My New Fav Pics Of 2025

That post about casual kink has me thinking about puppy!Folio wearing a chain necklace instead, maybe with a subtle little lock on it. Something a partner could just hook their finger around and tug ever so slightly just randomly. Just to watch his eyes slide shut, the way his brain shifts into pup space for that brief moment.

This picture is doing shit to my brain! Omg 🤯🤯🤯🤯

nick folio tonight @ rockville

Forget about fancy dates, i wanna flirt with you in kitchen while cooking for you

I'm on my period so I keep thinking about how would Nerd!Noah take care of you when you're on your period. I mean he bought the whole pharmacy when you were sick so I can imagine a similar situation here as well.

And I feel like he'd be so anxious and scared not to annoy you or make you angry or overwhelmed. And probably would apologize like ten thousand times and ask for permission before doing ANYTHING (not that he doesn'tnormallydo it, but especially now) because he's the cutest person alive. 🥹

i'm so sorry for answering this so late🥺🤍

nerd Noah masterlist

Oh, our sweet boy trying to help as much as he can (I missed him so much)

Imagine a similar scenario, you call your manager in the morning, telling her that you’re taking a sick day.

But you learned from the last time and you know that Noah will show up with a cup of coffee by your desk any minute, so you text him a message “Hi Noah, I’m not feeling well today so I used my sick day. See you on Monday🤍"

Thankfully it’s Friday, so you know you can do nothing for the next three days. You told Noah that you’re not feeling well just because you know boys can have different reactions to talking about period. Not that you’d think Noah would be grossed out or something, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable in this early stage of dating.

Noah got the message just when he was making his way to the kitchen area, so just in time to not make a cup of coffee for you like the last time.

He was worried, you’re usually okay with going to work with a headache or cold.

“Do you need anything? I can stop by after work if you need anything.” he texts you back.

You don’t really need anything, but you really want something. Something sweet, or salty? Both? Cuddles and his hoodie?

Damn hormones, they’re yelling at you to tell him to come over after work.

“Maybe a little snack? I’m always up for a visit if you have the time.”

I’m always up for a visit? Who says that? Too late, you already sent the message.

Currently you were laying in your bed, your hair a mess and your tummy in pain.

Noah read your message and got confused, he thought you were feeling sick like the last time and he had a hard time making you eat the soup he made. And now you want a little snack?

“Oh I thought you were sick, I wanted to make you soup again. But of course, I’ll be at yours around 5:30 with a little snack.”

Damn hormones again, making you tear up at his message. Sweet sweet boy.

You felt a cramp and threw your phone somewhere in the sheets. You dragged yourself up from the unmade bed and went into your bathroom to start a warm bath to help yourself.

After you felt relieved enough and the water started getting cold you got out and decided to text Noah again.

“Make it a big snack maybe?”

“How sick are you exactly?”

“Period sick, so I need a period snack.” you decided to throw a joke in.

“What the hell is a period snack?” you laughed at his reply, glad that he didn’t seem to mind the period talk.

“Little bit of everything you can find.”

“Now I’m scared I’m gonna mess it up and make you angry. Or sad. Idk I haven’t met your period self yet.” he was trying to joke on purpose. Your period had to be bad to make you stay at home, so he hoped he could lift your mood with his texts for now.

Before you could reply, another text came through, “I’m gonna leave soon, is there anything else you need bug?”

“No, just a little snack and you. Thank you.”

“Hey baby.” Noah said and his face softened when he saw you behind the door. Your hair was a mess because you didn’t leave your bed the whole day, you were wearing mismatched clothes and you were frowning. During the wait for Noah the cramps got worse and you started to feel a little sick.

“Hi.” you replied and let him in. He immediately set the grocery bags on the floor and opened his arms for you. Finally inhaling his scent and feeling the warmth of his body, you relaxed a little.

“How are you?” he rocked you from side to side, his hands going up and down your back.

“Like someone's trying to tear out my ovaries.” you groaned into his chest.

“Oh bug, let me take care of you yeah?” he lifted your face and placed his lips on yours. You hummed against him with satisfaction, finally something that brought you comfort and not pain.

“Let’s go.” he pulled away and took your hand in one of his hands and the grocery bags in the other one.

When you reached your kitchen he started taking things out one by one and explaining the reason why bought it to you.

“I got ice cream and chocolate for a sweet snack, cream and vinegar chips for a salty snack and then some sour candy. I didn’t know what to get for dinner, but I figured we could order something?” he placed the items on your kitchen counter and looked at you for an answer.

“Sure, that sounds good to me.”

“Okay. Then I went to the pharmacy. I got painkillers in case you didn’t have any and then I asked the worker if she has any tips for what could make you feel better and she gave me these things.” his brows were furrowed as he was digging around in the paper bag.

“Here! This is some herbal tea that’s supposed to ease the pain and these are heat pads that you can put on your tummy or lower back to help with the pain. I read about those on the internet, but I wasn’t sure what to believe is true or not, so I didn’t ask for that straight away.”

“On the internet?”

“Yeah, did you think you told me you’re on your period and I’d come with one chocolate bar?” he looked offended that you would think that.

“I mean, I didn’t expect you to do research? But I should have known, you’re you.”

“I’m me?”

“Yep, you either know everything or do research to know everything.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” you pat his back and gently push him away from the bag with snacks, digging around to find which one you’re going to start with.

“What’s this?” you see a small bouquet of tulips on the side of the bag and take them out.

“Shit I forgot, they’re for you.” Noah says with the sweetest smile ever.

“Oh.” you look at him, then at the tulips, then back at him and feel your eyes filling up with tears.

When Noah notices them, they’re already running down your cheeks.

“Oh bug, what’s wrong?” he’s scared he did or said something wrong, maybe you said you hate tulips and he forgot.

You pulled the tulips close to your chest and let out a small sob.

“I’m just, this is just, you’re-” you couldn’t finish the sentence because suddenly you needed to cry.

Noah’s arms wrapped around your body once again, holding you in place, giving you time to catch your breath.

“I’m sorry, I get emotional over everything when I’m on period.” you whisper when you stop crying. “Thank you, for the stuff and for coming over.”

“Of course. Do you want me to stay for the night?”

“Mhm.” you nodded your head yes against his chest.

Later after dinner you were back in your bed, sitting against the headboard and arguing with Noah about who’s going to choose who in the new episode of Love island. Both of you with a snack of your choice in hand.

Using your “Your shirt would help with the cramps.” line and puppy eyes got you being comfy in Noah’s shirt and pyjama shorts and Noah shirtless and his sweatpants he decided to leave at your place the last time he was there.

Just a minutes after Noah noticed how you changed your position every few seconds. From sitting against the headboard to laying on his chest to laying on your back.

“Is the pain worse again?” he softly asked, feeling helpless with no way to help you out of it.

“Yes. I don’t wanna take another pill, I guess I should just sleep through it.” you said and got under the blanket. Noah closed your laptop and got ready to sleep too.

“Oh wait, you can continue to watch, I don’t mind.”

“Baby I watch this just because of you.” Noah sounded surprised that you’d think he enjoys watching Love island.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” you smirked at him.

“I love it only when I watch it with you.” he booped your nose and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

You laid on your side, your back facing Noah and he slid behind you, pulling you closer to his chest. You always fall asleep like that.

“Oh my god this feels so good.” you almost moaned when you felt Noah’s warm chest on your back and when his hands wrapped around your waist. “Could you maybe just-” you didn’t finish the sentence and just put his hands lower on your tummy where the pain was the most intense. “Mhm, there.” you nodded to yourself and heard Noah chuckle behind you.

“That feel good? Am I not hurting you or something?”

“No, you’re warm and that helps.”

“Okay, glad I can help.”

“You already did Noah, thank you.” you squeezed his hands with your own and then placed them on top of his.

“Good night bug.”

“Good night Noah.”

You felt him kiss your neck so you turned around enough to kiss his nose, even in the dark you could see his face scrunch like it always does when you kiss his nose, making him ticklish and giggle before he nuzzles his face into your hair.

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

taglist: @lacy1986 @concretejunglefm @super-btstrash-posts @amelia-acero @justcarrie @koskeepsake @dominuslunae @ami--gami @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @lilcrazy011 @pipidoll @chey-h @xmads-omensx @blade-dressed-in-red @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrscevans @blvckmvgicwoman @punkprincess1999 @fear-its-beauty @bloody-spades @n0n3xsisting @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @athenexe @tashka @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @concrtlimits @whatismylifexox @theanarchymuse95 @renegadebirch @theasowle @darknightstarryeyes @montgomery-929496 @kenjipepsi1

wanna come over & cry in the shower with me

not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

could you share a noah x m! reader blurb or some kind of little headcanons <3 (i <3 your writing sm)

hi bb tysm !! here's a little noah x m!reader thing! 💕 I hope you enjoy and thank you @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall for posting the perfect bestfriend!noah pictures that fit this <3

CW: just complete and utter fluff, boys pining for each other, being flirty and cute, mentions of alcohol

The house party is busier than you ever anticipated, despite Noah insisting he’d only invited a few people. You figure his roommates and friends must’ve added extras to the list, because by the time you arrive, there’s a sea of unfamiliar faces weaving through the house—heads nodding, bodies swaying to the music blasting from a speaker in one corner, while scattered groups linger in every available space.

You’re about ready to give up on finding Noah when he spots you, calling out your name and reaching for you. “There you are! I thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

His long, tattooed fingers graze your arm, and if that isn’t enough, he tugs you closer, wrapping one of his long limbs around you. Even though your height puts you just above his armpit, he still towers over you, still makes you feel small as he pulls you against his side and tucks you there.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he murmurs—no slur in his voice. If he’s been drinking, it hasn’t hit him yet.

“Okay.” You say it quietly, with a hint of nervous laughter, because truthfully, big gatherings like this aren’t your thing, but being pressed up against Noah makes you feel something else entirely—comfortable, at ease.

His arm stays around you, and while your own rests loosely at his waist, it’s him who pulls it tighter around him as he chats with Davis and one of his roommates—Jesse, you think.

For a moment, you swear his fingers interlace with yours. Just a split second. Then he pulls away, and your hand settles at his hip, gripping gently to steady yourself.

He doesn’t loosen his hold around your shoulders, even as he reaches for a can someone offers him—then brings it to your lips first, offering you a sip before he takes one himself.

“It’s disgusting.” Davis makes a face as he glances over at you, silently warning you not to take a sip, but Noah just scoffs and drinks from the can anyway.

You shake your head, asking for something else—anything that won’t make you wonder if that’s what Noah’s mouth tastes like right now.

When you dare to peek up at him, you catch the way his tongue swipes across his lips, the tip barely grazing the scruffy facial hair he’s been growing out. It’s rough around the edges, but he still looks good—he always has.

It makes you think back to your last conversation, when he was complaining about how patchy and awful his facial hair looked compared to yours. You teased him relentlessly until he had you pinned on the bed, and you swear there was something in that moment—a flicker of heat, a quiet ache, the first stirrings of something deeper.

Looking at him now, you wonder if he feels it too, that same twisting excitement low in your stomach. The green hoodie clings snug to his frame, somehow softening his features and making it even harder to look away.

You’re staring—obviously staring, you’re sure of it, but the moment self-awareness hits, you blink hard, shake your head, and try to bat away the thoughts crowding your mind.

“Hey! Hey!” Michael calls out, a handful of girls trailing behind him and a gleeful look on his face. “Who wants to play spin the bottle?”

It sounds juvenile—something most people would roll their eyes at, wondering why a bunch of twenty-somethings would bother with a game like that, but the guys around you are quick to agree, including Noah, whose arm still hasn’t moved from around you.

“You gonna join?” he asks, glancing down at you, and your heart hammers in your chest. For a brief moment, you swear his gaze flickers to your mouth, just like it did the other day when he had you pinned against his bed.

“And risk kissing you?” you scoff, trying to play it off, but all that does is make Noah pull you even closer, making obnoxiously loud kissy sounds near your ear.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll play!” you relent, laughing despite yourself.

You feel the distinct press of a kiss against the side of your head, soft and quick, before he pulls back and helps usher the group into the far corner of the kitchen, where the game is already starting to take shape.

You’re waiting for your turn, your gaze flickering between the spinning bottle and Noah, who’s seated opposite you. Each time you hear him laugh at a near miss—when the spinner ends up kissing someone on either side of him—you swear you can feel your insides melt.

You’ve long been aware of the effect his voice has on you, but now even his laugh does it too. It’s unfair, how this silly schoolboy crush has gotten so out of hand, turning you into someone who fawns over him more openly than you ever did in the beginning.

It’s always in moments like this that you try to convince yourself he hasn’t noticed—that he doesn’t catch the way your eyes linger a second too long. That is, until he does catch you. Every time he does, he flashes you a smile and says, “Baby boy”—attached to a question, maybe, though whatever follows gets swallowed by the music and the roaring chatter of the crowd around you.

Still, you latch onto the only words that matter, because every time you hear them, something inside you flutters.

He only calls you that. Any other time, you might tell yourself it’s just a broad pet name, nothing special, but you’ve never heard him say it to anyone else. In fact, you’re almost certain—he’s never given anyone a nickname. Just you.

When your turn to spin the bottle finally comes, you brace yourself—scanning the group, calculating the exact force you’ll need for it to land on him.

It doesn’t work.

The bottle skims past Noah—just like it had for everyone else, but unlike them, you’re not drunk enough to giggle your way through the disappointment or get excited about kissing someone else. Instead, you feel deflated and mildly terrified that you’ll have to kiss anyone at all.

You can’t back out now, no matter how much you want to.

It takes everything in you not to tense up when the brunette the bottle landed on leans in and presses her mouth to yours. It’s sloppier than you expected—her tongue trying to push into what was meant to be a quick, polite peck.

It lasts only seconds, but they stretch endlessly. When you finally pull away, you discreetly wipe your mouth and glance across the circle, your eyes finding Noah again.

You wish—desperately—that it had been his mouth on yours. That it had been his tongue trying to get in. You wouldn’t have stopped him.

You spend the whole night wishing it had been him, especially when you watch the girl you kissed spin the bottle and have it land on him.

Jealousy stabs through your chest, sharp and sudden, and you force a smile along with everyone else cheering her on. It’s all in good fun, you try to convince yourself, sitting on your hands to stop yourself from reaching across the circle to kiss him in her place.

You watch his mouth the moment theirs meet, your heart heavy in your chest, rising to your throat. It’s not a real kiss—he’s holding back. God, please let him be holding back.

The seconds stretch, long and unbearable. When they finally pull apart, you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Then, from across the room, Michael yells, “Who wants to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

Your eyes dart to Noah’s, and when they meet, there’s a silent agreement to play. A silent prayer that the two of you will be picked together.

By some miracle—or maybe because of Noah whispering in Davis’s ear—you both end up in the closet together.

The space is tight, mostly due to the clutter: items stacked on shelves, hanging from the door, or scattered across the floor, but you don’t really need space, not when Noah’s hands are already resting at your waist, keeping you close.

His breath is warm as it ghosts across your skin, and even in the darkness, you can see him gazing down at you. You can just make out the shift in his dark eyes, something unspoken lingering there.

You swallow, try to clear your throat and speak, but it’s Noah who speaks first.

“I wanted it to be you back then.”

His confession hits you—hard, fast, and completely unexpected. You blink, thankful he can’t see your expression in the dark.

“You… you what?” You ask for clarification, like you didn’t just hear him perfectly, even though you did.

“The kiss,” he says. “I wanted it to be you.”

For a second, you wonder if he’s had more to drink than you thought, but you saw him, he barely finished the can.

Then his head dips, and you feel the brush of his nose against yours, his breath warm against your lips, and the unmistakable tug at your shirt as he pulls you closer, holding you in place.

His mouth is soft when it meets yours. Soft and cautious, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. You feel the prickle of his facial hair against your own, and it sends a quiver through you, but you melt into it, hands pressing to his chest, welcoming the kiss and returning it fully.

It starts tender, but quickly shifts—something deeper, hungrier, like he’s been holding back far longer than he wants to admit.

Your hand finds the side of his neck, cradling it as you let him in, welcoming his tongue. You don’t even care about the taste of the beer—it’s sweet and bitter, unmistakably him, and it’s intoxicating. It takes everything in you not to moan aloud.

You wonder, briefly, if this is just for the game, for the playful thrill of Seven Minutes in Heaven, until he presses his forehead to yours, breath shallow, and whispers:

“Can we do that again?”

can someone hold me and tell me that its gonna be okay even if thats not true