#simplified morning routines

[zen-blitz]

Ever feel like a headless chicken in the mornings? Same. That’s why I swear by my morning routine—it keeps me sane, productive, and ready to crush the day. In this week’s blog, I’m sharing practical tips for designing a morning routine that actually works (and doesn’t suck). Whether you’re all about self-care, productivity, or keeping it minimal, there’s something here for you. Check it out, and let’s make mornings awesome again!

[ourlittlehouseinthecountry]

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how busy life feels — even when we’re at home. The days are full, the to-do lists never end, and sometimes we forget to even take a breath. But I truly believe slow living isn’t about abandoning your responsibilities — it’s about approaching life a little more gently. 💛 I’ve just published a new blog post on this very topic: “Slow Living for Busy People: 5 Gentle Ways to Embrace a Calmer Life.” If you’ve been craving a slower pace, but don’t know where to start, this one’s for you. I’m sharing 5 simple things I’ve found genuinely helpful in creating more ease and presence — even on the busiest days: 🍃 Savor micro-moments of mindfulness 🍃 Create calm mornings the night before 🍃 Set a digital curfew to protect your peace 🍃 Say “no” gently but firmly 🍃 Reconnect with nature and seasonal rhythms It’s full of practical ideas and gentle encouragement — nothing overwhelming or unrealistic. Just small, doable changes that help you slow down and feel more at home in your own life. 💫 You’ll find the full post linked in today’s Stories, and it’s also in the link in my bio (under "New on the Blog"). I’d love to know which tip speaks to you most! 💭 📚 Read it here ➝ ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com/slow-living-for-busy-people 📥 Save this post to revisit anytime you need a reminder to slow down — #slowliving #intentionalliving #simpleliving #mindfulliving #gentleliving #slowlifestyle #liveintentionally #calmliving #mindfulmornings #slowlivingmovement #ourlittlehouseinthecountry #peacefuldays #createcalm #livingwithintention #consciousliving #holisticliving #slowlivingtips #dailyintentionality #slowlivingforbusypeople #intentionalhome #seasonalliving #slowmoments #groundedlife #intentionalmotherhood #simplifyyourlife #intentionalroutines

[manmanual-au]

Like an invisible shield, this active serum protects and repairs skin from free radical damage that can cause the likes of pigmentation, wrinkles and sunspots.

[notmumtoday]

Ah, 2025 – the future is here, and so is the perfect excuse to rethink your skincare routine!

[ceilidho]

fig. 4. blood in eyes (wipe it off for me) | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

MASTERLIST · AO3

There’s someone in the building that messes with his head in a way that it shouldn’t be messed with.

or: the forced mating omegaverse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Omegaverse, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Heavy Noncon/Dubcon Elements

Too late for it to be of any use to him, Simon learns patience.

Patience in accepting things for what they are instead of resisting fate’s chokehold; in walking with the current instead of swimming against it. 

It doesn’t come easy. He remembers being a milktooth child, quiet and sullen before puberty swallowed him up and spat him back out; his demeanour just off-putting enough to keep him from ever making close friends. Father a constant and dreaded figure in his life, a malignant growth ever close to metastasizing. Flesh like a bruised peach, busted lip telling a story that no one seemed capable of acknowledging or reading. 

There was no such thing as patience back in those days. Just a constant rushing forward, grappling at the threads of adulthood like they might become a rope strong enough to pull him out. When they didn’t, he learned to tie them himself to strengthen the length of rope—learned every knot in the book, in fact, bowling, clove hitch, carrick bend, hangman’s—anything of use.  

That was a long time ago though. 

These days, he is something different. Something old-boned and asperous. Every morning, he again becomes a man like a poor choice of words. Darkness greets him when Simon opens his eyes, the sky outside of his window already pitch black, the sun long sunk beneath the horizon. 

It’s not happenstance—it’s routine. 

As spring inches into summer and the days grow longer, he gets a glimpse of the sun that he’s been avoiding all this time. It bleeds into his dinners with Gaz slowly but surely, the evening sky going ochre and then blood red in the twilight hours. He can’t say that he’s missed over the long winter months. There was a kind of relief in becoming nocturnal. Now, he has to face the day again.

The vestiges of all past incidents collide here somewhat mercilessly.

His life since leaving the service has been essentially meaningless, a direct continuation from the life he led before retiring. No aspirations or short-term ambitions. Staring down the barrel of his fourth decade and wondering whether he’ll make it. Whether it’s even worth it to try when the shit keeps piling up and the years keep slipping away and it’s getting harder rather than getting easier with time.

(too many people he’s seen die; too much that he himself has endured)

The shrink he’s forced to see (read: blackmailed into seeing) says things like PTSD and complicated grief. Simon scowls at the mention. He’s not disputing the nature of those things so much as their relation to him. What does it say about him besides that he was born? That he went through something terrible and now it’s over?

Some things are harder for him to deny. Sciatica and nerve pain; the low, constant buzzing of tinnitus in both ears. Muscle tension and migraines that come so suddenly that they nearly incapacitate him when they hit. Insomnia. Sleeping pills do the trick most of the time, but it takes a harrowing amount of effort to get any sleep without them. 

He gets a job as a night security guard-cum-parking lot attendant of a big office building downtown and that simplifies things a bit. Gives him a steady paycheck and a reason to get up every day. It’s also a sterile, quiet environment for the most part—he waits in his booth as the workers come down one-by-one and slouch into their cars, squeezing past each other on the way out. 

It’s not much, but it’s a living. More than that, it gives him a reason to get up in the morning, as mundane a job as it is. 

But—

there’s someone in the building that messes with his head in a way that it shouldn’t be messed with.

In the three months that Simon has worked in the building, he hasn’t gone more than a day without smelling that telltale scent of fresh, ripe omega. The same one too, all the time. Fresh and clean, like peppermint; it makes him suck his teeth as if to get the sugar off when it wafts under his nose. 

The first time he smells your scent, when the elevator doors open up and you step out into the carpark, it takes everything in him not to go after you. Head disconnected from his body, on a swivel; spine ramrod straight, steel-plated. Following your bouncy gait with his eyes as you traipse across the lot to your car sitting pretty in the corner of the carpark like that wouldn’t be the perfect place to accost you, all the security cameras pointed away.

He very nearly quits. Nearly rips off the badge hanging from the clip fixed to his belt loop and leaves the parking lot unattended. 

The only reason he doesn’t is because, well—

Simon’s used to torture. 

Pain is an inflexible, living thing that he has long since invited into his body to take up residence. It lives and breathes with him, synchronous movements in his chest. It flutters under the surface like a swimmer just barely keeping from breaching the water. 

And breach it does. Over and over and over again.

So he doesn’t quit. Sticks it out instead. Ignores the internal recalibration happening inside of him because when has that ever mattered? 

He knows who you are, after all. 

Busy bee that you are, you often work until late at night, driving home only when it’s dark out and there’s hardly anyone else on the road. It makes him antsy to think of you out there after dark, your only company on the road the long-haul truckers and drunk drivers. 

You’ve only ever spoken to him once—one time when you forgot your employee pass upstairs in your office and asked him so sweetly to let you back onto the elevator. Standing outside of his booth with your hands clasped together and your eyebrows delicately furrowed and his jaw growing heavier and heavier and—

Only a single, flimsy pane of plexiglas between the two of you. He could shatter it without much effort. Stuff you into the trunk of your car and use your keys to drive himself home. You eye him almost dubiously, like you can hear the thoughts writhing around in his head like snakes in a pit, and for a second your foot angles outward like you might even back away from the booth altogether. 

Simon holds himself back though. Only just. 

It’s not as rare these days for an omega to work such a high pressure job, but it’s certainly not common; you’re probably one of the few in the whole building. Certainly the only to have ever caught his attention.

He knows what it means too. Your scent. What it means that, after four decades of relative anosmia, someone suddenly comes along smelling like everything good in the world. The knowledge sits heavy in his stomach. 

It wasn’t supposed to be in the cards for him. A mate. It was supposed to be enough for him to have this half life. He has a history all cramped up in his chest, too much to burden anyone else with. Even his team—men that have bled and killed and nearly died with him—only know what could amount to an approximation. 

He was supposed to be fine with this arrangement, grateful that the universe has deigned to give him anything at all. 

So why then—

(why can he not get you out of his head?)

Simon thinks about it all the time, your scent still lingering in the carpark even hours after you’ve clocked in. Makes him think about sitting on his couch in his dingy flat, nursing a beer while you keep his cock warm in your mouth, dragging his thumb lazily over your scarred gland, a match on in the background. His perfect little family.

For weeks now he’s been on edge, pissed off because you keep flaunting your scent right under his nose like he’s supposed to be some bastion of self-control, somehow keeping himself from sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck. It’s indecent. Unfair.

This is the point in his earlier years when his alpha would have twisted around in the back of his head and whispered something sinister into his ear, but those days are long gone. His alpha is not a distinct thing that he can feel or sense in any tangible way; it’s indistinguishable from him, no difference between its wants and his. Everything is just amplified, his hunger doubled. Refracted. 

Lots of things have built him into the man that inhabits his body today. Torture and torment and trauma. Reckoning with his own mortality one too many times; coming close enough to naming it. The man who is buried alive is not the same man who digs himself out. 

That, more than anything, is why he keeps his distance despite knowing what you are to him. 

From across the lot, on your way out for the day, you glance up and happen to meet his eyes. You smile politely and nod his way. 

The grey walls surrounding the booth press into him from all sides, squeezing around him until he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. 

Every Friday night, Price and him have a standing date at the local pub where they order drinks and make minimal conversation. Just the way Simon likes it. 

It’s always crowded and always thundering with noise, old timers smoking out front where cigarette butts are strewn all over the sidewalk. The men at the bar roar and clamour as they stare at the television screen hanging behind the bartender, banging their fists on the bartop and making the whole room shake whenever their team scores. 

It’s rowdy as all hell and it feels like being home. 

Simon knows that their weekly drink is just a way for Price to make sure that he hasn’t offed himself yet. He’s not a bad man, for all his faults. His dictatorial qualities are offset by his caring disposition, the temperament of a man willing to keep tabs on his soldiers well after they’ve left the service.

It’s excessive, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“You got plans for the weekend?” Price asks like he always does a few minutes into their first drink. 

Simon shrugs and takes a drink. “Got a few.”

His unwillingness to part with a sliver of personal information for even his closest companion must wear on the nerves, but he’s been going strong for thirty-something years. It speaks to his character and the longevity of their relationship that Price doesn’t seem to mind, content with whatever Simon deigns to let slip. 

“Got a few myself,” Price reveals, happy to part with his privacy for the sake of conversation. “Taking the missus up to Shropshire for a little honeymoon.”

“Just as well. She doing alright?”

Price shrugs. “Hasn’t taken apart the kitchen this week.”

That’s the extent of their conversation. The rest devolves into gentle ribbing about the match up on the telly (Manchester United vs. West Ham—ending in such a spectacular defeat for Man United that Simon nearly gets into it with a guy on the other end of the bar crowing too loud) before parting ways at the end of the night, Price going one way and Simon the other.

The streets are empty on his walk to the tube, the roads slick with puddle water from the earlier rainfall and the alleys illuminated by the red dots of cigarette butts, their custodians puffing away dutifully, their bodies ensconced in the shadows. A driver leans on their horn when he cuts across the street without checking for any oncoming traffic, and though the sound makes his upper lip curl, he ignores it.  

Sometimes, he hopes that someone will take him out to pasture like an old warhorse. Do it while he’s not looking. Let him catch one final sunset before putting him down. 

It would save everyone else a lot of grief. 

The only reason he doesn’t do it himself is because he couldn’t do that to Johnny. Can’t even stomach the thought of what it would do to him; can’t even trick himself into thinking that it wouldn’t bulldoze a hole right through his boy’s life. 

If someone else were to kill him, Johnny would at least have the possibility of closure. Maybe he ought to just pay someone to do it someday. Simon discards that thought as soon as it flits through his head though—there’s not a chance that Johnny wouldn’t scour the Earth to find the man that killed him. 

Simon’s as sure of that as he is of anything because he’d do the same for him.

Though he has two hundred thousand in an offshore account and thirty grand stuffed into his mattress, Simon takes the tube and walks every day on principle alone. His truck stays parked on the street unless he needs to move it to the other side for street sweeper to pass by. 

This train is for—

Next stop is—when leaving the train, please remember to take all of your belongings with you.

Cool in the early morning hours. When Simon gets off the train at his stop, the breeze slips into every open crevice of his jacket, crawling up his sleeves and down his collar. 

It’s early enough that the only people at the station with him are the early commuters, everyone going in the opposite direction from him, on their way downtown instead of on their way home. The sun peeking over the horizon is spoiled by a grey, dismal sky, saturating everything in a pallid, dreary light.  

There’s a bus that takes him nearly all the way home, though he has to walk the last ten minutes. He sits at the back with his hood drawn over his head, dead eyeing anyone stupid enough to glance his way too many times. When he gets off at his stop, it hurtles away from the curb as if it couldn’t get away fast enough. 

His flat is the kind that not even squatters would deign to claim. Borderline squalid. Borderline hazardous to human habitation. The mold spores and asbestos is probably digging him an early grave, everything short of an infestation. On his better days, Simon contemplates tidying up the place before a wave of apathy and scorn bludgeons him over the head. Why bother when he has no one to bring round? 

“Ye could try cleanin’ it up fer me,” Johnny gripes on one of the rare occasions when he spends the night. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s too late and Johnny’s a bit too squiffy from the pub to get home on his own.

He walks barefoot into the kitchen where Simon is rustling up something to eat (mac and cheese that he’ll eat straight from the pot when it’s ready), towel-drying his hair and swaying on his feet from sheer exhaustion. Nearly stumbles right into the wall before catching himself.

“What’s the problem?” Simon asks, drawling the question. 

“There’s a ring o’ grime aroond the tub. Did ye hose off a dog in there?”

He shrugs. “You wanna clean it so bad, you can do it. There’s Pine-Sol under the sink.”

“Ah honestly think we’re gonna need a power washer fer it. The fuckin’ state of this place, Simon…”

“Get in the fuckin’ bed and quit runnin’ your mouth before I decide you’d sleep better on the porch.”

Johnny makes a face and waddles off, murmuring epithets under his breath before launching himself stomach first onto Simon’s bed and snoring before he’s even hit the mattress, his shins half hanging off the end. It can’t be comfortable, but they’ve certainly slept in worse places. 

Simon will readjust him when he joins his boy later, but for now he focuses on taking the pot off the hob and fetching a fork from the cutlery drawer, scooping up a generous first bite. Flares his nostrils when he notices old food still flaked on the fork that he just pulled from the drawer.

Maybe the mutt has a point.

The thing is—

He’d like to say something to you. He’d like for things to go his way for a change. 

But his appetite for violence won’t allow good things to come to him naturally. Always a struggle for survival, conditions worsening until there’s nowhere else to go but up (scrambling up the side of a self-dug hole). He hears it coming like an air raid siren off in the distance. Self-sabotage at its finest. 

He feels little shame for the state of his existence, but it’s hard not to feel some sense of perceived inferiority. His military accolades aside (of which he can’t speak to, given that most were awarded post mortem for obvious reasons), Simon’s working class roots are indivisible from him as a person. When he looks at you, he sees someone who wouldn’t even touch the dirt he was sown and germinated in. 

What could he offer a woman? What could he offer anyone at all? 

His body carries the weight of his life in scar tissue, torn cartilage, and bones that have been welded back into place too many times to count. Theseus’ ship of a man. Simon is aware, distantly, of the things that make him appealing to women, but they’re stacked against the things that make him thoroughly undesirable. His body draws the eyes that his face repels, muscles less enticing when they get a proper look at his ugly mug. Good enough for a fuck but not more than that. 

For a long time now, living has been an exercise in humility. Wanting but never receiving. Senseless violence that never seems to stop, always someone around to perpetuate it. 

Often that person is him. 

On Monday, Simon watches you walk to your car in slacks that cling to your legs, the fabric tightening across your ass when you lower yourself into your car. 

On Tuesday, on a whim or possibly because of brain damage, he calls a professional cleaning service to give him a quote for a detailed deep cleaning. 

The owner charges him double the usual amount, which nearly pisses him off enough to cancel the service altogether, but he lets it go when Johnny begs him to let him pay half (after calling him six times in a row after Simon made the mistake of texting him about it).

It doesn’t change the overall state of the place, but Simon does feel a flicker of pleasant surprise when he comes home to a house that doesn’t smell faintly of mildew. Walls a shade lighter, like years worth of soot has been scrapped off of them. Even the grates on the stove have been scrubbed and cleaned, the inside of the oven also free of grit and grease for once in probably a decade. 

He christens the clean up with a smoke in the bathroom with the window propped open, the early morning noises keeping him company. Ashes his cigarette on the window ledge for once instead of the bathroom floor, the sound of the traffic in the distance keeping him company. 

“Ah cannae wait tae see it,” Johnny enthuses over the phone when Simon finally picks up after three missed calls in a row. “When ah’m back in the city, ah’m comin’ over ASAP.”

Simon’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. “Dunno about that. Might change the locks too.”

Sometimes he says shit just to rile Johnny up. Just to hear the sound of him squawking on the other end of the phone, feathers ruffled. He gets a kick out of taking all that frenetic energy and compressing it, making himself the focal point of Johnny’s restlessness, the recipient of his undivided attention. 

He’s always been selfish with his toys. 

His body is red hot when he finally lays down in bed, cock thickening up and pulsing between his legs. All he can think of is getting you into his bed and pounding you until you come a few times around his knot, until the base of his shaft is a mess of cream and cum, and his chest is scratched up and bloody from your nails. 

The sheets under him are rumpled and hot with his sweat when he takes his cock in hand, tugging himself off until he spills all over his hand and up his chest. Simon stares up at the fan rotating above his head as the cum cools on his stomach, cool air wafting down on him, allowing himself, if only for a moment, to imagine what it would be like to actually have you. 

He doesn’t think he’s going to do it.

His whims are hard to predict though. Quicksilver and fluid; volatile and inconsistent. Worse though are his morals, which fluctuate with his mood like the tides with the moon, pulled back only to rush forward at a moment’s notice. 

Despite the way his chest sometimes burns with the need to follow you home after your shift and force his way in while you’re out for the day, Simon doesn’t let his urges cloud his judgment. Master of self-discipline; jack of all other trades. 

It’s part of what made him such an indispensable operative: his ability to suppress all instincts and wants in service to a higher purpose. 

He’s got rope in a drawer in the booth though. That’s where it gets tricky. Myriad uses for it and none of them good. God must have a bad sense of humour. 

Then one day, you come in a bit too close to your heat. 

Even before you come stumbling out of the elevator, swaying on your feet and barely able to keep yourself upright, your scent is pungent in the garage. When Simon opens the door from the back office to the lot, he stills, every cell in his body briefly freezing. He can’t pinpoint it to any one car in the lot at first, but his instincts and nose point him to yours.

You must’ve mistimed your heat and thought you had more time before it would hit. It’s the only reason you’d show up to your office on the cusp of it, to a building packed with alphas all foaming at the mouth to knot a heat-addled omega. There’s nothing they’d like more than to get their hands on you in this state. 

It’s a mistake you won’t make again. 

He oscillates between anger and hunger, pissed at you for showing up to the office at such a delicate time while his teeth ache something fierce in his mouth. Alpha nature rearing its ugly head again. If you were his, it wouldn’t even be a question—you’d have been home days ago, sequestered away in his place and readying the nest for your heat. 

The elevator dings when it opens, alerting him and drawing his eyes over. Such a small sound for such a momentous occasion. 

Even from a distance, you look a right mess. Eyes heavy lidded and bloodshot. Sweat beading at your hairline. Lips swollen from excessive chewing or blood flow. It doesn’t matter to him. You look good a little messed up anyway, like someone took you apart and forgot to put you back together again. Makes Simon wish it was him that did it.

Then the full, unadulterated scent of your heat slams into him tenfold and every coherent thought comes screeching to a halt. 

Every wistful thought of taking it slow or approaching you first evaporates in a heartbeat. In an instant, he becomes an animal. Eyes tracking your every move. Breath lengthening and deepening to keep you from hearing him coming. 

He doesn’t think he’s going to do it until the booth door opens. 

Simon shuts the door soundlessly behind him, laser focused on the sway of your ass as you pop open the backseat door to toss your bag and belongings in. He moves towards you quickly, covering the distance between the two of you in just a few long strides, practiced at the initial advance. 

This is what he was built for after all—hunting and capturing. Moving silently through the shadows, stalking his target through the thick and waiting for them to move into just the right position. 

Right when you reach your car and open the backseat door—

Throwing your work bag onto the floor, none the wiser that there’s a man at your back moving closer and closer, eyes locked on the jut of your shoulder blades and the arch of your back and—

You don’t put up much of a fight when he forces you into the car and splays you over the backseat, likely too confused and disoriented to vocalize your surprise. He’s stronger than you anyway. When the fight finally snaps into you, it’s too late—you’re splayed across the backseat at an awkward angle and pinned in place by his hand, only a little force needed to keep you down. 

The little dress you’re wearing gets rucked up around your waist and your panties pulled to the side. He unfastens his jeans with one hand and pulls his cock out before wrenching you towards him with one hand on your waist, the friction lifting your dress up the rest of the way until he can nearly see the full line of your back. 

“What—”

You only catch on when his fingers graze your pussy lips and your whole body shudders violently. A thumb splits the seam of your lips, stroking you from slit to asshole, spreading your slick over both holes. 

“Relax,” Simon grumbles when you start to fuss, things slipping out of your mouth like no, wait, stop, who are you?—a bunch of silly prattle. “I’ve got ya, pet.”

“Get off—” you hiss, spitting like an angry cat with its fur all bunched up, and he’d laugh if he wasn’t pushing his thumb into your wet little hole and watching it seize up around the digit. The rest of your tirade comes out in a choked gasp, indignant horror rendering you mute. 

You try to push yourself up onto your elbows and he shoves you back down, making the breath rush out of you. A steady drip of slick wets the seat under you, making the dark fabric glisten, but Simon doesn’t spend too much time focusing on that. 

“You’re not gonna fight after wagging this around,” he growls. 

“I haven’t, I haven’t, I haven’t.”

Liar. He’ll make an honest girl out of you yet.

He pulls his fingers away from your cunt long enough to fist his cock and lift from where it droops between his legs. His cock throbs in his hand as he notches it against your opening, grits his teeth too when the heat of your cunt burns the tip of his cock. 

“Fuck,” Simon grits out, then edges forward again.

Hot as a fucking branding iron. He pulls you back instead of thrusting forward, impaling you on his length like a toy in his hands. In, in, in until suddenly he can’t anymore, at the limits of what your body will allow.

“C’mon, bird, deep breath in,” Simon murmurs when you hiss, hoping you’ll listen. 

As clenched up as you are, it’s almost impossible to fuck you properly. He can barely cram in a few inches before finding you too tight to push the rest of the way in. It’s enough to make do though. Enough to draw his hips back and thrust in again, fucking you with just the first few inches of his cock, your toes curling and flexing with every thrust. 

“You’re—you’re inside me?” you gasp.

The laugh comes from his chest unbidden, disbelief plucking it out of him. “Yeah, pet. I am.”

Your groan is torn from your throat. “Oh god.”

He nearly spirals watching your cunt stretch around the width of his cock. Fits him like a fucking glove, and though it’s been awhile, Simon doesn’t remember it ever feeling like this. Intense. A thick blanket of heat weighing down on him, the inside of your car humid, the combination of your and his breath making the windows fog up, the car itself shaking with every thrust. 

It registers at the periphery of his consciousness that he didn’t even bother to put on a condom. There might be one buried at the back of his wallet or in a drawer somewhere back home, but even if Simon were to look down and see one on the floorboard of the car, it wouldn’t sway him one iota. He knows he’s clean, and whether you are or not doesn’t matter because—

He wants it this way with a fervor that borders on irrational. 

His hips drive forward in quick, short strokes, barely sinking in halfway before pulling back out, thoughts of shucking you open like an oyster and leaving a pearl behind stirring at the back of his mind. His wants are as ugly as everything about him. 

Simon doesn’t think about whether it’s a bad idea or not. Impulsive as always, he lets the thing that has become him over countless years guide his hand, staring as it wraps around the front of your throat and lifts you up, your hands scrambling under you for purchase.

Lean down. His mouth is salivating. What he wants isn’t right but—

God, he wants it. 

His wants outpace his self-control for once though. The devil on his shoulder (in his soul, in his blood, that which was curled up with him since birth, a remnant of the father, a seed waiting to germinate in bloodsoaked soil) guides his head down into the crook of your neck where your mating gland sits, your blood pumping frantically right beneath it. 

Your throat pulses when his canine nicks your gland and when you swallow, he can feel it against his teeth.

So easy, like slicing through butter—

(whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat—oh my God, no)

Your voice in his ear, fluttering like a hummingbird. 

And then, blood—a taste so familiar that he doesn’t even notice it at first. Only when it washes down his throat does Simon realize what he’s done.

He comes back to himself with his teeth buried in your shoulder, blood in his mouth and a buzzing sound in his head. Cock still only half-sheathed in your pussy, squeezing around him like a vice, your voice a dull roar in his ear. 

A phantom presence undulates in the back of his mind, the first presence apart from himself in well over fifteen years. It twists and turns like a fish out of water, flopping around on its belly. It’s never been here before. It’s never been out of itself before and it’s terrified. It’s scared of what that means. 

The flesh squelches when he pulls his teeth out, your ensuing gasp wet and watery like the blood dripping from his mouth onto your back. Little droplets colouring your dress red where they land. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs to himself, staring down at the bite mark on your shoulder. 

His imagined future suddenly switches course, a whole new world being terraformed before his eyes. Everything different even while everything stays the same.

At the base of his cock, his knot plumps up, filling with blood. When his cock glides back in, it presses fruitlessly against your opening, too big to slip in. You whimper when you feel it nudging at your entrance. 

He has a really big knot, even soft; too big for you to take comfortably, if at all. Hard though, it’s another beast altogether. 

Simon doesn’t need all that though. Not now, at least. Plans are already forming piecemeal in his head, colliding against each other as he huffs through short, shallow thrusts, mindlessly seeking his release. The sound of your squelching pussy echoes through the underground lot, unmistakable to anyone else that might still be milling around at this time of night. 

What’s done is done. There’s no reason to bank regrets to cash in some day in the future because the future is already here. It’s here happening right in front of him and Simon has never looked back before.

Your pleasure flickers in the back of his head, like picking up a radio frequency previously undetected. Suddenly there. It’s almost his too; settles into the base of his spine along with his own need to come. Thin like a will-o-wisp. 

What he wouldn’t give to sink to the root, feel that wet grip all around him, squeezing his shaft extra tight. 

You keen and beg him through gasped breaths when Simon tries to force a hand under your belly to play with your clit. “Wait, wait, wait—too much—”

It’s tempting to just ignore you and keep rubbing your swollen clit, but he huffs and backs off instead, massaging his hands up the sides of your waist again. “Alright, alright.”

His thumbs press into the divots of your back almost punishingly hard, sure to leave a bruise there. Squeezes your waist extra hard when he nears his end, his vision tunneling on the sight of his cock splitting you in half, soaked with your combined juices. 

He catches your eye when you twist your head to look over your shoulder at him and that’s what sets him off. That desperate, helpless look in your glazed over eyes. Desire so vivid that for a second he can almost trick himself into thinking that this is what you want—

Thick ropes of cum paint the inside of your pussy. His knot butts against your entrance with every offbeat thrust, the base of it frothy white with cum, yours and his mixing together. It’s almost painful to have nothing wrapped around it, but it’s a pain he’s grown used to, never having knotted anything better than his own hand. 

This should be enough for him, most of the fat length of his cock snug in your pussy and his knot wet with your juices. He shouldn’t want more than this. It should be enough for him to slide his hand over your belly and feel the slightest bulge.  

His gums itch when he licks his lips.

It’s not enough though. 

When Simon pulls out, you shudder one last time, a string of stuttered curses slipping from your mouth. Foul-mouthed little thing. 

“Holy shit,” you wheeze. “What the fuck?”

Just that nearly makes his lips twitch.

He drags you back out of the car just enough so that your feet touch the floor, giving him enough room to right your underwear and readjust your dress. Dazed and confused, you sway on your feet before he catches you by the waist, his dick still out and spent against his thigh. 

“You need a breather before we leave?” Simon asks.

You don’t seem to absorb his words right away, too lost in your own head. The wound on your shoulder is still raw and livid. There’s gauze in the first aid kit in the booth that might help, but that requires more cooperation from you than he thinks you’ll be willing to give once you find your bearings. 

“Leave?” you repeat. 

He nods, smoothing your dress down. “Can’t be ‘ere too long. Already too close to your ‘eat.”

That brings you crashing back down to reality, the comedown so hard that Simon has to hold you upright when your knees buckle.

“My heat,” you repeat, confused at first before it dawns on you. 

“S’right, bird. Did ya forget?”

Obviously not, but he gets his laughs out of the little things. 

You flinch when your hand comes up to touch your shoulder. “Oh my God. Oh my God, what did you do?”

Your panic draws over him like a cloak. He can feel it somehow viscerally real but distinct from his own emotions. If he were a weaker man, it might trigger his own panic, but he hasn’t been that kind of man in a long, long time. Too much has happened since he was that boy—Roba, Mexico, Makarov, the Channel Tunnel. He’s lived a hundred lives in that time. 

So when your bloodstained hand moves to his chest and you start to struggle again, Simon knows how to handle it. 

The cherry blossoms have been in bloom for quite some time now. Petals freckle the road bordering the park on the drive home, but they vanish in a flurry as he travels farther away from the city centre, creeping into the outskirts of London. 

Moonlight like a runlet of white satin moths light the way home. It reminds him a lot of his childhood home. Spongy, mossy bogs where white moths feed on sallow and poplar, and the water barely announces its presence. Old remnants of cocoons spun into the reeds. A bosky landscape that, as a child, Simon spent hours trudging through to escape the turmoil of his home life, coming home in the evenings barefoot with his wet sneakers held in both hands. 

The memory fades when he takes a necessary turn leading him home and passes a squad car with its lights off going the other way. He’s careful not to make eye contact, taking another unnecessary turn in order to get out of their visual field. 

He’s aware of the predicament he’s in with you tied up in the backseat of your own car. 

Lucky for Simon though, it’s Friday. Meaning that unless you had plans scheduled for the weekend, no one will expect to see your face until Monday, giving him plenty of time to figure out what to do with you. And given that you’re on the brink of your heat—your scent absolutely saturating the inside of the car, too strong for him to risk cracking open a window—he likely has even longer than that. 

In the backseat of the car, you squirm around and howl through duct taped lips. Another reason for him to keep the windows up. 

He cranks up the volume on the radio to drown out the sound of your whines. Bit of a pity, since it’s not like Simon has a problem with them. There are still cars around though, and for a little thing you’ve sure got a set of lungs on you. He’d be almost impressed if it weren’t inconvenient. 

Densely populated boroughs give way to sparser and sparser neighbourhoods. Neatly manicured trees swapped for dense, overgrown bushes and trees, branches leaning over street lights and half-obscuring stop signs. He navigates the streets by muscle memory alone, not paying attention to the street signs or addresses. 

Simon lives in a see-nothing-say-nothing neighbourhood. No one on either side of his house, both vacant for longer than he’s resided here. He knows even this place won’t escape gentrification one day, but for now prices are low and privacy is absolute. None of his neighbours want to know his business any more than he wants to know theirs. 

There’s no one else on the street when he parks in front of his house. Not unusual, but he welcomes the privacy nevertheless. 

The scent of your heat comes billowing out of the car when Simon opens the backseat door. Thick, rich, and musky. 

His hackles go up instantly, territorial instincts lifting from the silt of his being. The street is deserted, but that doesn’t stop the influx of paranoia and suspicion. Anyone could be lurking around any corner. His paranoia comes from a place of truth, but it’s displaced from its original context—this is his home, not foreign territory. 

Still, he’d be happier with you inside as quickly as possible. Too many open windows and alphas that might be stupid enough to challenge him, mate bond or not. 

He lifts you into his arms from the backseat and tosses you over his shoulder, lips twitching when your breath comes out in a whoosh. The car beeps behind him when he locks it with the keys he snatched from your work bag and it’s a quick walk into his house, his chest only settling when the door is shut and locked behind him. 

In the house, he deposits you on the couch and kneels in front of you, the breadth of his body splitting your knees when he situates himself between them. Hard not to take liberties with you considering what you are to him now. It doesn’t even occur to him until your brow furrows and you try to pull your knees into your chest, forcing him to plant both hands on your upper thighs to pull them back down. 

“You gonna be good if I take it off?” Simon asks, referring to the tape on your mouth. 

You nod vigorously, so eager to get the tape off that you’ll agree to just about anything, even if you have no intention of keeping your word. He can feel that duplicitous instinct at the back of his mind. 

He wonders if you’ve begun to feel him in your head yet. 

The tape pulls your skin up with it as Simon peels it out, a few hairs coming with it. You grimace and wince through the pain, eyes flitting around the living room, scanning every inch and looking for any way out. Look all you want. It won’t matter in a couple of hours. 

The first thing you do is scream at the top of your lungs for help, erupting into a coughing fit when your vocal chords are pushed to their limits.

“Heeeeeeeeeelllllppppppp!” you screech, hoping that someone in one of the adjacent houses will hear your scream and come to your aid. “Someone help me pleaaaaseeeee!”

It’s disappointing but not surprising. Still, though his upper lip curls at the sudden burst of noise, he doesn’t so much as flinch, still as stone in front of you as you scream your head off. 

When you pause to take a breath, panting from the effort, he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You done?” 

Flummoxed by his nonchalance, you almost don’t know how to respond, stunned into silence for a moment. Then you start up again, louder than the first time, shrieking like a trapped bird looking for help. 

Despite the relative privacy that this neighbourhood affords him, Simon doesn’t feel like pushing his luck. His hand snaps out viper-quick to cover your mouth, trapping the rest of your screams in his palm and making your eyes bulge with shock. 

“Quit screaming or I put the tape back on,” he says, blunt as ever. No sympathy for the fact that he kidnapped you and brought you to a second location. Of course you’d be scared; of course you’d be panicked. 

It’s not that Simon doesn’t understand your reaction, he just doesn’t want to deal with it. His reservoirs of patience have been all used up in holding himself back these past few weeks. 

He waits until you nod before pulling his hand away. 

For a minute, all you can do is stare at him, eyes tracing over his face and lingering on all the ugly bits. The scar from his cleft lip, the burns around his temple pulling back his hairline, the crooked lump of his nose (put back in place one too many times), the slope of his brow over his eyes, almost Neanderthalic. 

“Who are you?” Though it’s not the first thing you’ve ever said to him, it’s the first time you’ve ever spoken directly to him, face to face, no screen in between you to dampen your scent. 

Your voice rushes over him like a wave, taking him under when it curls over the other side and kisses the water. Fills his lungs with salt water. Even hoarse from screaming, it’s still the loveliest sound he’s ever heard.

“We’ve met,” he says curtly. Annoyed that you haven’t felt the same fixation with him. You look terrified to disagree with him though he can see it in your eyes. “I work in the building.”

Recognition flickers across your face. “…You’re the parking attendant. You helped me get back into the building that one time.” 

So he hasn’t completely escaped your attention. 

Simon grunts instead of answering. 

You glance around the room again. “…Where am I?”

“My house,” he answers. 

His ease in answering your questions must throw you for a loop. You hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming, but what would he gain in lying to you?

The gravity of the situation isn’t lost on you though. On your own, miles from home, fucked and mated by a man who must have been watching you for weeks, if not months. Simon doubts you remember how long he’s worked in the parking lot. 

Worse yet, you’re on the brink of your heat, maybe a few hours away from it breaking. It’s a wonder you left your house at all today. You would’ve been smarter just to call out, stay holed up in your flat until it hit and you slipped comfortably into your heat. 

But you made your bed. Now you have to lie in it. 

“You’ve ruined everything…” you whimper, trembling fingers feeling around the bite mark on your shoulder. 

That pisses him off. Stings his pride. As if he were such a piece of shit that you couldn’t fathom being tied to him.

“Had a boyfriend or something?” he grunts dismissively. 

Whatever you had before doesn’t phase him. Boyfriend, girlfriend, husband. None of it matters with that mark on your shoulder, the thing tying you indelibly to him. Still, he asks knowing that it’ll piss him off if you answer in the affirmative, though he can’t smell anyone else’s scent on you. 

Your upper lip curls at the question. “No.”

“Good.”

“I just didn’t want to be—” You can hardly bring yourself to say it. You pause, biting your lip. “I don’t—I don’t even know who you are.”

“Name’s Simon.”

You look at him like asking for his name never even occurred to you. Less than impressed. 

“Do you even know what you did?” you ask, tone slipping from disbelief to disdain. 

The cheap shot at his intelligence barely gets on his nerves though. He’s used to people using words when they look at him and realize that physical violence won’t get them anywhere. 

“Nah, bird,” Simon drawls, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “What’d I do?”

You balk at that, clearly assuming that he wouldn’t call your bluff, that he’d have some excuse for biting you and tying you to him. 

The amusement in his eyes must be obvious though because you scowl when you catch it. “So you messed up our lives on purpose?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it. You’re the one that showed up to work right before a heat.”

The humiliation is plain on your face. “I had—I had a deadline. I didn’t think anyone would even notice.”

He shrugs. “I noticed.”

An understatement if there ever was one. It’s been months since he’s had a thought that didn’t somehow circle back to you. 

You scowl. “It’s not the twentieth century anymore. Omegas don’t have to be housebound for the month of their heat.” 

All Simon can do is stare at you. There’s a sweat building at your hairline and he can see the pulse in your neck, your impending heat evident in the way you hold yourself—so close to the cusp that a gust of wind would send you right over. It wouldn’t take much. 

It could be as easy as grabbing himself through his pants and watching your eyes glaze over. He doesn’t have to be pretty to turn you on. He knows now from first hand experience that you’ll get wet for a big dick. 

“Lot of omegas go to work without being slags about it.”

Shock ripples across your face, followed closely by a rage that makes his balls tighten. “You’re a piece of shit.”

Piece of shit is putting it lightly. He’s the bird picking the flesh off the carcass with the sun-bleached bones. 

“Make your nest,” Simon grunts instead, leaving you to your own devices.

“I’m not making my nest here. I have one at home.” You sound outraged at the very thought of making a nest in his house.

“Don’t got much of a choice, bird. It’s here or nowhere because you ain’t leavin’.”

It’s not a joke or a threat either. This far from home, you won’t make it back before your heat breaks, and Simon sees the moment that realization washes over you, your fate set in stone. 

You don’t much appreciate being made to use the meagre belongings in his house for your nest. It’s a bit of a shame. He should’ve taken you back to your place instead where you likely already had a nest that you’d spent the last week labouring over, but he couldn’t trust you not to get your neighbor's attention. 

There’s not much in the way of materials for you to use either. Old coats of his and musty blankets stored in the chest at the foot of his bed. You don’t even touch the mattress. He watches you sniff a sweater of his and grimace, tossing it into another corner of the room far away from your makeshift nest. 

He hovers nearby while you build your nest even though he can feel your annoyance as real as if it were his own. That’s not his problem though. You have your instincts to follow and he has his. 

He inspects the meagre items in his fridge and pantry while you fuss around in the other room—hardly enough to see just him through the weekend, never mind an omega about to go into heat—and scowls, pissed at the thought of being found lacking as an alpha. If he’d been smarter, he would’ve seen this coming a mile away, but instead he let himself believe that he could keep his greed under lock and key and failed to prepare for the inevitable. 

In the other room, you whimper, your scent suddenly gone sour. 

He pauses. Lifts his head and sniffs the air.

“Nothing to do with you, pet,” Simon says, raising his voice loud enough to carry to the other room. 

You don’t say anything in response to his words, but the tension lifts from his shoulders when your scent goes back to normal. 

The weight of responsibility sits heavy on his shoulders. He’s learning in real time that taking sharp corners means skirting sharp edges. That an abrupt change can’t just happen seamlessly. 

Choices have consequences. 

Even scared and on edge, your presence fills the house with a kind of levity that Simon hasn’t enjoyed in decades, if ever, omega sweet scent clouding the air. It’s disorienting. Like barreling down a dark tunnel without knowing what could possibly be on the other side. 

Simon’s blood pressure spikes when your scent changes, a new peppery note that makes him salivate. 

You don’t come crawling to him though and that ticks him off. Already fucked and mated you and you still won’t cooperate; still giving him a hard time despite the work he’s put in. He stalks through the house and finds you huddled under a blanket in your nest, shivering and sweating, gaze desperate when you turn to find him haunting the doorway. 

He tilts his head to one side to get a better look at you. “What’re ya doing on your own in there, bird?”

You pull the blanket tighter around you, the whole thing wrapped around your head and body and only exposing a sliver of your face. 

“H-hot,” you mumble. “Leave me alone.”

“Gotta take the blanket off if you’re ‘ot, love.” 

He feels like he’s approaching a skittish animal, one that might lope off into the woods at any moment. Only there’s nowhere for you to run. There’s nowhere for you to go, and even if you could figure out a way to duck around him, you wouldn’t have the energy for a chase, weighed down by the exhaustion and mindlessness of heat. 

A few steps until he’s close enough and Simon drops to his knees, reaching out to cup the ankle sticking out of your blanket cocoon. You flinch when his hands touch your skin, colder than your scorching, sweaty flesh. 

The little fuss you put up as he pulls the blanket off you doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He’s single minded in his goal of getting you naked, tossing the blanket off the mattress even when you whine and lean over the mattress to retrieve it, and going for the straps of your dress in his haste to pull you back to him. 

It doesn’t do much. The dress gets trapped around at your biceps instead of coming down, too tight around the chest and arms to come off that way. Simon realizes his mistake when you start scowling and bitching—a bunch of lip that goes in one ear and out the other because he doesn’t have the patience to deal with it.

“Fuck, you’re burning up, pet,” Simon mutters instead of responding to your grumbling. 

There is real concern there, though it’s buried under an avalanche of desire so thick that it nearly suffocates him. He’s even been with an omega in heat before. Never been close enough to an omega to be given that right. 

And now, by his own hand, he has one to call his own. His to take care of and see through their heat.

You bat his hand away when it gets too close to your stomach. “You’re cold.”

Simon scowls, irked. “‘Course I am—you’re runnin’ a fever, bird.”

“Don’t wanna be touched,” you gripe. 

When he tries to crawl his hand up your shirt for a second time, you smack him again and his temper finally snaps.

“That does it,” he snarls and snatches you by the waist.

Wrestling you to the ground is a kind of tauromachy, only he’s the one huffing through his nose like a bull when he splays you out on your back and then turns you over, forcing your arms over your head and pinning your wrists together with one hand.

“Get—off of me—”

Pinned to the ground on your belly, you flail wildly and scream his ear off while he yanks up your dress again and works your knickers down your legs, nearly getting a foot to the face for his trouble. 

“Should be thanking me for getting your ass off the street,” Simon spits out, increasingly annoyed by the way you won’t just let him between your thighs all nice and sweet. “Not even making you do any of the work.”

He’s so magnanimous that he doesn’t even bring up the fact that you’ve been his from the start. So forgiving despite the fact that you should’ve recognized his scent at the very start of it all and approached him before giving him no choice but to go down this road. 

His arm is a bar across the small of your back that lays heavy as he plants his face between your thighs and eats you from behind, the bridge of his nose wedged against your perineum and wet with slick. He could cover the whole thing with his mouth if he wanted to. 

For as many birds as he’s fucked in his past, this isn’t something he usually does. Gets little out of it, like kissing in that way. For some reason though, he wants it with you; wants it with an ache that makes his stomach cramp, shoulders pulled up to his ears and traps all bunched up around his neck.

He moves on from your pussy, worming his tongue into your clenched up asshole. 

“No, don’t do that!” you gasp, reaching behind you as if you grab his hair and yank him away, only for your fingernails to scratch at his scorn scalp in vain. 

You make the mistake of trying to push his head away and Simon snarls, the sound so low and guttural that you freeze when you hear it, the vibrations against your skin making your toes curl.

“Move your hand,” he growls. 

You grab the blanket underneath you instead, curling your hands into fists and doing anything to avoid reaching back and pushing his face away again. 

Much better. He likes how embarrassed and ashamed you get when he runs his tongue over your tight little hole, not used to having someone touch you there. It makes him feel powerful, dominant over you. Like taking your walls down brick by brick and then building you back up with him on the inside. 

Though you don’t try to push him away anymore, you’re still a bit too petulant for his tastes. When you whine about it too much, he yanks your hips up and smacks your pussy with the meat of his hand to get you to shut up, your whole body flinching with the impact.

“Ow!” you yelp, a high, reedy sound that splits him down the center. 

“You’re givin’ me a hard fuckin’ time, pet,” Simon grumbles. “Stay still.”

“You’re a—fucking asshole!” you holler. 

Many people have called him worse, and none of them had his tongue on their asshole. He supposes he can give you a little leeway there. 

It quivers under his tongue when he flicks it over the wrinkled skin again, clenching up tight as if to pull away from him. Shy little thing. 

The taste of your skin is as good as your scent—a little saltier, but decadent. He laves his tongue over it again and again, eating your ass out until your pussy leaks like a loose spigot, the scent of it so enticing that he nearly gives in and swipes his tongue over your swollen lips. 

That’s not what you need though. 

Still a little gaped from taking his cock earlier, you take two fingers with ease, stretching beautifully around the widest part of his knuckle. It’s up there with the seven wonders of the world; Simon would choose this over Rome any day. 

“You’re gonna take my knot this time, alright?” he murmurs into the underside of your ass, sinking his teeth in when you garble something contradictory at first. “Say yes, bird.”

“Fuck—” you choke out, recanting your previous words, wound up like a clockwork motor. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

He skips straight to four fingers when your hips start to wriggle, amused by the way your thighs tense and your breath goes ragged, sweat dripping down your back. Your hips wiggle and his fingers sink in deeper until he’s practically cupping your pussy in his palm. 

“Little bit more—c’mon, birdie, almost there,” Simon coaxes, fingers plunging in and out of the pretty quince between your legs, speeding up when he notices your thighs begin to shake. 

You gush all over his fingers when you come, your upper body slumping over, settling deeper into lordosis. Fingers slick with cum when he pulls them out, the fluid webbing between his fingers when he pulls them apart to look at the mess you made.

He finally gives you his cock after he’s gotten you so wet and pliant that he could fist you if he was so inclined. His cock throbs at the thought; that’s a thought for a later day though, when he can afford to take his time with you. 

This time when Simon settles behind you, he doesn’t wait for you to relax before pressing all the way in, trusting his own instincts over your frantic pleading. It’s a smooth glide in, wet channel stretching around his shaft with the memory of his size from earlier, easier this time even though you still swear through clenched teeth and shake when he nearly bottoms out.

“Shit…there we go,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forehead veins straining. 

In all his life, he’s never had the same pussy twice. Never cared enough about someone to go back for seconds. And now he has one that’ll last him the rest of his life. 

It’s rougher this time than in the backseat of your car. Messy and brutal. He fucks you fast and deep, nearly bottoming out with every thrust, panting like he’s been running with the bulls in Pamplona, blond tufts of hair on his chest matted with sweat. Your little grunted pants only spur him on.

He regrets not getting his mouth on your cunt before feeding you his cock. It’s so wet that it squelches every time his hips shuttle forward, slick leaking down the sides of his cock and pooling under you in a wet puddle on the mattress. His fault for not putting down a towel.  

When he glances down, he sees your back hole still shiny with his spit and, in a moment of inspiration, wedges a thumb into it to keep it nice and spread. Better to just train you now while your body is so receptive, given that he intends on fucking every hole of yours before the week’s over. 

“Coulda just asked for a fuck instead of doin’ all this,” Simon grunts through each thrust. “Wouldn’t’ve turned ya down.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t—”

He snaps his hips forward. “Yeah, you did. Filthy fuckin’ bird.” The sound of laboured breaths and wet, squelching pussy fills the room. “Been wantin’ this, ‘aven’t ya? Wantin’ me? That why you came waggin’ this wet cunt around?”

He’s desperate enough to trick his mind into believing that. The faintest flickering chance that it wasn’t just him sitting behind a booth and pining for what he couldn’t have. That maybe you’d been hoping and waiting for him to come to you instead, all coy and shy about it.

“No, no, I swear,” you gasp, turning your head to the side and looking up at him with your big, watery eyes. 

“Yeah, ya did, birdie.”

He has to squeeze a finger in beside his cock to help stretch you enough to take his knot, and it’s a miracle that he eventually works it in. It takes some effort; time. Your back is slick with sweat, tense as a steel pole when he finally works it in, walls febrile and thin around the swollen mass of his knot, a single continuous wail ripping from your throat. 

“Big, innit?” he asks rhetorically when he’s got you on the end of it and struggling to form words through soundless gasps for air. 

The way you gulp in your breath says it all. Eyes probably wide and bulging if only he had a mirror to watch your expressions in. He’ll have to remember that for later. 

It’s still good like this though. Draped over you, the pudge of his lower belly pressed against the small of your back, one hand on the mattress beside you and one clutching your hip to hold you in place. 

When he drops his hand between your thighs to jiggle your clit, your inner walls squeeze around his knot and his brain nearly leaks out of his ears. His cockhead nudges against the firm, spongy opening of your cervix, and you mewl like all kittenlike and sweet.  

“Gonna come, pet?” Simon rasps. 

“I think I’m—think I’m gonna pass out,” you admit, practically slurring your words and Simon barely keeps from collapsing on top of you and fucking your brains out, smothering you under his weight until your words become reality. 

It wouldn’t be enough to make him stop; would probably egg him on more than anything to have a soft, pliant body under him taking his cock without trying to squirm away. His knot throbs at the thought and he lets himself slip into the daydream, imagining you prone and unmoving under him. 

One day he’ll have you like that. Middle of the night, moonlight streaming in through the window in silver ribbons, your legs akimbo on the bed and his body between them, monstrously large over your slumbering form. An ugly brute with no business plunging his big, filthy cock into such a pretty, perfect fairy doll. 

He leans down, pressing a kiss into the back of your head, almost tender for what he’s doing to your pussy. “S’alright if you have to; I’ll take care of ya.”

A few more strums of his fingers over your slippery wet clit and you go tight and taut, coming almost violently, head lolling forward with the force of it, practically burying the crown of your head into the pillow. Maybe you do pass out for a minute or two. 

Just the thought of that sends him freefalling over the edge, emptying his balls into the warm clench of your cunt, swollen knot throbbing with each spurt. His knot barely keeps it all plugged in, so much cum flooding your womb from weeks of pent up lust. 

Indescribable pleasure crawls up his spine and winds around to the front through his ribcage. Too good for him to waste his time thinking about what he’ll do if his knot does what it’s meant to do and it takes. His cock pulses again at the thought, another wave of pleasure rushing through him. Jesus fuck. 

He’s hunched over you for a while before it starts to slough off, thighs tensed on either side of yours. Balls drawn up tight and then slowly relaxing. Finally aware of the sweat pouring down his back and dripping from his chest. Muscles relaxing one after another. There’s an ache in his low back that likely won’t come out until he’s stretched it out, but it’s worth the pain to feel the way your back presses into him with every laboured inhale as you catch your breath. 

Simon shushes you when you whine something about being full. “You can take it; you’re alright.”

“It hurts,” you whine, a touch dramatic for his tastes. 

“Supposed to hurt, bird.”

Got no choice, is what he wants to say. It’s always going to hurt with him. 

He keeps one hand on your belly to ensure you stay pressed up against him when he rolls onto his side, wary of you trying to pull yourself off his cock and hurting yourself in the process. The skin at your entrance is stretched taut around his knot, and though he’s never been a particularly gentle fuck, the idea of something ripping where you’re most delicate sets his teeth on edge. 

Your forehead is still hot to the touch when Simon checks. And it will be for a while, your heat coming and going like the sun hidden briefly behind clouds before reappearing again. He’ll have to savour these moments of tranquility when they come. 

The moment of stillness is broken when you open your mouth to say, “You know, you could’ve just…talked to me.”

He’s not used to being scolded. It’s been a long time since anyone had that kind of authority over him or reason to talk to him that way, longer still since he’s taken anyone’s words to heart. 

“Talkin’ to you now, ain’t I?” Simon asks rhetorically. You huff and he can feel the movement of your back against his chest and it tickles something in him that’s still somehow alive, even after all these years. Even after everything. 

“Not the same thing,” you mumble, cheek pressed against the pillow under your head. 

‘Course it’s not the same thing, he wants to say, but compromise is essential for survival. You can’t tell a rock not to be a rock. Or a junkyard dog not to bite. 

“Tell you what,” he rasps. He drags the hand moulded to your belly up your chest until it’s nestled between your breasts, cupping a tit. Not meaning anything particularly sexual by it. There’ll be a time for that later when your heat crests again and your eyes go filmy, any chance at a coherent conversation swept away. “When we’re done ‘ere…we can ‘ave a go at it. Pretend I asked you out first. Make a game out of it.”

He can feel your incertitude in the stillness of your body. “…What would be the point of that?”

Simon very nearly chuckles. Very nearly says that you alone are the purpose in anything. That everything else in his life has been an aimless meandering for some kind of meaning, all of which has been in vain. All of which has left him scarred and bloody and beaten and battered, and now, for the first time in his life, someone has come along and shown him how pointless all of what came before was. 

But that seems like too many words for now. 

“No point, bird. Jus’ to make you feel better about it.”

A fine layer of dust on the windowsill reminds Simon that he needs to call the cleaners again. 

It’s been at least a day since he brought you home, maybe longer. The sky outside is lighter now than when he brought you in, creamy with light filtered through the clouds, the sun somewhere in pieces behind them. 

His heart has always sat deep in the valley where the cold sinks. Sangfroid. Cold-blooded. He’s been called many things in his life, but never deserving. Maybe he still isn’t deserving of anything good. All he knows is how to take and how to spoil. 

Today though, his heart isn’t as heavy as it’s always been, and a faint voice breathes softly at the back of his head. 

You haven’t been asleep for more than a half hour when Simon goes into the living room to make a call. 

Price answers on the second ring. “Lieutenant?” 

He sighs. “Can’t keep calling me that.”

“Force of habit.” Simon isn’t thick. Price uses language like he’s casting bait; like if he says the magic word enough times, Simon will give up this bid for freedom and come crawling back with his tail tucked between his legs, ready to sign away his life again. He knows that Price would love to have him back under his command. “What’s the matter? You never call this late.”

“Gonna need a raincheck on our drink tomorrow.” His eyes shift to the bedroom door, darkness spilling from the crack where he left it open. “Something came up.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and then a rough chuckle. “Oh, did it?”

His skin around his eyes crinkles as he stares into the darkness just beyond the bedroom door. If he quiets his breathing, he can almost hear the faint, soft sounds of your snores from the other room. 

“Yeah. It did.”

[kidsinnowadays]

Stress-Free Mornings: 7 Hacks to Get Your Kids Ready and Out the Door on Time

Explore practical and time-saving techniques to streamline your morning routine, ensuring a calm and efficient start to the day for the whole family. #StressFreeMornings #ParentingHacks #MorningRoutine #EfficientStarts

Mornings with kids can sometimes feel like a whirlwind of chaos and stress, as you juggle getting them ready for school while managing your own responsibilities. However, with the right strategies and routines in place, you can transform your mornings into a smooth and stress-free experience. This article provides seven practical hacks to help you get your kids ready and out the door on time,…

[irlcupcake]

10 of my favorite easy glow up tips! 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

get a gua sha!! not expensive at all and made such a difference in my face shape and carving out my cheek bones and jawline. there’s lots of good tutorials on tiktok or youtube!

tea in the morning/night! there’s so many teas to help with different things but my favorite’s are spearmint tea for clearing skin and green tea for reducing bloating.

ice your face! helps SO much with de-puffing and closing up your pores! dipping your face in a bowl with ice water can reduce inflammation, help with acne and reduce oily skin!

make sure to get enough sleep! It’s so easy to stay up scrolling on tumblr until the sun comes up but getting enough sleep is so important mentally and physically!

find a skincare routine that works for you and remember too much skincare can be bad for your skin! my skin was breaking out the worst when i was using a bunch of skincare and It’s cleared so much since i simplified my routine.

use a lash/brow serum! my favorite brand is grande lash and it’s a little pricey but using castor oil works as well and it’s super affordable.

going on walks! I’ve never been a fan of intense exercises and I’m a chronic bed rotter but putting on my favorite hot girl playlist and strutting on the treadmill/sidewalk is genuinely so fun!

rosemary oil for hair growth! my holy grail of hair growth products along with a scalp massager. my whole life my hair grew so slow and since using rosemary oil i have to trim my bangs twice a month sometimes!

i cannot stress this one enough..wear what YOU want! don’t let new trends or judgment from others stop you from embracing your true style. we look our best when we feel most confident!

most importantly ~ take care of yourself! make sure you’re eating enough, drinking water, listening to your body and being gentle with yourself always. improving ourselves can be so fun but make sure it’s not at the expense of your mental health <3

[cashmerekittennnn]

the sweetie blueprint ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗🎀

hi sweeties! the journey of self improvement can you be so so confusing and overwhelming at times. ive created a simplified blueprint! this blueprint is not about perfect - its about creating a life that feels so balanced, purposeful and aligned with who YOU want to be. whether youre starting your personal growth journey or looking to refine and revive your approach, this guide is perfect for you to build habits, shift your mindset and create a new life that leads to a meaningful to transition! enjoy 🎀

MENTAL WELLNESS:

your mind is the foundation to creating the life that you desire!

no social media for the first hour of being awake - protect your peace before you open your phone.

read 15 pages a day - expand your knowledge, a smart girl is a pretty one!

limit social media during the day - be focused and present (if you're trying to create your dream life and improve yourself you wont have time to look at mindless things and doom scroll)

journal! - practice gratitude morning and night.

practice delayed gratification - maintain focus!

PHYSICAL WELLNESS:

your body is your home, and is so so sacred, care for it.

10 minute morning stretch - wake up your body.

10k steps a day minimum - keep yourself energized, active and ready!

follow your workout schedule - create and align a workout schedule to your own personal goals.

fuel your body intentionally by eating 3 healthy meals

take your supplements !!!

ACADEMIC BARBIE:

create a personalized academic schedule for yourself - set yourself up for success, assess how you succeed in academics and implement that into your game plan.

apply this to your life, let it become second nature.

SPIRTUAL ALIGNMENT:

stay grounded in fail and in yourself!

practice meditation - realign your energy and calm your spirit

follow your religion.

pray morning and night - start your day with good intention and connection to your beliefs.

affirm - you become what you believe! affirm affirm affirm.

SELF CARE + BEAUTY:

looking good is an act of self love!

doll yourself up everyday - when you look good, you feel good.

gua sha and facial massage - keep that face snatched.

have a daily hygiene routine - keep yourself clean, groomed and fresh.

skincare morning and night!

have self care nights - make them a sacred time for you - dont let anything disturb your peace

xxx, belle 🎀

[honeytonedhottie]

master list⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀🍰

BLOG RULES

loa content

my manifestation opinions

perfect princess affirmations

what do i manifest next

how to build confidence in urself as a creator

take the pressure OFF

you find the law for a reason

subtle saturation

breaking the cycle

how to ignore the 3D and be unbothered

how 2 stop a manifestation spiral

saturation challenge

girl get UP

lets talk manifestation

are u still obsessed with the 3D??

impossible is impossible

robotic affirming

imagination life is ur creation

reprogramming ur mind with affirmations

dolly saturation sessions : 1 2 3 4 5 6

trying to make a script

beauty and fashion content

products i love

effortlessly pretty

refresh, reboot shower routine

summertime beauty routines

lets talk skincare

extra self care routine

it girls guide to fragrance

soft skin 101

being creative with fashion

DIY beauty

all about fragrance

pink academic content

get ready to get back to school

my back to school list

exam prep

how to be a whole new student this school year (MASTERPOST)

financial literacy

wellbeing content

things that make me feel clean and fresh

lessons in protecting ur peace

to be a little healthier

how to protect urself and stop breaking ur own heart

what i learned during my reflection period

reset, refresh, move on

maintaining the mind

girl exorcism

slow morning routine

ways to look after ur mental well being

dealing with ur period

how to embrace being alone

starting ur healing journey

romanticizing ur night routine

self improvement content

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incorporating chic-ness and elegance into ur lifestyle

how to be ur own muse

planning basics

hottie's habits

about self respect

take care of YOU first

your greatest accomplishment is urself

how to be more feminine

the victim mentality

how to cultivate growth

simplified tunnel vision

celebrity energy

your guide to effortless glamour

ditch the desperation

the monthly necessities

maintaining/creating a social life

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summer activities without screens

hot girl summer reminders

hot girl summer

honey's diary season ep 1

honey's diary session ep 2

honey's diary session ep 3

all about role models

girly morning and evening rituals

hyper femininity

your guide to casual glam

hyper girliness

some of my favorite shows and films

things to add onto ur morning routine

follow along morning routine

my girly arts and crafts era

honey's guide to fall

the it girls magazine

august catalogue

july catalogue

june catalogue

may catalogue

april catalogue

[girlietips]

Let’s simplify

Life is easier when you have less to worry about.

The less you have to worry about the easier it is to grow.

Declutter your space

Go through your closet and get rid of anything that doesn’t align with your future self.

Go room by room getting rid of things that do not make sense to have.

Declutter your phone and laptop of old files that you do not need.

Organize your life in a way that is easy to follow and can be maintained.

Simplify your routines

Instead of a 20 step skin care routine that is so overwhelming to do pair down and make it more manageable.

Create a morning routine that is easy to follow and won’t rush you. Yeah it’s great you did all of it but there’s no point in having all those tasks if you rush and don’t enjoy them.

Focus on 3 tasks per day that you have to get done. Set aside an hour a day to devote to them.

Create simple meals that fulfill your cravings and health needs. There is nothing wrong with eating the same thing every day as long as it is healthy.

Maintain

Create a cleaning routine that is simple and you complete weekly.

Continually declutter and get rid of things that no longer belong in your life.

Adjust as you grow. If there is one part of your morning routine you dread change it so you can fully enjoy yourself. Your routines should grow as you do.

Allow for a daily tidy of your space. A well maintained space should only take 15-25 minutes to tidy daily.

Meal prep once a week. Make a day of it. Turn on your music and allow yourself to enjoy cooking without stress.

[huellitaa]

౨ৎ ⋆｡• vogue beauty secrets 🐰 ๋࣭ ⭑

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ hair

don't wash your hair every day! i think everybody knows this but i know a couple people who still dont wash their hair only 2-3 times a week. obviously it depends on ur hair type but only wash your hair when it needs it!

don't wash your hair with scalding hot water either. its not only bad for your body and face but its also bad for your hair as it ruins the natural oils and damages cells etc

if you have frizzy or easily knotted hair i recommend keeping a comb on hand in the shower and using it to detangle before putting in any products

i've been emulsifying my shampoo for only a couple of weeks but my hair is sooo much fluffier afterwards so i definitely recommend that!!

now i'm torn on this one but apparently shampooing twice is better for your hair than doing it once? i tried it one time and it did not end well for my hair type but i know it works for a lot of people so if you wanna give it a try then go for it ♡

i squeeze excess water out of my hair before i put in my conditioner so i can completely get it in there without

also change your pillow case often! this is for your face too, as the oils will build up and thats not good for ur hair or face. i change it once a week but 2x a week is good too if you're able 💓

don't go to bed with wet hair. stop doing that. its super bad for your hair and keeping it pretty & fluffy & cute

airdrying is my holy grail, been doing it since i was little and dont regret a thing. its a billion times better than blow drying & makes ur hair so fluffy too ♡

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ body

DO NOT. HAVE. THE WATER. BOILING HOT. i am guilty of this and have been for years but it has such a bad impact and you shouldnt do it! cold showers are better but i prefer warm showers so theres a middle ground (& its always cold in england, so id freeze to death.)

using body lotion after the shower has been such a game changer for me its incredible. makes you smell nice, feel nice, look nice, and its so relaxing and i feel like a princess after i do it <3

exfoliating is really important if your aim is for soft skin 💓 i have been doing it for months and as somebody with super rough skin its SO soft now

partake in some form of exercise. i hated hated hated sports and exercise when i was younger but i did do dance up until i was eleven and have been doing pilates consistently for months now, and my mindset towards it has changed drastically over the years to finally a healthy one. it can be a difficult thing to get into but make it something you enjoy. it doesn't have to be sports. ill make a post on this soon but it can be pilates, kpop dances, running, hot girl walks, anything! and most importantly, do it for mental health and physical health, not losing weight.

make sure you're eating properly. remember that 1400 to 2400 calories of nutritious substance is the MINIMUM. this of course depends on many variables including, weight, height, BMR, what it is your eating, et cetera. your body is so important & is there to be nourished and not neglected !!! ♡ (💭🎀edit: updated info on calories and nutrition from a lovely anon i received a message from this morning! ♡)

change your bedsheets every week if you wanna smell good, this is so important bc sweat and odour will build up if u dont and thats icky and wont make u smell good & probably isnt the best for your skin either!

i also put two similar body washes on in the shower that i get SO many compliments on & its really helpful if one of your priorities is smelling good

dont just wash body wash straight off, let it sit for a few moments so the scent can actually sink into ur skin

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ face

skincare every morning & every night. if ur tired or just not feeling it today then simplify it, just make sure you never leave it out because its super important! no. skipping. no work = no reward.

on this note, try not to have a too complicated skincare routine, as this can backfire and make ur skin worse than before. your skin isnt meant for 18 different products and 200 chemicals every morning!

never wash your face with hot water... this is also a given but just in case... it strips your skin of its natural oils and does more harm than good

stop touching ur face... just for those who need a little reminder

make sure ur sleeping enough. seriously disney princess movies meant it when they talked ab beauty sleep; it seriously makes a difference, so please try make this a priority, especially if you already have dark circles like myself! (like girl did you see aurora's face? my girl's skin was so clear i could see my reflection)

pay attention to what makes ur face puffy or irritated or makes you get break outs. i keep a little break out log in my skincare page in my journal (little teaser for an upcoming post 🤭) and this has helped me go over what helps or hurts my skin! i recommend this especially if ur prone to acne or breakouts 💖

cold spoons in the morning to depuff your eyes; ive only been doing this a handful of times but im making it a habit seeing as it really helps! (as someone who can get vv puffy eyes 😭)

hydration is so important, for everything in this list, but most of all (from my experience) your face! i drink A Lot of water every day. probably a bit too much. but its so worth it, my skin has been absolutely amazing ever since i started actually making hydration a priority. (and this is coming from a girl who didnt touch a drop of water when she was younger & had to go hospital for dehydration several times.)

i'd recommend scrubbing ur lips too in the morning when you brush your teeth, i saw this on pinterest aaages ago bc i had super dry lips and i do it every morning & every night RELIGIOUSLY. its so so good and i definitely recommend

i have super dry lips in the morning so lip balm in the mornings w my skincare is absolutely essential for me

i also put perfume behind my ears & on my neck so its the first thing people smell when they hug me! im a very touchy person and i love hugs and i love showing love to people so this is essential for me but its optional, just makes you smell good ♡

[freaknloser]

Buff!Male x Chubby!FemaleReader Part 4

⚠ Content Warning: Adult language, minor sexual content, fluff, slow burn, potential angst? Context: Brunch with your bestie who needs to hear about every single breath, glance, and touch that happened on your date. Later that night, a phone call starts cutely but leads to a bit of confusion and panic. Are you overthinking or did it mean something? Word count: 3.494   │ part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │ part 5 │ part 6 (WIP) │ follow for more! │

Hey, shortcake! ヾ(≧▽≦)ゝ The weather seems to have calmed, so I was able to actually finish this part and start on the next... And, boy, it's coming along nicely. Anywho, I won't ramble too much. I hope your day is as wonderful as you are! ♡

[Did you like it? Let me know! Did you not? Leave a comment to tell me why so I can improve!]

It seemed your departure from the diner was far from the end of your conversation with Daniel. After your shower, the screen of your phone was the only thing illuminating your room; your head was sunk into the plush pillow on your bed and a smile was glued to your lips. His replied followed just as quickly as yours, seeming to be just as committed to ignoring the call of slumber to enjoy the silly discussions as you were.

Still, your eyelids grew heavier, your vision blurred from the tears filling your eyes with every yawn that punched its way from your throat. He had called you out for being sleepy, said your messages were starting to become shorter. Even though you protested, moments later your eyes were closed, soft snores coming from parted lips, but still holding the phone loosely in your hand.

The following morning, light filtered through the blinds of your bedroom, slowly illuminating the room with a warm glow. You grumbled as you tugged the blanket up to your forehead and rolled over, trying to cling onto slumber as long as possible. However, it seemed the universe—more specifically the fiery redhead you called your best friend—had other plans.

A fist connected with the wooden front door, banging echoing through your apartment like gunshots. You jerked up from the pillow, blinking as you tried to register if that was a dream or if you really heard it. Then it happened again, louder, more demanding.

With your hair jutting from your head in multiple directions, you threw the blanket off you and jumped from the bed, almost toppling to the floor in your panicked state. Your bare feet thudded against the vinyl flooring as you swiftly darted towards the front door. You leaned against the door, hands pushed against the wood as you peeked out the peephole.

Amanda stood in the dark, dank hallway outside your door, the displeasure clear on her face as she raised her fist and pounded against the wood so hard you felt the vibrations in your palms. You slung the door open just as her hand drew back to strike the wood.

“Y/N!” She grinned widely, pushing passed you to step into your apartment without an invitation. She turned to face you, her eyes dragging up and down as she took in your frazzled appearance with her head tilted.

“Were you in bed? Oops, did I wake you up?”

A yawn threatened your eyes with tears as you closed the door with a soft click. “You did.”

“Too bad,” she said with a smirk as she turned and tossed her purse on the nearly broken brown canvas couch. “I want food and you have to tell me about your date.”

You stopped a foot, the thump echoing through the small living room. “But I’m sleepy,” you whined.

It seemed your protests fell on deaf ears as Amanda was already making her way to your bedroom. As much as you wanted to sleep, you knew there was wiggling out of this; so now it was just about beating her to your closet before she tried to make you wear something that was too tight or too revealing for brunch.

A simplified morning routine with Amanda rushing followed; and before long, you were sitting outside a your frequented spot for brunch together. A breeze filtered through the open patio, carrying the sweet scent of the nearby flower shop within it. Amanda sat across from you, silently examining you with a critical eye over the rim of her glass as she took a slow gulp of her mimosa.

Conversations blurred together in the background, accompanied with the occasional small clinks of silverware and glasses. Plus the occasional shrill caw of that damned bird that always eyed your fries when you came here.

You sipped from your own drink, mirroring her mannerisms before speaking again. “Okay,” you sighed, sitting your own glass down, your eyes never leaving her green ones.

“I know you’re dying for details, but remember what I’ve said. We’re in public, so kee—”

Before you could even finish the word, let alone the sentence, she was cutting you off to ask said question.

“Did you fuck him?”

It was unreasonably loud, obnoxious even. Yet she was completely unbothered by her crude words or the fact the man who sat two tables from the two of you wore all black aside from the white band threading through the stiff collar of his top.

“Jesus, Amanda,” you muttered, glancing around at the nearby patrons; stilling momentarily on the pastor with a red face and refused to look in your direction.

Her glass clinked against the table, eyes never leaving yours. She arched an eyebrow at you, not understanding why your cheeks were turning pink.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so loud. This is why I said we could have food delivered to my place... And for your information, I—”

Amanda grinned widely as you started your speech, thinking she just got her answer. She leaned over the table, immediately starting in on her rapid fire questioning, overpowering your words with hers once more.

“Oh my god, you did! You slut!” Her hands clapped to her cheeks, her face lighting up with the promise of steamy details. “Tell me, tell me! Was it good?”

Your nose scrunched slightly as your lips tugged into a frown. You stayed silent, simply staring at Amanda, who appeared as she was seemingly about to explode with excitement. She subtly wiggled in her seat, pushing the half-eaten omelet to the edge of the table so she could prop her elbows on the metal surface.

“Hmm… He’s so tall, I bet it’s huge,” she mused as she waggled her brows. “Spill the tea! I need to hear everything!”

When you kept the same blank face and didn’t answer, she groaned. Her palms came down against the tabletop with a loud SLAP. A startled gasp rang from a nearby table followed by daggers being shot into the back of your head.

“Ugh! Y/N, you’re killing me!”

You fold your arms over your chest, letting the silence stretch between you for several moments. Finally, as if you had been waiting for a child to stop throwing a temper tantrum, you spoke calmly.

“… Can I talk now?”

Amanda was always like this: she had to know every detail about everything. Not that it was used maliciously, she was just the nosiest person you had ever met.

She threw her hands up, nodding her head so frantically that her ponytail bounced over her shoulder. Her index and thumb came to her lips, locking them closed with a metaphorical key before tossing it over her shoulder, then she grinned meekly at you.

You force the corners of her mouth to stay in a frown, even as they try to curl upwards. While she had a flair for the dramatics, she was the most loyal person you had ever had by your side. Also, the faces she made were always hilarious.

“Alright, but if you interrupt me again, I’m keeping any and all future events to myself.” Your eyes narrow at her in warning.

She nodded her acceptance of your terms, scooting her chair around to the side of the table to be closer. “Whatever, just tell me!”

So, you did. You told her that he made you laugh so hard the muscles in your sides ached worse than when you hit the gym. The pet name he casually used for you, how he looked at you as if you were the only person in the whole world. As you continued with the innocent details of your date, she was looking at you with sparkling eyes and a small smile.

“You like him.”

“Duh,” you jeered with an eyeroll. Then your face turned solemn as you continued, “but it’s stupid, right? I barely know him… I don’t even know what he does for a living.”

Amanda leaned back in her chair, the metal legs scraping against the stone under foot. Her hand waved through the air dismissively, nose somewhat upturned and eyes nearly closed.

“That’s part of the boring stuff, anyway. There’s plenty of time to learn about him,” she retorted before meeting your eyes once more. “What’s really important is how he makes you feel.”

Your index finger absentmindedly stroked your the rim of your glass as your eyes flicked between hers, your nail catching on a small imperfection in the crystal.

That was a loaded question, wasn’t it? It was partially thrilling, the same feeling you get when you’re on a rollercoaster and your stomach does that flip as the carts stills just before dropping you multiple stories. On the other hand, it was also absolutely terrifying; an unknown with so many possible outcomes—many of which ending in pain.

Following brunch, Amanda drove you home, starting yet another spiel about the same co-worker from the night before now that she heard everything about your date. You gave her a knowing look, a smirk tugging at your lips.

It was your turn to tease her, using some of her own words against her before adding that she seems to be too obsessed to hate him. She retaliated, you pushed back with a giggle.

Once you got back to the apartment complex, she did everything but shove you out the door.

“Get out, traitor.”

“Traitor?”

She scowled at you, her lips drawn into a tight line as her eyes hurled knives at you. “Yes. Traitor,” she accentuated the word, drawing out the syllables to twist an imaginary blades in your gut.

But you just blinked before deadpanning your follow up, “How so?”

She gawked at you, her mouth opening and closing, appearing as a fish out of water. “Wut-are you-wah,” she stuttered, unbelieving of the audacity of your question. Finally, her brows pinched together as a frown pulled her mouth closed.

“I’m not obsessed,” she gritted before turning her actively flushing face towards the windshield. “He just makes me so mad.”

You smirked, raising your eyebrows. “Mhm, sure.”

“Out.”

Your laugh filled the cab before you reached over and patted her shoulder. “Don’t be a brat.”

She huffed before grumbling something under her breath about you being rude. You half-heartedly apologized then she didn’t look at you as if she wanted to strangle you, a small improvement but one you would take. A while later, you were walking to the foyer of your building while she was pulling away.

The rest of your day tried to fall into the same dull routine as before. You changed clothes and went to your boring retail job; but there was something different now: Daniel. A co-worker mentioned Hawaii and your face split into a grin while you thought about how hard you’d laughed alone in your room when he confessed that he still occasionally slipped and called it ‘specific ocean’.

The blue sky above you on your walk home, the musk of an almost familiar cologne belonging to a faceless stranger on the sidewalk: everything made him jump to the foreground of your mind.

If it were to continue, if you were going to allow yourself to feel this, you had to get to know him better. So far, all you knew was he lived alone, drove an expensive car, and that he would gladly do anything to pull a laugh from you.

That just wasn’t enough, was it?

You blankly stared at your laptop, the cursor blinking on the screen, impatiently waiting for you to continue the email you didn’t know how to reply to. The once steaming coffee now sat cold and forgotten to the side as you reread the email you had been trying to write for the last 10 minutes. Your phone buzzed, skittering across the wooden desk to grab your attention. ‘hey i kno weve been txtin all day but can i call u?’ ‘just wanna hear ur voice’

That was how your laptop ended up abandoned on the desk while you meandered through your apartment, phone held firmly against your ear, sweetly saying your hello.

“Hey,” his voice came through the receiver. Deep, warm, something you didn’t realized you were missing until you heard it again. “I hope it’s okay I asked to call you.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, the grin already plastered on your face. “Did you have a good day?”

“Long, but better now.” You could practically hear the smile in his words. “How was your day, sweetness?”

“Mine was long, too, but not bad.” You kept idly wondering in and out of every room, eyes fixed on nothing. Your fingers dragging across the soft throw blanket draped across the back of the couch as you walked through the living room. “Just boring.”

“Boring? Maybe I could fix that. What are you doing now?”

Your ears picked up on the subtle sound of fabric rustling in the background. Was he undressing? The sound of a zipper confirmed as your mind wandered to what what he may look like under the long sleeved dress shirt or loose fitting t-shirt you've seen him in. Abs or a soft layer of fat? Did he that deliciously carved V that dipped below his waistband?

“… Nothing,” you choked out.

“I was thinking about taking a walk.” He paused, falling so quiet that you pulled your phone away from your ear to check to be sure you didn’t get disconnected.

“I know it’s tradition to wait to ask you out; adding tension or something dumb like that,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, “but honestly? I just want to see you again.”

Your phone left your ear as you silently screamed, padding in place.

“Y/N?”

Daniel’s voice ringing through the speaker made you realize you hadn’t replied.

“Oh!” The screen came back to your ear so quickly that it made a little slap sound against your plump cheek. “Um, I’m not really dressed to go out.”

“I don’t expect you to be dressed up for a walk in the park… But, it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

The way he said it wasn’t exactly disappointed, but something similar. Yearning, perhaps?

“Can I take you out tomorrow? Or the next night if you’re busy?” His tone never wavered as he tried again and again. Fully uncaring if you declined, and already formulating another plan in case you did. “Or you can just tell me a place, day, and time. I’ll be there.”

You laughed at his eagerness, even as the butterflies flapped wildly in your stomach. “I mean, I didn’t say no—”

“You didn’t?”

“Let me talk,” you quickly retorted, holding a finger in the air as to somehow hush him through the space separating you. And he did, clamping his mouth closed so suddenly you could hear the soft, wet pop of his lips.

“I’m already dressed for bed. But I am free tomorrow night, I guess.” You tried to sound casual, but the eagerness slipped into your voice.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed as a breath. You could hear shuffling before the clear sounds of papers rustling and a pen scratching.

“I’ll take it. Can I pick you up?”

Your cheeks ached all over again, an unguarded toothy grin holding the corners of your mouth upwards. “Maybe. What were you thinking?”

“Dinner,” he quickly responded, as if he had been planning it out. Probably because he had.

“I want to take you somewhere nice. Better than a diner with a waitress that smells like she smokes a pack of cigarettes an hour, at least. Then maybe a walk after if my luck continues.”

Before your brain—which was currently short-circuiting—could string words together to form a sentence, he was talking again.

“Wear something nice.” You could almost hear his brain click on before he quickly added, “I mean, you always look perfect, it’s just a nice place.”

The way he emphasized it made your heart still, your brows start to pinch together.

“I hope it isn’t too nice. I don’t…” You paused, not wanting to disclose your current financial struggle, even if the space around you made it obvious. “Hm… I don’t see the point of spending a lot of money on food.”

“I do,” he retorted. A warm chuckle filled your ear, sweet like honey and just as thick with amusement. “Just let me take you out. Don’t worry about anything. Please?”

Your eyes fixed on the lavender wallpaper peeling away from the corner of your kitchen as you thought, or pretended to at least. Then your ear picked up another voice: a man in the background, with a rough voice that was closer to a growl, spoke incoherently.

“Sorry, shortcake,” he murmured sweetly. “Give me just a second, okay?”

After you muttered your agreement, you heard the shuffle of his phone sitting on a surface, then the soft taps of footsteps. Three. Slow and calculated.

Tap… Tap… Tap…

Then he spoke, his voice a complete contrast to how he had just been speaking to you. Instead of warm and welcoming, it was darker. Firm, commanding, bordering on angry.

While you couldn’t understand everything, you got the jist of the one-sided conversation. Daniel frustratedly called something ‘uncalled for’ and ‘ridiculous’ before demanding the situation be rectified immediately. That was followed by muttered words you couldn’t hear, no matter how hard you pressed the phone against your ears or how tightly you closed your eyes.

Then you could hear footsteps once more, a door clicking closed, the rustling of his phone coming back to his ear. You snapped upright quickly as if he could somehow see you eavesdropping, appearing as a child who was caught with an ear pressed against a door to hear secrets.

“You still there, sweetness?” His tone was back to usual, calm and smooth as silk.

“I am,” you said flatly, blinking into your dark kitchen.

“I’m sorry, but I have some things I have to take care of. And I’m sure you’re about ready for bed. I know it’s late.”

Your eyes squinted at the soft green glow of the clock on the back of your stove. 9:45? How did it suddenly get so late? Didn’t you just got on the phone? A glance of the screen dismissed that thought as you seen you had been on the phone for nearly an hour.

“Oh, yeah. I should probably be getting to bed.”

You tried not to sound rattled by how his tone had changed so dramatically when he was talking to someone else. And who was he speaking to?

“Mhm, you should... But you need to answer my question first.”

You blinked, then arched one eyebrow. “Question?”

“Yes. Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

You tapped a finger against your bare thigh as your face twisted into a sceptical frown. “How about I meet you?”

Silence; you couldn’t even hear him breathe.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he whispered, small and vulnerable, sounding like a puppy being scolded. He cleared his throat before continuing with his usual tone. “But I understand. I’ll text you the address.”

With him leading the way, you said your goodbyes. You stared at your lock screen—even after it had turned black and reflected your frown back at you—as you tried to piece together why his tone changed so dramatically when he spoke to the other man. And who was the other man?

Your eyes barely moved as the screen lit up to show a new text from Daniel. You stood frozen for a few moments, like a deer caught in headlights.

Then you were padding to your bedroom, already calling Andrea to get her to talk some sense into you. The line trilled. Once, then twice. Once more. Then silence, fabric rustling, and finally, a groggy hello came through the speaker.

“Amanda, talk me down,” you spit frantically as you climbed onto your mattress.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I was on the phone with Daniel,” you started, the words pouring out of you so quickly they almost blurred together, “and somebody in the background said something and he started acting really weird. His voice changed, he sounded like someone else or something and he sounded intimidating and unlike any—”

“Girl, slow down!”

Amanda somehow ended up being the voice of reason, stopping your downward spiral in its place.

“What happened? And talk slower. You did just wake me up.”

With that, you fell into a spill about how his tone darkened, how he sounded angry and tyrannical. Then how it was suddenly over as soon as he was speaking to you again, like nothing had happened.

“So?”

“‘So’? Are you fucking with me?!” You pinched your bridge, letting out a long breath through pursed lips.

“Amanda, who the fuck am I going out with tomorrow?”

freaknloser.tumblr.com © 2025

[ourlittlehouseinthecountry]

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how busy life feels — even when we’re at home. The days are full, the to-do lists never end, and sometimes we forget to even take a breath. But I truly believe slow living isn’t about abandoning your responsibilities — it’s about approaching life a little more gently. 💛 I’ve just published a new blog post on this very topic: “Slow Living for Busy People: 5 Gentle Ways to Embrace a Calmer Life.” If you’ve been craving a slower pace, but don’t know where to start, this one’s for you. I’m sharing 5 simple things I’ve found genuinely helpful in creating more ease and presence — even on the busiest days: 🍃 Savor micro-moments of mindfulness 🍃 Create calm mornings the night before 🍃 Set a digital curfew to protect your peace 🍃 Say “no” gently but firmly 🍃 Reconnect with nature and seasonal rhythms It’s full of practical ideas and gentle encouragement — nothing overwhelming or unrealistic. Just small, doable changes that help you slow down and feel more at home in your own life. 💫 You’ll find the full post linked in today’s Stories, and it’s also in the link in my bio (under "New on the Blog"). I’d love to know which tip speaks to you most! 💭 📚 Read it here ➝ ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com/slow-living-for-busy-people 📥 Save this post to revisit anytime you need a reminder to slow down — #slowliving #intentionalliving #simpleliving #mindfulliving #gentleliving #slowlifestyle #liveintentionally #calmliving #mindfulmornings #slowlivingmovement #ourlittlehouseinthecountry #peacefuldays #createcalm #livingwithintention #consciousliving #holisticliving #slowlivingtips #dailyintentionality #slowlivingforbusypeople #intentionalhome #seasonalliving #slowmoments #groundedlife #intentionalmotherhood #simplifyyourlife #intentionalroutines

[struwberrii]

boyfriend! semi who sends you voice memos late at night of him playing guitar and singing songs he wrote while thinking about you.

it was already 2:45 in the morning and semi was sitting awake in his bed, acoustic guitar in his lap while he typed away in his notes. you were the only thing on his mind, he knew it was cheesy but he couldn’t stop smiling thinking about how pretty you were, how your smile always made him smile, how your hair smelled so good, how your eyes always lit up everytime he walked into the room. after an hour of messing around with different chords he finally made the perfect song for you. he opened his voice memos and started with “sorry, i know you’re probably asleep but i couldn’t stop thinking about you, so i wrote you this…..”

boyfriend! semi who picks you up from work/class everyday just to hear about you ramble about stupid things the whole walk home.

boyfriend! semi who teaches you to play his guitar by sitting you in his lap and guiding your hands on different chords and strings, all while explaining the notes and how to strum.

you were resting your head on semis shoulder, watching him effortlessly strum his guitar. he looked so perfect like that. he looked down at you before he spoke up. “have you ever played guitar?” he said holding it up to you.

“yeah, i have”

“i mean like, ACTUALLY” he said laughing, “here” he gestured to his lap and helped you get comfortable. he rested his guitar in your lap and guided your hands to the neck of his guitar, placing your fingers on different frets and attempting to teach you a very simplified version of one of your favorite songs.

boyfriend! semi who sends you screenshots of his notes app and asks for advice on how to improve his lyrics (also just wants an excuse to text you)

boyfriend! semi who calls you for no reason just to hear the sound of your voice, especially late at night when he’s falling asleep just so you guys can sleep on the phone when you aren’t together

you find yourself going to be way too late again, your in the bathroom finishing up your night routine when you hear your phone vibrate. you finish up in the bathroom and read your boyfriends caller ID on your illuminated phone screen. you quickly pick up the phone :3

“eita? everything ok?” you asked slightly concerned but also this is your boyfriend we’re talking about here, 2 am is his 10 pm.

“i was just up thinking about how i never got to hear about your day today, lay it on me”. he said in that sleepy voice you love oh so much. you smile to your self, getting comfortable in bed while you tell him in detail about your day, knowing the two of you will just end up sleeping on the phone together.

boyfriend! semi who stalks your spotify and plays all your favorite artists while you’re in his car with him

boyfriend! semi who kisses your nose goodbye every time he has to go

you were cuddled up on your couch with semi, watching old movies together. everything felt so comfortable and cozy. you laid in his strong arms, lightly inhaling his cologne off the sweater he wore. suddenly his phone buzzing snapped you out of your trance.

“shit, trouble at the apartment. i gotta head out”. he said propping you up and frantically gathering his things. he had been having some issues with his stove at his apartment so you didn’t blame him for trying to rush back before anything bad happened. before he left, he walked over to you and tilted your head up with his fingers, planting a light kiss on the tip of your nose before flashing you a sweet smile.

“i’ll be back later, love you”.

boyfriend! semi who begs you to come thrift with him because he’s afraid he’ll buy ugly clothes that’ll give you the ick

boyfriend! semi who would never admit it but secretly loves being the little spoon

boyfriend! semi who loves explaining the lore behind all his favorite bands to you but ends up feeling anxious about ranting for so long

boyfriend! semi who keeps polaroids of you everywhere and always keeps a camera on him to take more polaroids

boyfriend! semi who is really good at making sushi and always surprises you with his cooking (or sushi making)

boyfriend! semi who invites you to all his band practices and always gets lectured by his band mates for messing around too much with you there

some of semis band mates shared a house together. they didn’t have any super close neighbors, so they could practice there whenever they felt like it. he thought it would be a pretty boring experience for you so he usually didn’t invite you to come, but sometimes he felt really proud of the new songs they’d rehearse and wanted you to hear them first and live.

the only problem with that was, whenever you sat infront of him on the couch watching him with your pretty eyes, looking so starstruck by him, he seemed to forget how to play guitar entirely. he’d hit wrong frets, fumble lyrics, strum wrong chords. he was a mess. but that didn’t stop him from being shamelessly flirty with you infront of all his band members.

boyfriend! semi who always surprises you with concert tickets to cute romantic artists (like matt maltese or faye webster yk)

boyfriend! semi who also invites you to his favorite artists concerts when they go on tour, which are usually a lot more upbeat and end up with you two singing and jumping in the crowd :]

[idiopathicsmile]

look, i wear makeup sometimes. i enjoy it sometimes. but after seeing this ad on youtube, i just wanna real quick scream from the rooftops that, uh, you all know there's an easier way, right? a free life hack for really simplifying your morning routine that also requires zero time or effort? we're all on the same page about the most efficient way to create the look that we're not wearing makeup, right?

[thisisnot-yourgrave]

What I learned about my brain and routines as a person with ADHD and autism:

The number one strategy that I've been implementing is

Eliminate any and all decisions to avoid being burnt out by 10 am

My partner turns on the radio as soon as he leaves for work, so I'm not met with the decision of putting on a podcast or music as soon as I wake up

I have the same breakfast every day and this might change, the basic concept here is, that it doesn't require any fresh ingredients so that I always have breakfast available even if I forgot to get groceries because I take my meds in the morning

Moving to the bathroom is a little tricky sometimes but when I'm there, I can do everything I need to do to get ready in one room and in sight so I remember to actually do them (including my clothes because I undress anyways to shower)

I simplified my wardrobe so every shirt goes with every pair of pants so it doesn't really matter what I pick, it will always look (somewhat) put together

Also, dressing to be comfortable instead of dressing to look nice was a huge thing for me. That simple mindset shift truly eliminated so many decisions I was making and that were truly tiring me out

What also really helped, is, that I stopped tying my routine to a certain time. Now, I realize that this is a privilege because I don't work at the moment but this truly changed things for me because it became a lot less daunting once I eliminated a lot of decisions. I don't have to mentally prepare myself to get ready anymore and I consider that a huge win because I have a lot more energy throughout the day.

I realize that these things are not new in any way, shape or form but I have a very hard time unlearning things I was thought as a child. Maybe seeing that other people do things "differently" helps someone else.