Forbidden Confessions: The Night I Swore Would Never Happen

Confessions from the DMs: The Night I Swore Would Never Happen (NSFW)

Some nights are planned. Others? They just happen—no warning, no agenda, just a moment that takes on a life of its own. And sometimes, those moments come with an aftertaste of regret, desire, or something even harder to explain.

This is one of those nights.

The Set-Up: A Promise I Was Never Going to Keep

I told myself I wouldn’t text him. Not again. Not after last time. It wasn’t even about the sex—though, let’s be honest, that was half the problem. It was the way he made me forget myself, the way he knew how to pull me back in with nothing more than a delayed response, a “missed” call, a late-night Instagram like on a photo from months ago.

Toxic? Absolutely.

But that night, I was good—for a while. I went out with friends, ordered a vodka soda I barely touched, danced just enough to remind myself I was capable of moving on. And then, just when I thought I had survived another night without him, my phone buzzed.

Him: “You out?”

I should have ignored it. I wanted to ignore it. Instead, I stared at the message like it had physically taken hold of me, my fingers already hovering over the keyboard. I knew how this story ended—I just wasn’t ready to admit it.

Me: “Maybe.”

The Downfall: One Drink, Two Excuses, Three Regrets

One drink turned into two. Two turned into a weak excuse—“I was in the neighborhood.”

It was a lie. I wasn’t anywhere near his place, but it didn’t matter. By the time I knocked on his door, I had already convinced myself this was my decision.

The second it opened, I knew—I wasn’t leaving until sunrise.

He smirked like he had been expecting this all along. Maybe he had. Maybe he always knew exactly how long I could hold out before I caved. He didn’t ask why I was there. He didn’t need to.

I was inside before I even realized I had stepped forward. The door clicked shut behind me, and in that moment, the outside world no longer existed.

The Heat: A Mistake That Felt Too Good to Stop

His hands were on me before I could speak, not that I had anything coherent to say. His grip was firm, familiar, possessive in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. He knew what he was doing. He always did.

We didn’t waste time on small talk. There were no lingering glances, no slow buildup—just heat, friction, and the kind of urgency that only comes when two people have been playing the same game for too long.

The bed was barely made, the sheets still carrying the remnants of whatever (or whoever) had been there before me. I should have cared. I wanted to care. But as he pulled me down, lips hot against my neck, hands already working their way under my shirt, I let it all disappear.

I wanted him to wreck me. And he did.

The Aftermath: Morning Regrets and a Familiar Goodbye

The sun was up when I finally opened my eyes, the pale light cutting through the room like an unwelcome guest. He was still asleep beside me, arm draped lazily over my waist like he had any right to still be touching me.

I should have slipped out unnoticed. I should have let this be the last time. But instead, I stayed—just long enough to memorize the way his skin felt beneath my fingertips, the way his breathing hitched just slightly when I moved against him.

And then, just as quietly as I had arrived, I left.

No texts. No promises. No illusions that this was the last time. Because deep down, we both knew the truth.

It never is.

Final Thoughts: Would You Have Stayed?

Some nights are meant to be forgotten. Others? They leave their mark, no matter how badly you want to wipe them clean.

So tell me—have you ever had a night you swore would never happen… until it did? Drop your anonymous confessions below. We won’t judge. We might feature it. 😉