearn the guilt, one gentle step at a time
[] Start with five minutes of intentional rest. Sit or lie down with no purpose other than breathing. Tell yourself: “This is allowed.”
[] Write down one thing you did this week, even something small, that took effort. Proof that you’ve already done enough.
[] Make yourself something warm to drink. Let the act of preparing it be part of your rest.
[] Do one thing slowly today, fully present. Rest doesn’t always mean stopping, sometimes it means softening.
[] Choose one task to postpone. Not because you’re avoiding it, but because you’re prioritizing yourself.
[] Spend a few minutes outside or by a window. Let your nervous system settle into the calm around you.
[] Before bed, place your hand on your chest and whisper: “Rest is not a reward. It is a need.”
If you want to go deeper
[] Ask yourself where the guilt comes from, a voice from childhood, an expectation from others, or your own harsh standards. Naming it weakens it.
[] Rest for ten minutes without your phone. Let your mind learn the feeling of quiet without distraction.
[] Do something small that brings comfort, fresh clothes, a warm blanket, clean sheets, and feel how your body reacts.
Motivation of the day
You don’t have to earn your right to rest. Your body is not a machine and your worth is not measured in productivity. Rest is what keeps you standing, thinking, functioning, living. Choosing to rest is choosing to stay whole.
Next in the series:
Tomorrow we’ll talk about the conflict between wanting control and craving calm, the inner tension of holding everything together while longing to let go.
cw: 18 + 𝖒𝖉𝖓𝖎. omegaverse, breeding, somno, oral, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, reader referred to as ‘pup/puppy’, alpha!noah, omega f!reader, virgin!reader, brothers bestfriend trope, unprotected sex, knotting, a/b/o dynamics.
wc: 2.2k
masterlist: kinktober
It’s not the first time you and Noah have done this when you come to visit. It’s turned into a game between you—one you both pretend not to take seriously, but maybe you enjoy it a little too much, the thrill of teasing him, knowing that as his best friend’s little sister, you’re supposed to be untouchable, off limits. That’s what makes it so addictive—the secrecy, the quiet daring of it all.
The evening always starts innocently enough. You join his group of friends for dinner, laughter, a movie, or whatever new anime they insist on showing you, but the moment Noah offers to walk you to your room, everything shifts. His arm slips around your waist, possessive in a way he pretends isn’t, guiding you up the stairs toward the familiar guest room next to his. He stays when you ask him to, helping you undress down to your underwear, his fingers brushing your skin a little too long, his eyes never quite leaving you. He tucks you in with a soft murmur, waiting until your breathing slows—until he’s sure you’re asleep, he never leaves it at that, he always comes back.
At first, he just watches, leaning against the doorframe, eyes tracing every inch of you beneath the sheets. Then he’s moving closer, crawling onto the bed with careful, quiet intent. His hand slides beneath the blanket, finding your body warm and pliant beneath it. Your breasts fill his palms perfectly, and he squeezes, slow and deliberate, until a faint sigh slips from your parted lips. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing them into hard little peaks before giving them a soft pinch that makes your breath catch.
He can’t stop himself after that. His hand drifts lower, gliding down the curve of your stomach until it finds the heat between your thighs. You’re already damp, soft, and slick under his touch, and it pulls a low, broken sound from his throat. His fingers slide through your folds, spreading the wetness he finds, circling your swollen clit in slow, lazy motions.
He loves this part most—the way your body responds even in sleep, hips shifting, thighs parting just a little more for him. The way your breath stutters, lips parting like you’re right on the edge of waking, but never quite do.
It’s always been a game, but tonight, it feels like he’s about to lose.
The first time it happened, he’d promised himself he’d stick to just touching, but that promise shattered the moment he caught your scent—sweet, warm, intoxicating, and before he knew it, he was rolling you onto your back. You stirred just enough to help him, thighs falling open in silent invitation, welcoming him between them. His mouth found your pussy instantly, tongue dragging through your folds before circling your clit with slow, deliberate hunger. You tasted like heaven—cliché, but he’d always been addicted to your pheromones, the way your body responded to his touch even when you were half asleep. It was always torture when breeding season came around, when every instinct in him screamed to sink into you, to fill you, to breed his best friend’s sweet, innocent little sister until there was no trace of innocence left.
He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep playing this game, pretending he’s content with just his fingers, with just a taste of you on his tongue. The need to breed you claws at him, sharp and relentless. Maybe if he took you—really claimed you, he’d stop obsessing, stop feeling this maddening pull every time you’re near, but deep down, he already knows the truth, the moment he buried his face between your thighs, the moment your taste hit his tongue, you owned him, and he hasn’t wanted to stop since.
Noah was gentle that first night, devoted even, spending hours between your legs. His long, slender fingers plunged deep into your cunt, curling just right while his tongue and lips worshipped your clit. He knew you were untouched, a virginal, and he wanted to make sure you were ready, that your body could take him when he finally claimed what he’d already decided was his, because the moment he does, the moment he sinks into you and makes you smell like him—his scent, his cum, his claim, he knows no one else will dare come near you, and there’s a dark, possessive part of him that loves that. All that’s left now is to make you want it too.
This time your visit feels different, not just because you’re staying longer, but because if you’ve ever avoided coming during your full heat, you’ve clearly decided against it now. For the past couple of days, all Noah’s been able to focus on is you—the way you smell, the way that scent seems to cling to everything. Even when he dared to sneak a taste, it was sweeter than ever, intoxicating, making him ache to bury himself inside you. His cock throbs at the thought alone, and though he’s managed to keep some semblance of restraint, it’s fraying—thread by thread. Whether you realize what you’re doing or not, he can’t say for sure, but the way you prance around him, so teasing, always just close enough, even wrapping yourself in one of his hoodies, makes him think that maybe you do.
That’s the final thread snapping. As you pass by his room, seemingly oblivious to the effect you’re having, Noah reaches out, catches your wrist, and tugs you inside. Your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his breath fans hot against your neck as he leans in close. His hands grip your hips, thumbs brushing slow, possessive circles against your skin.
“Do you have any idea what your scent does to me?” he snarls, voice low and rough, his nose dragging along the column of your throat. He can feel the rapid pulse beneath your skin, but more than that, he can smell you—your excitement, your arousal blooming just for him.
“Fuck, you smell so fucking good.”
Experiencing you in full heat—it’s something entirely new. It makes his head spin, makes every instinct in him scream to claim, to mate, to make you his. His teeth graze your neck in a teasing threat, a promise of how easy it would be to bite down, to mark you, to hurt if he wanted to, but he doesn’t have to. He can already feel your body softening under his touch, submitting, silently begging him to take you.
“Are you just going to tease me?” you whisper, trying for bold but faltering halfway through. He hears it, the tremor in your voice, the wild thrum of your heartbeat, as you offer yourself up, an omega trembling for him to claim, for him to breed.
He pauses, a low, dangerous growl rumbling in his throat as his mouth curves into a smirk. Gripping you tightly, he pulls you from the wall and carries you to the bed with quick, sure movements, pushing you back onto it before climbing over you, his knees forcing your legs apart.
“You want more than just our little games? Was this all part of your plan? A needy little omega begging to be bred by an alpha?”
A whimper rips from you, something needy and desperate, as your hips arch toward him. His hand finds the waistband of your panties, and with a sharp tug, he rips them away, the sound of tearing fabric making your breath catch. Any trace of delicacy he usually shows is gone, replaced by pure, primal need. When his fingers slide between your thighs, stroking along your slick folds, a low groan escapes him.
“So fucking soaked already…” His voice softens, an almost tender contrast to the feral hunger burning in his gaze.
Dipping down, his mouth meets your neck, his breath hot, hungry. A snarl vibrates against your skin as his tone deepens into something raw and possessive. “You’re going to remember that you belong to me, and only me.”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His entire body shudders as your scent fills him, and his tongue drags along your skin, tasting the salty sweet trace of you—so much more potent than when he’s between your thighs. His cock strains against his jeans until he reaches down, unzips, and pushes them off.
Pressing his hips to yours, he drags the thick length of his cock along your slick folds, savouring the way your breath hitches as you feel just how hard, thick, and throbbing he is. Slowly, he grinds against you, a low snarl rumbling from his chest. “It’s all for you,” he growls against your neck. “You’re mine to take. Mine to breed. To fill. All mine.” His teeth graze your skin, just shy of biting, his voice dipping lower, darker, with every possessive word. “You’re gonna take every inch of me. I’m gonna knot you so fucking deep you’ll never want to leave. You’ll feel me for days, dripping with me, carrying my scent.”
“Please…” you plead, desperate and breathless.
His hips grind harder, his growl deepening as primal need takes over. One hand slides to your throat, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck. His fangs graze your pulse as he coos, voice a low, rumbling command. “Be a good little pup for me and I’ll make you feel so good.”
His weight shifts with the promise, and as his thick, leaking tip drags between your folds, he thrusts forward, burying himself deep, inch by inch. The stretch burns and thrills, your walls clenching around him as he forces you to take every inch. His hand tightens just slightly at your throat, pinning you to the bed while he draws back, dragging along your slick walls.
You whimper and squirm beneath him, your body betraying you, trying to pull him back in. When he slams his hips forward again, a gasp tears from your throat, spilling into a moan that’s pure music to his ears. His rhythm builds, each thrust harder than the last, his growls deepening—vibrating through his chest into yours.
“Fuck, look at you. Such a good puppy, aren’t you?” His voice is a low rasp, thick with desire, his tone laced with dark satisfaction as he dips his head beside your ear. “You’re so needy, aren’t you? Already trembling.” He inhales deeply, savouring your scent. “I can smell just how slick you are for me already, for your alpha. For my knot.” Each word is punctuated by a deep thrust, his growl roughening with every movement.
“Those whimpers… they’re music to my ears.” He drives into you harder, drawing out more of those helpless, needy sounds. “Every little whimper, every sweet, desperate noise you make just makes me harder.” He snarls softly, voice dropping to a guttural rumble.
Pushing his free hand beneath the hoodie you’re wearing, his huge palm envelops your breast, rough and claiming, fingers teasing over the peak of your erect nipple. A soft, desperate whine rips from your throat, only spurring him on, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, driving you into the bed beneath him.
“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he growls, voice low, mocking, as his thumb circles your nipple, teasing mercilessly. He revels in how you arch toward him, needy, desperate for more. “You already know exactly who you belong to, don’t you?” His hand kneads your breast possessively, claiming every inch as though memorizing every shape of you.
“You’ve always belonged to me, haven’t you? Letting me touch you like this, pretending it keeps you pure, but not anymore. You were made for me, every inch. And look at you… taking me so fucking well.” His hips grind harder, his cock driving deep inside you, wet, lewd sounds echoing with every stroke.
“Ready for my knot?” His teeth graze your neck, teasing the threat of a mark as his hips slam harder, each thrust punctuating the words. “Gonna take it and my cum deep inside this tight—” Another slam, his growls rumbling through the room. “Little—” A sharp, punishing thrust. “Pussy.”
He groans low, chest heaving, feeling himself swell, the head of his knot thickening, pressing insistently at your tight hole, catching against your walls. He falters for just a moment, a flash of frustration crossing his face, before driving harder, each thrust deliberate, punishing, forcing the knot to slide further in until one final, brutal drive buries him fully, a guttural roar exploding from his chest as his knot swells inside you, locking you together. His whole body tenses, forcing deeper, cock throbbing, spilling hot, thick cum deep inside you—filling you, claiming you, marking you in the most primal, overwhelming way. Your walls squeeze him, trembling, and he groans, utterly consumed by the feeling of you.
“Feel that?” he growls, low and possessive, voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. “Feel my cock pulsing inside you, my cum filling you, claiming you?” His growls soften just slightly, laced with hunger and possessiveness as he drags open mouthed kisses up your neck. Then his mouth finds yours—light, teasing brushes at first before a deep, lingering kiss that leaves you gasping, whimpering under him.
“I’ve got you,” he rasps against your lips, hands slipping beneath you, cradling and holding you impossibly close. “The knot will go down soon, but from now on, you’re all mine.”
why are dudes in fanfic always getting hit with freight train orgasms. why not an orient express orgasm, classy and romantic. where are the shinkansen train orgasms? his orgasm hit him like the TGV atlantique breaking the passenger rail speed record. like the shanghai maglev, his orgasm was a feat of engineering but something of a commercial disappointment.
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