#bookmark for shrink

[angelwithwings23]

some files should stay deleted.

late partner intimate photos, for example.

[taikoturtle]

Just found two more deleted bookmarks on my ao3 favorites and I’m so sad. I don’t know which ones they were, but they were from 2017 so it was an older one. Maybe a POI or power rangers fic I think.. 😢

I’ve gotten in the habit of downloading fics but man… still hurts.

[monstersholygrail]

im horny help

Your Monster bf looks up from his book, a bizarre and astonished expression on his face as he looks over at you. What was once a peaceful night in with a calm atmosphere has now been struck with a lightning bolt of lust.

He calmly slides his bookmark into his book and you watch that long hard bookmark slide up and down the crease of his thick book and you shiver in your seat at the opposite end of the couch. Monster bf tosses his book on the coffee table and you jump as deep thump that rings out as it makes rough contact.

You wait with anticipation for him to come to you. To take you and satiate all the need that’s roaring inside of you. But he doesn’t and it has you whimpering and squirming in place. Instead he leans back into the couch, crossing his legs as if he has all the time in the world. Glancing over at you he raises a brow.

“Is that how we ask for help, sweet thing?”

You shrink back further into the couch. Wanting to look away from his piercing stare but you know you can’t. Know that when he looks at you like that… you’re not allowed.

“No, sir,” you whisper. Arousal wells up inside you as his mocking laughter fills the air around you. You can’t help getting so deeply turned on the longer he denies you.

“So why would I help a needy little slut who’s forgotten something as simple as their manners?” he grounds out and you moan louder, throwing your head back in agony and pleasure.

The temptation to grind into the couch is growing by the minute. Your body is hot and so fucking desperate you’ll do nearly anything at this moment.

“Look at you, making a mess of my couch, embarrassing yourself, and moaning like a bitch in heat.”

“P-please, sir—!”

“Oh look, they’re learning!“

Monster bf pushes off of the couch, his tall and imposing form towering over you as he walks over to your end.

“Now what are you asking me so nicely to do? In what way would you suggest I so graciously fuck you back to brainless?”

He kneels before you, roughly grabbing your knees and jerking then apart. Leaving your bottom half wide open for him. He grins wickedly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. Knowing you can’t possibly talk when you’re so damn horny and his closeness is clogging up all your senses full of him. He raises an expectant brow.

“Speak up, pet, or I’ll leave you here. Pathetic, useless, and leaking on my high-end furniture…” As he leans in closer, his hands trailing up your thighs, and teasing right where you need him most, a feral glint passes over his expression. “Forced to desperately fuck yourself on your hand, praying for an orgasm that will never come because I’m the only one who can ever give you what you need.”

[veephoenix]

years of sleep — n.s. one shot

"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."

Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.

one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.

tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added. - Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com - Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋

years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists. 

They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.

But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been. 

And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.  

The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach. 

She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah. 

Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words. 

He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married. 

She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.

 He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.

Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.  

As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.

The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side. 

Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—

She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.

She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.

He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.

She’s in deep trouble.

God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks. 

The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained. 

Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself. 

But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.

The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams. 

He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things. 

But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her. 

He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.

As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently. 

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed. 

And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking. 

When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her. 

And he finds her. 

This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them. 

She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate. 

She blinks. A glance over her shoulder. 

And then she’s gone. 

Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s. 

He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing. 

She’s out of sight. 

But he can smell her. 

Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful. 

He follows the scent. 

The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden. 

He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden. 

Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night. 

And somewhere ahead, she waits. 

It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared. 

Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.

Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building. 

And collides with a solid chest. 

The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place. 

For a moment, neither of them moves. 

She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts. 

Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen. 

Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. 

It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass. 

Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other. 

A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his. 

And he kisses her.

His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more. 

She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.

By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly. 

She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her. 

“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot. 

He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires. 

It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Her answer is effortless. 

“Lead the way,” she says with a smile. 

Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers. 

Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes. 

The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end. 

He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined. 

By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running. 

A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices. 

“Wait.”

Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place. 

The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her. 

Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips. 

Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow. 

She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.

Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward. 

And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.

She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest. 

She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.

He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt. 

Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.

She inhales sharply.

A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.

He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.

Her breath catches.

The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.

He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply. 

She doesn’t break eye contact.

And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.

She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life. 

For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.

His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.

She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check. 

“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”

The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction… 

With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound. 

He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet. 

She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty. 

Noah eats her up with his eyes.

Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench. 

Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it. 

When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.

“Let me.”

He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.

Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him. 

She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger. 

He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. 

“Where do you want me?” he murmurs. 

“Anywhere you wish to be.”

He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound. 

That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.

Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet. 

When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on. 

He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones. 

He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.  

Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles. 

A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.

There it is. 

His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.

She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another. 

It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head. 

“Beautiful,” he says. 

She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket. 

“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing. 

Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things. 

“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed. 

She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer. 

“Come here,” she demands softly. 

And God help him, he does.

She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep. 

A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him. 

He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.  

It’s better than he ever imagined.

It’s better than she ever imagined. 

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry. 

She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can. 

Reality is nothing like she imagined. 

It’s a thousand times better. 

Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it. 

His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her... 

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head.

Her breath stutters.

Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.

Take me.

A strangled cry tears from her throat.

Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy. 

If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers. 

“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate. 

She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens. 

         Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.     

Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.

As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged. 

She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop. 

His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his. 

They feel...at home. 

Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. 

He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time. 

She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.

“Are you okay?”

Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs. 

“I’m fine,” he assures her. 

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it. 

His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter. 

Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room. 

When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.

She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever. 

He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”

She nods. 

The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this. 

Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating. 

She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water. 

“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”

She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods. 

Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck. 

Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.

They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too. 

She falls asleep half on top of him. 

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he’s dreamed so many times. 

When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed. 

She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside. 

Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful. 

Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side. 

The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.  

LILIPUTH 👶🏼 "Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!

She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean. 

“Mom says”?

Liliputh and a baby emoticon?

“Pick me up”?

He should’ve paid for flight tickets?

Her stomach twists.

The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in. 

Fuck.

Is Noah married?

Divorced?

Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.

She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed. 

And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied. 

But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big. 

Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out. 

It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs. 

She doesn’t want to leave. 

She wants to stay.

To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.” 

He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…

She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that. 

It’s not a message. 

It’s reality.

The rest was her fantasy. Her fault. 

The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.

years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.

She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones. 

Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow. 

And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours. 

In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…

But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen. 

“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”

Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables. 

She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that. 

“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her. 

The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes. 

“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly. 

“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in. 

Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair. 

“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes. 

“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins. 

“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses. 

“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”

The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is. 

“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”

Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.

She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately. 

“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”

Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together. 

“You slept with Noah.”

Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.

She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together. 

“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”

She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”

“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”

“Nick,” Davis sighs.

“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn. 

“Noah has a daughter?”

Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror. 

“What?”

She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”

Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from. 

“You know Noah is single.”

“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”

“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance. 

Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”

Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”

Folio rolls his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”

She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”

“A message?”

“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies. 

Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do. 

Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.

“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”

She blinks. 

Once. 

Twice.

“Noah has a sister?”

Since when?

“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”

A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”

She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”

Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”

She sighs. “Yeah…”

“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”

“No.”

“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”

Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.

After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”

She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?

A knot tightens in her chest. 

Terrible. Used. Heartbroken. 

Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this. 

“Will he… be mad?”

David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”

How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?

For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend. 

Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her. 

“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”

Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”

Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”

She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not. 

And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said. 

If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes. 

An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch. 

But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and— 

She sees him before he sees her. 

He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room. 

That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her. 

She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger? 

But not this. 

Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Her stomach does that thing. 

Hey? 

She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses. 

“Hi,” she greets. 

Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun. 

“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”

The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket. 

“Here it is, sir.”

Noah turns to her.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”

“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”

Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm. 

“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.

She frowns slightly.

“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”

She’s blushing, of course. 

And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush. 

“Prettiest?”

“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”

Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?

“Do you… regret it?” she blurts. 

His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.” 

She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”

Oh.

“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”

She draws in a slow breath. 

“One thing, yeah,” she admits.

“Yeah?”

By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?

“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”

He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”

She scoffs. If only he knew…

“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”

She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”

Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”

She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—

“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby. 

They both freeze. 

Noah blinks. 

“What?”

She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion. 

“Is he drunk?” he asks. 

A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.  

“I thought you were a divorced dad.”

Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”

“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”

He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension. 

“Thank God,” he says. 

“Thank God?”

“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”

“You don’t snore,” she assures him.

He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”

“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”

“Stupidly adorable.”

“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said. 

Adorable. 

Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble. 

She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?

Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Perfect timing.”

“Huh?”

“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Like he even needs to ask. 

“I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”

He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night. 

They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers. 

Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair. 

They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him. 

After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled. 

They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink. 

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter. 

“Want to go for a swim?”

His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun. 

“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over. 

Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”

She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”

They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her. 

He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down. 

It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes. 

They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.” 

Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.

When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side. 

Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound. 

“Charming,” she says. 

“I know,” he replies.

But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.  

She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says. 

An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him. 

Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her. 

The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them. 

She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.

The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.

The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again. 

Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.

She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.

“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.

She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls. 

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.

Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”

She places a finger on his lips.

“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”

“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”

“You’re already doing that.”

Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.

Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens. 

A breath. A pause.

She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.

However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.

She doesn’t step away. 

Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming. 

He understands.

His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.

Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.

His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it. 

“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.

His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.” 

A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.

He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.

She frees his hair from the bun. 

“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses. 

She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.” 

He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.

There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.

And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.

Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track. 

They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning. 

He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips. 

 She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now. 

They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing. 

When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself. 

Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead. 

From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.

“That’s adorable.”

Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”

“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”

“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back. 

She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones. 

She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump. 

The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach. 

She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head. 

“Do you want to get dirty again?”

His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”

 Her smile could stop wars. 

She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel. 

“The clip stays on,” she says. 

Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed. 

“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection. 

She lifts a brow.     

“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.” 

They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty. 

Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache. 

He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever. 

He knows. 

She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his. 

And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep. 

💕 Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my loves:

@rumoured-whispers | @iconic-taurus | @bloody-spades | @bluestdai | @theanarchymuse95

@somebodyels3 | @blade-dressed-in-red | @todressabladeupinred | @turn-your-life-into-folklore | @thecoyotescry

@iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @missduffsblog | @flowery-mess | @chey-h

@tf-is-aesthetic | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @fadingangelwisp | @respectfulrebel | @amelia-acero

@theasowle | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @lunabuna991 | @ferduttini | @lacy1986

@bad-idea2021 | @death-ofpeace-ofmind | @n0ahsebastian | @kjsebastian | @omens-seeker

I'm sorry if I forgot someone!

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Yay!!!!!!! 5K!!!!!! This is such a cute way to celebrate!

May I please request something for BBF? Like a beach day with Jake and both Bradshaws (or maybe the whole dagger squad, idk it’s up to you!) and Jake can’t keep his eyes off of Baby Bradshaw? It could be before or after they admitted their feelings!! Your choice!! Congratulations on hitting 5k!

Ahh this is a super cute request! And thank you so much, lovely :D Here we go, beach day with the Bradshaws: this scene takes place before they get together (and before Jake realizes he has feelings for Baby B).

5k Weekend Bash Drabbles

Brother's Best Friend - Beach Day

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake is out of the water in five seconds flat when he sees some random guy approach you back on the beach.

“Dude!” Bradley calls after him. “The ball, man!”

But Jake has no idea where the ball’s gone because he doesn’t even turn around to look for it. He doesn’t know why it bothers him that this guy is showing interest in you, but it probably has something to do with how little you’re wearing. All he knows is, you’re off limits to anybody who approaches you while your ass cheeks are barely contained by your tiny-by-comparison bikini bottoms.

“What’s going on?” Jake says sternly, stopping at the edge of your beach towel after jogging over.

You’re lying down on your stomach and Jake tries his best to keep his attention squarely on your face when you look up at him rather than your aforementioned butt.

“We’re just chatting, man,” the guy – who’s obviously a fucking moron – replies as though Jake had been addressing him.

Jake shoots him a threatening glare. “She’s reading,” Jake remarks, gesturing to the book in your hands which you’re actively setting aside.

“I’ve got a bookmark,” you say, sliding your book away and sitting up on your towel.

Jake grimaces at you. How could you possibly be enjoying this guy’s advances when he’s such a nuisance? “Still rude to interrupt,” Jake reasons.

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. Jake promptly looks away because your tits are, as a result, squished together and Jake has no interest whatsoever in ogling his best friend’s baby sister’s tits. “Rude to interrupt, you say?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

Jake glances back at you in surprise. He hasn’t considered that he’s the one doing the interrupting.

“You’re dripping on my towel,” you note when he doesn’t respond.

Jake makes a face. “It’s meant to get wet.” Before you can argue that fact, he changes the subject, “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

You look down to examine your chest. “Why, am I burning?”

Jake winces inwardly as he attempts, once again, to refrain from staring at your cleavage. He crouches down to grab some sunscreen out of the beach bag and hands it over to you. “You’re burning,” he confirms. Burning, scorching, extremely fucking hot. It’s all the same.

“Sorry,” says the guy who’s still just awkwardly standing there. “Didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

Jake looks between you and your new friend as he starts to walk away. “No, he’s not –” you start, but the guy just shrugs and takes off down the beach. “Fuck,” you mutter, spreading a thick layer of sunscreen over your stomach.

Jake, who feels unexpectedly pleased at being referred to as your boyfriend, scratches his brow in thought as he watches the man shrink in the distance. Then, he shakes his head distastefully. “You can do better,” he finally declares.

5k Celly

[f4unlette]

𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑑

⌗ bake for other people, like family, friends, colleagues

⌗ watch mukbang videos, informative documentaries about internet phenomenons, history (political, fashion) crime or strange occurrences

⌗ listen to new music and learn more about the artist or the band itself, make new playlists

⌗ watch a gameplay on youtube or play childhood nostalgic video games

⌗ learn new makeup styles, hairstyles and build outfits based off of different fashion styles

⌗ get a homemade manicure

⌗ create your own website (ex. carrd)

⌗ deep cleaning: making your bed, doing laundry, going through a pile of clothing, throwing away old/expired makeup products, de-cluttering, cleaning the bathroom, deep cleaning the kitchen and the pantry by throwing away expired products, cleaning bags, boxes, wallets and pencil cases, changing the aesthetic of your bedroom

⌗ gardening or taking care of house plants

⌗ learn more about certain species of flowers, animals, subjects (like astronomy, philosophy, sociology, biology) and take notes

⌗ make a shopping list for necessities (food, cleaning supplies, hygiene necessities) and wishes (makeup, clothing, collectibles) on paper and by making pinterest boards and sections

⌗ re-watch old nostalgic movies or series (comedy anime like azumanga daioh, lucky star, nichijou, gakuen handsome and saiki k, horror/thriller and comedy movies, novelas)

⌗ read a book, whether it’s classic literature or a comic book

⌗ studying: watching videos, taking notes, reciting out loud

⌗ take an everything shower with music playing. from skincare, to hair care, brushing teeth and body care

⌗ skincare: do a face mask and a gua sha massage, learn more about your skin type and how to take care of it

⌗ make handmade gifts:

customized cds/playlists

paper crafts: stickers, bookmarks, collages, keychains with shrink paper, decorated envelopes (drawings, glitter, paint, gluing things like buttons and lace, 3d open envelope drawings), scenery stands, fake food and objects, strings, drawing posters, paper stars, paper crowns, flower bouquets, realistic camera;

clay crafts: vases, boxes, plates, bowls, spoons, jewelry holders, cups and mugs, charms, rings, playhouses, paint palettes, animal sculptures, candle and incense stands, lighter cases;

crocheting and sewing: hats, gloves, scarves, plushies, keychains, pillow covers/pillows, bags, cup stands, book cases, water bottle bags, pencil cases, creating new clothes out of old ones, mixed/leftover fabric rugs or blankets.

bracelets: patterned, beaded, with a string and buttons;

other: door handle hangers, painted wooden spoons, painted tiles, painted tea bags, pins, painted rocks, decorated journal cases, soap making, altoid wallets, decorate your phone case, hair wraps, decorate a photo frame, recycle an old candle (seashell and can candles), flags, window beads, hair accessories (decorated headbands, hairpins), decorated sunglasses, soda tab friend, bleached t-shirts, surfboard necklace, washi tape, gift baskets.

gift ideas

diy ideas when you’re bored

clay crafts ideas

cinnamon roll trinket box (just really wanted to share this one, it’s absoluty adorable ♡)

⌗ try out a new sport: ex. badminton, volleyball, dance, swimming, tennis, basketball, martial arts, athletics.

⌗ do pilates or a 1980s workout, play just dance or do a karaoke session

⌗ play a board/card game (monopoly, trivial pursuit, uno, cluedo, guess who)

⌗ take a walk and explore your surroundings

⌗ write down new recipes you haven’t tried yet including the necessary steps to make them and make a grocery shopping list of everything you need

[sungjinhos]

BF! WONWOO hanging out on lazy days 18+ mdi

lazy sundays were you completely favorite. everybody hated sundays, the dreaded week lurking the feeling of the rest day just ending.

but you learned to love sundays. sundays meant late and lazy breakfast in bed, it meant snuggle in hoodies all day, it meant not getting out of the house, it meant laying in the sofa all day reading with your boyfriend between your legs.

you started reading a book that your boyfriend and also bookworm gifted to you; "I just thought you would enjoy it" he said while giving it to you as he arrived from his last leg of his tour "I brought in a pretty bookshop in New York, it has a nice coffee in it, you would love it, we should go together in your next vacation" and your heart sweell nicely thinking about your boyfriend just going around New York thinking about you.

wonwoo rubbed himself against your stomach, claiming for your attettion. "this book is boring" he said, leaving the book on the floor. "I mean it's not boring but I already know who is the killer" he continued, putting his hand inside your hoodie and on your skin, making your heart buzz a little and making you shrink a little.

"mine is pretty fine, you made a good choice" you said ignoring your boyfriend lifting his hand to your rib cage and depositing a brief kiss against the line of your sweatpants.

"yeah? did you liked you present baby?" he said while his hand travelled through your body, his fingertips touching the valley between your bobs and resting against your neck. "i always think of you when i see pretty things."

"you know i liked wonu, i almost cried when you showed me the whole bag you brought back full of presents." you saying running your fingers thought his short hair, he almost never used liked that and you dont know why but made you more attatched to it. wonwoo laughed, that almost scoffing sound full of air.

"that's what my baby deserves" he kissed your stomach and retreated his hand just so he could grab you by the hips with both hands. "I'm such a nice boyfriend, and yet you leave me bored out of my mind because of a book." he said playing with the hem of your pants.

"you are acting like I ignored you for an hour." you finally bookmark the page of your book knowing that it is a lost fight. You are not reading a sentence anymore.

"not a hour" your boyfriend finally gets off the sofa just so he can take off your pants, he lays between your legs again and he presses a kiss against you clothed pussy making you catch your breath. "a few minutes at least"

"not even five minutes baby" you complain while opening more your legs so your boyfriend gets comfortable, he just squirm a little and plant his big hands in your thighs.

"more than twenty for sure." he says while he travel his fingers against your clothed pussy, putting more pressure at your clitoris making you whimper pathetically.

"not that much." somehow even to yourself your voice sound pitiful, wonwoo barely did anything to you and somehow you are almost begging already.

"did so." he says without leaving his fingers against your pussy, and you can almost feel his fingertip through the cloth, the way your wetness is spreading somehow makes you feel that the cloth is getting thinner, almost disappearing but still not enough. "I love watching you." he pauses and presses a kiss in your pussy, and you feel his wet tongue against you. "you are so pretty all over, I just can't take my eyes off you" he says as he presses his fingers against your entrance.

"not fair." you protest while your fingers find solace in the pillow by your head.

"what baby?" he tuts. "cant i find my girlfriend pretty?" he says while he finally pushes your panty to the side. he pinches your pussy. "so fucking pretty and so fucking messy."

"wonu" you protest again feelling a little faint, a little dumb like you always gets when wonwoo talks to you like that, with his voice low like he is telling you a secret making your insides coil.

"fucking love your pussy" he says before finally putting his mouth against you, hot breath fanning over your pussy until you feel his tongue between your folds. and its like being submersed in a way, searching for air but not getting enough. wonwoo pushes your legs up and you come back to reality a little bit, the way his fingers presses against your flesh anchors you.

"god" wonwoo murmurs. "i could live like that" he says while his fingers left your thigh and comes to grope at your pussy, pressing his palm against your puffy lips. "could live eating you out" he says against your thights while you feel his fingers at your entrance, and he push just a little, making you go a tad bit crazy, putting your arms above your head and arching your back, trying to make his finger go in just a little bit more. "don't worry baby I will give It to you."

And you just feel a little bit more out of your mind, a little more hot, a little more denraged, the way his speaks to you just make you squirm because his voice is so full of adoration, like every word is just full of lust that make you clench and you just give up feeling his hot mouth against you, his tongue going against your folds. He keeps lapping at your pussy like he is getting so fucking drunk, you lock eyes with him and he just suck your clit while you feel his second finger aagainst you.

"baby please-" you finally beg and you dont even need to finish because wonwoo just knows what you need and his just put his second finger in you, and in a way it feels so much but not enough, you feel so tight, like every muscle of your body is working. You give up, you just need a little bit more, so you trail your hands against yourself, searching, you put your hand inside your hoodie, finding your boobs and squeezing.

wonwoo mouth leaves your pussy and you whine, his free hands lifting up your hoodie so he can watch you playing with yourself. His eyes travel between your hands and pussy like he can't make a choice. "fuck" he laughs a little "you are just so hot." and he just bite the skin at your hips. "so wet and taking my fingers so well" he changes his position and presses his hand against your tigh so you open your legs for him. "look at you" he coos "you have such a pretty cunt." He says while he keeps fucking your with his fingers. You whine again, feeling desperated, hasty, but you are just at the end of the cliff almost falling and wonwoo just know, he takes his other hand and just pinch at your clit making your moan. "come on baby, you can do it, just a little one and i give you my cock hun? just know you gonna take it so well gonna split you open in a little bit."

and you just fall apart thinking about the way his dick would feel.

[vivimura]

Skibidi Toilet stared at the reflection in the mirror, his eyes red from crying. It had been a rough week, and it was only Tuesday. He had to make a decision he never thought he'd face. The room was silent, except for the occasional drip of the faucet echoing through the emptiness. It was a stark contrast to the usual laughter and banter that filled his house when LankyBox was around.

LankyBox, with his awkward charm and gaming prowess, had captured Skibidi's heart. But the cracks in their relationship had started to show when Skibidi realized that Lanky's 'gyatt' was at a mere level one. It was something he had tried to overlook, but in the hypercompetitive world of gaming, it was a glaring weakness. The lack of confidence in Lanky's voice when he played, the way he'd shrink away during raids - it all pointed to the same thing. No rizz.

Skibidi knew he had to face the music. He took a deep breath, wiped his tears, and opened his computer. His fingers hovered over the keys, composing a message in his mind before he finally started typing. "Hey Lanky, we need to talk." The words felt like lead as they materialized on the screen. He stared at them for what felt like an eternity before hitting send.

The minutes ticked by like hours. The anticipation was unbearable. Finally, a notification popped up. Lanky had seen the message. Skibidi's heart raced as he waited for a response. The seconds stretched into minutes, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the chat bubble flickered to life. "What's up, Skib?"

Skibidi's fingers trembled as he began to type. "I don't think we're… compatible anymore. I need someone with more… presence in the game." The words stung as he wrote them, but he knew he had to be honest. Lanky's silence was deafening, and Skibidi felt the weight of his words hanging in the digital void. He waited, his eyes glued to the screen.

After what felt like an eternity, Lanky responded, "What do you mean?" His avatar's expression was a blend of confusion and sadness. Skibidi's chest tightened, but he couldn't take it back now. "I need someone who can keep up with me, Lanky. Someone who doesn't hold me back with your low level gyatt." The words felt like a betrayal, but he had to be firm.

Lanky went offline without another word, leaving Skibidi to face the cold reality of his decision. The house was eerily quiet, and Skibidi couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake. He tossed and turned in bed that night, plagued by thoughts of Lanky's hurt expression and the hollowness of their once vibrant relationship.

The next morning, Lanky was gone. His side of the bed was cold, and his gaming chair sat empty. Skibidi felt a pang of regret, but he pushed it aside, telling himself he'd done what was best for both of them. He went about his day, trying to focus on work and friends, but every time he looked at his gaming setup, the void was glaring.

That evening, Lanky returned home, his eyes puffy from crying. He'd spent the day scouring the internet for answers to his gyatt woes, determined to prove himself. He had bookmarked countless articles and YouTube tutorials titled "How to Level Up Your Gyatt in Record Time," avoiding the clickbait promises of overnight transformations. He sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding eye contact.

"Lanky," Skibidi began tentatively, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Lanky looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and determination. "I know," he said, his voice small. "But I want to change. I want to be someone you can be proud of in the game."

The next week, Lanky threw himself into training. He watched videos, read blogs, and even signed up for an online gyatt boot camp. The house was a blur of energy drinks and furious typing as Lanky competed in the World Gyatt Olympics, an intense digital competition where contestants battled to push each other out of the virtual ring using their charm and wit.

Days turned into weeks, and Skibidi could see the change in Lanky. He was more confident, his laughter grew louder, and there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before. The WGO finals approached, and Lanky's dedication paid off. He found himself in the final round, his heart racing as the virtual lights shone down on him. The contestants were all skilled, but Lanky had something extra—desperation, hope, and a love that fueled his every move.

The match was intense. Lanky's avatar, once a noobish representation of himself, had morphed into a force to be reckoned with. His quips were sharper, his strategies more refined. And then it happened—Lanky pushed the last player out of the ring with a flourish of digital finesse. The chat exploded with congratulatory emojis and cheers, and there it was, the gold gyatt medal appearing around his avatar's neck.

Skibidi watched from the sidelines, his heart swelling with pride. He couldn't believe it. Lanky had done it. He'd gone from a level one to a champion. The TV broadcasted the final moments of Lanky's victory, and as the camera zoomed in on his triumphant face, Skibidi felt a pang of regret. He had underestimated Lanky, and in doing so, had hurt the person he cared about the most. He knew he had to make amends.

The crowd in the arena roared as Lanky's victory was announced. Skibidi's phone buzzed with notifications—messages from friends and viewers alike, praising Lanky's performance. But it was the one from Lanky that made his heart skip a beat: "I did it for us, Skib. Can we talk?"

Skibidi took a deep breath and typed back, "I'm watching you right now, Lanky. You're amazing. Let's talk when you get home."

The anticipation was palpable as Skibidi waited for Lanky to return. He had so much to say, so much to apologize for. When Lanky finally walked through the door, clutching his gold gyatt medal, Skibidi was there, ready to listen, to understand, and hopefully, to make things right.

[triptychgrip]

Fic Recs (February 2025)

And now for February recs! (You can find my January post here)

As a reminder, I'm using these monthly rec posts to prioritize spreading the word about authors that are not already on Tumblr (or who appear inactive), with a focus on 1) WIPs/recently written stories (updated or completed within the last year) and 2) NSFW fics, because those could always use more love! If something is a WIP, I've noted that in bold/purple next to the author, and if something is NSFW, I've noted that in bold/red, also next to the author.  

Life has been kicking my ass so far this year, so while I didn’t get to as many stories in my bookmarks as I’d wanted to, below the cut are 5 Yuri!!! on Ice (actually 6, because I’m including one of my own WIPs, lol), and 3 Fruits Basket stories that I think deserve more attention.

---

Yuri!!! on Ice Recs

1) Synthetic (28K, by achillean_dreamer) - WIP, NSFW

Relevant Ships/Tags: Viktor/Yuuri, Cyberpunk, Mild Gore, Violence

I truly wish I could leave a hundred kudos on this fic. I’m drawn to scifi stories, and this one is very Black Mirror-esque, which I absolutely love. 

It’s set in 2049 in a post-war dystopian society that has been experiencing low birth rates, necessitating the government to fund the development of remarkably lifelike droids capable of experiencing and generating the various forms of love via technology called Synthetic.

Viktor – who in this fic-verse is still a champion skater and the son of two famous, late war heroes – is asked to become a sperm donor for the SHIP Institute’s Eros line of androids, and when he pays a visit to the Synthetic procurement chamber, Yuuri – a droid that operates quite differently from his counterparts – ends up dancing with him and seducing him just like he does in canon. 

There’s palpable chemistry between them, and in the middle of having sex, Yuuri invites Viktor to come back to visit him once the skating season is over: a prospect Viktor finds exhilarating. However, just after Yuuri climaxes, he starts to cry from overwhelm, and then begins panicking, shouting about how he’ll be labeled defective, as well as “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to be shut off!”

Before Viktor can parse what’s happening, they are being interrupted by SHIP Institute staff, who forcibly escort him out, while mentioning something about Yuuri experiencing a malfunction error. The next 3 chapters follow Viktor trying to piece together what has happened to Yuuri, who has been removed from the SHIP Institute, a task he’s aided in with help from Yurio (who is a droid in the Agape line). The pacing and suspense build-up in this story is so good, and it’s also just really well-written with an impressive amount of detail when it comes to things like settings and the the kind of technology at play in this society. 

Excerpt (from Chapter 2):

Minami perked up, the swash of red on his fringe puffing out as his eyes twinkled, “Yuuri-kun is soo cool!” he exclaimed. “He’s not like other—” His train of thought was derailed by a throttling high-pitched noise emanating from the device in his hands. He whapped it a few times, shrinking down in embarrassment. “Sorry, I got one of the codes wrong.” His eyes flitted over the screen, reading the data streaming in random digits and letters Victor couldn’t piece together.

An awkward silence fell into the lull as Victor stood, trying to piece together the idea of the Eros droid with the figure in front of him. With his eyes cast to the floor, he seemed small, out of sorts, not oozing with seduction like the android Chris had spoken of. When Chris relived his own Eros experiences, he’d flutter his long lashes, flaunt his most come-hither grin, and let his baritone voice drip out like smoothly. Of course, Victor didn’t know whether to laugh or shiver at the idea, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind enough that he found himself here, looking at someone more prepared for a funeral than a dalliance, except for the spark of fire brimming in Yuuri’s eyes every time he caught his gaze. 

Minami peeled himself away from the screen, puffing happily as he tapped the last pieces of information in, closing the lid with a snap. “Alright! I’m done!”

“Everything in order?” Dr. Nishigori asked, her voice tinged with positive expectancy even as she bit her lip anxiously.

Minami snapped his head up, nodding furiously until he became a swirl of blonde and red over his white lab coat. “Yes. Everything’s set up! Yuuri-kun will perform sooooo good! Optimal!”

2) Make A Blind Eye See (3K, by Fifthnameattempt) 

Relevant Ships/Tags: Yuuri & Takeshi, 5+1 Things, Growing Up, Coming Out, or rather failing to come out

I don’t think I’ve ever read a Takeshi POV fic, and this one is so cute and funny. It’s a 5+1 story focusing on just how oblivious Takeshi is to the fact that Yuuri is so incredibly gone for Viktor (as in, long before the “Living Legend” ever arrives in Hasetsu), and I personally love the idea that everyone in Hasetsu – and I mean literally everyone, including his triplet daughters – has figured Yuuri out for years before things ever “click” for Takeshi, lol.

Excerpt:

“And he - he - he brought that stupid puppy all the way to the rink last week and it’s all Yuuko-chan wants to talk about and it’s like she doesn’t even notice me when stupid Yuuri’s around and – !”

He breaks off, cheeks turning pink as he realizes how close to admitting his greatest secret he is. Mari is looking at him like he’s grown a second head right in front of her.

With a quirked smile, she drops her hands to her hips, and observes, “Wow. You really think about him a lot, don’t you?”

His blush only intensifies when he looks down at his skates. “...no.”

The flat denial does nothing to change Mari’s opinion, but she gives a small, resigned sigh. “Okay, kid, here’s the deal: I’m sorry your parents make you feel like shit for not skating as well as him, but that isn’t his fault, got it? Stop taking it out on him. He really looks up to you and the only time he doesn’t look happy when he talks about skating is when he’s trying to figure out why you hate him so much.”

“I don’t hate him,” Takeshi speaks without thinking, then pauses, considers the words, and is surprised to find they’re actually true. Yeah, it’s annoying that he’s a year younger and so much better than Takeshi already, but Yuuri’s actually pretty nice other than that.

“Good,” Mari says, her dark eyes assessing him and seeming to find what she was looking for with a nod. “And as for that girl-stuff, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“There’s no girl stuff!” Takeshi insists, even though at the same moment the sound of Yuuko laughing over on the ice forces him to lift his eyes, automatically searching for her.

3) Hold Me Hard and Mellow (3K, by maydei) - NSFW

Relevant Ships/Tags: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Light Dom/sub, Blindfolds

When I find a Dom Yuuri/sub Victor fic that involves blindfolds AND rimming, it feels like I've hit the freaking jackpot, lmao. This fic is gorgeously written, and I absolutely love how much emphasis there is on Victor being in a position where he has to give up complete control and how hard that is for him, in spite of the fact that he and Yuuri have played like this before. 

I'm a sucker for pet names when it comes to Viktuuri -- lol anyone who has read my stories probably knows this -- so that was yet another element of their fun that made everything feel very sweet while at the same time, very much still being a display of teasing/Yuuri's mercilessness as a Dom. 

Excerpt:

A tremulous little moan makes its way from between Victor’s teeth. His lips part, pulling air in through his mouth and over his soft palate, dragging over his teeth and tongue. “I’ll try,” Victor says. “I’m trying.”

Yuuri replies with an indistinct murmur, his fingertips wandering Victor’s sides, over the mountains of his hip bones, dipping between the subtle valleys of his ribs. Victor feels him shuffle closer, settle at his side, and from the balance it feels like Yuuri has risen up on his knees—

Without warning, Victor is lifted and flipped face down. He yelps in shock; keens when he feels Yuuri settle over his back, the bare length of his erect cock a warm line against his lower spine. When Yuuri’s lips find his ear, it’s all Victor can manage to reach forward and take hold of the comforter instead of arching back to seek relief. Blunt pressure pushes his thighs apart—Yuuri’s knee as he settles between Victor’s legs.

He is spread out for Yuuri’s pleasure and amusement.

Shivers traverse his spine; Victor’s muscles twitch and spasm beneath his skin, overcome with longing. He wants so badly to be touched. 

4) Even This Moment (15K, by lily_winterwood) - NSFW 

Relevant Ships/Tags: Viktor/Yuuri, Yuuri/Others, Viktor/Others, Black Mirror AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Soulmates

This might be cheating since I technically started reading this fic right at the beginning of March, but with my Black Mirror hyperfixation coming back over the last 2 weeks, I just had to put this story on the list. Warning: at one point, it will feel like your heart is getting STOMPED on, but it’s so, so worth it.

This is an AU of the season 4, fourth episode of Black Mirror: ‘Hang the DJ’. If you’re not familiar with that one, it follows Amy and Frank, who get matched by a dating algorithm for certain periods of time which they must adhere to, all for the purposes of the system learning their preferences and assigning them an eventual long-term partner. To borrow a quote from the fic: “The system must assess your reactions to a multitude of scenarios in order to create a comprehensive profile by which to pair you with your ultimate match, replies the device.”

In this AU, Viktor and Yuuri meet as first-timers brand new to the matchmaking system, and when they tap their algorithmic devices – lol, they call the devices ‘Coach’, which I thought was a cute detail – at the very start of their date to reveal how long they are matched for, they see a bewilderingly short amount of time, given how they seem to have instant chemistry: only 12 hours.

At the close of their “relationship”, they are both clearly regretful around having to part ways, as well as each starting to doubt the entire premise of algorithmic matching…especially when Yuuri next gets paired with Seung-Gil for a 1 year relationship, and Viktor gets paired with JJ for a 9 month relationship. 

I won’t spoil what happens with the rest of the story, but aldfjladjsdk, it is SO, so good! I love how it keeps the original spirit of Hang the DJ while also infusing it with a distinct Viktuuri flavor that is so heart-wrenchingly them (i.e. filled with wonderfully angsty pining, some really great sex, lots of feels). And the ending is so, so satisfying.

Excerpt:

Viktor looks up, just in time to meet Yuuri’s brown eyes. They shine contemplatively as he tilts his head and smiles, and for a moment, Viktor has to remember how to breathe.

“Sorry, what?”

Yuuri’s smile grows wider. “Do you think they’re really in love?”

“Well, they’re each other’s ultimate match,” Viktor says, shrugging. “The system has a 99.8% chance of success, so they’re probably it.”

“Hm,” replies Yuuri, reaching over to Viktor’s cake and swiping himself a glob of frosting, popping it into his mouth in a way that gets the blood in Viktor’s head going in the opposite direction. “I suppose I should have more faith in the system, but…”

A sudden, tense silence falls between them. Viktor watches the other man fiddle with his wine glass, a light flush dusting his cheeks as he picks up a napkin for his fingers. He feels drawn into Yuuri’s orbit, a wayward planet caught in the gravitational force of a star.

“Well, I was going to say nice to meet you, but you stole some of my frosting, so…” he jokes, and Yuuri laughs a little at that.

“Interesting shoes,” he says, gesturing to the brouging along Viktor’s oxfords.

“Interesting tie,” Viktor retorts, gesturing to the navy monstrosity threatening to strangle Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri laughs sheepishly, tugging at it. “Listen, I’m sometimes told I look like I get dressed in the dark, you really don’t need to dig it in,” he says.

“I could think of a lot of better uses for that tie,” replies Viktor, and Yuuri arches an eyebrow, stepping impossibly closer.

“You could?” he asks, and Viktor’s breath hitches a little when he catches the shimmer of the lanterns in Yuuri’s eyes, across the swipe of his tongue as he wets his lips. The very air feels golden between them, golden and warm and infinite —

5) but a whisper from your lips (and I fall to my knees) (7K, by sunderwear) - NSFW 

Relevant Ships/Tags: Viktor & Yuuri, Dom/sub, Kink Exploration, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Nude Photos

By now, my smut preferences are probably obvious, lol, but hey...I like what I like, and that's smut in LOTS and lots of detail. The feelings are obviously a critical component, too, and this fic does such a good job of delving into the emotional side of Viktor bottoming for the first time, with beautiful emphasis on the trust these two have in one another. Plus service sub Viktor/gentle Dom Yuuri is just about everything I could ever ask for in terms of being both hot as well as sweet.  

Note: you must be a registered member of the Archive in order to view this fic

Excerpt:

Smiling up at him, Yuuri asks, “Would you like to ride me, Victor?”

Victor nods, and he’s desperate enough for it that he finds his voice.  “Yes, yes please, Yuuri - “

Yuuri cuts him off with a chuckle.  “Okay, okay, you can.  But first, I want a kiss.”

Eager, Victor bends and steals Yuuri’s lips, but lets him control it.  Yuuri kisses him sweetly, one hand stroking Victor’s hair and the other cupping his cheek.  Victor feels his heart stutter, swelling with how tender Yuuri is for him.

Yuuri releases him a long moment later.  “Alright, sweetheart, go ahead.”

Victor climbs into Yuuri's lap and reaches back for his cock, and wonders if Yuuri can feel his hand shaking from the anticipation.  With a soft sigh, he presses the stiff head against his hole and lowers himself down, and - wow.  Yuuri is achingly hard; Victor wonders how he's waited so long without touching himself, and his own cock throbs in sympathy.  

A moment later, the feeling of being filled overcomes him.  His focus narrows to the spot where Yuuri joins him, sharp as a blade.  He can't contain his voice, and a low moan fights it's way out of his throat as he sinks down completely.  This is how it’s supposed to be - not with fingers or toy, but with Yuuri’s cock.

Ok, and lastly for Yuri!!! on Ice, I’m including my own NSFW fic, which I’m hoping to post the last chapter of later today or tomorrow: Push it, want it, own it (currently at 12K).

This is a post-canon, Dom/sub fic that was an excuse for me to write yet another installment of “Viktor riling Yuuri up in order to flip the latter's possessive switch”. Essentially, the premise is that Yuuri and Viktor have been apart for a week, and on the day of Yuuri’s return home from a "besties getaway" with Phichit, they end up FaceTiming and discussing the results of an annual fan-voter contest: Golden Skate’s ‘Best Ass in Men’s Figure Skating’. Yuuri is the winner, a fact that Viktor can’t be more thrilled about. What Viktor is not such a fan of, however, is the invasive commentary on his own post-retirement body. 

As a way to both clap back at the fans who have critiqued his ass, as well as up the ante on the urgency of their reunion sex, Viktor ends up filming a livestream while Yuuri is flying home. The last few minutes of this stream involve him jumping rope to a very NSFW song, with his laptop camera positioned to get an ideal view of his ass, lmao.

Excerpt below (from Chapter 2):

“Faster. Fuck me good, baby,” Yuuri snapped in demand, the directive slicing through the weighted air of their surroundings with ease, prompting Viktor to whimper and scrunch his eyes in overwhelm.

“Show me how happy you are that I’m back home,” Yuuri continued a bit more softly, before bringing his hand around in a curl over the back of his neck to clutch at his t-shirt.

“I’m–, I’m so happy, Yuranya,” Viktor said with his eyes still closed, and all the sincerity he could muster.

It was true, and not only for the fact that he’d missed being touched over the last week so much that it ached.

As he’d been all too happy to expound upon in his livestream, missing Yuuri went far beyond the physical. There’d been countless times over the past 7 days when something had happened – something funny related to their dogs, or thought-provoking during a Papio staff meeting – and Viktor’s smile had dimmed in an instant, remembering he couldn’t turn to his side to see what his spouse thought. He and Yuuri had exchanged frequent texts and even talked every single day over FaceTime, but it just wasn’t the same; he wanted to be able to hear Yuuri’s cute, lilting laugh in person, not through the tinny connection of a phone.

His husband’s hips twisted nimbly under his heated palms and the press of lips to his brow bone made Viktor’s heart swell with tenderness.

“Show me then, lyubimiy,” Yuuri muttered against his skin. “Make me yours.”

Fruits Basket Recs

1) A Fabulous Style (1.5K, by modzy78)  

Relevant Ships/Tags: Ritsu & Ayame, Personal Growth (note: this is my tag, not one on the story), Gender Exploration (again, note this is my own tag) 

aldfjlksdfjlksadfjklsdf, I apologize for the incoherency, but I am not kidding when I tell you that I have LONGED to see a story like this written ever since I first discovered Fruits Basket (the manga). Natsuki Takaya has been open about the fact that she didn't have much room to explore Ritsu's character in the original run, and if it'd been written in current times, one of the things I'd most want to see is an intentional embrace of gender nonconformity instead of Ritsu (seemingly) "giving up" on femininity entirely towards the end of canon. 

Of course, who better than to help with such a journey of self-discovery than the one person Ritsu seems to admire most in terms of confidence? Enter Ayame in all of his glorious bluntness, lol.

This story is a PERFECT depiction of what I imagine the beginning of Ritsu's gender exploration journey could look like, as it involves Ayame and Mine doing mini style "makeovers" for both Ritsu and Mitsuru; this is done under the guise of getting the two of them suitable outfits to wear during Tohru & Kyo's wedding afterparty. There's a moment in it where Ayame tells Ritsu that his (note: in this fic, Ritsu is using masculine pronouns) gender nonconformity is something he's always admired, and it genuinely had me tearing up. 

If you love Ritsu and/or Ayame, or perhaps you just long to see more overt embrace of gender nonconformity in Furuba, I think you'd love this story. And, while this is probably controversial for a number of reasons, this fic got my creative juices flowing to envision what a similar kind of thing might look like for Ayame & Akito 

Excerpt (Ayame is the one who starts off speaking):

His eyes swept over Ritsu as he led him to the waiting car. "Which does lead me to question your current choice in attire. Just where did you procure that suit?"

Ritsu's face reddened. "I...um...got it from the tailor my father uses. I'm sorry if it does not meet your standards!" He placed the boxes in the car and allowed Ayame to lead him to the back seat. Mine was already pushing Mitsuru into the front passenger seat with a grin.

Ayame sighed. "It's not my standards that matter. It's yours. It does not fit your style at all. It feels as if you are a caricature of what you think a grown man should wear to a wedding. It completely lacks personality. Frankly, I expected better from someone with your fashion sense."

"I'm so sorry! I wanted to show that I'm a worthwhile man instead of a source of shame. I was ensured this is what most men wear to weddings."

"True, but most men are dull when left to their own devices. Tell me, Ritchan, do you see yourself as a man?"

2) tired eyes (2K, by ohmygodwhy) 

Relevant Ships/Tags: Haru & Yuki, First Crush, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

The true heart of Fruits Basket, for me, anyway, lies in its platonic relationships and the way we see characters caring for one another or inspiring transformation in one another separate from anything romantic in nature. 

My absolute favorite is the friendship between Haru and Yuki. Haru is very open in canon about the fact that Yuki is his first love, but just b/c the latter doesn't reciprocate his feelings, doesn't make their relationship any less moving. 

tired eyes -- which was written last year, for Fruits Basket Mondays -- is told vignette style, with 3 different scenes that capture the ways in which Haru shows Yuki support and understanding, and I guarantee it'll move you. The care isn't just one-sided either; as the last vignette shows, Yuki understands Haru is far smarter than he's ever given credit for (due to the zodiac story about the "dumb ox" getting tricked), and makes sure to let him know that he recognizes that.

Excerpt:

“The ox wasn’t stupid,” Yuki finally says, voice small and soft the way it was back then, before he found his voice. “He was just helpful.”

He could be talking about the legend or he could be talking about, right now. Saying that Haru is helping, even if all he does is talk to him. He knows it’s more than most people do. The adults don’t do shit, and that includes not making Yuki feel like a human being.

“Yeah, exactly,” Haru says, chest all warm, “He was giving his friend a ride. Hey, one day I’m gonna get a motorcycle.”

“What?” Yuki’s eyes scrunched up all cute at the sudden change in topic.

“A motorcycle, like the ones on TV. They’re super cool, and I could get the gloves and everything. I could give you rides all the time.”

“Rides to where?” Yuki asks, but he sounds interested, and that’s enough to make Haru feel like he’s not just a stupid kid. His parents don’t like his motorcycle idea.  

3) The Cost for Silence (56K, by AveSolace) 

Relevant Ships/Tags: Tohru/Kyo, Machi/Yuki, Haru/Rin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Suspense, Blackmail

I’ve read/loved another fic by this author and adore their writing style/ability to capture emotion organically, even when writing from several different POVs. It truly shines in this canon divergent story about the Sohma family being blackmailed, and their trying to discover the identity of the person threatening to leak video of an animal transformation to the public.

I’ve read up to Chapter 7, but even without having finished the story I feel confident listing this as a rec because the suspense build-up is so good. 

And not only that, but each chapter contains several different POV’s, and all of the exposition as well as dialogue – whether it be from Tohru’s POV, Kyo’s, Yuki’s, or some of the OC’s within the Sohma family who are tasked with getting intel on the blackmailer – feel so fitting with the urgency of the situation. There is a real backdrop of anxiety/dread in this fic, as it pertains to Akito finding out about the situation as they try to triage, as well as each of the Juniishi pondering what might happen if they fail to figure out the identity of the blackmailer before they are forced to pay the ransom. 

Excerpt (from Chapter 2, Shigure is the one who starts off speaking):

“So, what we need to do—and I really see no way around informing the others about this, but that’s on Kureno and Hatori—is try to remember every time we’ve transformed somewhere outside of the estate, the hospital, or the safety of our own homes, and if there may have been the possibility of us being recorded.  Say, there were security cameras, or there were a few people nearby—even if they didn’t seem to notice; they could have been discreet about it—someone may have been hiding and watching us, or taking some other video and we may have shown up in the background, or someone really sus had passed by and we got a bad vibe, anything.”

“And we have to figure that out in a week!?” Kyo blurted out.

“Ideally, yes,” Shigure replied lightly.  “Preferably a little bit sooner than that.”

“Just pay them the money, then!” He was clearly panicking, his voice trembling slightly and his pupils constricted as he slammed his hand on the table. Tohru couldn’t help the sadness flooding her heart as she watched him. “There’s no way we can know for sure if some creep recorded us!”

“No, I don’t expect anyone to know with certainty,” Shigure clarified. “Just like with what Momiji’s father is doing, this is simply meant to narrow down the possibilities.”

“So what!? That won’t do jack shit!”

“Which is why the real MVP here is our hacker. If all goes well, he’ll track down exactly who did this.”

“And if he can’t!?”

“Then the Sohmas will pay the money, Stupid Cat,” Yuki grumbled, gripping his head in his hand and leaning his elbow on the table. “Obviously they’re not gonna let this creep post it on the internet.  They’ll pay him off and get it back…”

“Why don’t we just do that already and end this!?” Kyo demanded. “Why drag it out!? This is impossible!”

“What do you think will happen next after that?”  Yuki raised his eyes and glowered at him. “Once we pay them off, destroy the video, and the dust settles?  How do you think Akito will respond to a mess like this?”

[milimeters-morales]

pavitr x miles is a lesbian couple (the sorcerer turns me into a cardboard cutout and carries me off the stage) and miles x pavitr x gayatri is a message from the gods (the sorcerer shrinks me to the size of his hand and uses me as a bookmark for the rest of eternity)

[unculturedmamoswine]

Fiddauthor Recs

Ya want a Fiddauthor rec list??? You got it. This is just some fiddauthor I have in my bookmarks, in no particular order. I’m not adding warnings, so pay attention to the tags and such. If a fic is a WIP, I’ll let you know. And please DO add your own recs in comments or reblogs, especially if you know of fics that aren’t on AO3!

 If you read these fics, please consider leaving kudos and comments for the authors!

We’re Still Here by hellmandraws

Not fic, but a fan comic starting with college fiddauthor and going all the way through post-series. So great and really worth a read!

rumination: a guided tour by gesso (1.9k words)

Author’s summary: For all the words, expressions, languages he knows; for all the intelligence, experience -- sometimes it's just easier to show, rather than tell. And maybe that means using the mindscape to just pull up very specific memories in a certain order. Because Stanford Pines would much rather take the most convoluted route possible, especially if that means he can avoid plainly talking about his emotions (past and present). [Unlike the other drabbles in this series, this is not complete, and cuts off kind of abruptly at the end of the draft I have]

This fic is sooo worth a read. Technically a WIP, but don’t let that dissuade you.

Somnus Idigus by Abyssalzones (2k words)

Author’s summary: It's hard to sleep, still, nearly a full year after Bill's defeat. Ford manages to be coaxed to bed by kind words and gentle hands, and wonders just what he did to deserve this kind of understanding. (AKA: Ford has nightmares, keeps trying to put off sleep, Fiddleford manages to lovingly wrangle him to bed.)

Sooo sweet! The exact kind of post-canon snuggly Fiddauthor fic I need in this world!

Intricate Rituals by HazelnutofFortune (1.5k words)

Author’s summary: “Fiddleford,” Ford says. He hates asking for help. 

“Mmm?” Fiddleford asks, looking up, scalpel still raised. 

“ Um, could you show me how to get at that big clump next to the Aorta?” How humiliating. Why did he even ask. Except-

“Well, sure,” Fiddleford sets down the heart and takes Ford’s a little gingerly. My heart is in his hands, Ford thinks. Fuck. 

Extremely cute! A WIP! College Fiddauthor and Ford is soooo smitten.

Jersey Boy by Fordtato (110k words)

Author’s summary: Ford does not want to be at Backupsmore University. He should be in California, at West Coast Tech, showing the world that he's more than a freakish waste of space from Jersey; showing the world that he's more than the scrawny, brainy half of a dynamic duo. He's angry, sure, and he's sure-as-fuck tired of being just one-of-two-Stans.

But who isn't angry right now? The world is in turmoil, they're sending our boys to Vietnam and if it wasn't for this stupid school, Ford would have probably been sucked into the draft himself.

But then he meets Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and everything is different now.

A slowburny fic that really digs into the historical side of college Fiddauthor. It doesn’t shrink away from the tougher, uglier stuff that being a poor, gay, Jewish college student in the seventies would mean for someone. Features an angry, confused Ford who is having a Hard Time. Also has a whole host of interesting OCs! Also a WIP. This fic takes a turn or two that I really didn’t expect and I’m very excited to see where it goes, as the author is on record saying that they WILL finish it.

if you love me, come clean by Athgalla (105k words)

Author’s summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.

Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!

iylmcc spans Ford and Fidds’s first meeting through post-series. It’s so interesting, and so sweet, and has so many wonderful details! Just a great take on their relationship that you deserve to read, dear reader. Treat yourself!

Maybe It’s Not Too Late by GinAndShatteredDreams (main fic is 82k words, whole series is 110k)

Author’s summary of the main fic: Overall: A post-weirdmageddon asexual Fiddauthor fic in which revelations occur, a confession goes awry, some unfinished business reemerges in the form of a raging pterodactyl, and chaos ensues. (vaguely romantic - hugs/hand holding/cuddling/comfort, no kisses - just adding that so I don't disappoint anyone who's hoping for it - or maybe for the sake of people (like me) who sometimes like to read something without ;))

(Edit - No romantic kisses. There's a forehead kiss between family members at one point.)

*It would probably be good to mention that most of this was written before the journal came out and even after, I tried to keep true to the ideas formed before reading it with one exception that is noted later.

So as you can tell, I linked you the whole series. A both super angsty and very sweet fic with wonderful asexual post-series Fiddauthor! I’ve never read anything quite like it, totally check it out.

Romance is Overrated and Living Confusing by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat (25k words)

Author’s summary: Stanford and Fiddleford started out as college roommates and over the years grew into something more than friends but just to the side of what others would consider a "normal relationship." But honestly, is it really anyone's business what they are as long as they care deeply for each other?

Scenes from Stanford's life as he tries to figure out where he fits in a world built for romance and traditional family dynamics.

This fic is restricted– you need an AO3 account to read it. Also, it’s part of a series, but the other fic is Stan-centric so it’s not a part of this rec list. Aaaand also it’s a WIP. Okay, with that out of the way, this is another Ace!Fiddauthor fic, which you know I’m all about! This fic is more about college and research-aged Fiddauthor, and it’s as delightfully fraught as you could hope. The author also does a cool thing regarding Fiddleford’s time in Oregon, while still keeping it canon-compliant. My hat is off to them.

To Struggle For Dreams And To Hunger For More by Voidfish (8k words)

Author’s summary: “Am I gay?” Ford reads the quiz out loud, before clicking to begin. To his frustration, most of the questions are simply asking him if he has had sex with men (he hasn’t), if he wants to (he isn’t quite sure), or if he ever will (the jury is still out). Nothing defines attraction, no one clarifies if the burn in his stomach is love or gastrointestinal issues, and nothing leaves him feeling any better on the subject.

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Stanford Pines has never loved a woman but, he realizes with a painful jolt, he can’t say with certainty he’s never loved a man.

Aaaaaa I love this fic. I love it sooo much. Post-series and Ford is trying to figure out his sexuality and his feelings for Fidds. Plus a scene where he comes out to Stan! Just a delight.

And Shifty Makes Three by Sarelle (13k words)

Author’s summary: Ford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket deal with the ups and downs of relationships and parenthood in 1970s Oregon. A task not much aided by the fact they have to keep secret the true identity of their shapeshifting alien grub son, from friends, family and the Feds.

Based on WDW's Shiftyverse, can be read as a standalone.

I fucking LOVE this fic!! Aaaaa the little details about Ford and Fidds and their relationship! Their alien son!! This fic is so up my alley it’s bonkers.

queer clan in the middle of the woods by toosolidcuuj (series is 23k words)

Author’s summary of the series: *to the tune of "our house" by madness* queer clan in the middle of the woods, queer clan in the middle of the

Canon-divergent AU in which Stan and Ford make up, adopt an alien, and gradually amass an extended queer family.

This is ALSO a Shifty-adopting fic! With Fiddauthor! This one also has Stan, and focuses a lot on Stan and Ford fixing up their fraternal relationship in addition to the Fiddauthory bits. I haven’t reread it in a hot second but I remember it being very fun but also taking Shifty’s trauma quite seriously, which I thought was interesting and cool to read.

(There's a) Half moon rising in southeastern skies by orphan_account (17k words)

Author’s summary: A series of memories, all compiled in convenient cinema-reel format. It’s all here, folks, the good, the bad, the sexy, the emotionally distressing. Next to nothing left out.

Sad that this fic was orphaned– I love it. It’s in second person, and I’m all about that! Fiddleford looking back at his fractured memories post-series and also reconnecting with Ford. Absolutely wonderful characterization. Author, if you’re out there, I love this fic!! I hope you are happy with it in your heart!!

Syncing Phases by toosolidcuuj (5k words)

Author’s summary: Stan has gone his whole life never imagining he had a twin, let alone an android twin who can shoot cannons out his hands, makes money appear out of thin air, and has a close relationship with a werewolf named Fiddleford McGucket. Even more surprisingly, FORD needs Stan's help erasing a world-ending computer virus. But BILL has allies in many places, leaving the Stans uncertain who they can trust.

WIP. This fic is SUCH a fun and interesting concept!! Only child!Stan, Werewolf!Fidds, Robot!Ford??? Yes, please! A totally unique fic that is so fun to read!

[lacefuneral]

ok i've seen some posts about the tumblr alternative cohost but none that were actually helpful so!

(disclaimer: i am very new to this website. users who have been there longer can and should chime in with additions and/or corrections)

Cohost Introduction Post

What is cohost?

Cohost is a fledgling website that is essentially a tumblr clone, but with its own culture and site-specific features. It is also very much a work in progress. You are encouraged to talk in the cohost forum to suggest changes for devs, report bugs, and upvote other people's suggestions. This website WILL grow and change over time. And as such, I do not know if/when the information I share here will be outdated. Edit: To answer an ask I received, anyone can join cohost without an invite. It used to be invite-only. It is not this way anymore.

Is "adult content" allowed there?

Yes. Cohost is not on the app store, meaning that it is not subject to Apple's specifications. You can post illustrations, writing, and photographs (cohost does not support any video formats at this time, just gifs). Cohost has an elaborate filtering and trigger warning system (moreso than tumblr), and you can disable adult content for your entire account or for individual tags. I actually don't engage with the adult content at all on there. Visual CSEM (both real and fictional) is specifically forbidden (although frankly I think the guidelines could be stricter wrt written content. Still, does seem to handle this better than AO3 does, going as far to say that written content about real minors is forbidden.)

How are minors protected?

The minimum age to join cohost is 16, and requires proof of parental permission to join. Users who are under 18 are automatically age-gated and cannot view adult content.

If cohost isn't on the app store, how is it used?

You can, of course, use cohost on a computer, but it is designed with mobile in mind. Opening the website on any IOS browser, clicking "share", and then "add to home screen" will install an app for you to use. The same can be done on an android. There is a guide here.

How does cohost work?

First, you create an account. Then you wait for approximately two days (read: weekdays) for the account to be activated. This is done to prevent spam bots. In the meantime, edit your profile. List some interests, your pronouns, your other social media links. Give yourself an icon. Note: icon and banner file sizes are small. You may need to shrink and compress images.

After the two days are up, make your first post! Write a basic introduction (with what you feel comfortable you feel sharing) and list some interests you like, maybe some hobbies, media, etc. And then tag this post with "#welcome to cohost". This will let existing members know that someone new has joined, and they may initiate conversation and/or follow you.

Next, go to the search and type in "The Cohost Global Feed" and click on the tag. Bookmark this tag. This is essentially one giant community space where you can find random users. (There is currently some discourse on the website as to whether this tag existing is a "bad thing" or not because "cohost isn't supposed to have a global tag". Just ignore that lol). Next, go back to search and type in things you like. TV shows, maybe. Video games. Music. Anything. See if people have posted in the tags. Follow them. Comment on their stuff. Click "like" to bookmark the post if you want to.

Most crucially, make sure that you bookmark the actual tag so you can look in that tag again later without having to manually type it each and every time. Also, you get a feed called "bookmarked tags" which allows you to scroll through all of them at once, which replaces the "for you" feature other websites have.

You can "share" a post (called "rebug" in user slang) which serves the same purpose as a reblog on tumblr. In a rebug, you can add your own tags or comment in the body of the post. Cohost users do not talk in tags as much as tumblr users - they tend to prefer to speak in the body of a rebug, or in the comment section (replies). At this time, you cannot view all reblogs. But you can view all comments in the comment section. Any post that is rebugged will preserve the tags of the OP, with any additional tags added being attributed to you. Rebugs are named after the website mascot Eggbug, a purple bee-like insect.

Posts are called "chosts" - and shitposting is called "shitchosting." Two examples of global shitposting tags are "#css crimes" - which is when a person does goofy things with the HTML/CSS editor to make colorful text, fake chat windows, and such - and "#shitchosting" which is a general shitposting tag. I've also seen people use tags like "#random".

If a post makes you laugh, check out the OP's profile. See if they post frequently, and if you have any common interests. If you realize you want to block or mute someone instead, you can.

You can send asks just like on tumblr, but your inbox must be manually opened first. So remember to do that.

How do I look at my own blog?

This is one of my gripes about the UI. You would think, intuitively, you would click here (at the top of the screen). But you would be wrong!

It is ACTUALLY under the sidebar menu, called "Profile." And I'm not the only one to to complain about this. (To get back to your dashboard, by the way, you click on the cohost logo.)

Are there sideblogs?

Yes! Each sidepage (sideblog) has its OWN set of likes AND followed pages (blogs). This allows you to easily switch between multiple sets of dashboards. A lot of users use this to have a SFW dashboard and an adult content dashboard. But it works like tumblr, too. You can have a side page/dashboard for whatever you'd like. Maybe one of your pages is for programming. Maybe another is for photography. You switch between your pages by clicking the arrow next to your icon/username at the top of the screen. ("Ohhhhh.... THAT'S what that's for.")

What's the userbase on there like?

Mostly programmers. Trans people. Furry artists. Plural systems. Furry trans plural programmers. Certainly a lot of shitposters. The website is trans-run and, as such, has zero tolerance for TERFs. Everyone seems pretty friendly from what I can tell. And there's very much a culture of "follow someone randomly based on their vibes" that doesn't happen as much on tumblr. Tumblr is more like "I really like this TV show, I'm going to follow 40 blogs about just this interest." Because the cohost community is so much smaller, there is a lot less content overall, especially fandom content. You can't follow 40 fandom pages because your fandom tag has a total of 3 posts, all made by one person approximately a year ago (well. for me anyway).

Cohost, then, actually has much more in common with real-life socialization. You seek out people with interests that may be very different from your own, and to find a common interest is very exciting! Unlike tumblr, you are encouraged to tag as much as possible. This allows your posts to be seen, to find common interests. And, of course, don't forget to look in "#Welcome To Cohost" too! You may find some new friends there.

What file formats can I post in?

Currently, I am aware of basic image formats working (like jpeg, png) animated gifs, and mp3s. You currently cannot upload videos to cohost. I believe the reason is not related to server costs, but rather as a way to curb the uploading of copyrighted content.

How does cohost make money?

There are no ads, and yet, as far as I am aware, cohost is operating comfortably. There is, however, an entirely optional "cohost plus" that is $5 USD a month. Currently, there are a few perks, but not enough to convince me.

What if I think something about cohost should change?

Cohost has a forum where users can submit ideas for features and other users can discuss/upvote those ideas.

Here is a list of posts made for newcomers to read:

[tajmutthall]

Link to my ever-growing (sometimes shrinking) AO3 List OF ABSOLUTE FAVORITE CAPTIVE PRINCE FAN FICTIONS.

I had hoped that simply marking "rec" for the ones I really liked would narrow it down for myself and others. But after doing that for a while, I am approaching 500 stories and I don't really want that many in my "absolute favoritest" list. So I am slowly going back through them and adding the ones that really stick with me to this collection , Taj MuttHall Capri favorite fanfiction. Enjoy!

(and let me know if there are stories I should check out that aren't on either of my lists.)

Taj_MuttHall Captive Prince favorites | Archive of Our Own

:readmore:

Some are long, some are short, some are incomplete, some are agonizing, some so happy, some are a similar mix to what the original books had… mostly they all have the qualities that they are true to the original characters and themes in some way and that their writing is excellent and that I would read them again. for each story, you can check my bookmark for more tips about it (i try not to do spoilers)

I don't do incest or ABO. there are a few "major character deaths" stories, but I don't generally include ones where the last thing in the story is that somebody dies and it's left for the shock value. No no no. That's cruel and pointless. In my opinion.

[insanatty]

made myself a lil shrink plastic kikoku bookmark now that im trying to read again

[bbynedtime]

Jop just sort of mouthing on fitzmom when hes not quite sure how to ask to bond with her thru breastfeeding like ned..just snuggling into her and maybe sucking on her top at first...

IM GOING TO CRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Top 5 prompts that dealt emotional damage to me (in a positive way)

*throws this fic at you*

James was reading on the sofa late into the evening - the book Francis had bought for her birthday a few months back. She'd finally gotten around to it and today seemed like a quiet enough of a day to get a few tens of pages in. Francis had gone to put Neddie to bed and probably fell asleep while telling the little a good night story. She expected to see Thomas at least a few times before he goes to sleep, so she didn't even blink when she heard steps in the hallway.

Only when the set of spotted pyjamas stopped right in front of her did she look up from her book.

Thomas held Ned's comfort blanket to his chest like a shield. His eyes were cast down, half hidden by his hair. She could tell he was small. Very small.

"Hello, love," she greeted, moved the bookmark to her current page and set the book on the table. "Here to cuddle with me?"

He didn't say anything, only gave her a short glance. He seemed to be thinking very hard on something - he chewed his tongue as his eyes searched the floor and his fingers drummed on the blanket.

She tried again. "Do you just want to sit here with me?"

Tommy shook his head.

"So you do want to cuddle?"

Again, no response. Cuddling is clearly closer to what he wants, but not quite it. She has little chance of figuring out what it is he wants if he doesn't talk at all. If only he looked at her, then she could probably tell...

"Tom, please talk to me? Just yes or no is okay."

"Hm." Tom quickly looked up at her again and shuffled closer.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

"Yes," Tom said, but looked to the side and pressed the blanket to his chest.

"Angel," James began softly. "If there is something you want, you can tell me... Or show me. You know you can do that, right? Show me, what it is?"

He carefully stepped closer and after looking around the sofa for a few seconds, he pulled a large pillow towards James and gestured for her to lean her back against it. Then he sat down sideways in her lap, unfolding the blanket over himself.

She helped him pull the blanket up to his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him. "Is this it?"

After a bit of silence and Tommy shrinking in her arms, he gently whined a 'no'.

"Take your time, it's okay."

Then James felt the soft tugging at her shirt and a touch of cold on her chest. No, not cold. Wet. Her first thought was that Tom had started crying, so she reached up to pet his cheek, but then she heard the suckling. Soft, airy, suckling and Tom's fingers just barely creeping under the hem of her shirt.

"Aw... Tommy... Do you need some baby love? To nurse for a while...?"

"Yeah," Thomas chirped, shrinking even more in her arms.

"You can nurse on me, little one. I didn't know you wanted to so I didn't offer, but you absolutely can." She kissed the top of his hair, then let go of him to pull up her shirt. "There... Just mind your teeth," she smiled down at him and guided his head closer.

He latched on perfectly, good little thing, and began gently suckling.

"There, doesn't that feel nice?" she asked as she brushed the hair out of his forehead to see him better.

He whimpered, then stopped nursing to breathe deep for a while. He began to shiver and James feared he may start to cry...

That fear proved correct when she felt two teardrops land on her stomach and trickle down towards her pants. Before she could pull him closer to kiss it better, though, he went back to nursing on her. So instead she lowered her head to rest on the top of his and rubbed up and down his arm. "Good boy, Tommy."

He shakily breathed out and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Good boy," she whispered and kissed his hair, then pulled back to see him better. He was adorable. His nose was scrunched up from pushing against her breast and his eyes  were closed in bliss. "Tom, should I rock you? Would you like that?"

He hummed, then turned his head up, finally looking in her eyes.

Warmth filled her chest and flushed her cheeks.

Her little one. Her Tommy. She kissed his forehead, then gently began swaying him side to side. "Like this?"

He slowly blinked.

At least they can talk properly now that he's not hiding his eyes. But she shouldn't make him think of too many words. He's small after all. He should be relaxing.

So she continued to sway with him, watching his eyes as they closed a little bit more after each slow blink, until they remained closed. He stayed nursing for a while, but even that eventually stopped as he fell asleep.

It's a gift - his trust. And he's a gift, too. He'd told her when he was big a few weeks back, that she was his gift. His angel from heaven. She accepted the compliment with a laugh, but kept thinking about it days after. And now to have proof of it. A solid proof of how safe he felt...

Tommy cuddled closer, mouthing somewhat blindly at her breast, before falling asleep again.

Both their backs will ache if they stay like this all night. She'll have to carry him to bed or at least get up from under him and place him down flat. But for now she enjoyed the warmth in her lap. The cold from where Tommy was nursing and left wet with spit. The gentle pleasure of it slowly settling down in her muscles.

She pulled the blanket higher to cover Tom's shoulders and her chest as well.

Francis will probably wake up in a while and come down for some water before he goes to his own bed. He can help move Tom to a more comfortable position later.

She pulled him closer, rested her head on top of his and closed her eyes.

Their Tommy...

[o-sn4pple]

hi this is an unfinished rough draft of a (technical?) sequel to my scara x reader fic, against the kitchen floor

someone had left a bookmark idea of how wanderer would be with reader after the wipe, and though they had discussed how reader would be missing something, i went with what would have been changed had i written into jeht's story quest

so yeah, hi

The Wanderer does not like the desert.

The sand is not kind to his joints, the sunlight harsh upon his eyes, and yet he forces his body faster and faster, fighting against the tearing winds to the hidden encampment within the dunes. Even he feels the scratch of grains whipping against his eyes. He only grits his teeth and charges ahead. 

“I can’t be in two places at once!”

The map marks the Temples Forsaken as his target, though the sand seems to have been cleared as of late. Glowing statues seem to flicker in the harsh light, familiar structures that mean little to him now. The sand is dusted white, and though the Wanderer does not need to breathe, he does so anyway. A plume of condensation escapes him.

This can’t be good. He doubts his internal hardware enjoys freezing over, either. Already, he can feel his capacitors shutting off, limbs stiffening in protest.

“Trust me, I would have asked Cyno, but I don’t have time to waste!”

The Wanderer grits his teeth and moves deeper. Despite the risen walls, the wind only seems to grow stronger, bitter and blinding. He keeps one hand tight on the brim of his hat, attempting to scan through the howling winds for something of note. The closest he finds is a suspicious lump half-buried in snow - a body, he discovers. The Eremite has no visible injuries, but their jaw seems half-frozen in visible shock, fingers tight around their axe. The several dozen others are in similar shape. 

Finally, he finds another, more familiar uniform buried in the mix. The Fatuus’ armor has splintered, chest caved in and dripping all over the ground. Just seeing his face makes the Wanderer scowl, and he steps back to squint through the storm. With all of the snow howling around him, it takes him a moment to remember just where he is. 

“They’re in trouble!”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, a blur flies at his side. He throws his arms up, fingers catching a jagged edge before it can pierce his chest. It isn’t enough to stop the momentum, and he is swept right off his feet by an insect twenty times his size. 

“Gh-” The Wanderer grits his teeth as the insect trills, each click like thunder in his ears. He twists to push the beetle aside, momentum bouncing him off the giant scarab’s head as it whistles past. When it rights itself, he throws one hand up. Razor wind arcs at its giant horn, glancing off its icy exoskeleton. 

Another furious trill rings in the puppet’s ears. This time, its horn catches beneath his feet and hauls him up. He kicks and thrashes, tearing himself free before the beetle can fling him into the ruin walls. He knows this creature - its size, not as much, but its enraged rattle sounds just like an overwound toy breaking free from its shell.

“Pot of Greed!” 

The giant scarab freezes, hovering over the ruins as it clicks and chirps. The Wanderer scowls and rights himself, shaking the frost from his face. He doesn’t understand what it’s saying, but he can already see it shrinking. “The Traveler sent me,” he shouts over the howling blizzard. “Where are they?” 

Pot of Greed trills, but when it lands on its legs, its entire body shudders. Its icy exoskeleton slides off in sheets, puffing into mist before it can hit the ground. All that remains is its mechanical body, which hits the ground back first with its legs in the air. 

“Huh?” The Wanderer steps forward, ready to pick up the catalyst when-

BANG!

-something pierces his thigh. 

The Wanderer hisses, hand flying to the hole now burning its way through his leg. A quick diagnostic reveals it missed the major wires that control movement, but his pain receptors don’t seem to care. It hurts, it burns, and he bares his teeth as he follows its trajectory. “You-”

Another bullet whizzes by. This time, he rounds on the angle with Anemo at his fingertips, then freezes. 

It’s you, head wrapped in your floral scarf and armed with a Skirmisher’s flaming rifle. Your left arm, normally hidden with a sleeve, bares its scars to the open air, your actual sleeve wrapped around your right leg and the shaft of another Skirmisher’s hammer. You’ve squeezed yourself into a crevice in the ruin walls. From the drag marks under your legs, the Wanderer can only assume you dragged yourself there to protect your back. 

Your hands move like a seasoned veteran, and by the time the Wanderer’s mind catches up to him, you are already firing another shot. This time, it whizzes past his ear. Something tells him that your next shot will not miss. 

“Enough!” The Wanderer flies forward, seizing the barrel before it can fire. You shout and lunge, but he tears the gun from your fingertips and throws it aside. “Calm down, it’s-”

A frost-coated fist slams straight into his stomach. He doubles over with a hiss, and it’s just enough for your other hand to shoot put and grab a fistful of his coat. 

And in the memories the Wanderer has of you, both old and new, you never seemed like much for roughhousing. At least, the current you always carried yourself with dignity whenever he sees you walking around the Akademiya before turning the opposite way. 

Then he recalls all of those foreign memories he’d seen in the Akasha System, how you used to be with the General Mahamatra, and is slammed into the dirt with enough force to make his vision flicker. 

You get in a lucky strike before he finally throws you off, pinning you on your back. He snatches your wrists as you thrash, using his knees to hold down your shoulders as you scream. “STOP!” he shouts over you. “I’m not your enemy!” It doesn’t work. Your one good leg kicks blindly, knee bumping his back. This time, he grips your cheeks tight, forcing you to meet his eye. “It’s me, you idiot! From the Akademiya!” 

For a moment, he doesn’t think it works. After all, he’s barely spoken to you unless directly summoned by Nahida. Outside of the first interaction (or reunion, for him), he’s avoided you as best he could. 

But from the way your eyes widen, his body almost softens with relief. You relax under his grip, one hand weakly pulling on his own as your bleeding lips move.

“Water,” you rasp. “Please…too long…water…”

That is all you get out before your eyes roll back. 

“Huh?” The Wanderer grips your jaw tight, shaking you out of instinct before the rest of the Traveler’s words come to him. 

“It’s been a week, they’re both missing, please, just help me!”

A week. 

He looks around, eyes zeroing in on the rapidly melting snow. It can’t be safe or sanitary, but he also knows humans can only last three days without water at most. The Wanderer doesn’t have time to be picky, nor embarrassed. He simply holds the snow in his mouth until it melts, centers your head with one hand on your chin, and presses his mouth to yours. 

He keeps his fingers against your jaw, using the heel of his palm to force your swallows. When he pulls back, he only allows himself a second to gasp before grabbing another handful of snow. Again and again, he forces water between your cracked lips, counting each swallow like a pulse under your skin. 

The puppet stops when your tongue finally feels moist, dragging his sleeve against his mouth to dry the errant droplets on his lips. Already, the snow around him is beginning to melt, no longer aided by your fury. He understands that a Vision can influence the biological stasis of the human body, but he doubts you enjoy wet clothes sticking to your skin. 

He resorts to tearing off the coats of a Fatuus, their water-resistant design leaving its interior dry and soft. With your clothes, he is far more careful to peel them away, wrapping your shoulders the second they are exposed. The floral scarf remains secured around your head.

Fire, he thinks once you are propped against one of the ruin’s chess pieces. Clothes do not last long, and everything else is too waterlogged to be useful. He resorts to flying out of the ruins, returning with arms full of wood broken from a nearby Hilichurl encampment and tumbleweeds. He sparks the dead branches with your rifle, and as the embers begin to catch, he throws more and more until the entire clearing is glowing. 

The Wanderer almost regrets it when he returns to you. The fire highlights your sunken face and dirtied skin, drowning in the giant coat he’d wrapped you in. Your breaths come in weak, shallow pants. He needs to get you back to Sumeru, but can you even handle the trip? 

Better yet, can he? He can feel the frost creeping along his insides,