Luvsociety

You remember what I love, and I remember the things you quietly dislike. Maybe that is one of the purest forms of love. Not just knowing someone’s favourite song, food, place, or colour. But knowing what makes them go silent. What makes them uncomfortable. What kind of day makes them withdraw. What kind of words stay with them longer than they admit. To love someone is to pay attention. To notice. To remember. To know what makes their heart lighter, and what makes it heavy. You remember the little things that make me smile. And I remember the things that make your world feel a little harder. So when life gets too much for you, I don’t want you fighting it alone. You don’t need to explain every storm before I stand beside you. You don’t need to tell me exactly what happened before I decide to stay. You don’t have to look strong for me. If tonight feels heavy, I’ll stay until it feels a little softer. If your mind gets too loud, I’ll sit with you until the noise settles. If you don’t feel like talking, then we won’t talk. I’ll still be there. Because love is not only being there when someone is easy to understand. It is learning the parts of them that are complicated too. Knowing what hurts them and becoming careful with it. Knowing what scares them and never using it against them. Knowing when they need reassurance, when they need silence, and when they simply need someone close enough to remind them that they are not carrying everything alone. You have spent enough nights trying to be strong by yourself. Enough time standing in storms and pretending the rain doesn’t hurt. You don’t have to do that with me. On your best days, I’ll celebrate every part of you. On your worst ones, I’ll sit beside you without making you feel guilty for having them. And if all you can do some days is survive the day, then I’ll never ask you to be more than that. Maybe this is what love really comes down to. To know someone deeply. To remember what they never thought anyone would notice. To protect the parts they trusted you enough to reveal. To see through every smile, every silence, every “I’m fine.” And still choose them. Again and again. So if one day the whole world feels too heavy, you don’t have to ask whether I’ll stay. I want you to already know the answer. I see you. The soft parts. The difficult parts. The tired parts. The parts you hide from everyone else. All of you. And I’m still here.

Bro I think you’re mixing up orgasm and ejaculation. They’re not the same thing in women. A girl can orgasm completely normally without any fluid coming out. Some get wetter, some release a little fluid, some may squirt, and some have almost nothing noticeable at all. So fluid is not the proof that she came. If she’s telling you she’s close and then says she came, don’t keep waiting for some visible ejaculation like it happens with men. You may notice her breathing change, body getting tense, pelvic contractions, suddenly becoming very sensitive or wanting you to slow down or stop after that, but even these things are different for every girl. Best thing is just talk to her. Ask her what she actually feels when she orgasms and what feels best for her. That will tell you much more than checking for fluid. https://ngl.link/luvsociety2

Bro if it’s only happening in cowgirl and you’re fine in other positions, I wouldn’t overthink it. That position can just be way more stimulating because she controls the rhythm and you don’t have the same control over pace. Just tell her to start slower. If you feel you’re getting too close, pause for a bit, change the rhythm, breathe properly and relax your body instead of tensing everything trying to stop yourself. Even a slightly thicker condom can help if sensitivity is the main issue. And don’t make sex into a timing competition. If both of you are enjoying it, that matters more than proving you can last some fixed number of minutes. If you’re finishing very quickly in almost every position regularly and you genuinely can’t control it, then yeah, that’s something worth looking into. But from what you’re describing, it sounds more like cowgirl just hits you harder than the others. https://ngl.link/luvsociety2

I don’t really care if you compliment my looks. What I care about is my mind. I want you to leave a conversation with me and still carry something from it. A thought you had never considered. A question you can’t immediately answer. A perspective that keeps coming back to you later. I want my mind to stay rent free in yours. I want you to talk about the way I think when I’m not even in the room. Not because I said something complicated. Because I made you see something differently. That is the kind of impression I want to leave. You can forget how I looked that day. Just don’t forget the way my mind made yours move🏠

“When I started missing you in places we had never even gone together.” “When taking care of you stopped feeling like something I was doing and started feeling completely natural.” “When I realised that a good day felt better if I got to tell you about it.” “When I realised that I didn’t just want moments with you.” “I wanted years.” He looked at her and smiled. “So maybe I never had one big moment where I suddenly fell in love.” “Maybe it happened slowly.” “One conversation.” “One worry.” “One laugh.” “One ordinary day after another.” “And maybe it’s still happening.” “Because every time I think I know everything I love about you, you do something small and I find another reason.” “And I hope that never stops.” “I hope years from now you can ask me the same question and I still won’t know how to finish the answer.” “Because I don’t think I ever want loving you to become something I can explain completely.” “I just want it to keep growing while we’re busy living.” “And maybe one day, after a very long time, I’ll look back and realise that I spent half my life answering the same question.” “When did I fall in love with you?” He smiled. “I don’t know.” “I just know that somewhere along the way, life stopped feeling like something I wanted to experience alone.” “And somehow, every version of it I wanted started having you in it.”

She asked him one night, “When did you actually fall in love with me?” He smiled and looked at her for a few seconds. “I don’t know.” She laughed. “That’s a terrible answer.” “No, I mean it. I really don’t know when it happened. I don’t think there was one particular day.” He looked down at her hand resting beside his. “I think you just slowly became important to me.” “At first, I liked talking to you. I liked seeing you. I liked knowing that I would hear from you at some point during the day.” “Then somewhere along the way, it became more than that.” “I started noticing things.” “The way you go quiet when something is bothering you.” “The way you say you’re fine when you clearly aren’t.” “The way you forget to eat when you have too much on your mind.” “The way you get annoyed over small things when you’re tired.” “The way you sometimes need someone around you but will never directly ask them to stay.” She looked at him and smiled. “You noticed all that?” “Of course I did.” He smiled back. “I noticed more than you think.” “I noticed how your voice sounds when you’ve had a bad day. I noticed how differently you laugh when you’re actually happy. I noticed that when you’re hurt, you don’t always talk about what happened. You just become a little quieter.” “And after some time, I stopped needing you to explain everything.” “I could tell.” “I could tell when something was wrong.” “I could tell when you wanted to talk.” “I could tell when you didn’t want advice and just wanted someone to sit there.” “I could even tell when your ‘nothing’ actually meant there was a lot going on inside your head.” She stayed quiet. He continued. “I think that’s when it started feeling different.” “When your day began to matter to me even when I wasn’t part of it.” “When I wanted to know if you had eaten.” “When I wanted to know whether you reached home safely.” “When I knew you were sick and kept checking my phone waiting for you to tell me you were feeling better.” “When you were upset about something and somehow I couldn’t completely relax either.” “It wasn’t dramatic.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” “It was very ordinary.” “Almost boring sometimes.” “I would see something funny and immediately think of sending it to you.” “I would hear a song and wonder if you would like it.” “I would go somewhere nice and think you should have been there.” “Something good would happen and you would be one of the first people I wanted to tell.” “Something bad would happen and somehow hearing your voice made it feel a little less heavy.” He paused. “Then you started appearing in my future without me even trying.” She looked at him. “What do you mean?” “Just normal things.” “I would think about travelling somewhere and imagine you complaining about the weather.” “I would see some little café and think you would probably order the same thing you always do.” “I would imagine having a place of my own one day and somehow there would be your things lying around in it.” “Your charger somewhere it shouldn’t be.” “Your cup on the table.” “Your hair tie in some random place.” “You telling me that I never keep anything properly.” She laughed. “That sounds accurate.” “I know.” He laughed too. “And that’s what scared me a little.” “Because I realised I wasn’t only imagining the beautiful parts.” “I wasn’t thinking about some perfect version of us.” “I was thinking about normal life.” “You being irritated.” “Me being tired.” “Both of us having nothing interesting to say.” “Going out to buy something stupid.” “Arguing about where to eat.” “You stealing my side of the bed and then denying it.” “Days where nothing special happens.” “And somehow I still wanted all of it.” He looked at her again. “That’s when I knew it wasn’t just attraction.” “I didn’t only want your best version.” “I wanted the tired you.” “The confused you.” “The angry you.” “The version of you who thinks too much.” “The version that gets scared and starts pushing people away.” “The version that acts like she doesn’t care when she actually cares too much.” “The version that sometimes doesn’t even understand what she’s feeling herself.” “I wanted to know that person too.” She asked softly, “Even the difficult parts?” “Especially the difficult parts.” “Because I never wanted you to feel like you had to perform around me.” “I don’t want you to always be happy because I’m there.” “I don’t need you to always be easy.” “I don’t need you to look beautiful every time I see you.” “I don’t need every conversation with you to be interesting.” “I just want you to be yourself.” “If you’ve had a horrible day, have a horrible day with me.” “If you’re angry, be angry.” “If you’re sad and don’t know why, you don’t need to invent a reason.” “If you want to sit quietly for an hour, I can sit quietly too.” He stopped for a second. “I think that’s what loving you became.” “Not constantly trying to make you happy.” “Just wanting you to feel safe enough to be honest.” She looked at him differently after that. Then she asked, “So what exactly do you love about me?” He laughed. “You really want me to answer that?” “Yes.” “I don’t know where to start.” He thought for a moment. “I love how much you care, even though you pretend sometimes that you don’t.” “I love that you remember tiny things about people.” “I love how serious you become when something matters to you.” “I love how your face changes when you’re excited.” “I love that sometimes you start telling me one story and somehow twenty minutes later we are talking about something completely unrelated.” “I love the way you get stubborn when you know I’m right but don’t want to admit it.” She hit his arm. He laughed. “See, that too.” “I love that.” “I love that you can be very strong and still need reassurance.” “I love that sometimes you want attention but will do absolutely everything except actually say that you want attention.” “I love your contradictions.” “You want people close, but sometimes you disappear when you’re overwhelmed.” “You feel everything deeply, but sometimes you act like nothing affects you.” “You want someone to understand you, but half the time you don’t tell them what you’re feeling.” “You can be so independent and still have moments where you just want someone to take care of you.” “And I don’t know why, but I love all of that.” She was smiling now. He looked at her and his expression changed. A little more serious. “You know what I love most?” “What?” “That I still don’t feel like I completely know you.” She frowned. “After all this?” “Yeah.” “And I like that.” “Because you keep changing.” “There are still things you haven’t told me.” “There are versions of you I haven’t met yet.” “There are things you will love five years from now that you don’t even care about today.” “There are things that scare you now that one day won’t scare you anymore.” “You’ll change your mind about things.” “You’ll become softer in some places and stronger in others.” “And I want to be there long enough to meet those versions too.” She looked away for a moment. Then she asked, “So you think you’ll still love me when I change?” He smiled. “I think that’s the whole point.” “I don’t want to spend my life loving only the woman you are right now.” “I want to know the woman you become.” “I want to meet you again and again.” “When you’re thirty.” “When you’re forty.” “When life has changed you a hundred times.” “When there are things about you I have to learn all over again.” “I want to sit with you years from now and still have moments where I think, I didn’t know that about her.” He squeezed her hand gently. “So when you ask me when I fell in love with you, I really don’t know what to tell you.” “I don’t remember the day.” “I remember the little things.” “I remember when your silence started bothering me.” “When your happiness started making me happy.” “When I stopped thinking only about whether you liked me and started thinking about whether you were okay.”

Sunday Morning 💦💦 I wrote something that should be illegal for a Sunday morning. 20 minutes. Extremely detailed. Zero holding back. Girls will be soaked. Boys will be rock hard. Tap only if you’re ready. https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story_lbdqYKhhgqWv

Sunday Morning 💦💦 I wrote something that should be illegal for a Sunday morning. 20 minutes. Extremely detailed. Zero holding back. Girls will be soaked. Boys will be rock hard. Tap only if you’re ready. https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story_lbdqYKhhgqWv

The human body has never confused healing with becoming exactly what it was before. When tissue is injured deeply enough, the body does not erase the wound. It stops the bleeding, sends inflammation to clear the damage, lays down new tissue, and slowly remodels what remains. And sometimes, it leaves a scar. Not because healing failed. Because healing was never about returning untouched. Maybe people are the same. We spend so much of our lives believing that recovery means becoming the person we were before something happened. Before the loss. Before the betrayal. Before someone left. Before life reached a place inside us that we thought was protected. But the body knows better. It does not waste its strength trying to recreate an identical past. It repairs what it can, adapts where it must, and builds enough strength around the damage to keep living. Perhaps that is why scars are such honest things. They do not deny that something hurt. They do not pretend the tissue was never broken. They simply prove that the wound was not the end of the story. Maybe healing was never supposed to make us unchanged. Maybe healing is learning how to remain alive after something has changed us permanently🪅

Some of the most important things in our lives are like the diaphragm. Quiet. Constant. Almost invisible. It moves with every breath, doing its work so faithfully that we rarely think about it. We notice the air entering our lungs, but not the muscle making that breath possible. People can be like that too. Some remain beneath the obvious parts of our lives supporting us without spectacle, absorbing pressure without announcement, making ordinary days possible in ways we never stop to calculate. We mistake their consistency for permanence. Their effort becomes so familiar that it starts looking effortless. And then one day, something changes. Their presence weakens. Their support disappears. And suddenly, what once seemed ordinary reveals how essential it had always been. Perhaps that is one of the cruellest habits of human nature: we are exceptionally good at noticing what is missing, and remarkably poor at appreciating what was quietly functioning all along. Some people never ask to be the centre of your life. They simply become the diaphragm of it unseen beneath everything else, moving silently through every difficult moment, and making sure you can still breathe🖤

For nine months, the placenta works almost entirely in anonymity, facilitating oxygen and nutrient exchange, supporting fetal development, and sustaining a life that does not yet know what is keeping it alive. And then there is placenta accreta spectrum. Suddenly, what spent months associated with nourishment and survival may be remembered most vividly for the haemorrhage surrounding its separation and delivery. There is something painfully human about that. We rarely keep an account of the thousand invisible ways someone sustained us. The nights they stayed, the burdens they carried, the parts of themselves they quietly spent so that we could remain whole. But let the attachment become painful. Let separation become difficult. Let the ending leave a wound. And somehow, the wound becomes the biography. Years of tenderness can disappear behind one terrible memory. A lifetime of quiet nourishment can be eclipsed by the moment everything began to bleed. Perhaps human nature has its own pathology of remembrance. We document pain with extraordinary precision, yet allow gratitude to fade without a record. Some attachments eventually hurt us. That does not mean they never nourished us. And perhaps the hardest form of maturity is learning to preserve both truths: to remember the haemorrhage without erasing the nourishment, and to remember the nourishment without denying the haemorrhage. Because sometimes we remember people entirely by how they wounded us at the end, and forget how quietly they were keeping parts of us alive before it🌺🖤

You are not going to be strong every single day. And you were never supposed to be. There will be days when life feels heavier than usual. Days when getting out of bed feels like an achievement. Days when you are surrounded by people and still feel completely alone. Sometimes you will become exhausted from fighting battles nobody knows exist. You will smile. You will answer, “I’m okay.” You will continue doing everything expected of you. And somewhere underneath all of that, you will quietly wonder how much longer you can keep carrying everything. There may be moments when life feels painfully unfair. When you have tried to be patient. Tried to stay hopeful. Tried to convince yourself that things will eventually become easier. But nothing seems to change. And slowly, even hope becomes tiring. Sometimes you will not need another motivational speech telling you to be stronger. You will need rest. You will need silence. You will need a place where you are allowed to admit, “I am tired.” Without immediately adding, “But I’ll be fine.” Because you do not always have to be fine. You do not have to turn every breakdown into a lesson. You do not have to find something positive in every painful moment. You do not have to hide your fear simply because people are used to seeing you strong. Sometimes being vulnerable is the most truthful thing you can do. Cry if you need to. Be quiet if words feel impossible. Step away from the world for a little while if everything has become too loud. Breathe. Rest. Let yourself exist without constantly demanding strength from yourself. Even the strongest people eventually become tired. Even the person everyone depends on sometimes wishes there were someone they could depend on. Even the person who comforts everyone else sometimes goes home carrying emotions they never tell anybody about. Strength was never supposed to mean feeling nothing. Sometimes strength looks like continuing. But sometimes it looks like finally admitting, “I cannot carry all of this alone anymore.” And there is no shame in that. You don't have to hide every sadness just to protect the image people have of you. You don't have to pretend something didn't hurt simply because you survived it. And you don't have to force yourself to heal according to somebody else's timeline. Some wounds take longer. Some seasons are heavier. Some versions of you will need more patience than others. So when you reach that point where everything inside you feels exhausted, don't immediately ask yourself to become stronger. Maybe ask yourself what you have been carrying for too long. Maybe what you need is not another fight. Maybe you need somewhere safe enough to put the armor down. Because your worth was never measured by how much pain you could endure without showing it. You are worthy when you are confident. You are worthy when you are scared. You are worthy when you are fighting. And you are still worthy on the days when you have absolutely no fight left in you. One day, hopefully, you will understand this: You never had to be the strongest person in the room to deserve love, patience, softness, or understanding. You only had to be human. And being human means that sometimes you will stand tall. Sometimes you will fall apart. Sometimes you will need someone to hold your hand until the storm inside you becomes quieter. None of those versions of you are less deserving. So don't be ashamed of the days when you aren't strong. Those days don't erase your strength. They simply remind you that even the strongest hearts need somewhere safe to rest🌺

Happy Independence Day 🇮🇳

Some people never tell you they are hurting. They just become funnier. They add more “lol”s to sentences that were never funny. They send laughing emojis after saying something that should have sounded heavy. They say “I’m fine :)” with a smile so carefully placed that you almost feel guilty for not believing it. Almost. Because when you know someone well enough, sadness has a different grammar. You notice when their replies get shorter. When warmth disappears from familiar words. When “okay” suddenly feels colder than silence. When they start using broken hearts casually, as though repeating the symbol often enough will make everyone stop asking what broke them. And the strangest thing is, people think hiding pain means saying nothing. It doesn’t. Sometimes pain talks constantly. It just changes its language. It becomes sarcasm. It becomes “haha.” It becomes “don’t worry about me.” It becomes three laughing emojis sent too quickly. It becomes a smiley at the end of a sentence that never sounded happy in the first place. That is why I have never completely trusted emoticons. They are too convenient. A face can smile while the person behind the screen is exhausted. A heart can be broken without anyone having to explain who broke it. A laughing emoji can end a conversation exactly where the truth was about to begin. Maybe that is what they were made for. Not to show what we feel. But to give us something to hide behind when words become too honest. And sometimes, the most heartbreaking part is not that someone lied when they said they were fine. It is realizing they were quietly hoping someone would notice the lie. So you learn to read people differently. You stop believing every smile. You stop taking every “I’m okay” literally. You listen to the spaces between messages. You notice the jokes that arrive at the wrong moment. You pay attention to the little symbols people keep repeating without ever explaining. Because there are people who will never type, “I am not okay.” They will type, “I’m good 😂” And somehow, the people who truly know them will understand the difference. Funny thing, though. Once you become good at recognizing the masks other people wear, you eventually notice your own. You catch yourself typing, “Nothing, I’m fine :)” You add a laughing emoji. You hit send. And suddenly you understand why they did it. Sometimes the easiest person to lie to is not the one reading the message. It is the one writing it.