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mothman-writes · 11 hours ago

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SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

ECHOES OF NIGHT - Chapter 1

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x ex!hookup reader

Series summary: Noah didn’t expect that his one night stand from 2020 would keep a secret from him for years. But now, in 2024, as Bad Omens is back in Oregon, he wasn’t expecting to run into you while trying to buy some energy drink so he could endure the tour.

You looked even prettier, yes, but what caught his attention wasn’t your beauty, or the fact that you looked like you’d just seen a ghost just by looking at him.

It was, in fact, the little girl holding your hand, telling you she liked his hoodie. He really wasn’t prepared for was seeing himself reflected in that little girl who loved bees and cookies, not expecting to change his entire life for good.

TW: unplanned pregnancy, fear of abandonment, slightly thought about not going forward with the pregnancy (mentions of the past), fear, anxiety but also fluff.

You still remember the way your entire body froze when you saw the first pregnancy test come back positive.

Your heart had been pounding so violently you genuinely thought it might rip itself out of your chest and kill you right there, in your campus’ bathroom. As if the sheer shock might shut down your lungs or the panic would rise like a wave and snap your spine or your neck before you even had time to process what was happening. But you didn’t die. Your lungs kept working. Your heart kept beating.

And, impossibly, there was another heart beating now inside of that same body, too.

A tiny, invisible heartbeat.

A life.

A little person, still growing, still forming.

Someone growing quietly in the safest place they could be: inside you, before you had even begun to grasp that your body was no longer only yours.

And for one raw, fleeting moment... you wished you didn’t know who the father was.

It would’ve made things a lot simpler: emotionally, logistically, to ease your fears and your theories about his reaction.

But you knew.

You knew exactly who he was, you remember the entire night perfectly.

The one guy you’d slept with in nearly a year, not because you were saving yourself, but because you were focused on college and every other guy who came along felt like just another unworthy distraction.

Until you met him that night.

The only possible father. No drunken haze. No blurred memories. No doubt.

Noah Sebastian.

It had started so innocently... Your best friend, Eliza, waving two backstage passes in your face like a kid on Christmas morning who’d just unwrapped her first PlayStation, practically vibrating with excitement. “I know someone who works with them and they got me this,” she’d said. “We’ll probably meet the band after. Nothing crazy.”

You weren’t even the biggest fan. You just liked the vibe, his voice, the energy, you just wanted to enjoy being part of something loud and alive after weeks of gray, numb days and a boring campus routine.

But after the show, your friend had disappeared into the chaos backstage and you hadn’t even noticed. Because you were with him.

The lead singer. Noah. The guy with magical eyes.

He was nothing like you imagined.

Thoughtful. Gentle. Even a little shy, despite the persona he wore on stage. Soft-spoken, even after dragging screams from a thousand throats just minutes earlier.

He asked questions. Laughed at your dumb and bad jokes, really laughed, he wasn't pretending. Also fumbled through a compliment about your eyes like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

When he invited you to his hotel room, he said it was just to talk more, maybe throw something on Netflix and chill a little, that he would get you back home afterwards. You both knew that wasn’t the full truth. But somehow... it started exactly like that.

You talked.

Really talked.

About music, about your degree, about both your dreams for the future. About the kind of people you hoped to become someday. He told you what it cost him to make that last album, his struggles and personal insecurities.

You told him your worst date story. He cried laughing, making dumb jokes and theories about how you two were unlucky.

And then you kissed.

One kiss.

Then another. Then slow touches that made your breath catch and a heat in your belly start to rise. His fingers on your waist like you were something sacred, something that he had to worship and take real care of.

No rush.

No pushing.

Just reverence and warmth and the kind of care that rewired something inside your chest.

You remember everything.

Even the next morning when he walked you to the hotel lobby, kissed your forehead and let you go in a taxi that he payed for. Soft. Polite. A little sad. Like you both knew this wasn’t meant to be anything but a beautiful memory.

Then a few weeks later, that second pink line appeared.

You spent hours in the bathroom, whispering arguments to yourself. Could you do it? Should you? Were you strong enough? Brave enough? What would it mean for your life?

But when your hand drifted down to your belly, still flat, still untouched by the pregnancy signs, you already knew deep inside your heart.

You were keeping the baby.

Because you already loved her from day one.

And as for Noah… you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to do it.

He could get angry.

He could ask for proof, he could humiliate you.

He could even tell you to get rid of it. But something in your gut told you he wouldn’t. He would never do that. Not with the way he’d looked at you with those beautiful eyes. Not with the way he talked about the people he cared about, or how he treated you like something precious, holding you like you would disappear that night if he let you go.

He hadn’t struck you as cruel. You couldn’t even picture it, not for longer than the first panicked three seconds.

But you could picture him scared.

You could imagine him freezing up, thinking you were using him, lying to get a reaction. That you wanted something from him like money, attention, a name.

You didn’t think you could survive watching him ghost you.

Or worse, block you from everything.

So, you told no one.

Running from rejection felt safer than living it.

You moved back to Oregon with your parents. Focused on surviving. On growing. On learning to be a mom while fear gnawed on your ribs every night. Your parents helped you, your best friends stepped in to help.

And then Kara was born, one month earlier than expected.

Looking just like her dad.

You named her that because it meant “beloved”. At least, that’s what Google told you during those wine nights that slowly turned into soda nights, as your friends respected your pregnancy. And she was beloved, from the very first second. Even if it was just you and her. Even if it meant setting fire to dreams you hadn’t yet dared to speak aloud for the first years of her life. You promised to love her so loudly she would never feel the absence of anything, not even a dad.

You never let her catch you watching his music videos or clips of his old Twitch streams, imagining how it would be if you told him and things went well.

She became your sun.

She was three years old now, in 2024, soon to be four. Time had passed faster than you ever imagined, watching her growing up was magical.

You never thought you’d see Noah again. He lived in LA, after all, and during the few times he’d come to Oregon with Bad Omens between 2020 and 2024, your paths had never crossed.

But fate was never predictable.

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

You were at the grocery store, hair up in a messy bun, hoodie stained with fruit snacks, and Kara skipping in her sparkly rain boots, even though the sky was blue. She was chatting about cereal and avocados and asking why they were always too hard. You were tired... so deeply tired, but content in that uniquely maternal way, where chaos felt like home as you learned that your life was now a loop of cartoons, chaos and cookies.

And then you saw him.

Noah.

At first, your brain rejected it, literally short-circuited. It couldn't be possible, right?

You blinked hard, turned your head, waited for the illusion to fade.

But he was still there, reaching for the same box of granola bars as you. His arm froze mid-air, first in that polite, “go ahead, you can take it” kind of way. Then his eyes met yours, and you cursed his memory capacity as his eyes quickly took your features in.

He looked exactly the same.

Actually, a bit older. His hair was shorter now, his face a little sharper. His posture heavier. He seemed more grounded but still unmistakably him. Worn in, in that way that made him look real instead of just beautiful. But his eyes, those sharp, long-lashes eyes with a soft look on them, were just as you remembered.

And for a second, the world just… paused. Like the universe forgot to keep spinning for the two of you.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

Until a small, curious voice broke the silence, making his gaze flicks downward.

“You’re tall,” Kara announced like she was pointing out a very serious and important fact, looking up at him like he was a skyscraper. “Do you like drawing on your neck?”

She pointed at his tattoos with wide, curious eyes.

And just a hint of judgment. A surprising amount of judgment for someone her size.

Heat rushed through your body. Your stomach twisted. Your face lit on fire. You didn't knew anymore if it was embarrassment, fear or all the feelings combined jumping, screaming and running around in complete chaos inside your heard.

You wanted to grab her, the granola bars and disappear. Say, "sorry, she’s in a phase,” or “we’ll just be on our way, sorry for it.”

But you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Because he wasn’t laughing anymore. He only gave a little chuckle and then, his eyes narrowed.

Like it just had hit him.

He wasn’t confused for long.

He was staring.

At her. At you. At her again.

You saw it all in his eyes. The flicker of suspicion, the “It couldn’t be” flashing behind them like a warning flag. Then came the dawning realization, the thousand tiny gears in his mind grinding into motion, piecing it all together.

Her big and warm smile. Her big brown almond shaped eyes. Her dark light curls. That nose.

That moment you had to physically hold yourself back from cursing your own womb for crafting a tiny, walking mirror of him so flawlessly that almost felt like a betrayal.

His hand trembled, completely forgetting the box of granola.

“Kara,” you whispered, barely audible, gently trying to pull her closer to your side.

But he heard it.

“Kara?” he repeated, his voice raw and unsteady. “That’s a pretty name.”

You nodded, frozen in place, your heart threatening to burst, your voice lodged somewhere too deep in your throat to make it out.

The store moved around you, but your world shrank to a single heartbeat of silence.

He took a step forward.

Slowly.

And crouched down beside her. Eyes locked in a friendly way that made Kara feel safer. Safer enough to keep the conversation.

“Is your mommy’s name…?”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t even have to.

Because Kara, your sweet, chaos-loving miracle, was thrilled at the chance to talk to someone new. You rarely let her, always cautious for her safety. But now, in all her wild joy, she beamed and proudly declared. “Y/N! She’s the best mommy. She makes pancakes and lets me have chocolate before dinner sometimes.” Then she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Just a little.”

She really said it like it was a state secret.

Noah smiled, shocked and cracked and utterly lost.

You tried to say something. Anything. But what could you possibly say? "I swear I’m not trying to trap you with this child that has your eyes"

You wanted to open your mouth to say something... anything that couldn’t be anymore suspicious than his ex-one-night-stand with a child that weirdly looked alike him...but it caught in your throat. There was no script for this. No way to make it easier or make you feel stronger to lie, to lie without even blinking that she wasn’t his.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “I met your mommy once. In 2020. She was really cool.”

His voice sounded distant. Like he was trying to believe it was a coincidence, that you had another night with someone new. That maybe you were married to someone that looked like him.

“What’s her age?” he asked gently, looking at you in the softest way.

He was clearly trying to not panic.

But Kara was a wild thing.

“I’m three!” she shouted proudly, holding up three chubby fingers. “I did it right, Mommy?”

You nodded slowly, hoping, begging and praying to God that maybe, just maybe, he was bad at math and at connecting dots.

But he wasn’t moving. Just crouching there, staring, breathing like someone had pulled the ground from under his feet.

Then Kara reached up and poked his cheek.

“Why are your eyes shiny?”

That cracked him.

He laughed, broken, breathless, and leaned closer like gravity was dragging him toward her.

“Because I’m bad at doing math in my head.”

Kara giggled. “Mommy, he talks like cartoons.”

And you laughed. Loud. Unfiltered. Disbelieving. The nervous laugh that you wanted to let go since the beginning of that weird moment.

Noah looked up at you like that sound had mended something deep inside his chest.

“Can I…” He cleared his throat. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute?”

You hesitated.

You had imagined this moment a thousand different ways.

Most ended in pain.

In silence.

In rejection.

In a clueless, innocent way, like saying, “Well, congrats to you and your husband… Oh, no husband? Well, I hope you can co-parent then.”

But this? This wasn’t how you imagined it.

It was softer. Stranger. Real.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You reached for Kara’s hand. “C’mon, sunshine. Let’s go talk, okay?”

Kara bounced along beside you. “Can I get a cookie after?”

“We’ll see.”

You found a quiet bench near the bulk bins. Sat down. Noah beside you. Silence at first was killing you.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

“She’s beautiful,” he said at last.

“She is.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

“We have a show here tonight." He said softly. "Are you coming?”

You shook your head. “She doesn’t like loud noises.”

He didn’t know about the people who adored her. The friends who called her a miracle, who would've watched Kara in a heartbeat. The family who would watch her any day, just to hear her laugh.

But that excuse was safer.

Kara, nestled in your lap now, murmured sleepily and curled in tighter. Her gummy bears still clutched in her small hands.

“It’s been four years since we met in January. She must have been born at the end of the year to be three,” Noah said, his voice quieter now as he put the pieces together, much to your despair. “I might be crazy. Or selfish. Or just incredibly naive to even think this, but… you could have met someone else, but yet…”

You snapped, the fear of him discovering killing you deeply.

“Can we not talk about it?” you asked, your voice sharp, breaking. “She’s mine. Only mine. My baby. No one else’s.”

The words snapped out of you like a shield.

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded, extremely respectful.

Another silence.

That he broke again.

“Can I have your number?” he asked, softly, trying to not scare you again. “Just to talk. As friends. I wanted to ask you back then… but I was too scared.”

You could’ve said no.

It would’ve been simpler.

But instead… you told him. You typed your real number on his phone.

And then you noticed it.

It would never be easy.

But looking at him, at the man who once held you like something sacred, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt like a beginning.

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens x reader #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #dad! noah sebastian #noah sebastian x y/n

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mothman-writes · 17 hours ago

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SO GOOD

Nutmeg Chapter Seventeen

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner.

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4433

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 18

WARNINGS: drinking alcohol, throwing up, throat training, fingering, riding, PIV, needy (let me know if I need to add something.)

Tuesday:

It was a very cuddly evening. Both of you were exhausted, Noah still not fully healed and still, seemingly, suffering with some after effects of the anaesthesia.

You had burgers, eating quietly at the kitchen table. Then you settled on the couch where Noah happily rested his head in your lap while you started a new show. You played with his hair absent-mindedly while watching the show that played off in the Yosemite National Park. Noah told you about his dream to have a cabin in the woods, just like the ones on the show, where he could just live in peace.

You liked the picture he was painting with his words and felt a sense of shame that you imagined yourself with him at the cabin. And again, you wondered for a second where you fit into each other’s lives. How long before this arrangement runs its course?

But then he got quiet again, and you felt how his breaths evened out and you knew he was sleeping, while you carried on watching the show. He would stir whenever you stopped playing with his hair, so you kept that up as long as you could.

Eventually, you knew it was time for bed, especially if you had work the next day, so you woke Noah, and just led him to your bed, knowing he would not be in the mood to drive home.

You left him a note to lock up when he leaves later when he woke, before you were off to work on Wednesday morning.

Wednesday:

You were at an End of Year function for work on Wednesday evening. You did not give the event a lot of thought until you were at home getting dressed for it, and realised that you were nervous, or scared or something. You did not feel like going at all.

It was held at a restaurant where you and all of your colleagues were seated in forced situations, conversations were uncomfortable and the uneasy feeling in your belly just kept growing the longer you had to pretend to be interested. So, you had a drink, and by the time you had finished the drink, the conversations were already just a little bit easier to handle. Then you had another.

After three drinks, you were having a better time, laughing easily at stupid jokes and you even made a joke or two of your own. You function went well after that, you had a few laughs, had conversations where you actually spoke more than a few words.

When everyone started leaving one by one, you were four drinks down. Or was it five? But this is when you realise the mistake you have made. You were not sure what process in your head led you to believe that was a good idea, but now you had a problem. You looked around and didn’t see anyone you knew well enough to ask for a lift home, and then you started laughing quietly to yourself.

You were definitely not able to drive home yourself. You were drunk and felt giggly, but you knew that.

This is why you don’t drink.

There was only one person you wanted to speak to. But you didn’t want to bother him, though. But he did make you promise. He insisted, in fact.

Then you started looking for his name in your phone, and it was unnecessarily difficult. But you find it, and you dial and you wait.

‘Hi, baby,’ he answers his phone cheerily.

‘Hello, Noah,’ you say, trying to sound normal.

‘Hmmm, are you alright?’ he asks immediately.

‘I am,’ you reply. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You sound different,’ he said simply. ‘I hear noise in the background. Where are you?’

‘I am at a work function, Noah. I am at a restaurant,’ you say, and you know the words came out too slowly.

‘Oh,’ he pauses for a moment. ‘Which restaurant?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say quickly. ‘I can’t remember, Noah.’

‘And how is it going at the function?’ he asks sounding cautious.

‘It was good, I think. I spoke to people, Noah,’ you answer.

‘Oh, that’s good. But, baby, are you drunk?’ he asks.

‘How did you know?’

‘You keep saying my name,’ you hear him sounding a little amused. ‘Do you need help? Do you have a ride home?’

‘No, I am here with my car and I don’t think I should drive,’ you say slowly.

‘You are right,’ he says. ‘Alright, don’t hang up. And then I want you to send me your location. Can you do that for me?’ he asks.

‘I can try,’ you reply. ‘Give me a moment.’

‘I’ll wait. It’s okay, take your time.’

You fiddle around and it takes you a lot longer than it would have if you were sober, but you manage to send it. ‘Did you get it?’

‘I did,’ he confirms. ‘Good job. Now, are there people you can wait with, or are you alone?’

‘There are people from work, but I don’t know them well enough. I don’t want to sit with them, Noah,’ you whine a little bit.

‘You don’t have to,’ he tries to calm you down. ‘If you can, order some water. Have you eaten something?’

‘We ate, yes,’ you answer.

‘Wait for me there. Don’t go anywhere, alright? I am on my way.’

‘Thank you, Noah,’ you say.

You sit at the table a little bit longer and then you start feeling strange. You felt awkward and alone, but you also felt like throwing up just a little. You decide to go to the bathroom, just in case and then you lock yourself in a stall, close the toilet lid and sit down. Then you lean sideways against the wall. Your stomach was turning, but it just made you feel unwell. Your brain is imagining a cabin in the woods where you can be at peace.

You hear your name being called after a long time and then you get up, unlatch the door and then Noah is standing there looking very unsure.

‘Oh good,’ he lets out a long breath. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he reaches out a hand and you take it.

‘You found me,’ you say sounding very impressed.

He leads you out of the bathroom and into the main area. ‘Do you have all your stuff? Your keys? Your phone?’ he asks, pausing while you slowly check yourself for the items.

You become aware that someone is nagging at Noah for going into the lady’s bathroom, but he is ignoring them completely, making sure you have what you need.

‘You’ll take my car?’ Noah asks someone else.

‘Yeah, I got it,’ it was Jesse he was talking to. ‘You guys good?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Just want to make sure she gets home now. Thanks man,’ Noah says to Jesse who takes the keys of Noah’s car and leaves.

You finally manage to fish your own keys from your bag and you hold them up victoriously. ‘I found them.’

‘That’s so good,’ he praises you, and then he is leading you towards the door, patiently walking slowly with you as you struggle to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other.

He unlocks your car and helps you tumble into the passenger seat.

He gets in on the driver’s side and adjusts the seat. ‘Can you put on your seatbelt, please?’ he asks you as he is putting his own on and checking the mirrors.

He watches you struggle with the belt for a moment, a fond smile on his face, before he gently takes it from your hands and clips it into place. He starts the car and starts navigating through the parking lot. ‘You look funny in my car,’ you say stifling a giggle.

‘Yeah? Why?’ he asks.

‘You are too tall, my car is too small, your head is touching,’ you reach up to touch the top of his head, but you can’t reach with the seatbelt on. You start undoing the seatbelt.

‘No, no, don’t do that,’ he takes your hand to stop you. ‘The belt needs to stay on.’

‘Okay,’ you stop immediately.

‘How did you know I needed you to fetch me?’ you ask him.

‘You called me, baby. Don’t you remember?’ he asks, amused.

‘No,’ you say thinking very hard. ‘I think I’m drunk.’

‘Mm, I think so too. How many drinks did you have?’ he asks you, keeping his eyes on the road.

‘Too many,’ you say loudly. ‘I don’t really drink, so I didn’t know this would happen.’

‘I’m sure you knew,’ he answers.

‘Yes, but it happened so quickly,’ you say leaning forward suddenly. ‘I think I’m gonna throw up now.’

‘Ohhhh,’ he says, and he immediately slows down. ‘Hold on, I’m pulling over.’

Somewhere next to the road, you open the door and then lean back to fight with the seatbelt, and you don’t make it far, you are still sitting in the car, just leaning outside when you throw up. You lean further out. And throw up again. You managed to miss the car, but you made such a mess that you could not get out now without stepping in it. You see Noah standing next to the car on your side. ‘Please get back in the car,’ you plead. ‘This is not going to be pretty.’

‘That’s okay,’ he says quietly.

‘It’s going to get on your shoes,’ you mumble.

He sidesteps a little bit. ‘Stop worrying about me.’

‘Oh no, please, Noah. It’s coming again,’ you lean further out the door and vomit again. You cough while your nose burns. You hope your hair was hiding all the gory details.

‘Here you go,’ he reaches a handful of tissues into your vision that you take gratefully. You wipe and blow your nose as best you can.

You hang there a few moments longer, trying to feel if there was more to come or whether you had managed to projectile vomit it all out. ‘I think I’m finished,’ you say, embarrassed, peaking up at Noah.

‘You sure?’ he asks. ‘I have more tissues.’

‘I’ll take some more? But I think I’m done puking,’ you say.

‘I’m getting back in, but we will just sit here a moment longer. Just to be sure,’ he says his voice reassuring. He falls back into the driver’s seat. ‘Here, drink some of this.’

He is holding out a bottle of water. ‘Thank you.’

‘Small sips,’ he says.

You lean back in the seat, the door still open, in case you need it. You didn’t feel like throwing up, but you felt sick and then also a little guilty. You take tiny swallows of water at a time.

He is sitting sideways in the seat, facing you, also leaning against the headrest. He is looking at you with analysing eyes, probably trying to figure out what to do with your drunk ass. The lights from passing cars play across his face and his perfect skin, his brown eyes a little sleepy, messy hair still somehow looking so good on him.

‘You are so beautiful,’ you say before your brain could stop you.

There was just enough time for you to see the small amused smile on his face before you hurl yourself halfway out the door to throw up again. It wasn’t a lot. Your stomach kept clenching like it was trying so hard to get rid of what was making you feel bad, but you don’t think there was anything left. You heaved a little while longer. Noah sympathetically rubbed your back.

‘Dear god,’ you get back.

‘There you go,’ he gives you more tissues, more water. ‘I think you’re good now,’ he starts the car again. ‘Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?’

‘I will,’ you say.

Noah parks your car, and helps you inside, unlocking the door, carrying your stuff. He makes you sit at the kitchen table, where you fold your arms and lay your head down.

You actually must have fallen asleep, because he gently wakes you, makes you take aspirin, then gets you in the bathroom, already filled with steam, the shower water running. He helps you undress. When he notices that you were not going to do everything on your own, he joins you and helps you wash. You notice his bandages were still on his stomach, and you touch them carefully.

He tucks you into bed. Then he is on his phone, sitting on the edge of your bed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just checking if Jesse can come pick me up,’ he says softly.

‘Don’t leave?’ you whisper.

He looks at you like he was trying to gauge whether you were serious. ‘We both have work tomorrow.’

‘I know,’ you say. ‘If I grossed you out, I get it though.’

‘You didn’t,’ he says like you were ridiculous. ‘I’ve been drunk plenty. I know how it goes.’

‘Wow, I cannot imagine you drunk,’ you say, wiggling yourself into pillow, getting comfortable.

‘I don’t drink anymore,’ he smiles. ‘So, you missed out on that.’

‘So wise,’ you start to blink slowly. ‘This is not a good feeling.’

‘Nope,’ he agrees. He leans down to kiss your forehead. Then he slips his shirt off, which he had just put on after the shower and he gets in bed behind you. ‘We are going to have to get up early, and you are going to have to drop me off before work. And you are going to hate me and the whole world tomorrow. So, get some sleep.’

‘Oh no,’ you reach for his hand. ‘But I won’t hate you.’

‘We’ll see,’ he says as he settles in, tucked into you.

Friday:

Noah had made himself comfortable sitting on your bed, leaning back against the pillows, stunningly naked, with a slight grin on his face. The light from the candles played beautifully across his tattooed skin and his eyes were dark, looking at you with a mixture of attraction and reassurance.

You were kneeling on the bed between his spread legs, with your goal for the evening in mind.

‘Are you sure you are feeling all better after Wednesday?’ he asks you.

‘Yes, I just felt bad yesterday, I’m all good now,’ you affirm again.

‘If you are sure,’ he smiles. ‘You remember the rules, right?’

‘I do,’ you answer while placing your hands on his thighs.

‘You need to take it easy on me, I’m not healed enough for too much,’ he says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

‘I know,’ you smile back. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

‘I think you’re going to drive me crazy, and I am not going to be able to help myself,’ he answers simply.

‘I’ll make sure you don’t do that,’ you say smiling but also being serious.

‘Thank you, because I cannot wait longer to have you. I am dying to feel you,’ he says.

‘Me too,’ you say shyly. ‘But we are taking it easy, okay?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘I am ready.’

‘So, now you have to tell me if you need me to stop,’ you say leaning in, your hands pressing on his thighs as you kiss him. Noah opens his mouth to you immediately and kisses you, and he already keeps his hands still at his sides. You kiss the tip of his nose before you sit back and adjust yourself.

‘I never need you to stop,’ he says.

You give him a warning look. ‘It would be great if don’t tear something open,’ you give a brief look at his stomach where the bandages were still in place. ‘Just try to keep still.’

‘I’ll try, baby, I promise,’ he says seeming tense.

Then you get comfortable and start teasing him lightly, starting slow. His body reacts to you quickly. He was already half-erect when you touched him, running your fingers along the top, teasing the tip with a single finger. It didn’t take long at all before he was fully hard, flexing with each touch and the glistening drop of precum forming, soon dripped down onto his lower belly.

He was breathing fast and you heard every breath, his chest moving along, but his eyes stayed glued to your actions. You wrapped your hand around his length and pumped a few times, using his precum to ease the movements. You got lost in watching how your hand looked around him, how very soft his skin felt, how the veins bulged out. You took in his size, where your fingers were just able to close around his girth.

‘Are you doing okay?’ you ask him.

‘What you are doing feels so good, baby. I’m not going to last long at all,’ he says almost apologetically.

‘That’s fine,’ you try to put him at ease. ‘Are you sensitive?’

‘Yes,’ he nods.

‘I have all night. We can keep going until you’ve had as many orgasms as you want,’ you say.

‘Fuck,’ he lets out softly on shaky breath.

You move your hand on him again, and he drops his head back for a moment, before he forces himself to look right back at you. You get closer and lick up the thin trail of precum. He moans and grunts when you kiss the tip, kiss your way down his length and then back up. You take his head into your mouth and work your tongue in the slit just like he likes, sucking lightly.

‘I’m ready to try,’ you say when you had worked up the courage.

He nods at you breathlessly. ‘You remember what we discussed?’

‘I do,’ you say.

You take his head back in your mouth and then you start working your way down, taking him deeper. You kept pushing past where it felt comfortable, until he slipped into your throat. You gagged immediately and pulled back quickly. ‘Good girl, that was so good. Give it a moment, when you’re ready, you do that again.’

You breathe for a moment, letting the feeling pass, before you try your best to take him as deep as possible, but just for a second. You gag and pull back. You repeat this a few times and each time, Noah praises you, barely able to contain his body’s need to thrust up into your mouth. You knew it was something that would get easier with practice, just knowing what to expect already made it a little easier each time.

‘I think it’s time you cum,’ you say wrapping your hand around his cock, wet from your mouth.

He looks at you pleadingly. ‘Can you do that while you are kissing me?’ he asks you.

So, you straddle his thighs, so you could pump him, and then also have him hold your face as he kisses you slowly and deliberately, each movement of his tongue a message. You wished you knew what he was trying to say.

‘I’m going to cum,’ he whispers into your mouth. ‘Baby, oh, I’m going to cum, please don’t stop.’

‘I won’t stop,’ you whisper back. When he squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth opens, still against yours, you feel him in your hand and you slowed your movements just a little bit, hoping it would make him not move too much. ‘There you go, breathe through it.’

‘I didn’t cum in you,’ is the first thing he says.

‘Does that bother you?’ you ask, remembering how he said it felt like a waste.

‘Just a little bit,’ he shrugs. ‘It felt so good. Thank you.’

You bring your hand to your mouth where some of his cum was on your fingers and you lick it off. ‘I liked that too, I’ve never made you cum with my hand before.’

Noah watches you with rapt attention as you swallow his cum anyway. ‘I,’ he says and then he stops, like he completely lost his track of thought.

You smile at him.

‘That makes me want to fuck you so bad,’ he says.

‘I’m sure we can make a plan, but you need a moment,’ you explain.

‘How’s your pussy, baby?’ he asks you.

‘Fine,’ you say dismissively.

‘Can you show me, please?’ he asks.

You lift up onto your knees, and then he leans forward just a little so he could get his fingers on you. His eyes shut for a second as you feel his fingers find you dripping wet. Two fingers work their way up and down your slit a few times.

‘You must be so needy, baby,’ he frowns. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.’

With your hips already rocking a little on his fingers, you say, ‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Can I put my fingers inside?’

You simply nod and then he sinks those same fingers into you and he works them as deep as he could get them.

‘Can you help me? Can you play with your clit?’ he says as he is already curling his fingers inside you, his movements slow but firm.

Your hand goes down to touch yourself, and your other hand rests on his arm. ‘Mm I’ve missed that.’

‘Me too,’ he says. ‘So much, I want to ravage you, right now.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ you say playfully. ‘You have to take it slow.’ You roll your hips. ‘Slow and easy.’

‘Look at you enjoying teasing me,’ he laughs softly.

‘I’m just trying to make myself feel better, because I really, really wish you could fuck me until I cannot walk,’ you say simply.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Peach,’ he says in a low voice. His movements inside you go a little faster and it feels so good.

You circle your clit with more urgency and the grip on his arm digs into his skin. ‘Be careful, Noah,’ you practically moan out.

‘I’m fine,’ he answers, staying right there where it feels almost too intense. ‘Rub yourself faster, baby.’

The tingles start right where his fingers are, where your fingers are, and then travels up your spine and through your whole body. He pulls you closer until he could rest his forehead against your chest. When you have your breath back and your thighs have stopped shaking, you ask him, ‘Are you hard again?’

‘I am,’ he affirms, sounding like the situation is almost painful for him.

‘Good,’ you say and you move back off his thighs. ‘Let me sit where I was, please?’

‘Oh god,’ he says almost apprehensively.

‘Should we stop?’ you ask.

‘No, that’s not what I mean at all,’ he says, quick to correct your assumptions. ‘You are going to try keeping me in your throat a little longer now?’

‘Yeah,’ you confirm. ‘That’s how we discussed it?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he smiles. ‘But I don’t know if I am going to be able to keep still through that.’

‘Well, you have to,’ you say. ‘Or we need to try this next time.’

He looks at you with soft eyes and a small smile. His brown eyes are so pretty. ‘Can we try? If I cannot control myself, we will stop.’

‘Sure,’ you agree. ‘You ready?’

‘Yip,’ he says, visibly trying to relax his body. ‘Spit on it, baby.’

You look up him. Then you make your best attempt at getting his cock wet with your spit, without it being all gross and messy. He didn’t seem to mind either way because he was gripping onto the blankets underneath him already, trying to breath himself into a state of calm.

Your throat already felt sore and almost bruised, so you knew you had to be gentle. You take him into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue, a feeling you are growing to love. When you force your head down further than what you think you can, you try to be careful. When you gag around him, his hips stutter just the tiniest bit and you hear him repeat ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ so softly. You stay there despite your body’s instinct to pull back as quickly as possible. You count four seconds before you started to pull back.

You breathe, cough, wipe your face. Noah sounds like he is praying.

Without warning, you try again. This time your hands on his hips, a reminder that he needs to try and keep as still as possible. He slips into your throat, you keep it there despite the discomfort and try five seconds.

‘One more time?’ you ask him, concerned because he seemed to be having hard time.

‘Alright,’ he says. ‘Your throat feels really good.’

‘I can stop, it’s okay,’ you try to stop the look of agony of his face.

He opens his eyes. ‘You could literally do anything you want to me right now,’ he admits.

You cannot help but smile widely at him. ‘You are adorable right now.’

‘So, come kiss me first?’ he reaches for you.

You wrap your arms around his neck when you are close enough to kiss him and his arms are tight around your waist, where he pulls your body as close to his as he could.

You feel him against your thigh. ‘Can you fuck me just like this?’ you ask softly.

He makes eye contact with you while he positions himself right at your entrance. When you start to lower yourself on him, your eyes close. ‘Look at me,’ he whispers. You force your eyes open and look into his. ‘There you go,’ he says so sweetly when he is fully buried inside you.

‘Where you belong,’ you whisper back.

You kiss while you adjust to him again. The stretch of him inside you, the feeling of being full and being whole. Your bodies close. ‘This is the best feeling in the world,’ he says right into your ear.

You couldn’t agree more. You felt such waves of emotions and you knew he was feeling something similar – the way he clung to you.

‘I love feeling your nipples on my chest, your breath in my neck, your grip around my cock,’ he says his voice almost cracking with need. He inhales like there is more he wants to say, but you almost hear the words die in his throat.

You very gently rock your hips, just small movements. But more than the sensations of your movements, he was right – your whole body felt him, and craved him and every place your bodies touched was sacred and important.

‘I love this too,’ you finally reply. ‘This is when I feel the safest.

Chapter 18

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse @cheyyyyr @respectfulrebel @hskcut-blog @im-the-fucking-king

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #dragoncopper #nutmeg #d/s relationship #dom/sub

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mothman-writes · 1 day ago

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It’s Sunday night...

pairing: fem!reader × Noah Sebastian word count: ~800 warnings: emotional vulnerability, mentions of feeling mentally “off,” comfort, soft!Noah, just fluff A/N: okay so i tend to feel a bit off on sunday nights so i wrote this scene for someone who might feel like that too <3 Also, I was supposed to post this last night but I fell asleep reading it for the 50th time trying to edit it 😭 so here it is now…

Rec song: “I Know Places” by Lykke Li

✨ This is a fictional fanwork featuring real people in imagined scenarios. It’s not meant to portray anyone’s real personality or life. Just a creative piece for entertainment. ✨

It's sunday night, and you’ve been quieter than usual today, maybe even slower. Noah kept asking if you were okay throughout the day, but you kept saying you were fine, though he knew you weren’t. That's why he didn’t push, or press you to talk, just waited for you to be ready, even if he absolutely hated seeing you like this.

He pulls you gently while you’re standing near the couch, arms folding around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. The scent of him entering your system like an instant comfort, making you sigh for feeling tired but glad he's just… there, holding you.

"Stay here with me” He murmurs, tugging you gently toward the couch. The lights are low just how he likes it. The blankets are thrown over the couch cushions, the candles burning with whatever scent he picked earlier and the TV casting faint lights over you both making your body feel the kind of peace your mind seem to be too tired to.

You crawl into his lap without saying much, nestling there like you could do it forever. He instantly wraps his arms around you like he's your anchor when your thoughts keep drifting away to other places.

You stay there not talking for a while, till he presses a kiss into your hair and whisper, in his lazy voice.

“Bad day? Or just... heavy?”

“I don’t know. Just feel… off.” You shrug.

“That’s okay. You don’t need a reason to feel that way.” His fingers stroke your arms gently as he nods.

You melt into him a little more now, head tucked into the crook of his inked neck as he keeps holding you with no demands or attempts to fix something you don't even know what is about.

Eventually, he starts to move when he notices you're finally paying attention to the show playing on the tv. He gets up quietly and go to the kitchen, making tea for you both as he humms some melody that's been stuck in his mind all week. When yours is ready, he brings up to you with both hands, blowing on the top of the mug before passing it over like it’s sacred. You sip as he watches proudly your shoulders drop the tiniest bit. He brings his tea next, laying back on the couch with your body between his, your back to his chest, your legs tangled like they belong that way.

He pulls the blanket over your bodies when you both finish drinking, and when the episode ends, he doesn’t move, neither do you. Instead, you just sink deeper into his chest, grounding yourself in his presence.

Noah lets out a soft breath through his nose, lips brushing against your temple. “You wanna go to bed, pretty girl?”

“Not yet.” You shake your head without lifting it.

“Okay,” he says with no second question, hitting play on another episode, the TV glowing gently.

His fingers start moving again, tracing lazy shapes over your arms and down your sides, like somehow he could draw some comfort directly into your skin. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you and something about his calmness makes your insides feel a little less tangled.

“Wanna know something dumb?” He asks after a while with a tender voice and you hum affirmatively.

“Sometimes when I see you like this, I wish I could just… take your worries away. Like, physically pull it out of your chest and carry it around for a while, just to give you a break.”

Your throat gets tight with how much his words mean to you but you don’t say anything, afraid you might start crying, although he feels the way your fingers curl around his wrist. He leans down and kisses the top of your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo before resting his chin there, his voice becoming almost a whisper now.

“I hate not being able to fix it. But I know I’m not supposed to. I just… I love you. Even when you’re quiet. Even when you’re tired. Even when your brain lies and tells you you’re not enough.”

Your eyes sting a little, and you blink fast, you're so used to keep things to yourself that be seen like this makes your emotions flutter. You twist around in his arms a little, just enough to see his face, still dim in the TV light. His eyes are soft, a little sleepy, and so full of you.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and your voice cracks just slightly. “Probably too much, if that’s even possible.”

He smiles, and it’s the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes, the kind that can ease all your problems just by looking at it…

So you kiss him, almost in gratitude for him for the quiet kind of love he's giving you.

You rest your head against his chest again, and he wraps both arms around you tighter, shielding you from whatever you can't seem to understand. His voice comes again, even softer.

“Tomorrow’ll feel better. And tonight we just… rest.”

You fall asleep in his arms, wrapped in warmth and weightless silence, your tea mug still on the table, the TV flickering softly into the dark. And even though nothing got fixed, maybe nothing needed to because you weren’t alone in it.

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #reader insert #fic writers on tumblr #noah sebastian #spotify #bad omens

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mothman-writes · 1 day ago

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writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

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mothman-writes · 1 day ago

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Through The Lens (N. Sebastian) Masterlist

!! This is 18+ Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Talia Merrin is hired to photograph Bad Omens on tour. At first, it seems completely normal -- just another band, just another gig.

Until she meets Noah Sebastian.

He's cold, distant, impossible to read -- and just the kind of trouble Talia doesn't need. But night after night, city after city, the tension builds.

Neither of them came here looking for connection. But in the chaos of tour life, between the noise of the music and the quiet between songs, things begin to slip through the cracks.

Warnings: Slow burn (but not in the traditional sense), not-quite-enemies to lovers, Photographer! OC, tour life, mutual pining, fluff, angst, eventual smut, detailed depictions of sex, depictions of chronic illness, depictions of chronic pain, mental health struggles, neither of them have a history of healthy relationships, anxiety, depression, drinking, alcohol mentions, they both probably need therapy, photography as intimacy, secret softness, found family-ish, they both have Pasts, symbolism, The Death of Peace of Mind (Literally and figuratively), tender moments.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED.

Total Word Count: 36,417

Author's Note

Part One: Beginning

---

Other Links:

Offical Playlist

AO3

#Noah Sebastian #Bad Omens #Noah Sebastian Fanfiction #Noah Sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian x ofc #Noah Sebastian smut #slow burn #fluff #angst #not quite enemies to lovers #Through The Lens #Masterlist

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mothman-writes · 3 days ago

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Cleanse Me With Pleasure

pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem reader word count: 3.2k warnings: Noah is a pleasure dom and a munch at that. oral (f receiving). multiple orgasms. overstim. Noah is fucking insatiable. facesitting. allusion to p in v sex. established relationship, so fucking affectionate I’m talking tooth-rotting, it’s actually disgusting. I feel like a third wheel. maybe a hint of subspace if you squint. porn without plot, sorry not sorry. reader discretion is advised. 18+ author’s note: this was supposed to be a short lil drabble so that this pleasure dom!Noah brainrot I had could be gone from me, but alas it had its own ideas. if you don’t know what a pleasure dom is, it’s someone who gets off on giving their partner a lot of orgasms!!!!! I didn’t write aftercare for this scene because it was getting away from me as it was, but you better believe they took such good care of each other. the best!!! aftercare is fucking important after scenes like this okay babes!

major thank you to my beloved moots and betas @throughwoodsanddirt and @circlewithme <3

・❥・

“hi.” after staring wide-eyed at you for a few seconds, Noah quickly blinks in confusion, almost as if he worries that doing so would make you disappear. wipe you clean from his field of vision like windshield wipers do the rain.

“hi.” you echo, a goofy, lopsided grin on your face while he continues to look at you in disbelief.

“you’re here.” his eyes land on your suitcase in the corner.

“I’m here.”

it’s a surprise that you showed up like this. so good of a surprise that it has Noah extending his hand, fingers shaky, just trying to poke you — you know, to make sure you’re really there. you’re a step ahead of him, already interlocking your fingers with his.

it’s not often that you visit him on tour.

“you didn’t tell me—”

“I was coming, I know. surprise!” you make jazz hands with a flourish. “are you really that disappointed to see me?”

you know the answer.

he huffs a laugh, eyes darkening with a look that you know only spells trouble for you. “I’ll show you how disappointed I am.”

…and that’s how you end up spread open on the bed of his hotel room, legs tossed carelessly over his shoulders while his eyes devour your pussy like it’s Christmas morning and he’s faced with a present to unwrap. he’s certainly not about to waste time now, burying his face in your pussy and lapping up every inch of you like he’s been dying for a taste.

your jaw falls slack as the wind is knocked out of you with the ferocity of his tongue. in a flurry of movement, your hands are scrambling for anything to grab onto — fisting the sheets, the back of his shirt, grasping his forearms — anything to keep them occupied, because pleasure this good after being apart so long has you losing all sense of composure. you don’t know what to do with yourself.

smug bastard. you can feel Noah smirk against your pussy before he guides your hands to his hair. he knows, he fucking knows what he’s doing, how good he’s making you feel. but he’s nothing if not a tease because now he’s pulling away despite your whimpering… or maybe because of it.

his lips curl into a sly grin, head propped on your thigh. it’s tugging on your heartstrings just as much as it’s making your core ache to see him like this. warm brown eyes meet yours — he’s mesmerized, drunk on lust — but it’s that fond sparkle in them, it’s his bottom lip catching between his teeth... he looks positively giddy.

“you’re such a tease,” you grumble, knowing all you can do is take what he gives. it’ll work in your favor anyway. he can never deny you for long; not when denying you means denying himself. your pleasure is his pleasure after all.

his soft smile morphs back into a smirk. “only for you,” a hand squeezes your hip affectionately. “you’ll be thanking me later.”

he doesn’t follow it up with “when you come twice as hard”, but you know him well enough to know that’s his intention. always the cheeky fucker, Noah Sebastian.

“I’m only getting started, baby,” he promises you playfully. “this is just the warm-up.”

unhurried fingers part your folds, tracing lazy circles everywhere but your clit. and god, the way he’s looking at you, big brown doe eyes alight with adoration — fuck, if it doesn’t take your breath away. his lips part in wonderment, his brown eyes hyper-focused on every hitch of your breath and every cant of your hips.

when he does finally press a finger to your clit? mercy. it sets your nerves alight, and then his mouth is on you again; first with long, drawn-out, and teasing kisses between your thighs before his tongue darts out from between his lips to lick along the length of you, torturing you with slow, languid strokes.

“you have the prettiest fucking pussy,” his voice muffles into you, and with every quickening flick of his tongue, that spark in your lower belly fans into wild flames. it’s all you can do to keep your shaking legs from closing around his head as he groans against your core. then again, you don’t think he’d be all that opposed to the idea. you almost wonder who’s enjoying this more.

“baby…” your stomach flips at the sight of him, how primal he looks. there’s a mischievous glint in his warm eyes, that goddamn smirk still on his face. his wet fucking face. your stomach only twists itself further into knots as you remind yourself that it’s your cunt he’s covered in.

tattooed hands close around your fists, encouraging you to tug harder. “you can be rougher than that. I can take it.” he says, tone familiar as if he’s had to tell you this before. (he has.) he doesn’t have to tighten his grip to close your fingers the rest of the way, because as soon as his rough, warm tongue runs from your hole to your clitoris once again, you’re tugging at the root with enough force to make him groan against you.

he’s sucking your clit into his mouth again, more persistent this time, and the dull ache from being denied becomes a painful clench as it tightens. you know Noah feels it too with the vise grip he’s got on your hips, sure to leave bruises when he bears down harder.

he shows no signs of letting up as you keen above him, as your thighs flex on either side of his head and your fingers card through and tug at his hair. not even when you’ve come.

he’s going to be the death of you, you decide; he’s fucking relentless. for one, he’s made no moves to pull away from you, and your feel-good buzz is quickly honing into something a little more sharp, a lot more sensitive. your shaky hands scramble to push him away from your core, a whimper bubbling in your throat.

he’s reluctant to pull away. he’d be perfectly content to linger a small eternity between your thighs, anything to draw out that blissed-out look on your face. still, he follows as you tug him up to kiss you, cradling his face in your hands. and kiss you he does.

calling them kisses is too generous, though — his parted lips drag over your hips, your breasts, the column of your throat, all the while leaving a cold, sticky trail in their wake as he yields to your pull. the instant his lips press against yours, he slows, as if sedated. his kisses are gentle, hands coming up to caress either cheek. soon, too soon, his lips separate from yours, his breath shakily fanning over your face as one of his hands trails down your skin once more. your whine of protest at the loss of contact dies in your throat when he pushes two fingers inside of you, immediately thrusting them.

“shit, Noah.” it comes out breathy and high-pitched, your mouth falling open only for Noah to swallow it up with his and all your moans with it.

“keep going, honey,” he coos, lips brushing against your chin as your head lolls back against the pillows, back arching. “tell me how much you’ve missed this.”

but the words won’t come — all that he pulls out are slack-jawed wails and gasps. you’re dizzy with pleasure, dizzy with the proximity of him, and your heart can’t seem to catch up to your head because everything…

the smell of his cologne as he buries his face in your neck. him pressing small kisses to the side of your face, your jaw, your shoulder. his murmurs of praise, of “that’s my girl” and “you’re doing so good for me” while one of your hands holds desperately onto the wrist of his free hand, the other reaching up and back to hold onto his soft hair…

it all makes you fucking ache.

you feel small under the weight of this loving tenderness, but he doesn’t give you the chance to feel undeserving. no, he just peppers feather-light kisses across your cheeks, your nose, forehead… any and every inch of skin available to him, delighting in the soft, contented exhales leaving your mouth.

your skin’s buzzing — itching — closer, you need him closer. it’s not enough to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, you need to feel your fingers digging into his scalp, tugging him by the roots until he’s invading every one of your senses. you need to feel him draped over you like your favorite weighted blanket, a gentle reassurance of safety and security and home.

you have missed this. you’ve missed him, and you’re having trouble coming to terms with the fact that you don’t have to miss him anymore. he’s right there with you.

you hug him tighter to you, the strands of his hair fluffy in your grasp. without you even having to say it, he knows.

“I’ve missed you, too, baby.” he caresses your skin softly, dusting gentle kisses all along your cheeks and chin and nose, and in the same breath finds that spot with his fingers that has you melting in a pool of liquid heat. your eyes want to flutter shut at the sensation, but he presses his forehead to yours, and you can’t bring yourself to look away from the combined heat and adoration lacing his gaze. your tummy flutters.

when you sneak a glance between your legs, he’s already looking, hypnotized by the plunge of his fingers in and out. he’s practically drooling at the sight, mesmerized by how easily you swallow him up and the wetness pooling between your thighs. he’s knuckle deep in your pussy, palm rubbing against your clit as he perfectly curls his long fingers. inked fingers slick with your arousal. you clench around them, and it’s instinctual the way your hips jut into his hand, moving in time with his fingers.

you know you’re fucked when you feel it in your toes first, inching its way up, settling low in your stomach.

“that’s it.” Noah croons against your skin.

oh god.

“feel good, baby?” you nod. you whine when he pulls away to sit back on his knees, but it’s all worth it when his free hand settles below your navel, all while his fingers continue to pump in and out of you. “yeah?”

oh god.

he presses down lightly, and your vision goes white at the edges.

oh god.

“shit. can feel your pussy clenching. you gonna come for me?” he teases, his tone almost taunting. he knows he’s going to make you come, he just wants to hear you say it. wants the affirmation, craves it, needs it, that he’s making you feel so good. he clings to it like a medal, proof of his hard work and dedication as he worships at the temple that is your body, and god is he on his knees.

“Noahh—” he curls his fingers and you can tell he delights in the way your breath catches on his name.

“I know, baby, I know,” he presses a kiss right above your hip, “but let me hear you say it.”

“shit,” you whine, squirming beneath him, “Noah… feelssogood… I’m gonna come.”

“there you go,” your eyes meet, “shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart. come for me, baby.”

and when he plies that spot inside you mercilessly, it’s enough to push you over the edge. fall head over heels over the cliff.

you forget to breathe until Noah tells you to. not that it helps when he’s got the same fingers that were just inside you in his mouth, eyes locked with yours as he licks them clean.

“breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby.”

did you already say he’s going to be the death of you?

・❥・

you’ve barely come down from your third orgasm and he’s already coaxing you, soft and low, “one more, baby.”

not a question.

his cheeks are rosy, brown eyes adoring. “I know you can give me another one.” swollen lips form a pout.

and it’s not fair because it’s hard enough to say no to him without those puppy eyes of his. you never stood a chance. “not fair,” you huff, “you’re using your powers for evil.”

“wanting to give you an orgasm is evil now?” he cocks his head with an amused smile, feigning innocence like he hasn’t just given you two already. “I just wanna make you feel good, baby.”

it just about fucking does you in, the gentleness with which he presses soft kisses to the insides of your thighs. then an even softer one to your clit, eyes pleading. your hips jolt at the feeling, and he laughs. “let me make up for lost time, hm?” he murmurs, the vibration going straight to your core. and if he drags it out a little because he likes seeing you squirm, well…

you hate him. you love him and you hate him. “jesus fuck,” Noah licks a long stripe up your folds, and your head falls back against the bed. you simultaneously want to kiss him and punch him. at the very least you could stand to torture him a little.

maybe next time. fucking menace.

it’s his smug-sounding chuckle against your core — hips shifting under him because your pussy is practically vibrating with arousal — that has you realizing you said that out loud.

“your fucking menace.” he corrects, smirking cheekily (it’s actually butterfly-inducing), and you know you’re in for it now. your stomach does a little cartwheel.

you’re in trouble and you know it because up until that point, he’d been holding back. the gentle kisses to your clit. his tongue moving against you sloppily. fingering you slowly, lazily. taking his time working you up was as much for him as it was for you.

that smirk is the last thing you see before he flips the two of you over so he’s underneath you and you’re over top of him. he flashes you a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying himself. he’s so… effortlessly endearing.

he taps your hip, seemingly oblivious to the fondness swelling in your heart. “straddle my face, baby.”

you blink at him, uncomprehending. he’s got to be joking, right? “my legs feel like fucking Jello.” you counter, like it would dissuade him. with the way he beams, you’d think you just told him he won his first Grammy.

he doesn’t give you time to dwell on your self-consciousness, just grasps your thighs and shimmies you forward until you’re hovering over his mouth. his biceps lock around your thighs.

“problem solved,” he murmurs, flexing his arms tighter as he pulls you down.

you open your mouth to protest, but he’s already licking an experimental stripe up your core. it’s a good thing he’s supporting you because your legs are already shuddering, even more intensely than before.

“relax,” Noah coaxes you, practically purring. “three orgasms and you’re still so fucking tense,” he grunts teasingly, the hint of a smile in his voice. you smack him playfully, suddenly conscious of your stiff posture. you aren’t, in fact, very comfortable.

“better get to work then.” you taunt, and you might as well have said, “make me.”

his eyes darken at the challenge, and when he starts devouring you in earnest, it’s anything but precise, wet and warm and sloppy, and that’s why it’s your undoing.

you don’t know what you were expecting, but you were definitely not prepared for the heightened sensation of feeling his tongue everywhere with the new angle. if it weren’t for his grip on your hips, you’d be constantly lifting off his face to get a reprieve and he’d be fighting to chase you with his tongue. as it is, you have no option but to succumb to the wet heat of his mouth working against you, melting into him. relax indeed.

the sight of him underneath you leaves you more breathless than the feeling of his tongue dipping inside of you does, his eyes blown black with lust as his unabashed sounds of enjoyment reverberate through you. a plethora of broken and spluttered noises fall from your lips, and your hands instinctively move to clutch his, settling over them where they rest at your hips.

your brain’s going fuzzy at the edges as it is, so overstimulated in the best way, but the extra stimulation when his hands start guiding you to rock against his mouth threatens to be too much. you can’t help it this time, your hips rut into his face, and his soft hums of encouragement only goad you on. he’s helping you fuck yourself on his tongue and thoroughly enjoying it if the moans resonating through your core are any indication.

“Noah,” you plead, not knowing what for but with desperation edging into your voice anyway.

everything.

nothing.

it’s too much.

it’s not enough.

stop.

don’t ever stop.

all coherent thought goes out the window as you give yourself over to the pleasure, your world narrowing down to your throbbing pussy and the man worshiping fervently between your thighs. your mind goes blank then, lost to the sheer ecstasy rising within you so sharply that you feel the prick of tears.

if it weren’t for his hand tethering you to this world, you fear you’d float away. you cling to it desperately like a lifeline.

“it’s okay,” he urges you, “let go for me.”

as if you could do anything else.

all it takes for you to fall apart this time is the combination of his nose nudging your clit and his pleasured rumblings against your cunt. you come with shuddering breaths, gasping for air, and he holds you in place as your hips jerk, lapping up your arousal as he makes out with your pussy even after you’ve rode out your orgasm. his grip still doesn’t allow you to lift off his face, not for lack of trying as you tremble above him, and it won’t loosen until you’re well and thoroughly putty in his hands. he wants you so flooded with pleasure you’re drowning in it.

because that look on your face, that feeling that you get, like when you’ve been in the pool all day and flop back into bed at night only to still feel like you’re floating, totally weightless — he wants to coax it from you over and over again.

so when you collapse backward onto the mattress in a heap all blissed out and fuzzy and sated looking at him with half-lidded eyes, it’s no wonder he’s settling on top of you, his fingers interlacing with yours as he pins your hands to the bed, telling you “just one more” as he slides his cock inside you and presses a kiss to your forehead. always one more.

and if there’s another one after that… if he’s settling between your thighs despite your half-hearted protests of “can’t” and “too sensitive”, even as your hips shift in search of his touch, he will reassure you that you can until it is indistinguishable whether you are cursing his name or praising it — inevitably a bit of both.

he’s gotta show you how much he appreciates his surprise, doesn’t he?

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x fem reader #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens imagine #bad omens

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mothman-writes · 4 days ago

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stomach tied in knots

a/n: something quick i wrote up a few weeks ago after binge listening to stomach tied in knots by sleeping with sirens. short, sweet, and just enough angst to make your chest hurt. this isn’t my official return, but thought i’d share 🥲 love yall.

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

word count: 1.7k

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings, established relationship, 18+ mdni

He's tossed around in bed at least twenty times in the last thirty minutes he thinks.

Noah sighs, hands raising to rub at his tired eyes. He can feel the exhaustion over his body but for some reason, he can't seem to sleep. It's like his body knows there's something off and is actively fighting sleep, probably in hopes that he'd get over himself and fix the issue. He blinks and tilts his head to stare at the clock on the side table.

2:35 A.M.

The ache in his chest tightens as his hand drifts out, running over the empty space next to him. Usually you'd be beside him, sleeping soundly as your body curls against his. You have the day off tomorrow, just like you always do, and it became some sort of tradition that you stayed over.

Except you're not here.

His fingers briefly tighten around the cold and empty sheets before another sigh passes his lips. He tosses an arm over his eyes, the ache in his chest suddenly feeling deeper.

Maybe if Noah wasn't so stubborn, you'd be right here next to him like you usually are. Maybe he could be sound asleep right now, face buried against the crook of your neck and legs tangled together like missing puzzle pieces. His stomach twists.

Your fight the other day was stupid. He barely even remembers why those thoughts started, the fear of losing you. That one day you're going to slip between his fingers and he'll be alone yet again. He doesn't understand why the initial response to that is to push you away. It's like his brain says if he pushes you away now, he won't be hurt in the long run.

That's a lie he keeps telling himself.

He remembers the way you looked at him, the hurt in your eyes when you tried reaching from him but he flinched away. The deep regret settling in his gut at that very moment is something he'll never forget, especially because he just fucking sat there and didn't do a damn thing. He watched you leave, sparing him one last glance before telling him to call whenever he was ready.

He swears he saw tears in your eyes, but for his sake, he tells himself he just made that up.

Now here he was, two days later and still hasn't called. Was it because he didn’t want to hurt his pride? No. It was the fear of calling and you not being on the other side. The fear of his call going unanswered is what stopped him.

He hasn't slept since. Night one he chalked it up to being upset, to the anxiety settling in his veins keeping him awake, but now he's approaching night three and he's slowly thinking it's not that. He thinks, maybe, it's the fact you're not here with him.

He realized a few months ago that when he slept next to you he seemed to get a much better night's rest. Slept through the night, no nightmares. It was the first time in his life where he felt... at ease. Content.

His arm drops and he tilts his head again, eyeing his phone laying beside him. His finger twitches and before he can think twice about it, he's reaching for it and scrolling for your name. His thumb hesitates over the call button, thinking it would be stupid to call at this hour, but he does it anyway.

Noah holds his breath as he listens to the ringing on the other end. It rings once, twice, and on the third he starts to think you're not going to answer, but then your voice fills his ears.

"...Hello?"

You sound tired and he knows he definitely just woke you up. He feels guilty again, that deep regret settling in his gut again.

"Uh. Hi. Did I wake you?"

You take a second to respond, a yawn slipping from your lips before you say, "Sort of. I wasn't really asleep. Is everything okay?"

"Um." He chews on his bottom lip, mind racing with things to say. He doesn't know where to start or why he even called. Maybe just to say sorry? That could be a good place to begin. "I'm sorry. For the other day."

There's a quiet pause between you two and he can hear the shuffling of your sheets on the other end.

"It's almost 3 in the morning, Noah."

"I know. I just..." He sighs before tossing an arm over his eyes again. "I can't stop... thinking about it. I can't sleep. I think this is my body's revenge in telling me to get over myself and apologize for being a dick."

You huff out a short laugh. "A dick?"

"Well, yeah. I was being one. You didn't deserve whatever the fuck that was." He mumbles, a frown settling on his lips. "That's not fair to you. I'm sorry."

There's another pause before you speak again, "It's okay, bub. I was never upset with you."

"But you were upset."

"Well, yeah. My boyfriend was shutting me out so of course I'd be a little upset, but it wasn't at you. Just the situation. I knew you needed some time to think it out and hopefully come back around..." There's another pause before you sheepishly add, "and to be honest, I planned on coming by tomorrow to check on you. Haven't spoken in a few days. Got me all worried. I even texted Jolly today to see how you were."

His frown only deepens. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know, baby." There's more shuffling on the other end and then you yawn. "It's okay."

The ache in his chest is still there, but more mute. It's like hearing your voice has eased some of the tension from his body, and knowing that you're not really upset with him makes it somewhat better. Not quite all the way better, but somewhat. His fingers tighten around the phone.

"Can I..." He swallows. "Can I come over? I wanna see you... and I think I'd sleep better with you. I'm sick of this not sleeping shit."

The silence on the other end sends a short moment of panic through his body, immediately thinking he's fucked up in some kind of way and you're going to tell him no. You'll see him tomorrow, right? You planned on coming over anyways, so why does he need to see you now-

"...I'm really glad you asked that because sleeping without you has been the worst thing I've ever fucking gone through. Felt like you were on tour. Hated every second."

The tension in his shoulders melt and he lets out a breath of air that he'd been holding,

"Yeah... didn't like it either."

His body moves without second thought, immediately searching his dark room for the hoodie he tore off earlier and slipping it back on.

"I'll see you a few, okay? Doors unlocked. Come on in."

He thinks he's out the door in record time, probably didn't even take longer than a minute before he was in his car and starting for yours. He knows it's late and he should've been more cautious, but he definitely speeds on the way there, yearning to just... see you. Hold you in his arms for just a second to remind himself that you're real and that it's okay.

He's okay. And so are you.

He lets himself in, carefully locking the door behind him before making a beeline for your room. The soft light of your television peaks from behind your cracked door and when he pushes it open, he finds you sitting up in the middle of your bed, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It's like the tension in his body releases the second he sees you, shoulders deflating and that nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach instantly dissolving.

You smile, that one solely reserved for him - all sweet and gentle and makes him feel warm all over.

"Hi bub."

"Hi."

He stands in the middle of your door frame, shifting from foot to foot. He isn't sure what to do, if he's allowed to just crawl in beside you and block out the world for the next few hours. Your smile softens and you let the blanket wrapped around your shoulders fall as you open your arms, beckoning him closer. Something twists beneath his chest.

"C'mere."

He follows immediately, feet guiding him closer to you. It takes a second before you're both happily curled up against each other, having to maneuver some of the blankets for Noah to actually be comfortable. He presses his face against the crook of your neck and lets out a breath he had been holding, long legs tangling with yours. He hums when your fingers slide through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp.

He's okay.

You're okay.

"Missed you." You mumbled after a while, brushing your lips against his forehead. His entire face burns.

"...Missed you too." He all but whispers against your skin, trying to press himself closer. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

“No, it’s…” He pulls away from you, just enough to where he can see your brows furrow together in confusion. “It’s not and I’m sorry and-“

"Noah, honey, relax. It’s okay." You reach a hand out to press against his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. "We're okay. I promise. Just... talk to me next time, okay? Don't shut me out. You know I don't like that."

"I know." He whispers. "I'm sorry."

"You don’t have to apologize anymore. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He gives a slow nod. "I'm here until... until you don't want me here anymore, alright?"

His mouth moves before he can think twice. "I'll always want you here."

He can see his words take you by surprise in real time, blinking at him. Your lips part and he swears your eyes are glossing over, but you blink that away. You smile again, small and sweet, and it warms his entire body.

"Good, because I’ll always want to be here. With you. If that's okay."

"Yeah... that's more than okay."

He doesn't say anything after that and swallows down the words that are dying to slip out. Instead, he presses his face back against your neck and breathes in. You smell like your shower gel that he sometimes borrows when he stays over - sweet vanilla - and like... you.

Like home.

His chest aches but this time with something else, something more hopeful, and he sleeps through the night for the first time in days.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens #noah sebastian

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mothman-writes · 5 days ago

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Nutmeg Chapter Sixteen

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner.

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 5163

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 17

WARNINGS: No sex. Christmas, medical procedure mention. (let me know if I need to add something.)

Tuesday came and went and Noah never visited.

You sent a message earlier to arrange with him, but he never replied. This was very strange and gave you the most unpleasant sense of tension and anxiety. Your whole body clenched with worry, dread and the inability to stop thinking of every horrible situation possible and impossible.

Your worst thought, clawing through your brain was that he was sick of you. He could not stand you for one second longer and decided to just ignore you until you went away.

You knew, intellectually, that there was probably a reason, and a very reasonable one at that, for Noah to be missing in action. You did not want to interfere too much though – because you thought of going to his house just to check but that’s maybe too much.

You decide to call. So, by the time you still had not heard anything by six, you call him. You wait as it rings, it feels like too long, and just when you wanted to give up and hang up, you hear, ‘Hello?’

‘Hi?’ you reply uncertainly.

It’s quiet for a moment. ‘You are looking for Noah?’

You knew it wasn’t him as soon as the voice started talking. ‘Um, yes.’

‘May I ask who is speaking?’ the voice asks again, sounding worried.

Blank. Your brain is empty. So, you give your real name. Oh fuck.

‘Oh,’ you hear the voice, clearly thinking very hard. ‘Well, I am sorry but Noah is not available right now. He will probably be able to call you back tomorrow.’

‘Who are you?’ you ask as politely as possible.

‘I’m Jesse. I’m a friend of Noah’s,’ he answers back.

‘Oh, you are one of his roommates. The one who gets migraines?’ you say.

‘Yeah,’ he drags it out. ‘Oh wait, he’s mentioned you before.’

‘Listen, I just want to know if he is okay,’ you explain trying to stop sharing information you did not know whether Noah would want it shared.

‘He is, but he is in hospital. He just had an emergency appendectomy. It’s already done, he is just still sleeping. He will be released tomorrow morning,’ Jesse tells you with calmness in his voice which calms you.

‘Oh wow,’ you reply. ‘Well, that explains it. Thank you.’

‘I’ll tell him to call you when he wakes up.’

‘No, it’s okay. Tomorrow is fine.’

‘You sure?’

‘You say he is fine? Everything went well?’

‘It did.’

‘No, as long as he is going to be okay, tomorrow is fine. Whenever he is up to it really.’

Jesse is quiet a little bit. ‘I’ll tell him. But you don’t have to worry.’

‘I appreciate that. Have a good night.’

‘You too.’

You hang up and stand there with your phone in your hand. You felt better in a way, now that you knew what was going on. And at the same time, you felt like you needed to see with your own eyes that he was fine.

You wanted to text him and wish him well, but if Jesse had his phone, you decided that was a bad idea. Oh god. You hoped you didn’t already say too much.

You took a shower and got in bed. After tossing and turning for too long, worrying about him, worrying about information getting out, what Jesse thought, you drank a sleeping tablet and hoped for the best.

Wednesday:

You wake up groggy, but had nothing from Noah on your phone. You went to work in a bad mood, drinking way too many cups of coffee.

You were distracted the whole morning, unable to let go of the thought of Noah. Unable to shake the feeling that somehow you felt unsure of yourself and where you fit into his life. You were not his girlfriend who could go visit. You even felt like you were overstepping if you had to call again. But your heart ached. You missed him. You hoped that he was doing well, that he was not in pain. Hoped that there was someone who was taking care of him and could wash his back in the shower. Someone who knew that he liked his hair being played with.

But no. That someone had to be you. You hated the thought of someone else knowing this, not to even think of doing it.

Just when your headache turned into a throbbing pain behind your eye, your phone rang with a call from him. And then you were scared to answer.

‘Hello,’ you answer neutrally. You didn’t know what to expect and it might be Jesse again, anyway.

‘Peach?’ comes Noah’s gravelly voice.

‘Hi, Noah,’ you say softly, already feeling better at hearing him call you that.

‘I’m so sorry for not calling earlier,’ he says and you can hear he is not himself.

‘It’s okay. How are you feeling?’ you ask.

‘Sore and so tired,’ he answers simply.

‘I’m sorry. Are you at home?’ you ask.

‘Yeah, I just got home. I was kept a little later because they were worried about my blood pressure. But it’s all okay now,’ he explains and it sounded like that exhausted him.

‘Are you sure you are okay?’ you ask.

‘I am, I promise,’ he says. ‘Are you okay? I missed yesterday, and Jesse said you called last night.’

‘I was just worried. It’s not like you to just disappear,’ you said your voice small.

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Listen,’ he starts like he is nervous about what he is about to say. ‘Would it be possible for you to come over?’

‘No, Noah, it’s really okay, you had surgery. I’ll see you when you are better,’ you say immediately trying to make him understand that he has a valid excuse.

He is quiet for a moment. ‘I really want you to, though. I get it if you can’t, but...’

You thought for a second. ‘If you need me for something, I will be there straight after work. But, if you are just trying to look after me, I’ll be okay. As long as you promise that you are okay.’

‘I need my Peach,’ he says, his voice small.

Tears flood your eyes, along with relief all through your chest, instantly. You compose yourself before you answer. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Hey, are your roommates there? What must I do? Can I bring you anything?’ you ask, suddenly faced with the reality of what is happening.

‘Yes, they are here. And I don’t give a fuck. I’ll tell them you are coming over, and that they must leave you alone,’ he says. ‘Some Gatorade would be very appreciated if you can. The blue one.’

‘You got it,’ you say hiding your emotions. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘Thank you, baby,’ he whispers and then he hangs up.

You slowly take your phone away from your ear. I need a photo of his face for my phone. Work was forgotten for the rest of the day because you started making a list of other things you could take him that would make him feel better.

You park at Noah’s house and there were three cars outside and it made you nervous. What do you say if the roommates have questions. You were literally sweating.

You pep talk yourself all the way to the front door where you knock and wait, switching the bag you had with you from hand to hand and bouncing a leg. You were fine.

Jesse opened the door. You recognised his voice as soon as he greeted you. He had sad eyes, but he was smiling at you and welcoming you inside. ‘How are you?’ he asks politely.

‘Well, thank you. And you?’

‘Fine, thanks. You know where his room is? Do you need me to show you?’ he asks, again being very friendly.

‘I know where it is,’ you say shyly.

‘Let me know if you guys need anything,’ he says.

‘I will,’ you say and then you rush over to Noah’s door, needing to get out of the situation as quickly as possible.

You knock softly and hear him call out. Then you open, slip inside and close it firmly behind you.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was it bad?’ he asks with a grimace on his face.

‘No, Jesse was very nice,’ you answer and tentatively take a few steps closer to him.

‘I would have opened for you, but it feels like my insides are going to fall out when I stand,’ he explains.

‘No, of course,’ you shake your head. ‘I’m just curious about who they think I am.’

‘I have left out a lot of details when they asked. But they know it’s you I visit every Friday. They know it’s your calls I take in the middle of whatever I am busy with,’ he shrugs a bit. ‘I left the rest up to their imagination.’

‘Noah,’ you say softly, stepping closer and closer. ‘They are going to think I am a prostitute. Your personal prostitute.’

He giggles and his hands go right to stomach where he holds on. ‘Oh no, laughing hurts.’

‘I was not telling you a joke,’ you say, standing right next to his bed now, struggling to keep a straight face yourself.

‘They know I don’t have enough money for that,’ he scoffs. ‘Did you see Jolly too?’

‘No,’ you shake your head and know that he has never mentioned his name before.

‘Can you please come lay down next to me?’ he asks patting the bed.

‘Before I do, can I put your Gatorade in the fridge? Do you want it now?’ you ask, starting to dig in the bag you brought along.

‘I need you first,’ he says.

You put the bag down slowly. You slip your shoes off and then climb on the bed with him. He painfully moves a little bit so that when you are next to him, he buries his face in your neck and his arm pulls you closer around your waist. Then he gives a contented sigh.

‘Mmm, yes. This is what I needed. I feel better already,’ he jokes.

You curl an arm around him so you can bury your fingers in his hair, your other hand resting on his arm. You give your own sigh. ‘So, what the hell happened?’

He turns his head just enough so you can hear him when he speaks. ‘It started as a dull ache, that I completely ignored. And by the time I had the thought that maybe I should get to a doctor, it was an emergency and I was scolded and asked why I waited so long. Before I knew what was happening, I was in a gown getting rolled into surgery.’

‘Yeah,’ you nod, brushing his hair back from his forehead. ‘You shouldn’t wait so long.’

‘I was procrastinating,’ he defends himself.

‘Okay, Noah. I’m just glad you didn’t die of a burst appendix,’ you say, being very serious.

‘You know,’ he starts softly. ‘It was all very sudden and blurry, but I was thinking about you when they put that mask on me with the anaesthesia, wondering what you’d think when I just didn’t show up.’

‘Oh, you should have been worried about yourself, though,’ you say.

‘What did you think?’ he asked.

‘I was worried,’ you answer.

‘Is that all?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘Tell me?’ he asks.

‘I was scared that you were done with me and couldn’t stand me anymore,’ you say truthfully. ‘I knew it was the anxiety talking, but I couldn’t help it.’

‘No, baby,’ he frowns at you. ‘I could never.’

‘I was also really worried that something happened to you,’ you shrug.

‘Thank you for worrying about me,’ he gives a small smile. ‘How long can you stay?’

You were a little startled at the question. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet.’

‘Could you sleep over?’ he asks.

‘I can,’ you say immediately. ‘I will have to go get some clothes maybe?’

‘I can lend you what you need? I’m sure I have everything,’ he says hopefully.

‘I need clean underwear and something to put on for work tomorrow,’ you say quickly.

‘Skip work,’ he says seriously.

You frown down at his face with concern. You have not experienced him like this before. ‘I will call in sick,’ you say dropping a kiss on top of his head.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, holding you tighter.

‘Okay tell me, when last did you eat something? When last have you had water to drink? Have you had a shower?’ you ask him softly.

He groans. ‘I had breakfast at the hospital. They forced me to eat before I could leave. I have my water on the bedside table, look.’

‘I see.’

‘I have not showered. Is that gross? Yes, I suppose it is,’ he says sounding defeated.

‘Don’t worry,’ you say soothingly. ‘Do you want to eat something first? Or take a shower?’

‘Both sounds like too much work,’ he whines.

‘I’m going to help you, Noah. I think you should eat something first. I brought some pizza,’ you say as you get up to get your bag. He is frowning at you. “What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ he says softly. ‘I was going to order us something later.’

‘Oh,’ you say immediately, feeling foolish. ‘I didn’t mean to take over.’

‘No, you misunderstand,’ he holds out a hand. ‘I love that you brought pizza. What kind did you bring?’

‘Plain cheese?’ you answer with a grimace. ‘I didn’t know what your stomach could handle yet.’ You sit down on the bed again. ‘And I thought cold pizza in the morning is always a winner, in case you didn’t feel like eating. But I figured you probably had some medication to take at some point and that is always recommended with meals.’ You shrug. ‘I also got marshmallows and a neck pillow for some reason. I don’t know.’

He smiles sleepily at you. ‘You are so kind.’

Despite the simplicity of his words, you blush. ‘I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed. Can I bring you some pizza?’

‘I’d love some, thank you,’ he sits up a little bit, wincing.

It was still a little warm and you placed it on the bed where he could easily reach. You also take a slice. ‘I got two pizzas. Eat up.’

He takes a bite and chews slowly, like he was testing his body and seeing what it could handle. ‘I’m worried that it upsets my stomach.’

‘Better to take it slow then, but you have to eat. Even if it’s just a little bit,’ you try to gently encourage and you are reminded of when you had a migraine a few weeks ago.

He swallows his third bite. ‘I am hungrier than I realised.’

You smile at him as you finish your own slice. His eating speed picks up a little when nothing disastrous happened and he seemed happier. ‘What do you want me to do for underwear?’ you ask with your eyebrows raised.

‘I wish I were in a sexy mood so I can say you don’t need any,’ he says forlornly chewing on a crust.

‘I need my butt covered if your roommates are here. I will have a fear that they will burst in and see,’ you say seriously.

‘They won’t just come in here, but I understand. Wear one of my boxers?’ he says.

‘I’ll try. If they don’t fit, I’ll rinse out the ones I have on now and wear a long shirt until they are dry. Or something like that,’ you shrug.

He nods a bit. ‘If asking you to stay was too much,’ he starts, looking you in the eye. ‘You can tell me. I’ll understand.’

‘It’s not too much,’ you lean forward to kiss him and make him understand.

After the two of you had finished one of the pizzas together you asked, ‘Where do you keep your clean sheets? Then I’ll change the sheets before you get back into bed. Make sure it’s all fresh with no hospitaliness on anything,’ you say, knowing what you would have wanted.

He points you to a cupboard and you take out a stack and place it all on the bedside table, ready for the change.

When he is ready, you help him up, his one hand gripping yours, the other over his bellybutton holding on. You walk with him to the bathroom, slowly, and make sure he is alright to brush his teeth. Then you quickly rush back to strip the sheets off and you make them into a small ball you put in a corner. You hear the shower water turn on while you had the sheet and pillowcases on already and then rush back to him.

‘Can you help me undress? It’s not even a move. It hurts to reach and bend,’ he says a little shy.

‘I’m here to help,’ you say and you grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up, carefully taking out one arm at a time from the sleeves. You look at his torso and see three bandages. ‘Did they cut your tattoos?’ you ask with eyes wide.

‘The doctor promised he wouldn’t. He said he tried to cut in gaps. It’s small incisions,’ he holds up a hand and shows you with his thumb and forefinger the length of the cuts. ‘They must stay closed for as long as possible, though. So, no checking. Wounds are not allowed to get wet.’

Your run your fingers over his tummy absentmindedly.

‘You alright? Does it freak you out?’ he asks.

‘No, not at all,’ you say. ‘Pants.’ You pull them down, and he steps out. His penis is as soft as you have ever seen it and still beautiful. But you tell yourself to focus. You take off your own clothes hastily and step under the spray of water with him. He leans down awkwardly so you can wash his hair, you wash his back, and his front and his legs and his feet and he watches you with soft eyes the whole time. You make sure he is rinsed properly.

He tries his best to dry himself while you quickly wash your own body.

You help him dress, make him sit on the edge of the bed as you put the duvet cover on with practiced ease. You plug in his hairdryer and dry his hair standing between his legs so you can run your fingers through as it dries. He keeps his eyes closed and hand resting on your hips where he holds on to you.

Finally, he is tucked into bed, clean and fluffy hair and heavy eyelids.

‘I need a toothbrush and something to sleep in. Can I help myself?’ you ask.

‘Yeah, cupboard under the sink should have some stuff you can use. Second drawer in that dresser,’ he points, ‘has t-shirts, top drawer underwear. Take whatever you want to.’

‘Thank you,’ you say and head to the drawers first, so you can hang the towel you had wrapped around you. You find a shirt that seems long and grab a pair of boxer briefs that might work. It is surprisingly comfortable and you are sure the fact that it all smells like Noah is the main contributing factor. You find a sealed toothbrush and rip it open.

Noah is asleep when you return to the bed, his face relaxed and peaceful. You get in next to him and pull the blankets up and make sure his shoulders are covered. You position yourself close to him and in such a way that you can still run your fingers through his hair.

In the middle of the night, you are woken by Noah’s hand working his shirt, that you were wearing, up all the way and then resting his head on your exposed breasts. Then he gives big sigh and falls right back asleep.

Thursday:

In the morning you wake up and watch him sleep a while. Then you go the bathroom, brush your teeth, check your own underwear that was almost dry. He groans awake when you get back in bed with him, stretching out his long limbs careful not to tear stitches.

‘Morning,’ he smiles at you sleepily. Then he throws the covers back and lifts his shirt to check his bandages. It all seemed to in order because he pulled his shirt back down and then rolled onto his side to look at you.

‘You slept like the dead,’ you say to him.

‘It felt like it,’ he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.

‘Normally you move around a lot, but last night you were very still. Must be the after-effects of the anaesthesia,’ you say softly.

‘I don’t even think I had a dream,’ he says. ‘I feel like I could sleep for another week.’

‘Go back to sleep,’ you whisper.

‘I will in a little while,’ he answers. ‘I need to take my meds.’

‘Oh right,’ you say, sitting up. ‘Where are they?’

‘There,’ he points at the dresser.

‘Are you swallowing with Gatorade or can I bring you a glass of water?’ you ask.

He gets out of bed slowly and carefully. ‘I need the bathroom. I’ll get water from the tap.’ He holds out his hand and you drop the pills into his palm.

‘Do you need help?’ you ask.

‘Nope,’ he answers firmly.

You take out the one pizza that was left and place it so that he can eat if he was hungry. Then you contemplate going out to go make coffee, but your anxiety is too high. You just got back in bed.

He returns after a while and cuddles up to you. ‘Merry Christmas, Peach.’

You are not sure how you missed that. But you and Noah laid in bed talking about how much you both disliked Christmas, while not getting into the too dark areas. You ate the pizza cold.

He fell back asleep and you started watching a show he was busy with on his TV from the first episode, using a blanket you found in the cupboard with the sheets to keep warm.

‘Baby?’ he calls you. ‘They are texting me.’

‘Who?’ you ask.

‘Jolly and Jesse,’ he grimaces as he says it.

‘Oh,’ you say realising what it might mean.

‘They say that they have cooked a very basic Christmas meal, and invited us to join,’ he says. ‘How do we feel about this?’

‘Jesus,’ you say already wringing your hands. ‘I don’t want to. But just because I am scared. I don’t want to be rude. And what if they ask me stuff, Noah?’

‘Please take a breath,’ he says in his calming tone. ‘You know I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.’

You inhale deeply. ‘I know.’

‘I can just go get us each a plate?’ he suggests.

‘That would be so mean,’ you frown.

‘They’d understand,’ he says.

You look at him with dread. ‘Just tell me what I say when they ask me who the fuck I am.’

‘You’re my friend,’ he shrugs. ‘After that I’ll kick them under the table or give them the look. In fact, I’m texting them now.’

‘No, what are you going to say?’ you ask, grabbing his wrist.

‘Just that they must leave you alone. Keep the conversation light and casual,’ he says.

You hide your face in your hands. ‘That sounds terrible.’

‘Is there something you’d prefer? Like what do you want me to say?’ he asks.

‘I can’t think of anything that doesn’t make me sound like a whore,’ you say defeatedly. ‘But, then that’s what they think,’ you start processing it. ‘What business is it of mine what they think?’

He laughs softly. ‘That’s the spirit.’

‘The fucking Christmas spirit. Where are my pants? Probably a bra,’ you turn and start looking for your clothes.

When the both of you are vaguely presentable and ready to head out, Noah says, ‘They think you are my girlfriend and that I am too shy to introduce you to them properly. They don’t think you’re a prostitute. So, just be yourself. Because you are lovely, and they will like you. They are also very nice people, you will like them.’

‘You tell me all of this right when I must go out there?’ you ask.

‘You shouldn’t have too much time to think about it. So here we go,’ he takes your hand and opens the bedroom door and he pulls you with him.

You follow along, feeling slightly nauseous and immediately the smell of food hits your nose. It smells very good. He drags you past the office. In the kitchen there is a bit of a mess, where clearly someone has been preparing a meal. Then in the living room, the small dining room table was decorated with a few Christmassy things like tinsel and candles. There was a large Christmas tree in the corner that you had not noticed when you rushed inside.

But also, there at the table were two men wearing Christmas hats, clearly already a few Christmas-themed drinks down, giggling while trying to decide how to aesthetically place the dishes they had prepared on the table. Christmas music was playing in the background.

Noah stared at them with a straight face, but you could see in his eyes how fond he was of his roommates. You felt yourself relax a bit. They were not sober, this was clearly just a fun opportunity for friends to have an excuse to bond.

‘Noaaaaaaah,’ Jolly, the taller man says. ‘Are you allowed any alcohol yet?’ he asks with an accent.

‘I don’t think so,’ Noah shrugs.

‘And you, my dear?’ Jolly turns to you, holding out his hand, which you take and then he leads you to a seat at the table. ‘Can I make you our newly invented Christmas cocktail?’

‘I’d love one, yes, please,’ you answer, sitting down.

Jolly hands you a drink that is red and then introduces himself, telling you how he is from Sweden and how he ended up here, living with his friends. He never asks about you, probably because of Noah’s instructions, and you are relieved.

Noah takes the seat next to you and then squeezed your hand under the table. ‘Can I have something else?’

‘I’m making you a virgin cocktail with some electrolytes in it,’ Jesse joins in, mixing the drink he was referring to.

Noah is handed a blue drink and very many ‘Merry Christmases’ were exchanged between all.

Noah giggles once he’s taken a sip. ‘What is in here?’

‘I can’t remember,’ Jesse said.

The meal was pleasant and joyous with lots of chatter that you struggled to follow, and you were kindly included in the conversation while no one asked you awkward questions. The food was really good, you especially enjoyed the baked potatoes. There was a lot of encouragement to eat more and more and have another drink. By the time you and Noah were heading back to his bedroom you were well fed and felt happy and good about the interaction.

Noah casually mentions that you can borrow more clothes from him.

‘I can stay but I have to go to work tomorrow. They will already be very suspicious about me being sick on Christmas day,’ you say. ‘I’ll get up early in the morning and go home to change there.’

Noah thinks for a moment, his eyes darting all over the room. You patiently wait for him. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he says almost shyly. ‘I can sleep over at yours? Then we go now? Tomorrow is Friday anyway.’

‘And while I am at work?’ you ask.

‘I’ll sleep. Watch some TV. It’s what I would do anyway,’ he says quietly. ‘But if you need a break, I also get it. Maybe I’ve been too presumptuous.’

‘I’d love to have you over,’ you smile at him. ‘Let me help you pack.’

Friday:

Noah was very tired by the time you’d made it to your place, so he was barely speaking while you helped him shower and he was asleep quickly once you were in bed. He did however keep reaching for you in the night.

That morning you slipped out of bed quietly and got ready for work, without Noah even stirring in his sleep. You left him instructions on the kitchen counter to grab some frozen waffles from the freezer when he woke up and to help himself to anything else he wanted.

You texted him a few times to make sure he was okay. He updated you on which of your snacks he was making his way through and which movie or show he was on. He started quite a few just to report back that it was boring and then he would start something new. You reminded him about his medicine.

You brought back ingredients to make your very favourite vegetable soup and a crusty French loaf, knowing some vegetables would do both of you good. Noah insisted on helping you, but he was very easily distracted and ended up chopping an onion and then asking you which song you wanted to hear next.

Sitting side by side on the couch under a big blanket, when you ask, ‘Can I ask you about something personal?’

He turns his head to look at you. ‘Yeah?’

‘You have helped me understand a few things about myself, about what I am getting from being submissive to you. But have you figured out why you are into this?’

He looks ahead of him while he thinks. ‘I am in therapy, so, yes I have.’

‘Oh?’ you say, not asking him to share just in case he doesn’t want to.

‘I didn’t grow up with stability. I grew up with strict religious rules. I constantly felt like I was not wanted, like I was a burden on every adult who had to look after me. I have a need to be control. I have a need to create the stability that I didn’t have growing up,’ he says all of this very matter-of-factly.

You take it all in for a moment. ‘In some ways, even being submissive could help some of those. Have you thought about that before?’

‘I have,’ he nods. ‘Maybe that’s why I’m not hardcore, you know?’

You feel emotional. ‘It sounds like you need someone to take care of you a little bit.’

He smiles while still looking down at his lap. ‘Yeah, sometimes I really do.’

‘That makes me so sad,’ you whisper.

He looks at you now. ‘You realise you take care of me, don’t you? That our arrangement is me having my needs met also.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You take care of me, in so many ways,’ he states. ‘I need you just as much as you need me.’

Chapter 17

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #dragoncopper #nutmeg #d/s relationship #dom/sub

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mothman-writes · 5 days ago

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fanfic writers are nothing without fanfic readers, so thank you to everyone who reads, reblogs, and leaves little comments and tags <3 even if we / i say “we write for ourselves,” deep down it’s your support and love that keep us going. so, to the loyal rebloggers, the blogs that exist just to enjoy stories, and those who write and read; you’re the heart of this community.

readers who put in the work to appreciate us writers don’t always get enough recognition, but i hope you know that you really do make fanfic worth it and even more fun to create, and i am endlessly grateful for you <3

#general

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mothman-writes · 28 days ago

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💕

Nutmeg Chapter Thirteen

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner.

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4897

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 14

WARNINGS: cockwarming, fingering, riding, light anal play, butt plug, prone, light possessiveness (let me know if I need to add something.)

Tuesday:

The first Tuesday meeting had you strangely nervous again for reasons you couldn’t place. Noah had told you that there was no need for kneeling on Tuesdays. Tuesdays were more casual. When he showed up with a white plastic bag filled with chow mein and warm smile it put you at ease quickly. The two of you sat cross-legged on the couch eating dinner and telling each other about their week.

After dinner, Noah said that he wanted to talk a little bit. You got a knot in your stomach. Why did you always assume it was going to be something bad?

‘What do you need from me tonight?’ he asked. ‘As your Dom?’

‘I need you to tell me that what you want to talk about is not something bad,’ you answered immediately.

He shook his head. ‘It’s not something bad.’

‘Okay,’ you said relieved.

‘Tell me, baby,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

‘I just need you close for a little bit?’ you asked. You were not really sure what you needed exactly.

‘Of course,’ he said, as he put the empty boxes to the side as he turned to sit normally on the couch. ‘Here,’ he patted his thighs.

You got closer uncertainly.

‘Sit on my lap, Peach,’ he made himself clear. ‘Facing me, I want to see you.’

You felt awkward and strange at first. But then he immediately made himself comfortable by placing his hands on your hips like that is where they belong.

‘Bring your hips closer to mine,’ he said and you moved around until it felt good. He was hard.

You tried to ignore it, unsure of how to handle it on a Tuesday. ‘What are we talking about?’

‘The agency contacted you, right?’ he asked, and you could tell he was trying to ignore his cock.

‘They did,’ you answered. ‘You are hard, Noah.’

He smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Do you need me? Because otherwise we just ignore that.’

‘I always need you,’ you answered. ‘But I am not allowed to cum.’

‘No, preferably not,’ he pouted a little. ‘What if I you just cockwarm me? How would you feel about that?’

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ you answered eagerly.

‘Still no cumming, baby. But we can be close like that while we talk,’ he explained as he made eye contact. ‘I don’t want this to upset you, though.’

‘Why would it upset me?’ you asked.

‘Because I would have to pull out of you without an orgasm to soothe you,’ he explained.

You thought for a moment. ‘That does not sound ideal, but can we try?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Take off your bottoms.’

He pulled his pants down mid-thigh, and then held himself ready for you to sit on. You climbed back into his lap, this time connecting your bodies as you slowly sat down again. The both of you tried to hold back too much of a reaction, but you felt him twitch and you are sure he felt you squeeze him.

‘No hips, baby,’ he said. ‘I will not make it.’

You made sure you sat still, instead rested your head on his shoulder while his hands were back your hips.

‘So, we have to go for medicals again this week,’ he said, talking about the agency again. ‘When is your appointment?’

‘Tomorrow,’ you answered. ‘They said we may not go on the same day.’

‘No, it’s so that we don’t witness the other’s reaction and to make sure we are honest,’ he tried to explain. ‘We will receive results before our meeting on Friday.’

‘Three months in,’ you said. ‘What are they testing for?’

‘Sexually transmitted diseases, obviously. And then just a few general health things. Mostly sexual health. It’s to determine if everything is healthy and whether everyone is being treated well, you know. No damage is being done,’ he said implying a lot.

‘Oh,’ you hadn’t thought of that. ‘That’s good, I guess.’

‘Yeah, sometimes people go really far with these types of things,’ he said. ‘And while a lot of it is consensual, the agency makes sure it’s all above board. If there is a lot of physical signs of rough play, a psychologist is also there to make sure that it has not turned into abuse.’

You thought that over. ‘What if the abuse is not physical?’

‘You are asked if you want or need psychological help at every medical,’ he said. ‘They really try to make sure everyone is safe.’

‘Do you get the results?’ you asked.

‘We receive each other’s,’ he said. ‘Transparency, it forces the other one to know if everything is still safe.’

‘I have kept our promise,’ you said. ‘I have only been with you.’

He hugged you closer. ‘I know, baby. Me too.’

Before he left that evening, he was kissing you so deeply while he was pulling out of you, trying to distract you. And he kept kissing you long after.

While it still left you feeling wanting, you felt in your body that he had been inside you while you were lying in bed. The talk and the physical closeness were very comforting. He still called you when he got home and made sure you were doing alright.

Friday:

When Noah enters your house, you feel instant relief. You have a physical and emotional response to his presence that does not surprises you anymore. But it all felt stronger this time, deeper.

You could tell that he sensed something was different. He had a small frown when he kissed you as a greeting. His response was to take your hands, pull you up, kiss your forehead and lead you to your bed.

‘I missed you more this week,’ he says. ‘Even though we saw each other. How does that work?’

You climbed up and settled into his side where he was waiting with his arm raised. ‘I know, right? I was wondering about that too.’

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want to still see you every Tuesday, though,’ he said with a pout wiggling himself as close to you as he could get.

‘No, me either. I thought that maybe we should skip it, but that just made me sad,’ you added feeling like you couldn’t get enough of how his neck smells.

‘Alright, but we don’t want to be sad. No sad stuff today?’ he says with a hopeful little lilt to his voice.

‘Okay,’ you say. ‘But then we need to stop talking about how much I missed you.’

‘We can do that,’ he says. ‘I brought the toys? We can try them? But honestly? We can just chill too. Whatever you want, baby.’

You bury your face in his chest. ‘We can do it all.’

He gives a small giggle. ‘Yeah, we can.’

You look up at him shyly. ‘I am scared of trying the plug.’

He frowns but his eyes soften. ‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that.’

‘I know. But I ticked that on the list. And now the reality is a little more daunting that I expected,’ you admit.

‘You are allowed to change your mind,’ he says and he hugs you closer. ‘Tell me why you are scared, though. Talk to me.’

‘It’s my butt,’ you say with an expression on your face that says that was the only explanation he needed.

He laughs. ‘Your butt is cute.’

You blush and can’t think of how to reply.

‘I get it. It’s intimate and puts you in a vulnerable position,’ he nails it.

‘Mmm, yeah,’ you mumble.

‘Is it a hard no? Or do you want me to put you at ease and tell you what I had planned?’ he asks. ‘Either answer is completely fine.’

‘Can you try putting me at ease?’ you ask, climbing between his legs and resting your chin on his chest.

‘Alright, so what I had planned,’ he started, taking a big breath, like he was about to tell you some serious shit. ‘We start off getting you hot and needy and borderline incoherent with how turned on you are, how wet you are. An orgasm or two down.’ He plays with your hair. ‘Then I’ll tell you to get on your stomach, put a pillow underneath your hips.’

‘Okay, you can stop,’ you interrupt him. ‘I don’t want spoilers.’

He lowers his chin and raises his eyebrows.

‘I should have known you already had a plan for how to do that in a way I couldn’t resist,’ you smile at him. ‘But still, what if something happens.’

‘Like what?’ he asks.

‘You know what,’ you say feeling so embarrassed.

‘Well, baby,’ he tilts his head to the side, ‘This is not porn. So, if something happens, we deal with it really quick and move on. No big deal.’

‘Really?’ you ask.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to worry about that.’

‘But like,’ you start to try and explain. ‘I will be so embarrassed.’

‘I feel like there’s nothing your body can do that will freak me out. Your body is amazing and all its natural responses and functions are normal and beautiful,’ he says simply. ‘While you are with me, you never have to be embarrassed about anything.’

‘Wow,’ you respond softly. ‘That is such a nice way of looking at it.’

‘Would you be disgusted with me? If my body reacts to something we are doing?’ he asks.

‘No,’ you answer honestly. ‘I wouldn’t be.’

‘There you go,’ he says. ‘So, with all that being said, are you telling me you are back onboard with some very light anal play?’

‘With the plug for now, yes,’ you answer.

‘Got it,’ he smiles. ‘Any other concerns? I don’t want you to be anxious.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ you say.

‘Can I start making you cum then?’ he asks cheekily.

You nod shyly.

‘Please take off your underwear, I really want to taste you,’ he says. ‘I miss it so much.’

You slip off the underwear and he gently coaxes your legs open.

‘Did you receive my results?’ he asks, as he pushes his tongue right into you and then moans with his eyes closed.

‘I did,’ you gasp. ‘You are all clean.’ You buck your hips when he licks all the way up and sucks on your clit.

‘Good to hear,’ he says barely moving his face away from you. He then takes your clit between his teeth so carefully, but it was a new sensation and when you look down, he was looking at your face. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Surprisingly good,’ you answer honestly. ‘Hey, what did my results say.’

‘Can I bite you, gently, I’ll be so gentle?’ he asks.

‘Okay,’ you say. He basically just applies the slightest pressure and it sends wonderful sensations through your lower belly.

‘You were clean, too,’ he says. ‘You liked that, didn’t you?’

‘Mmm,’ is all you manage and then he starts doing that every now and then.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says encouragingly. ‘You react to me so beautifully.’ He starts touching with his fingers. ‘This little hole,’ he whispers. ‘This is just mine. No one else and nothing else gets to go inside of this little hole.’

His words were doing something to you. Your brain loved hearing that. You felt your body melt into him and your brain melt into his words.

‘So, when I slip a finger inside,’ he says softly while doing just that. ‘I love knowing that I’m the only one who gets to experience this warmth, this grip. My pussy to enjoy. Only mine.’

Nothing – your head was empty and you were swimming with his words and the feeling of him adding a second finger inside of you. You loved it. You did not feel shy or self-conscious. You were only experiencing what he wanted you to experience.

‘Look how my girl takes my fingers,’ he says.

You look at him and can only think how hot he looks, his hair falling over his face, his mouth open as his eyes are moving between his pussy and your face.

‘I’m going to go hard now, baby? You ready? I need you to cum on my fingers, okay?’ he says slowly, trying to make sure you are taking in what he says.

You nod, but couldn’t find words to say. When he starts fucking you with his fingers, you hear how wet you are, you feel intense pleasure. You feel like your body is reacting almost without your input. When the orgasm hits, you cannot control your head falling back, your hips lifting off the bed and your eyes rolling back. You think you were holding your breath. Your thighs want to close to prevent the feeling of too-much, but Noah caringly keeps them open as he lightly touches you through the feelings, dropping sweet kisses on your lower belly and inner thighs.

‘Good job, baby. So good,’ he praises you looking at you to make sure you were doing alright.

You felt like you were kind of floating and the only thing keeping you on the planet was Noah’s touches.

‘Can you give me another one?’ he asks, staying where he was.

‘I think so,’ you whisper. But you needed him closer to you. ‘Can you please?’

‘Please? What do you need?’ he asks, taking your hand and coming up, closer to you face and then he cups your cheek to help you focus. ‘Tell me?’

‘I just want you closer,’ you say, feeling like you were going to cry if he did not climb into your skin. ‘Please? I need it.’

‘Sure, baby,’ he kisses you sweetly. Then he sits back against the pillows. ‘Come sit here, in my lap. Then I can hold you close.’

You get on top of him as quickly as you can and bury your face in his neck and grip into him. It felt instinctual. He holds you and kisses you and soothes you with sweet words of praise that were not really registering in your brain, but it still felt nice. After a while, he guides himself into you and he lets you sit like that for a while, while he continues to pay attention to every part of you he could reach.

‘I need you to look at me, baby,’ he says. ‘Peach?’

You reluctantly pull back enough to look at his face. His stupidly pretty face. His brown eyes soft and unsure when he looks at you. But also, you could see that he cared so much, he wanted to do the right thing for you. And you know in that moment that he would give up what he wants in an instant to give you what you need.

‘Are you with me, baby?’ he asks softly, searching for your eyes that keep drifting to his lips. ‘I need you to tell me.’

You force yourself to look into his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m here,’ you say with small affirming nod. ‘I just want to be close to you.’

‘Thank you for telling me what you need,’ he answers and he runs his thumb slowly along your bottom lip. ‘What else can I do to make you feel better? How can I be closer?’

‘I want you,’ you start slowly. ‘I want you to cum inside while we hold each other close.’

‘We can do that,’ he affirms. ‘Slowly.’

And then the two of you, together, start a slow rhythm of movement. You bury your hand in his hair at the back of his head and he has both arms wrapped around your middle, keeping you close. He ducks down every now and then to kiss your neck, collarbone and breasts. You fight the urge to bite the muscle where his neck and shoulder meet and kiss and lick there instead.

The emotions in you were fighting with each other. One part of you felt so good and relaxed. The other part was already upset that this would end. Already mourning the loss of this intimacy.

When he circles your clit with his thumb, the rhythm picks up a bit of speed. ‘You don’t have to ask me anymore,’ he says. ‘Can you cum with me? I am close, baby and I want us to feel it together.’

‘Tell me when,’ you answer your voice small. You wanted to orgasm so much, but then it would end.

‘My perfect, Peach,’ he says and he is frowning again. ‘Almost, baby.’

This time, you brush his hair back from his face because you needed to see him. He makes eye contact and tells you to cum just when he does, and you follow. But you were looking at his slack mouth and closed eyes as he loses control. He thrusts deeply and stays there as much as possible while both of your hips were reacting to the pleasure. His holds you even closer, almost desperately closer.

While watching him, you feel yourself slowly float back into your body, you watch him twitch and sigh and then he rests his forehead on your chest and he breathes and breathes.

Almost as a thank you and almost like you thought he might ask, you lift yourself off him, trying not to hate the feeling too much, and then you very carefully clean him off. It was an act of gratitude and adoration as your touches were light but full of care. You kiss the head and then climb back up to kiss his forehead and hold him close. ‘Thank you, baby,’ you whisper to him.

He holds you so close, but he keeps quiet. Your head on his shoulder while you trace tattoos and you stay like that as both of your breathing slows down. You try to think of nothing but the steady heartbeat you could feel.

After a small little eternity, of touches and kisses and tenderness, he stirs.

‘I think it’s time, Peach. Are you still relaxed?’ he asked.

You lick your lips to try and get some semblance of yourself back while you breathe. ‘Yes, let me just take a sip of water, please?’

‘Of course,’ he reaches for the water on the bedside table and hands it to you and you take a few grateful sips. ‘Do you feel better?’

‘Mmm,’ you say. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are you ready to try the plug?’ he asks. ‘Or are we finished?’

‘No, I’d like to try,’ you answer.

‘Here, let me grab you a pillow,’ he takes one and folds it. ‘Lay down with this under your hips, baby, please.’

You do as you are told and make sure that you are comfortable. You hear him moving around, and you just try to relax. Your brain was fuzzy and it was nice.

‘Push your hips back just a little, so you are open a little bit more?’ his voice calm and sweet. ‘Good, just like that. I have that fancy lube I got here. I am going to put some on you, it might be a little cold.’

‘Okay, thank you for the warning,’ you say softly.

‘Here it goes, you ready?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you say, really not knowing what to expect. Then you feel the cool substance on your skin. It felt like a lot.

‘I am going to just press the plug against you gently. We see how it feels first? Are you still fine?’ he has one of his large hands on your lower back and his thumb is moving back and forth in a comforting gesture.

‘I’m nervous, but I am fine, still, yes,’ you answer him.

You feel him touching the plug to you and it felt like he was spreading the lube around a little. ‘Can I put a little bit of pressure? You tell me if I need to stop.’

‘Yes, but please, slowly,’ you ask.

‘Yes, baby. Remember to push back just a little bit, don’t pull away,’ he reminds you.

You feel the pressure, it gets more and more and it’s a little uncomfortable but not really painful. Then it slips into you and the uncomfortable feeling changes. ‘It’s in?’

‘It’s in,’ he confirms and then he is right next to you kissing your cheek. ‘How does it feel? Is it painful?’

‘Um, I am still processing, I think,’ you answer honestly. ‘I won’t lie, it does hurt a little, but it’s not bad.’

‘Should I take it out?’ he asks, concern on his face.

‘No, let me just feel it a little bit?’ you say.

‘Relax, baby. All of your muscles, go limp and floppy,’ he kisses your cheek and eyebrow, his one hand on your lower back still.

‘This is such a small plug,’ you say. ‘I cannot imagine something bigger right now.’

‘You don’t have to. Remember to feel it, experience it. Don’t analyse,’ he reminds you with a small smile on his pretty lips.

‘Yes, okay,’ you take a deep breath, push back a little bit and try to relax as much as possible.

‘It looks really pretty. The gem between your lovely cheeks,’ he is still smiling at you.

You smile back because he is just so fucking beautiful. You smile at how ridiculous the situation is. ‘Thank you?’ you say and then laugh. ‘Oooh, laughing makes it feel strange.’

‘Breathe,’ he encourages gently. ‘Tell me how its feeling? Not just physically, but what is it making you feel?’

‘Okay, um, I feel self-conscious. But if I try to think beyond that,’ you have your eyes closed as you try to articulate what a butt plug feels like. ‘It feels intimate and there is something arousing about it.’

‘Hmmm,’ he is so calm. ‘Arousing in how it feels? Or arousing because you are being vulnerable with me?’

‘Both, but it’s more you,’ you say wishing he would get a little closer.

‘How is the pain?’ he asks.

You think a moment. ‘It’s less painful when I relax, and the gem outside is also hurting me a little bit, I think.’

‘How are you feeling about the pain? Is it a turn off? Does it add something to the experience?’ he asks.

‘It’s not a turn off,’ you start trying to not think too deeply. Just be honest in how you feel now.

‘How would you feel if I make you cum with it still inside?’ he asks.

‘Okay,’ you agree.

‘Stay just as you are,’ he says and then he disappears and you feel him straddle your thighs. ‘It looks so fucking pretty, Peach. Can I take a photo? I want to show you.’

‘What?’ you turn around a little.

He laughs at your reaction. ‘I cannot tell you how many times that thought has crossed my mind.’

‘Really?’ you are still shocked.

‘Oh yeah,’ he is squeezing your upper thighs almost absent-mindedly. ‘I have thought that a photo of my cock in your pussy as my lock screen would be so hot, if not very problematic.’

You giggle at the thought. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I don’t have to. Or you can tell me to delete it afterwards if you don’t like it. Whatever you want, baby.’

‘Okay,’ you agree. ‘I have sent many inappropriate as fuck photos to you, I guess this isn’t really different.’

‘I have all those photos saved in a special folder,’ he says, getting up to get his phone. Then he comes over to show you how he has hidden the folder and then he shows you all the photos you have sent as part of your homework. ‘I keep them safe.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘I didn’t think you kept them, to be honest.’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘That is my little pussy, Peach. I love looking at it.’

You really did not know what to say. The contrast of it being crass and adorable was a lot to handle.

‘Can I please wait until I am inside you before I take the photo?’

‘If you send it to me afterwards? I think it’s about time I have some photos of you also,’ you say meaning it.

‘Deal,’ he says and then is straddling your again, taking his time to make himself comfortable. ‘Push back a little,’ he says. ‘Yes, like that. Oh, fuck you are so beautiful.’

This was new as well so you just put your forehead down on the bed and wait to see what this would feel like. He slowly pushed the head of his cock against you and then inside. He is careful and gentle as he works himself inside. He groans in relief when he is all the way in. Then he stays still and waits. It felt good. New and strange, but good. ‘You can move, Noah.’

‘How does it feel, though? You alright?’ he says sounding breathless.

‘Yeah, it feels good. Different. How does it feel for you?’ you ask.

He starts thrusting, still being careful and gentle. ‘This feels fucking amazing. You feel amazing. So good.’

You were not sure whether it was the new position of the addition of the plug, but he was right, it felt amazing. ‘You can put your weight on me.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he says.

‘You won’t. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,’ you encourage him. Then he has both hands on your lower back to balance himself as he thrusts into you with more powerful movements of his hips.

‘That alright?’ he asks.

‘Mmmm, I’m good,’ you answer back, struggling to process all the sensations.

‘I love being inside you,’ he says softly. ‘Is the plug bothering you? Do you want to cum with it inside or is the pain of it going to make it too difficult to cum?’

He does not stop while he is asking these complicated questions and your brain is hardly functioning. ‘Um,’ you start. ‘Leave the plug. It’s fine.’

‘Can I go a little harder?’ he asks, desperation in his voice.

‘Yes, please,’ you say, pushing back against him a little bit again and then he is almost pounding into you and all you can do is absorb it all. The pressure builds and it feels a little strange, but really good still. ‘I’m close,’ you warn him.

‘Whenever you’re ready, baby,’ he grunts. ‘I know that as soon as you cum around me, I am going to join you.’

‘Please, Noah,’ you say, even though you don’t even know what you are asking for. ‘Oh it’s going to happen.’

‘Let it happen, it’s alright,’ he says.

His hips pushing into you, his cock consistently pressing into you at an angle that was really working, the pressure of the plug – you came, you were shaking and pushing back against him. You heard him saying your name in a sob and then he had his forehead resting between your shoulder blades as he came too.

‘Keep still, I am taking a photo of this. This is the moment,’ he says as he leans back. You hear the sound of the camera app and then he says, ‘I am going to take the plug out. You ready?’

You were still shaky. ‘Please be careful.’

‘Of course,’ he says. You feel him grip it and then he starts pulling very gently. ‘It’s going to feel a little weird, just keep relaxed.’

‘I’ll try,’ you say softly, a little nervous.

He pulls and it feels very strange and then it is suddenly free, out. ‘There you go,’ he says sweetly.

‘Is it okay? Everything fine?’ you ask.

‘Yeah, I am wrapping it in some tissue,’ he says so calmly. ‘I’ll wash that a little later. But to be clear, there’s nothing. Do you want me to apply something to the area?’

‘What?’ you ask.

‘I have wet wipes nearby, and I have some balm specifically for this? To soothe,’ he says. ‘I really want to make sure you’re okay.’

‘Can we shower first, and then that would be nice?’ you say.

‘That sounds perfect,’ he answers. ‘I am pulling out, so I can go start the water. Stay right there, I’ll come get you.’

The way he worries and takes care of you was so endearing and made you feel even more secure in the fact that you trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t push too far. He helps you wash, kissing you and hugging you, adding comforting touches.

Back in bed, he puts you back on the pillow and then he applies the balm himself leaving a little kiss on your lower back before he takes you in his arms and holds you.

‘Noah?’ you say softly.

‘Baby?’

‘You are so sweet to me. Thank you,’ you say. You were feeling emotional, and cherished and all of the things that Noah just managed to stir inside you and you had trouble expressing just how much it meant.

He kisses the top of your head. ‘You deserve nothing less than this. You did so well, I am so proud of you.’ He waits a while before he asks, ‘Is this something you’d be interested in again?’

‘It felt good, but I don’t think I’d want this too often. But we can do it again. You made it all okay,’ you mumble.

‘Got it,’ he says. ‘Thank you for trusting me.’

His foot searches for the collar around your ankle and then stays right there.

Chapter 14

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #dragoncopper #nutmeg #d/s relationship #dom/sub

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mothman-writes · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter Eight: Interrupted - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This contains 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Things heat up as tension between Noah and Talia begins to grow, but they can't seem to get a moment alone.

Warnings: Sexual tension, interrupted sex, semi-public sex, oral (m! receiving), bathroom sex, dry humping, non-penatrative sex, mutual pining, mutual orgasms, stolen moments, desperate sex, teasing, panties.

Word Count: 5,344

Taglist: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Eight: Interrupted

One

Noah Sebastian

December 2nd, 2022

When Noah wakes up on December second, there are three things he notices in the hazy space between sleep and consciousness.

First, he notices the warmth of Talia's breath fanning against his neck, where her face is buried like she's trying to burrow into his skin. Each exhale sends a tiny shiver down his spine, and he has to fight the urge to shift closer — an instinct that's become as natural as breathing since they stopped pretending this was casual.

He notices the scent of her shampoo — lavender and honey — second, mixing with the lingering smell of hotel soap and something uniquely her that he can't name but would recognize anywhere. It's become his favorite way to wake up, better than any alarm clock or coffee.

And last is what really confuses him: the weight of someone else's body beside him, taking up far more space than Talia's slight frame should account for.

His brown eyes snap open, squinting against the pale morning light filtering through cheap hotel curtains. He turns his head carefully, trying not to disturb Talia, and settles only slightly when he finds Nick passed out next to him. His best friend is sprawled on his back, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes, mouth slightly open as his soft breathing mingles with the rest of the room's occupants.

The rest of the room's occupants.

Noah's gaze travels further, taking in the disaster zone their hotel room has become. Folio is curled up in the armchair like a cat, still wearing yesterday's clothes, while Jolly has claimed the entire length of the couch, his long legs dangling over the arm. There are empty pizza boxes stacked on the dresser, energy drink cans scattered across every surface, and someone's guitar propped against the wall.

When had that happened? The last thing he remembers clearly is getting back from the venue, Talia's hand in his, both of them finally ready to have the alone time they'd been craving all day. But somewhere between walking through the door and now, it seems like the entire band had decided to have an impromptu sleepover.

Noah nudges Talia awake gently, his thumb tracing small circles on her shoulder blade through the soft fabric of the t-shirt she'd stolen from him. He feels her lashes flutter against his skin like butterfly wings, the sensation so delicate it makes his chest tight with something he's still learning to name.

He pulls her a little closer on instinct when he hears her hum softly, the sound vibrating against his throat as she mutters something incoherent into his collarbone. Her voice is rough with sleep, all honey and gravel, and it does things to him that probably aren't appropriate given their current audience.

"What was that, doll?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper to avoid waking the others.

Talia lifts her head slightly to look at him through heavy lids, her hair a beautiful disaster of dark waves against the white pillowcase. Her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and there's a crease on her cheek from where she'd been pressed against him, but she's never looked more beautiful.

"'M so cold," she murmurs, already burrowing back into the warmth of his chest before he can respond.

Noah glances around at their unexpected roommates again, then back down at Talia, whose fingers are now fisted in his shirt like she's afraid he might disappear. A laugh bubbles up in his chest — soft and incredulous and tinged with the kind of fond exasperation that comes with being in a band that treats boundaries as suggestions rather than rules.

He nudges her again, “Roll over and I’ll spoon you.”

Talia does as he asks quicker than he expects at her stage of awakeness, with such obedience it makes him throb in his sweatpants. He bites back the words good girl that sit on his tongue.

Slowly, he wraps an arm around her waist and shifts impossibly closer, curling around her protectively. He’s aware of how hard he is — morning wood — and tries desperately not to press into her too much.

Talia melts into the bed, pulling the covers higher over them as she presses back into him, her back against his chest, her ass tauntingly close to him.

And then she starts rolling her hips back into him. Slow, torturous movements that make him bite his lip and bury his face into her shoulder.

Noah’s hips start moving on instinct, every part of him seeking friction now. He loves how the curve of her ass fits perfectly against him, craves more of it. His hand moves to grip her hip, pulling her hips back into his.

He nips at her earlobe gently as he moves to whisper in her ear, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Talia opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, the door opens. Both their hips still as Matt comes around the corner, something like exasperation written on his face.

“So that’s where everyone is,” He mutters, scanning the room. “Alright, ladies, it’s go time. You have press in thirty.”

Jolly shoots up from the couch, suddenly awake, “Dude, what the fuck? Why didn’t you wake us sooner?”

Matt shrugs, like the answer is obvious, “I couldn’t find you three. I should have known you’d be in here.”

The room erupts into chaos as Nick groans dramatically and rolls off the bed, nearly taking half the sheets with him. Folio stretches like he's trying to touch the ceiling, joints popping audibly, while everyone starts the familiar dance of grabbing phones, checking the time, and muttering about needing coffee.

"Thirty minutes?" Nick's voice cracks with disbelief as he stumbles toward the bathroom. "Matt, you're a sadist."

"I'm efficient," Matt counters, already moving to kick Folio's feet off the armchair. "There's a difference. Now move your asses."

Noah feels Talia tense against him as the reality of their situation hits — they're pressed together, both still aroused, surrounded by his bandmates who are now very much awake and very much aware of their positioning. Her fingers tighten on his forearm, and he can practically feel her mortification radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Jesus, get a room," Jolly mutters good-naturedly as he stretches, catching sight of them still tangled together under the covers.

"This is our room," Noah shoots back, but there's no real bite to it. His voice comes out rougher than intended, still thick with want and frustration.

Talia finally shifts away from him, the loss of contact making him want to pull her right back. She sits up, running her hands through her messy hair, and Noah has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth down the pieces sticking up at odd angles. Even disheveled and embarrassed, she's gorgeous.

"I should go get ready," she says quietly, avoiding his eyes as she slides to the edge of the bed.

Matt glances between them, something knowing flickering across his face. "Actually, Talia, you've got time. Press is just for the guys today — radio interviews and some promotional stuff. You can sleep in if you want."

The irony isn't lost on any of them. Now that they have no choice but to be apart, suddenly she has all the time in the world.

Noah watches her stand, his shirt hanging loose on her frame, hitting her mid-thigh in a way that makes his mouth go dry. She looks back at him over her shoulder, and the promise in her eyes makes his heart race all over again.

"I'll be here when you get back," she says simply, but the words carry weight — like a continuation of everything they started last night, everything that got interrupted this morning.

As the guys file out, grabbing clothes and grumbling about the early hour, Noah steals one more moment. He catches Talia's hand as she passes the bed, pulling her down for a kiss that's soft but charged with everything they can't finish right now.

"Later," he whispers against her lips, and it sounds like both a promise and a plea.

"Later," she agrees, and Noah forces himself to let her go, knowing that with their luck, later might be a lot longer than either of them wants to wait.

Two

By noon, Noah is over it.

Over the press run. Over the back-to-back interviews with the same half-hearted questions — What inspired the album? What challenges did you face producing it from home? As if any of it could be summed up in neat sound bites. As if he hadn’t answered those questions a hundred different ways in a hundred different cities already.

He’s tired. His stomach has been growling for the last hour, and his throat carries the familiar, raw sting of tour exhaustion — the kind that creeps in just before it takes you out completely. He wants a hot shower, a dark room, and Talia.

God, he misses her.

Misses the sound of her laugh — that soft, throaty sound that bubbles up from her chest when something genuinely amuses her. Misses the way her nose scrunches when she smiles wide, like she can’t help how happy she is. Misses the way her presence settles something in him he didn’t even realize was unsettled.

As the final interview drones on, his mind wanders in spite of himself. What is she doing right now?

Part of him — the part that's been quietly desperate for her all damn day — hopes it’s something dirty. Hopes she’s tangled in the sheets, hips grinding against the bed, whispering his name like a secret she wants to savor.

But he knows her.

Knows she’s probably curled up under the covers, editing photos or watching some comfort show she’s seen a dozen times. Maybe texting Harper, or slowly flipping through that dog-eared book she picked up in Portland, the one she said she wanted to read but hadn’t had time for.

Now she does. Now that he’s gone.

As soon as the interview ends, Noah is out of his seat, out the door — but not without a flash of Southern charm and a polite thank-you to the host. He’s still himself, even when his patience is fraying.

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally stepping back into the quiet of their hotel suite — the one-bed upgrade they’d managed to score last-minute. The air smells like her, like lavender and hotel linen and something soft he doesn’t have a name for. The music drifting through the room is low and familiar — Mazzy Star. Fade Into You.

His heart aches a little. Of course it’s that one.

He rounds the corner and finds her exactly as he pictured her — tucked into bed, legs folded under her, laptop practically pressed to her face. She’s wearing one of his hoodies, sleeves swallowed by her hands, hair messy from whatever bun or braid had long since fallen apart.

“Hi, stranger,” he says softly, his voice rough with fatigue but threaded through with warmth. The smile he gives her is one he doesn’t offer anyone else — soft, lopsided, worshipful.

Talia looks up, and her whole face changes. Her mouth curves, slow and sweet, like she’s been waiting just for him. “Hey yourself.”

“I brought food,” he says, holding up the takeout bag like an offering. “Mac and cheese.”

She stares at him like he's just offered her the world on a silver platter. The laptop disappears in half a heartbeat, abandoned to the sheets like it's not worth half her monthly rent.

"Noah Sebastian," she breathes, already moving across the bed toward him with that fluid grace that never fails to undo him completely, "you beautiful, perfect man."

But then she stops just short of reaching him, head tilted like a cat who's spotted something particularly interesting. Her eyes have gone darker, pupils dilated, and there's something predatory in the way she's looking at him now. Hungry.

"Though…" The word drips from her lips like honey, voice pitched low and warm enough to make his pulse stutter, "do you really think food is what I'm craving right now?"

Noah's throat goes dry. He sets the takeout bag down with deliberate care, like it's made of glass instead of paper, then takes a step toward her. When he cups her face, his thumb finds the soft spot just below her cheekbone, and she leans into the touch like she's been starving for it.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmurs, voice roughened by exhaustion and want in equal measure. His thumb traces the curve of her lower lip, and she parts them slightly, just enough to make his breath catch. "You know that?"

She looks up at him through those impossibly long lashes, and the innocence in her expression is completely at odds with the way her hands are already moving to his belt loops, fingers hooking into the denim like she owns him.

"Is that a problem?" she asks, tugging him forward until he's forced to brace one knee on the mattress or risk falling into her completely.

The motion pulls a low sound from his chest — half groan, half surrender.

"God, no."

She rises up on her knees so they're suddenly chest to chest, the scent of her shampoo mixing with something uniquely Talia, something that makes his head spin. Her arms wind around his neck, and when she smiles at him — sultry and sweet and utterly adoring all at once — he thinks he might actually die right here in this hotel room.

"Good," she whispers against his mouth.

When he kisses her, it's with the desperation of a man who's been holding his breath all day. Soft at first, almost reverent, but then her teeth catch his lower lip and he's lost. She tastes like the peppermint tea she drinks when she's stressed, and underneath that, something warm and essential that he's been missing like a phantom limb.

The careful control he's been maintaining all day — through interviews and handshakes and polite small talk — finally snaps.

With one fluid movement, he's pushing her back against the pillows, swallowing her soft gasp as she lands. The sound goes straight through him. He's over her in seconds, one hand braced beside her head, the other gently capturing both her wrists and pinning them above her head.

"Noah — " she starts, but whatever she was going to say dissolves into nothing when he kisses her again, harder this time, all pretense abandoned. She tastes like coming home.

Her legs wrap around his waist like they belong there, heels digging into the small of his back as she pulls him down. When he rocks against her, feeling the heat of her even through layers of fabric, she makes this small, desperate sound that nearly undoes him completely.

His mind fractures into a thousand different wants. He could keep her pinned exactly like this, work her apart with nothing but his fingers until she's trembling and breathless beneath him. Could tease her for hours, bringing her right to the edge again and again until she's so wound up she can't think straight, can't do anything but feel. Could bury himself in her — slow and deep and desperate, like he's been wanting to do since the moment he walked through that door.

But then she makes that sound again — half whimper, half plea — and every coherent thought evaporates.

His hips roll into hers again, deliberate and slow, dragging a gasp from her lips that he feels all the way down to his bones. Her back arches off the mattress, chasing the friction, and he does it again. And again. Each movement sends heat spiraling through him despite the maddening layers of denim and cotton still between them.

"Noah—" His name falls from her lips like a prayer, broken and breathless.

He can feel her through his jeans — the damp heat of her, the way she's already soaked through whatever she's wearing under his hoodie. It's driving him out of his mind.

"Take your jeans off," she gasps, rolling her hips up to meet his next thrust, desperate and hungry and completely undone. "Please, I need—" The words dissolve into a moan as he grinds against her again, harder this time.

The need clawing at him becomes impossible to ignore. He releases her wrists reluctantly, immediately missing the way she looked pinned beneath him, and his hands move with practiced efficiency — belt buckle sliding free with a soft metallic sound, button popping open, zipper rasping down. He only pushes the denim down far enough to free himself, his erection straining against the thin cotton of his briefs, already dampened at the tip.

Before he recaptures her hands, his fingers find the hem of his hoodie. He pushes it up slowly, revealing inch after inch of soft skin until he finds what he's looking for.

Pink cotton. The same dusty rose shade that's been blooming across her cheeks since he walked through the door.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible.

His hands return to her wrists, pinning them above her head once more, but gentler this time—like he's holding something precious. When he settles back over her, the thin barriers between them feel almost cruel. The heat of her seeps through cotton and cotton, and when he rocks against her this time, she arches so beautifully he thinks he might lose his mind.

The sound she makes — part moan, part sob — goes straight through him.

He could get used to this view. Hell, he could worship it.

"Look at you," he murmurs against her ear, voice rough with wonder and want. "So perfect. So ready for me."

She turns her head toward his voice, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with need, and he knows he's completely, utterly lost. Whatever control he thought he had dissolved the moment she whispered his name like a prayer. Now there's only this — her beneath him, soft and warm and his, the rest of the world forgotten beyond these four walls.

He keeps that slow, devastating rhythm, each roll of his hips deliberate and merciless. The friction is exquisite torture — cotton against cotton, heat against heat, driving them both toward the edge with agonizing precision. Beneath him, Talia dissolves piece by piece, her composure unraveling like silk pulled too tight.

Her breathing fractures into desperate little gasps that match the rhythm he's setting. Her fingers flex against his grip on her wrists, not fighting but grasping, like she's trying to anchor herself to something solid as everything else falls away. All that sharp intelligence, that quick wit—it all narrows down to this singular, burning need.

"Noah." His name breaks from her lips like a sob, and the sound of it sends electricity racing down his spine.

He doesn't stop — can't stop. His own control is hanging by a thread, his hips beginning to stutter as heat builds low and urgent in his belly. It's been too long, and she feels too good, and the way she's looking at him like he's everything —

The release crashes over him without warning, white-hot and overwhelming. He buries his face in her neck, muffling his groan against her skin as he spills into his briefs, warm and sticky and completely worth the mess they'll have to deal with later.

For a moment, they stay suspended there — hearts hammering, lungs working overtime, the taste of salt and satisfaction heavy in the air between them.

Then gravity reasserts itself, and they collapse into each other like puzzle pieces finally finding their proper place. Her head finds the hollow of his shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Their legs tangle beneath the sheets until it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Sanctuary. That's what this feels like — not just the physical tangle of limbs, but the quiet aftermath, the way her breathing gradually syncs with his, the way the frantic edge of need settles into something deeper, warmer.

They stay like that as minutes tick by unmarked. As the Mazzy Star album loops back to the beginning. As the mac and cheese grows cold and forgotten on the floor.

Until eventually — inevitably — the world starts to creep back in. Phone notifications. Schedule reminders. The soft knock of responsibility at their door, patient but insistent.

But not yet. For now, there's only this: her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest, his lips pressed to her temple, and the rare, perfect stillness of having exactly what they need.

Three

The backstage area buzzes with controlled chaos — crew members hauling equipment, sound techs calling out levels, the distant rumble of fans already gathering outside the venue. But tucked away in the narrow corridor between the green room and the stage entrance, Noah has Talia pressed against the concrete wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other skimming the curve of her waist.

"We shouldn't be doing this here," she breathes against his mouth, but she's the one who pulled him into this alcove, fingers twisted in the front of his shirt.

"I know." He kisses her anyway, slow and thorough despite the time crunch, despite the fact that anyone could walk by and see them. He can't help himself — not when she tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely her, not when the afternoon is still humming between them like a live wire.

Her hands slide up his chest, and he feels the exact moment she melts into him, tension bleeding out of her shoulders as she gives in to this gravitational pull they can't seem to escape. The kiss deepens, turns desperate, and he's losing himself in the soft sound she makes when his thumb finds the sliver of skin where her shirt has ridden up.

"Noah Sebastian, what the hell—"

They spring apart like teenagers caught by parents, both breathless and flushed. Jolly stands at the mouth of the corridor, guitar slung over his shoulder, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

"Sound check. Now." Jolly jerks his head toward the stage. "Matt's already pissed because you were late, and if you miss your cue on Dethrone, he's going to lose his shit entirely."

Noah runs a hand through his hair, trying to look less like he was just devouring Talia.

“Two minutes.” Noah says.

“Now.” Jolly repeats, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that reminds Noah of a father.

Talia straightens her shirt, cheeks pink but chin lifted in a stubborn way he’s already memorized, “Go. I should probably be working too.”

“NOAH!” Matt’s voice booms from the stage, sharp with irritation.

“Fuck.” Noah leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Talia’s lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I know.”

He turns away then, hustling after Jolly in double time towards the wings. As he steps on stage, he throws a look over his shoulder to see Talia adjusting her lens a few feet a way.

Always there. Always ready.

Four

At most times, Noah would hate an equipment malfunction. That meant delays, it meant longer nights, it meant stress and chaos spiraling through every carefully planned moment of a show.

But tonight Noah finds this setback to be a blessing. Because this time, it means more time with her.

And who is he to complain about that?

The announcement had crackled through the venue's ancient PA system fifteen minutes ago—something about a blown fuse in the lighting rig, twenty-minute delay minimum. While Matt paced the hallway barking orders into his headset and the crew scrambled to fix whatever had gone wrong, Noah had found himself searching for the one person who could make waiting feel like a gift instead of a punishment.

He'd found her in the green room, camera abandoned on the battered couch, looking lost in the sudden stillness after hours of controlled chaos. The moment their eyes met across the cramped space, he'd known they were both thinking the same dangerous thing.

Now they're locked in the green room bathroom together, the flimsy door handle turned with more hope than confidence. It smells of industrial bleach and whoever's hairspray is still lingering in the stale air, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the way Talia's breathing has gone shallow and quick, the way her pupils are blown wide in the harsh fluorescent light that flickers intermittently above them.

Noah has her pinned against the door, his mouth moving along the line of her throat like he's trying to memorize the salt-sweet taste of her skin. The door rattles slightly under her weight, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that anyone walking by could hear it, could put two and two together. But then she makes this soft, breathy sound that goes straight to his cock, and rational thought dissolves entirely.

One of her hands is buried in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp in a way that makes him groan against her collarbone. The other has found its way past his belt, fingers dipping teasingly into the waistband of his pants, and the combination of her touch and the knowledge that they're stealing this moment makes his blood run molten.

"Let me take care of you," Talia whispers, her voice rough with want and barely contained desperation. Her fingers trace the line of his hip bone, so close to where he needs her most that his hips buck involuntarily.

And suddenly, the world tilts. Noah finds himself spun around, pressed against the door that moments ago held her captive, the cool metal against his back a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. Talia is sinking to her knees in one fluid motion, and the sight of her — eyes dark with lust and want, hair already mussed from his fingers — nearly undoes him before she even touches him.

She stares up at him like he's something sacred and sinful all at once, and when she catches her bottom lip between her teeth while fumbling with his belt buckle, chills race down his spine like lightning. The metallic clink of the buckle seems impossibly loud in the small space, echoing off the tiled walls.

His hands shake as he reaches down to help her, fingers clumsy with desperation and the knowledge that they're running on borrowed time. He can't tear his eyes away from her — not when his pants slide down his thighs with a whisper of fabric, not when the cool air hits his heated skin, not when his cock springs free, hard and aching and so desperate for her touch it's almost painful.

Talia wraps her hand around him, and the first contact makes his head fall back against the door with a soft thud. Her palm is warm, slightly rough from years of handling camera equipment, and she gives him a few slow, teasing pumps that have his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible, and her eyes flicker back up to his — dark and knowing and absolutely wicked. Then she takes the tip of him into her mouth, and Noah's entire world narrows to the sensation of her lips wrapped around him.

Her mouth is warm and wet and perfect, her lips like heaven as they stretch around him. The first gentle suction makes his knees nearly buckle, and he has to brace one hand against the door frame to keep from sliding down the wall entirely. The fluorescent light above them flickers again, casting intermittent shadows that make the moment feel stolen from reality itself.

Noah lets out a soft groan that he tries desperately to muffle, threading his fingers through her dark hair and guiding her further down. The silky strands slip between his fingers like water, and when she hums around him — a low, appreciative sound that vibrates through his entire body — his hips begin to move involuntarily.

She takes him deeper, her throat relaxing around him, and soon he's hitting the back of her throat with each shallow thrust. The wet heat of her mouth, the way her tongue works against the underside of his cock, the sight of her on her knees looking up at him through her lashes — it's too much, all of it too much.

He won't last long. Not like this. Not when every nerve ending is on fire, not when he can feel her moaning around him like he's the best thing she's ever tasted, like she's getting as much pleasure from this as he is.

And then they both hear it — voices in the green room, muffled but distinct through the thin bathroom door.

"...seen Noah?" one voice asks, and Noah's blood turns to ice water even as Talia's mouth continues its devastating work.

Another voice answers, clearer now, definitely Folio: "Probably off sticking his tongue down Talia's throat somewhere. They're so in love, it's disgusting."

The words hit Noah like a physical blow, not because they're wrong, but because they're so completely, terrifyingly right. His fingers tighten involuntarily in Talia's hair, and she pulls back just enough to look up at him, her lips swollen and slick, eyes wide with the same realization that's currently short-circuiting his brain.

They're caught between panic and arousal, between the very real possibility of discovery and the fact that neither of them wants to stop. The voices outside continue their casual conversation, completely unaware that the subjects of their teasing are mere feet away, hearts hammering and trying not to breathe too loudly.

Then there's a knock at the door — so loud and sharp it might as well be gunfire in the suffocating silence they've been drowning in.

The sound ricochets through Noah's skull like a physical blow. Talia jerks back instantly, releasing him with a soft, wet sound that makes his whole body shudder with unfulfilled need. She's on her feet before he's even processed what's happening, one hand smoothing down her hair while the other swipes at her lips — erasing the evidence of what they were just doing with practiced efficiency that somehow makes this feel both more real and more dangerous.

Noah's hands shake violently as he fumbles with his belt, his fingers refusing to cooperate while his heart hammers against his ribs like it's trying to escape. His pants feel foreign on his body, the fabric rough against oversensitive skin, and he has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from making a sound that would give them away completely.

"Yeah, just give me a second," he manages, and his voice comes out surprisingly steady despite the fact that his entire world just tilted sideways. There's a pause — eternal, suffocating — before footsteps retreat down the hallway, casual and unhurried, completely unaware of the chaos they've just interrupted.

The silence that follows feels different now. Charged. Electric with the ghost of what almost happened and the promise of what's still hanging between them, unfinished and desperate.

When Noah finally looks up, Talia is already watching him. Her lips are swollen and pink, her hair slightly mussed despite her efforts to smooth it, and there's something wild and untamed flickering in her dark eyes that makes his breath catch all over again. But it's the smirk that's slowly spreading across her face that nearly undoes him — wicked and knowing and absolutely unrepentant.

He feels that same expression pulling at the corners of his own mouth, dangerous and conspiratorial, like they're sharing the world's most delicious secret.

Two realizations crash into him simultaneously, with the force of cold water and lightning:

They've just gotten away with something so deliciously, recklessly wicked that his pulse is still racing from more than just interrupted pleasure.

And this — this stolen moment, this desperate hunger, this complete loss of control — it's only the beginning. Whatever's building between them isn't going to be satisfied by stolen minutes in bathroom stalls. It's going to consume them both, and Noah finds himself both terrified and thrilled by just how much he wants to let it.

---

So, a miracle has happened. We haven't left for our trip yet. I decided to post what I have of chapter eight last minute. I hope you enjoy, it's the filthiest thing I've written so far.

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #through the lens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x ofc #not quite enemies to lovers #slow burn #angst #fluff #noah sebastian smut

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mothman-writes · 1 month ago

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The emotional whiplash I got this chapter was beautiful ❤️

Nutmeg Chapter Twelve

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner.

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4520

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 13

WARNINGS: Noah's POV, some heavy subject matter, discussions of past (non-sexual) abuse, oral, cookies, piv, cum-play, cockwarming, Noah's thoughts, (let me know if I need to add something.)

‘Goddammit, you are beautiful,’ it falls out of my mouth without thinking.

There where she is kneeling on the floor, naked except for the black underwear, her gaze downward, she hunches her shoulders like she is trying to hide. Her mouth, however, says, ‘Hi, Noah,’ with a smile.

I do my usual when I fully step inside, while she waits patiently. I walk over to her and stand in front of her, then I bend down to kiss her cheek, ‘Hi, Peach. You doing alright?’

‘Fine, thanks. You?’ she asks, still not looking up, following instructions so well.

‘I’m fine, but I am so hard, baby. Can you take me out, please?’ I ask standing all the way up again, my tall frame towering over her.

‘I can,’ she smiles and as her hands come to the front from where she was holding them behind her back, the silver collar around her wrist catches my eye first and I feel my chest constrict a little bit. The physical reaction I have to seeing it is maybe a little concerning.

Then she reaches a hand inside my pants to feel for my cock, and then she pulls the pants down and then my boxers a little bit, until I am in her hand. ‘Please take care of me?’ I ask.

She glances up at my eyes briefly and then with a blush she nods. She kisses her lips, so gently, right to the tip, sitting up on her knees to reach comfortably. Her hand holds me steady and she kisses me on the ridge of my head, kisses along the thick vein. Then her tongue starts licking and she leaves wet kisses on me. She watches with fascination as a drop of precum forms and swells and right before it drips, she carefully catches it on the tip of a finger, which she then pops into her mouth.

The thing is, I am sure that she does not realise how fucking hot that was, because she does not look up to see my reaction, instead she sticks her tongue out to start taking the head on my cock into her mouth. She has a little frown of concentration between her eyebrows as her tongue touches the tip and swirls around. She hums quietly, I am not sure she is aware of it.

I rest my hand on the top of her head, just as a reminder that I am there.

When she starts to take me a little bit deeper, I can’t help but tell her, ‘That feels so fucking good.’

She pulls off to smile and take a few breaths. ‘Thank you,’ she says. Her hand pumps me slowly, her spit making movements easier. ‘May I touch your balls?’ she asks and she whispers like she is so embarrassed to ask.

‘Yes, of course,’ I say wondering what she had in mind.

‘Please tell me if I do something wrong,’ she says, still whispering. Tentatively she runs her fingers over my balls like she wanted to introduce herself slowly.

‘That’s good, you can sort of cup them in your palm to feel,’ I say and she does just that. It feels good and I squeeze my eyes shut and the sensations.

‘Can I put my mouth here?’ she asks.

I nod at her and she lifts my cock out of the way and she kisses first and then sucks so carefully. I buck my hips just a little. Then she proceeds to lick from the base of my cock, with a flat tongue, slowly going all the way up to the tip. ‘Holy fuck,’ I say because then she takes my cock into her mouth again as deep as she could.

I loved watching her figure it out, how she pushed herself, without much needed from me.

When she starts bobbing her head, while trying to keep me as deep inside as possible, I say, ‘I am very close, baby.’

‘Please cum in my mouth,’ she says and then takes me deep again. Then she cups my balls again and then I cum uncontrollably. I thrust into her mouth more than I meant to, and she gags. She swallows my cum and then pulls her head back to cough.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ I say and I sink to my knees in front of her. ‘I didn’t mean to go that hard.’ I let her cough, but I try to get her hair from her face so I can see her.

‘It’s okay,’ she says her eyes watering.

‘Are you alright?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she smiles through the cough and wipes her mouth. ‘Stop worrying.’

I cup her face in my hands and look at her, she is blinking rapidly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper kissing the corner of her mouth.

She kisses me back. ‘Was it okay?’ she asks.

I huff out a laugh while pulling my pants back up. ‘It was very good, so good that I couldn’t help thrusting too hard.’

‘I have been practicing,’ she says as she looks down. She blushes.

‘Oh?’ I ask having to think about that for a moment. ‘How have you been practicing?’

‘I wasn’t even going to tell you,’ she says like she regretted mentioning it to begin with. ‘Um, I have a toy that I am not allowed to use anymore, you know why.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I say already feeling my dick stir again. I put my hand on her thigh. ‘Because your pussy is mine.’

She looks up at me at my words. Her mouth slightly open. For a moment I see her mind go blank. For a few seconds she looks at me with submissive eyes.

I run my hand further up her thigh and give her a moment. ‘What did you do with the toy, Peach?’

‘I tried to learn to gag less. But it’s difficult,’ she says.

‘Oh baby,’ I say. ‘Come here,’ I pull her into a hug and she gladly pushes her face into my chest and hugs me back. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘I know,’ she mumbles. ‘But I get so needy during the week that I need something else. So, I tried that.’

I frown at her words and feel a deep feeling of worry. ‘What do you need during the week, baby?’

She takes a moment before she explains. ‘I don’t want to touch myself because it’s too difficult to control when I am not allowed to cum. I will fail. So, I try other things to try and lessen the need. I do my kneeling practice also.’

I process her words. ‘And does it work? Does it lessen the need?’

‘No,’ she laughs. ‘It usually makes it worse.’

‘Mmm,’ I hum. I let go of the hug and sit back and then take her hands and I hold them, resting on her thighs. ‘Can you explain to me what you mean by ‘needy’. When you say you get needy during the week.’

I can see she her trying to figure out how to say it. ‘I get really turned on so easily and then I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘Does it make you feel emotional when you feel like this or frustrated?’ I ask.

‘Emotional,’ she answers immediately. ‘I cry quite a lot.’

Oh no. She feels neglected. I feel my worry deepen and I feel guilty. I should have picked up on it. I should have noticed. ‘Peach, why didn’t you tell me, baby?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispers.

‘Alright, look at me please.’ I wait until she looks up, deep frown between her eyebrows, a slight pout on her lips. ‘If you are having feelings or opinions or any strong emotions about something that we are doing, you need to tell me. Please, baby?’

She nods. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t really think it was something worth telling.’

‘Alright,’ I take a big breath. ‘I can give you more ideas like the ones you came up with for homework to help you. I can also take the homework away, so that you can masturbate whenever you need to. Or we need to arrange more meetings.’

She looks at me and does not say anything.

‘Do you have a preference?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But I want to do what you want to do. I don’t want to be an annoyance to you.’

My heart clenches painfully and my lungs do not want to expand so I can inhale. I have a million responses swimming around in my mouth and I have to choose carefully. ‘Have I ever given you the impression that you were annoying me?’

‘No,’ she answered.

‘Baby, so where does that come from?’ I ask.

Her bottom lip trembles and tears flood her eyes so fast. Her breathing picks up speed to the point I am scared she is hyperventilating.

‘Please breathe,’ I beg her. I move as fast as I can to sit behind her and then I pull her back against my chest. ‘Sit comfortably, lean back.’ I put my right hand on her chest, right under her neck and apply pressure. ‘With me now.’ And I start the breathing exercises we have done together so many times.

She eventually slows down her breathing, but I still feel her hiccup every now and again.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I say softly into her ear. ‘But please know that I have not been annoyed with you for one single second.’

‘I think,’ she starts and she has to take a few breaths. ‘I’ve been doing research and I think it’s because I was shamed as a child whenever I needed something, when I asked for something.’

What on earth? ‘What do you mean, my sweet?’ I pull her even closer.

‘I am the eldest daughter. I was expected from such a young age to just have it figured out, to never make mistakes. If I asked for help or comfort, I always got a response that made me feel like I was so silly for needing it,’ her voice is thick and I can hear her crying through the words.

‘It breaks my heart to hear that,’ I say honestly.

‘I have a fear of coming across needy or vulnerable,’ she adds quietly.

‘When you say you were shamed, what do you mean?’ I ask.

‘I was told that I was overreacting. I was called names,’ she leans forward and covers her face with her hands and she sobs for a few seconds. ‘Oh my god, I am sorry.’

‘It’s alright, no need to apologise,’ I soothe her.

‘I make it sound like I was abused,’ she shakes her head.

‘Baby, listen to me?’ I ask. ‘Turn a bit so you can see me.’

She turns sideways and I pull her into me again.

‘That’s why you contacted the agency, isn’t it? You never had a fundamental need of yours met,’ I say gently. I feel her body jerk while she cries. ‘It’s why you have never ticked degradation on the list from the agency.’

She nods.

‘Were you ever physically punished as a child?’ I ask, afraid of the answer.

She nods again. ‘It didn’t happen often. But it was pretty bad when it did happen.’

‘Tell me?’

‘I was hit across my backside with something like a pipe. I would have bruises so dark they were almost black,’ she says it so softly like she was dying of shame.

I take a moment to take it all in. It explained a lot, I understood better. ‘I’m sorry, baby.’

‘I need a tissue, can I please get up?’ she asks.

‘Of course,’ I say and let her go. She slowly gets up and crosses her arms across her bare body and walk to the bathroom. I hear her blow her nose. I get up too and I watch her stand with her back turned to me, her shoulder hunched over a bit. My brain is buzzing with effort of thinking how best to handle this.

She turns around still trying to hide her body. Why does that make me so sad? ‘I’m sorry, I am finished crying now.’

I take my hoodie off and hand it to her. ‘You look like you are cold,’ I lie. She pulls it on quickly and I see her shoulders relax. I hold my hand out to her. ‘Come on.’ I lead her to the bed and pull the covers back and I get in and she follows. ‘You sit back against the pillows.’

She does as I ask. But I sit turned, facing her, one leg bent the other over hers.

‘Here is what I think you need,’ I start. ‘You tell me if I am wrong, alright?’

‘Okay,’ she nods.

‘Firstly, we add one meeting extra per week,’ I offer.

‘Okay,’ she whispers.

‘We carry on with texting, but every night I want you to call me. If we are both able, of course. But I want to talk to you before you go to sleep. Is that fine?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two new rules. You have to ask for something if you need it. Whatever it is.’

‘Okay.’

‘Peach,’ I say seriously. ‘Do you hear me? I don’t care what it is. It can be the craziest shit, you tell me what you need.’

She gives a small smile. ‘Okay.’

‘Lastly, if you ever feel emotional about something I’ve done, or asked of you, you tell me. I don’t ever want you to go through that alone. Let me simplify, if you are crying, you pick up your phone and you call me,’ I try to convey that I am so serious without sounding like I am threatening her.

‘Noah, I cry a lot,’ she says.

‘If you are crying about a puppy video on your phone, you can skip the call,’ I say.

She smiles again. ‘Okay, I understand.’

I gently take her jaw in my hand and turn her head towards me. ‘You are never allowed to let the thought that you might annoy me stop you from calling.’

I see her mind working. ‘Okay.’

‘Then, let’s just clear something up again. I love taking care of you. You never have to hide that you need me. Never,’ I try so hard make her hear how much I meant it.

‘I’m trying, Noah. I swear. It’s just such a deep instinct, that in the moment I cannot even imagine that it will go over well,’ she says and I see how she is holding back more tears.

‘I understand, baby. But I am here for that. It’s what I signed up for,’ I reply. ‘Promise me?’

‘I promise,’ she says with small voice.

‘Say it. Say all of it,’ I encourage.

‘I promise to tell you when I need you,’ she says shyly looking at me.

‘With no exception?’

‘Yes, with no exception,’ she says.

‘What do you need from me right now?’ I ask her.

‘I want to ask you if you could move the collar to my ankle. I don’t want you to think that I don’t love it, because I love it more than anything. But it gets in the way when I’m working,’ she says is all so quickly.

‘Alright, that’s no problem,’ I say already reaching. ‘Why didn’t you move it already?’

She holds on to it with her free hand though. ‘I want you to do it. I decided I will not take it off. It needs to be you.’

‘Let me, baby,’ I say gently pulling her wrist closer to me. ‘Were you scared to ask me?’

She nods quickly. ‘Not that you would be angry. Scared you would be hurt.’

I open the clasp and feel how warm the metal is from her body heat. Then she brings her ankle closer to me and I lift her foot until its in my lap. Then I put it on. ‘It looks just as beautiful here.’ I place my hand over it. ‘I am not hurt at all.’

She leans forward towards me and gives me a teary kiss. I feel her relief. I am overcome with so many things I want to say. So many things I wish I could instantly fix for her. Instead, I scoot closer to her so I can hold her in my arms.

‘Which day do you think will work best for our extra visit?’ I ask, trying to make the conversation just a little lighter, less sad.

‘Tuesdays,’ she says. ‘Roughly halfway?’

‘Yeah, that sounds great,’ I say. She could have suggested anything to be honest. ‘Listen, it does not have to be for sex. We can have sex, but we don’t have to.’

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But what do you mean?’

‘Maybe we just hold each other, maybe we eat dinner together, maybe we play games, maybe we fuck each other senseless,’ I say. ‘Remember that being my Sub is not just about sex. That is what I mean. Whatever you need. Whatever we feel like doing, is what we do.’

She smiles sweetly at that tilting her head up. ‘That sounds kind of perfect, though.’

‘It does,’ I agree.

‘Can we wait a little bit before we have sex tonight? I just want to get this icky feeling out of my system first,’ she asks, tracing a finger along the red cherry waves on my arm.

‘Definitely,’ I whisper kissing her temple. ‘What do you want to do?’

She is shy when she talks again. ‘I made cookie dough earlier and I never got round to baking. Do you want to help me?’

‘Oh my god, Peach. What kind of cookies?’ I ask.

‘Just plain shortbread cookies,’ she says sitting up a little bit. ‘But we can add sprinkles or whatever you want.’

‘I’d love to help you,’ I say meaning it.

It wasn’t long before we were in the kitchen, the oven heating up while she had me standing there with a cookie cutter in my hand. She was rolling out the cookie dough on the kitchen counter. She was still wearing only panties and my hoodie. There was some flour on my hoodie and some in her hair.

‘Try to press them out as close as you can,’ she says as she stands back.

‘Yes, baby,’ I say as I approach.

She comes closer with a cookie sheet and takes the ones I have cut out and arranges them. ‘You can put the sprinkles on top before we bake them.’

She patiently explains to me what to do and lets me put a ridiculous amount of sprinkles on the cookies. We stand near the oven while we wait for them to bake and soon, she is sitting on the counter while I stand between her legs and we are kissing. We kiss slowly and deeply and, in my kisses, I try to tell her that there is no place I’d rather be than here in her kitchen.

She pulls away suddenly and says, ‘It’s burning.’

Swiftly she grabs a dishcloth and removes the cookies from the oven. They were perfectly baked, it was some of the sprinkles directly on the baking sheet that started to burn a little. We eat a few hot. Then she packs half of the cookies in a container for me to take home.

She wanted to take a shower, so we did that. I washed the flour out of her hair and she washed my back, she loves doing that. When we were back in bed, teeth freshly brushed after the cookies, I ask, ‘Is the icky feeling gone? Or are we going to sleep cuddling each other?’

‘It’s gone,’ she says making eye contact with me.

‘Really, though?’ I ask.

‘Really,’ she says. ‘But can we sleep while cuddling after you fuck me?’

I snort out a laugh. ‘For sure. Open for me?’ I settle down between her legs. ‘Wider, baby.’ Her hips were already moving a little bit. She needed me. ‘Lift your legs let me take these off.’ Then I slip her clean underwear down and off her body.

‘My night dress?’ she asks. ‘Do you want it off too?’

‘Please?’ and I watch as she struggles to pull it off and over her head, exposing herself to me fully. I kick my boxers off and lay back down. I lean down to kiss her and she sighs softly like she was relieved. I rest on my elbows lowering myself so that we were chest to chest. Her warm skin soothing my soul. Lastly, I slowly push into her body. She gasps into my mouth mid-kiss and opens her hips for me so I can sink in even deeper.

‘Noah,’ she sighs again. ‘You feel perfect. You fit so perfectly.’

I kiss her again, because the words I wanted to say back would not be appropriate right now. I rock my hips slowly, making sure I stay as deep as I could. She lifts her legs, her delicious thighs hugging my hips. ‘Oh, baby,’ I moan into her neck. ‘You make me feel so good.’

I pay attention to her breathing. I pay attention to when she makes sounds. I pay attention to when her hips move more, when she clings to me, when she wraps her legs around me completely. I try to look at her face, her expressions, not just because I want to see her reactions but because she is beautiful and there is nothing like seeing her face when she is overwhelmed by what I am doing.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks, surprising me a little bit.

I pull my head back and brush her hair back. ‘Yes, baby.’

‘You sound like you might be in pain?’ she says softly, cupping my face, looking into eyes like she is searching for something.

‘No,’ I say softly. ‘I am just so exactly where I want to be. I never want to leave your body,’ I confess. ‘I think about this all week, baby.’

‘It’s where you belong,’ she says so softly that I am not entirely sure that it is really what she said.

‘Please hold me tighter, baby,’ I ask her and without hesitation her arms pull me in, and I rest my face on her chest, her soft and welcoming, warm chest. ‘I am not going last much longer,’ I whisper.

‘Even if you cum,’ she whispers right in my ear. ‘You don’t have to leave.’

What am I even supposed to say when she says something like that? Her words are enough to push me over the edge and I feel it build up and then I release inside her, staying right there as deep as I could possibly be while I sob into her breasts. ‘Please take it, take it all.’

She kisses the top of my head over and over and my emotions are all over the place.

‘Your turn, baby,’ I say as I lift myself a little bit.

‘It’s okay,’ she shakes her head. ‘I’m happy.’

I smile at her sweetness and I kiss her. ‘You have waited a week. My baby is cumming.’ Then I start to pull out, leaving her perfect heat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I wince.

I grab one of her hands and hold on tightly, then I get my face between her legs and I see how wet she is, where it has spread to her upper thighs and how her hips are still moving just a little bit. When I see how my white semen starts to slowly leak out of her, I immediately push it back in with two fingers. Then I pump my fingers how she likes, fast, fairly rough and putting lots of pressure against the upper side of her pussy.

‘Oh my god, yes, please, Noah,’ she moans and she grips my hand, bringing out joined hands to rest between her breasts. Against her heart.

I kiss and swirl my tongue on her clit, I can tell she is extremely sensitive, so I keep the pressure very light there. Her body responds to me and her hips and moving more against my face, showing me what she wants.

‘Please, Noah? Don’t stop, I am going to cum,’ she says breathlessly. Her other hand comes to rest on my head. ‘May I? Noah, please, may I?’

‘Please, baby,’ I mumble around her clit in my mouth. And then I experience her hips bucking up, her thighs trying to squeeze together, but I am in the way, her thighs shaking. Her body shaking as she cums on my fingers, a small gush from her again, just like last time.

The most brain-meltingly beautiful thing to witness.

I keep my fingers inside her when I say, ‘Peach, baby? I want you to roll onto your side, and then I am going to put myself inside you again.’

‘Okay,’ she says without questioning and I keep my fingers there while she moves herself onto her side.

I position myself behind her, as close as I can get. ‘Lift your leg just a little. Push back against me.’ She follows instructions so well. Then I pull my fingers out and immediately replace them with my half-hard cock. ‘My cum is staying inside you.’

She reaches back and puts her hand on my hip, like she is keeping me in place. ‘That is so good. Exactly what I needed.’

We both try to get comfortable, moving pillows, pulling the covers up over our bodies. I cup one breast in my hand and just hold her to me.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers to me. I kiss behind her ear.

Laying there, unable to think of a way to be closer to her I start wondering about what she revealed to me earlier. I mull it over and over while she steadily and rhythmically breathes next to me, sound asleep. I compare what I think to the list and what she ticked on it and I try my best to understand what my Peach needs.

She needs someone she can be utterly and completely vulnerable with while never feeling judged. She needs praise – degradation will give her that 'icky' feeling that shuts her down. Physical comfort, that she has asked for from the beginning, relaxes her deeply.

Where I was unsure, was with pain. There have been signs that she responds positively to a little bit of pain. But I will need to talk to her about this one. There was a line here that I did not want to cross under any circumstances.

I was also sure that I saw a brief moment of subspace this evening. It happened when I was being a little possessive. I will experiment with that a little bit and see how she responds. I know that the extra night a week will be a lot with my work schedule – but I feel such dread at the thought of not being there when she needs me.

‘I promise you,’ I say softly to her sleeping form. ‘You are always safe with me.’

Chapter 13

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #dragoncopper #nutmeg #d/s relationship #dom/sub

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mothman-writes · 1 month ago

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Hi friends!

I have a very unfortunate announcement to make.

Life has kind of fallen apart for me recently, and because of a hospitalization in my family I really haven’t had the time nor the energy to write.

Because of this, I don’t have content ready to post tomorrow. I was going to really really try, but then last night my boyfriend reached out to me and informed me that we would be leaving for our trip Friday night.

I have to pack, and I don’t have the time or energy to write.

So, for now, Through The Lens is going on a hiatus until the end of my trip.

Posting will resume as soon as I have the ability to.

Winnie

#winnie rambles #through the lens

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mothman-writes · 1 month ago

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Chapter Seven: Offers - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Seven days, four cities, and a thousand moments later, Talia Merrin watches Noah Sebastian transform — from guarded to unrestrained, from distant to deeply present. As the tour pulses onward through snowy streets and blazing stages, they navigate the fragile space between casual and something far more. Between stolen kisses in record shops and quiet confessions in worn dressing rooms, they find the courage to stop pretending, to own what’s real, and to claim each other in every stolen moment. But when the show ends and the backstage lights dim, it’s not just a performance anymore — it’s a surrender.

Warnings: Tour life, mutual pining, the guys are kinda chaotic, fluff, a little angst if you squint, smut, first time, fingering (f! recieving), dressing room sex, emotional intimacy, defining the relationship, Noah is kinda dommy, praise, no more pretending.

Word Count: 6,288

Taglist: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Seven: Offers

One

Talia Merrin

November 27th, 2022

Seven days and four cities later, Talia finally understands what it means to capture a transformation in real time.

It starts with the way Noah starts to carry himself — straighter, full of confidence as though he’s no longer afraid to be seen. It slips into the way he performs — the carefully constructed mask dropped, how he pours himself into the music now, the way his fingers curl around the mic stand, sensual and unguarded, sends chills down Talia’s spine.

He’s become, somehow, more affectionate with her. Just the other night, he’d pulled her close in another green room, Nick and Folio mid-conversation three feet away, and kissed her like the world was ending — desperate and claiming and completely unashamed. Her heart still flutters remembering how she’d melted into it, kissing him back with the same reckless abandon as his bandmates had whooped and hollered behind them.

Noah was alive again. She could see it in the way he threw his head back when he laughed, in the way he reached for her hand in a room full of people, how he no longer seemed to ask permission to exist in a space.

Talia had come alive like this once too — in twenty-nineteen, on the Threesome tour. She’d blossomed with the chance to work with one of her teenhood heroes, Kellin Quinn. She’d laughed for the first time in years, smiled like a child, done some of her best work.

And now, watching Noah come alive in his way, on his terms, she felt it too.

Talia Merrin was living again.

Two

Toronto, Ontario. Fresh snow crunches underfoot as Talia walks alongside Noah through the streets of the city. The cold in Denver is nothing compared to the bone-deep chill of Toronto. It slices through the wool of her coat, and she tucks her nose into the material. It already smells of winter and the coffee from the hotel lobby.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way, Noe?” She asks, tugging on his hand to catch his attention.

Noah looks down at her, offering her a lopsided smile, “I’m sure. Just a few more blocks, I promise.”

Noah had lured her out into the cold with promises of kisses and good music just after breakfast. She’d agreed — begrudgingly — after he’d given her a puppy dog look with those big brown eyes of his. So far, she’d received neither.

“I’m going to sue,” She teases, letting him pull her along, “I’m going to freeze to death due to false advertising.”

“Good things come to those who don’t whine about frostbite.”

Noah pulls her around a corner and then ducks under a little snow-covered awning, pulling her into him. Talia stares up at him in wonder, suddenly breathless. All that exists is them, in this moment — the muffled sounds of the city, the snowflakes caught in his dark hair like tiny stars, the warmth radiating from his chest.

Leaning down, he brushes their lips together before closing the gap. One hand goes to cup her cheek, and she melts. She always does.

A warmth blooms through her, head to toe, even as he pulls away.

“Kisses.” Noah says simply, pulling the door of the shop open with a soft jingle. “And now, good music.”

Talia steps inside and is immediately met with the early sounds of The Cure. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she realizes he brought them to a record shop.

She turns to him, pressed against her back now like he belongs there, and looks up at him, “Take me to your favorite corner.”

Noah takes her hand, lacing their fingers together before gently guiding her backwards. When he turns her around, it’s with a careful hand at her waist as he leads her through the shelves and vertical storage bins.

When they get to the section that feels most like Noah — old metal cross sectioned with metalcore, Talia lets go, stepping back to watch him as he flips through old records with unbridled enthusiasm.

It’s only then that she allows herself to appreciate the shop fully. Watery light filters through the windows, catching dust motes flying through the air. It smells of vinyl and lukewarm coffee, oddly soothing when she remembers the cut of the air outside.

As Talia watches Noah, she finds herself wishing she’d brought her camera. This is too good not to capture — Noah’s hands in light, holding the edges of a sleeve, ink perfectly illuminated against his skin.

“You’re staring,” Noah says without looking up, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m appreciating.” She corrects, stepping closer until she’s close enough to see the album covers he’s flipping through —some bands she recognizes, some she doesn’t, all of them somehow fitting the person she’s coming to know.

Noah pulls out a record then, clearly proud of himself for finding it. It’s something with a dark, moody cover that she doesn’t recognize. He holds it up like an offering. The sleeve is worn at the edges, well-loved.

“This one’s for you,” He says, turning to face her fully. There’s something almost shy in his expression, like he’s offering her a piece of himself.

Talia takes it from him, their fingers brushing as she studies the cover, “What is this?”

“Trust me,” He says, that lopsided smile returning. “You’ll like it. And if you don’t…” He shrugs, already moving towards the counter. “Well, you’ll have something to remember Toronto by either way.”

The casual way he says it — like buying her music is the most natural thing in the world, the most natural thing to them, like he’s already thinking about her listening to it later, thinking of him — makes something warm unfurl inside her.

And when they step back out into the cold, she doesn’t flinch away. She welcomes it.

Because she has everything she needs to keep warm right beside her.

Three

The scent of coffee and vinyl still clings to Talia's coat when they push through the doors of the hotel lobby. Snow is coming down in heavy sheets outside now, the wind howling against the glass like something desperate to get in. In the back of her mind, she wonders if they'll have to cancel tonight’s show due to weather.

There's something different about Noah as they approach the elevator. He keeps running his hand through his hair, fidgeting with his sleeve in that specific way she's only seen once before. Her stomach does a little flip.

It strikes her that he might be getting ready to ask her on an actual date, though that seems a little odd considering they've been... whatever this is. She lets herself imagine it anyway — him, stumbling over his words nervously. Her accepting, trying to play it cool while her heart hammers against her ribs. Getting whisked away by someone so devastatingly handsome it makes her chest ache, with wine and candlelight and the night ending with her gasping his name against his mouth.

As they step into the elevator, she catches his hand in hers, threading their fingers together. "I like sushi, by the way."

"Noted," Noah says, and there's that lopsided grin again, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes this time.

But even as they make their way down the carpeted hallway, he still doesn't ask. Just keeps glancing at her like he's working up the courage to say something earth-shattering, his free hand tapping restlessly against his thigh.

What the hell was going on?

Noah swipes the key card and pushes the door open for her. The sounds of animated arguing spill out immediately, along with the competing scents of Chinese takeout and someone's spilled energy drink.

"—absolutely not, we watched your pick last time and it was three hours of explosions and zero plot—"

"That's literally what makes a good movie, Jolly—"

Nick is sprawled across one of the beds, thumb flying across his phone screen. Folio and Jolly are squared off in front of the TV like they're about to settle this with fists, the remote held hostage between them.

Talia can't help but smile, something warm and familiar spreading through her chest. This chaos, this easy intimacy — it feels like coming home.

"There she is!" Folio breaks away from his standoff to beam at her, "How'd you survive the full Noah Sebastian Toronto experience? Did he make you visit every record store in the city?"

"Just one," Talia laughs, unwrapping herself from her coat, "but Jesus, it's arctic out there. I think my eyelashes actually froze."

She drops down onto the floor beside Jolly's chair, immediately reaching over to snag a piece of his sesame chicken. He swats at her hand halfheartedly.

"Did you talk to her?" Nick asks suddenly, finally looking up from his phone. His tone is casual, but there's something underneath it that makes Talia's stomach tighten.

Noah shoots him a look that could melt steel. "Not yet."

"Bro," Nick sits up, exasperation bleeding into his voice, "you literally said you would on the way back from the venue."

"He was too busy playing boyfriend," Folio chimes in with a shit-eating grin, "probably stopped every five minutes to make out under awnings."

Heat floods Talia's cheeks, but she's more focused on the way all four of them are suddenly looking anywhere but directly at her. The easy atmosphere shifts, becomes charged with something she can't name.

She waves her hand in the air like she's trying to flag down a taxi. "Um, hello? I'm sitting right here." When she has their attention, she continues, "Talk to me about what, exactly?"

The silence that follows is deafening. The guys all exchange looks — some complex communication happening that she's not privy to — and dread shoots through her like ice water.

She bites down on her lip and starts picking at the carpet fibers, suddenly unable to meet anyone's eyes. Part of her brain is already spiraling, imagining all the ways this could go wrong. Maybe they're tired of her being around. Maybe whatever's happening between her and Noah is making things weird for everyone else. Maybe —

"We want you to come to Europe with us."

Noah's voice cuts through her spiral, shaky but determined. So that's why he was nervous. That's why he was fidgeting, why Nick was being cryptic, why everyone's been acting like they're harboring state secrets.

Talia's head snaps up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash. "What?"

"For the European leg," Jolly adds quickly, that crooked grin of his tinged with something almost vulnerable. "As our photographer. If you want to, that is."

"We talked about it after the show last night," Nick jumps in, "and we're all in agreement. You're fucking brilliant at what you do, Tal."

"Plus," Folio adds with a waggle of his eyebrows, "someone's gotta keep Noah from moping around European cities by himself."

Talia feels like she's been hit by a truck. A really good truck. The kind of truck that changes your entire life trajectory.

"Sorry," she breathes out, pressing her palms against her temples, "I just... I wasn't expecting that. At all. Sorry."

The room goes quiet again, but this time it's expectant rather than tense. Four pairs of eyes watching her, waiting.

And then, her voice barely above a whisper, like speaking too loudly might shatter this perfect moment: "Of course I want to go."

The whole room lets out a collective exhale, like they've all been underwater and finally broke the surface. The tension snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly everyone's grinning like idiots — Folio actually whoops and pumps his fist in the air, Nick falls back against the pillows with a dramatic "Thank fuck," and Jolly's smile is so wide it looks like it might split his face in half.

Noah drops down onto the floor beside her, close enough that their knees bump, and the relief in his eyes is so palpable it makes her chest tight. "Really?"

"Really," she laughs, and the sound is breathless and giddy, "though I can't believe you were all so nervous about asking. Did you really think I'd say no?"

"Well," Folio starts, "you could've had actual plans, or a life, or—"

"Fuck off," Talia grins, throwing a fortune cookie at his head.

Just then, the door swings open and Matt appears, looking slightly windblown and carrying an ice bucket that's seen better days. He takes one look at the room — everyone practically glowing with excitement, Talia still sitting on the floor grinning like Christmas morning — and raises an eyebrow.

"What'd I miss? Did someone win the lottery, or did Noah finally work up the balls to—"

"She said yes!" Noah interrupts, practically bouncing out of his skin now, turning to face Matt so fast he nearly topples over.

Matt's face goes through about seventeen different expressions in the span of two seconds before landing on pure delight. He sets the ice bucket down with a decisive thunk and crosses the room in three long strides.

"You said yes?" he asks, looking down at Talia with the kind of hopeful expression usually reserved for puppies and Christmas wishes.

"About thirty seconds ago," she confirms, and before she can say anything else, Matt's hauling her to her feet and gripping her shoulders like he's afraid she might disappear.

His grin is infectious, the kind that makes everyone else smile just by proximity. "Welcome to the team, Talia Merrin. Permanently this time."

Four

"Your own dressing room," Talia says when she steps through the door, her voice carrying a teasing lilt that doesn't quite mask her genuine awe, "fancy."

Noah looks up from his notebook — the battered leather one he's had since high school, pages now soft with wear — and the moment his eyes catch hers, his whole face transforms. The smile starts small, tugging at one corner of his mouth, then spreads until his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes her heart skip a beat, then stumble over itself entirely.

"I may have pulled some strings," he says, voice cool and casual, but there's pride there too as he shrugs one shoulder. The gesture is almost boyish, like he's showing off his first apartment to his parents.

Talia takes in the room with fresh eyes — the mustard-yellow shag carpet that's seen better decades, the worn leather couch with its angry tears exposing foam stuffing, the mirror ringed with harsh fluorescent bulbs that hum slightly off-key. And him, in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on that ridiculous carpet, practically glowing in the unflattering light like he carries his own warmth.

She crosses the room in three quick steps, her sneakers silent on the thick carpet. Without ceremony, she moves his notebook — still warm from his lap, the pages filled with his messy scrawl — and settles herself in its place. Noah's arms come around her waist before she's even fully settled, automatic and sure, like muscle memory. His hands span her lower back, solid and safe and real.

She wraps an arm around his neck, her fingers finding the soft hair at his nape, and nuzzles her face into his hair. He smells like the green tea shampoo from craft services and something distinctly him — cedar and clean cotton and the faint ghost of stage lights.

A sound escapes her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, pure contentment made audible. "Hi baby."

Noah's arms tighten around her, pulling her closer until there's no space left between them, and he lets out a soft exhale against her collarbone — like he's been holding his breath all day, waiting to hear those two words from her lips.

"Hi baby," he echoes, his voice rough around the edges with something that might be relief.

The admission tumbles out before she can second-guess it: "I'm glad we're here. I've been wanting some alone time." Her fingers trace the line of his shoulder blade through his t-shirt. "Craving it, actually."

"I've been wanting to talk to you." His words are careful, measured. "About us."

But the sentence doesn't send ice through her veins, not like it should. Not like it would have a month ago, or even a week ago. She's been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever — since the first time he kissed her, since the first time she woke up with his arm flung across her ribs, since the first time she caught herself looking for him in every crowd.

Noah continues, his voice gaining strength as he takes her hand and presses it flat against his chest, right over his heart. She can feel it beating, steady but quick, like a bird's wings. "I'm not going to pretend that I know what I'm doing here, that I have some master plan or that I know exactly what I want. But I need you to know — whatever this is between us? I'm going to give it everything I have. We said no half-measures, and I meant that. Even if we're calling it 'casual' right now."

The word lands wrong, jarring against the warmth of the moment. "You think we're doing 'casual?'" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her brows draw together before she can stop them, and she pulls back just enough to search his face.

"Only for now," Noah says quickly, and there it is—panic flickering across his features like a candle flame in wind. His hands tighten on her waist, anchoring. "Since we're on tour and everything is... complicated. The way I figure it, if we want to explore what this could look like — really look like — after tour wraps, we can. When we're not living in each other's pockets and performing every night and —"

He stops himself, jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't know how to say.

Talia watches the war play out across his face — the careful way he's trying to protect both of them, the fear of saying too much too soon, the weight of whatever he's holding back. She shifts in his lap, bringing her other hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing across the slight stubble there.

"Noah." His name is soft on her lips, a question and an answer all at once. "What are you not saying?"

He leans into her touch, eyes closing for just a moment like he's drawing strength from it. When he opens them again, they're darker, more honest.

"I'm scared," he admits, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm scared that if we call this what it feels like — what it is — everything will change. The music, the tour, the way we work together. I'm scared that wanting you this much will mess everything up." His voice drops to almost a whisper. "And I'm terrified that it won't."

The confession hangs in the air between them, raw and real. Talia feels something shift in her chest, like a lock clicking open.

"You think I don't know?" she asks, her voice gentle but steady. "You think I haven't been lying awake at three AM wondering the same things?" She traces the line of his jaw with her fingertip. "But here's what I've figured out — we're already changed, Noah. We changed the first time you handed me your earbuds. We changed the second I started really only watching you on stage.”

He's watching her now, hanging on every word.

"So maybe casual isn't what this is," she continues, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Maybe it never was. Maybe we've been fooling ourselves thinking we could keep this small and manageable and safe."

"Maybe we have," he agrees, and there's something like wonder in his voice.

She leans forward until their foreheads touch, sharing the same breath, the same space. "So what do we do about it?"

Noah's hands slide up her back, steady and sure. "We stop pretending," he says simply. "We stop calling it casual when it feels like coming home. We stop being scared of ruining something that's already the best thing that's happened to either of us."

The smile that spreads across Talia's face is unstoppable, bright enough to rival the harsh dressing room lights. "Is that what this is? The best thing?"

"Baby," Noah says, pulling her closer until she can feel his smile against her temple, "it's not even close."

And when he kisses her — soft and sure and full of promise —the ugly carpet and torn couch and humming lights fade away until there's nothing left but this: them, finally honest, finally brave enough to call it what it is.

Five

Just an hour ago, Noah's hands were on her waist, warm and possessive against the small of her back; now, she's watching through her viewfinder as those same hands — long fingers she knows the texture of — curl around the microphone stand on stage like he's holding onto something precious. Red lights pulse behind him in waves, washing the stage in crimson, and the massive graphic screen flickers with hypnotic loops of fire that seem to lick at the edges of his silhouette.

The pit is a furnace of bodies and sweat, the crowd pressed so tight against the barrier that Talia can feel the collective intake of breath when the lights dim. She adjusts her grip on her camera, the familiar weight of it grounding her as audience members jostle for position around her. The metal barrier digs into her ribs, but she barely notices — her world has narrowed to the man on stage and the way the red light turns his dark hair almost burgundy.

He's just stepped back on stage for the encores, boots heavy on the wooden planks, and while Talia knows this moment comes every night — has photographed it a dozen times before — tonight feels different. The air itself seems to vibrate with something more than just bass lines and drum beats. More charged with electricity, somehow. Heavier, like the moment before lightning strikes.

As the opening beat drops — that slow, hypnotic pulse that makes hearts sync to its rhythm — Noah's eyes find her in the chaos of the pit with laser precision. Even with the stage lights blazing and the crowd screaming, his gaze cuts through everything else like he's got some internal GPS that leads straight to her. His eyes flash, bright with adrenaline and something deeper, more intimate, as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile that's meant just for her.

Talia's finger hovers over the shutter, but she forgets to press it. She forgets about f-stops and ISO settings and the perfect shot. She forgets she's working.

And then his expression shifts, transforms, his gaze turning molten as he leans into the microphone. The smile disappears, replaced by something darker, hungrier. When he opens his mouth to sing, his voice is velvet over gravel, intimate despite the thousands of people hanging on every word:

"I made another mistake, thought I could change, thought I could make it out. Promises break, need to hear you say 'you're gonna keep it now.'"

The words hit her like a physical touch, and she realizes with startling clarity that he's not just performing the song — he's performing it for her. Every syllable is deliberate, weighted with the conversation they had in that shabby dressing room, with promises made and fears confessed. The red lights paint him in shades of desire and danger, and when he grips the mic stand tighter, she can almost feel those fingers against her skin again.

Her camera finally clicks, capturing the exact moment his eyes find hers again, but she knows no photograph could ever hold what passes between them in that look — raw and electric and entirely too intimate for a crowd of thousands to witness.

“I miss the way you say my name. The way you bend, the way you break. Your makeup running down your face. The way you touch, the way you taste.”

The next verse spills from his lips like a confession, each word dripping with intention. This song — God, this song has never failed to get under her skin, its lyrics weaving heat through her veins until she's dizzy with it. But having Noah sing it directly to her, his voice rough with want and his eyes never leaving hers?

Holy shit.

Talia presses her thighs together instinctively, suddenly hyperaware of every choice she made getting dressed tonight — the black mini skirt that seemed like a good idea in the dressing room, the way the stage lights make her feel exposed despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. Heat coils low in her stomach, spreading through her limbs like warm honey. She's burning up now, flushed from more than just the crush of bodies around her.

“When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive? It wasn’t hard to realize, love’s the death of peace of mind.”

Her finger finds the shutter again, muscle memory taking over, but her hands are less steady now. Through the viewfinder, Noah looks like sin incarnate — all sharp angles and dangerous smiles, the red lights casting shadows that make his cheekbones look carved from marble. When he reaches the bridge, his voice drops to something barely above a whisper, intimate despite the amplification, and somehow she hears every word like he's breathing them against her ear.

The crowd sways around her, lost in their own interpretation of the song, but Talia feels like she's drowning in the space between her and the stage. Every note he sings seems designed to remind her of skin against skin, of whispered promises in dim rooms, of the weight of his hands and the taste of his name on her tongue.

When the final chord rings out and the stage lights fade to black, the roar of the crowd crashes over her like a wave. But in that moment before the house lights come up, in that pocket of darkness between performance and reality, Talia sees Noah's silhouette turn toward her one more time.

Even from forty feet away, even with thousands of people between them, she can feel the promise in that look — a continuation of everything that started in the dressing room, everything they've finally stopped pretending isn't real.

Her camera hangs forgotten around her neck as she realizes she's not just documenting the show anymore. She's living in it, drowning in it, completely and utterly his.

Six

The second the house lights cut to pitch black for the final time, Talia is moving. She doesn't think, doesn't plan — just pushes through the crush of bodies still swaying to phantom melodies, her camera bouncing against her hip as she weaves between couples and groups of friends reluctant to let the night end. The crowd parts around her like water, everyone too lost in their post-show euphoria to notice one photographer slipping away.

She's driven by something primal, something that's been building since the first note of that song, since the moment his eyes found hers in the pit and turned her blood to fire. Her pulse hammers in her throat, and she can still feel the phantom weight of his gaze on her skin, the way his voice had wrapped around those lyrics like a promise.

The backstage entrance looms ahead, security waving her through with barely a glance at her press pass. But the moment she steps into the controlled chaos of the backstage area — roadies breaking down equipment, band members toweling off sweat, the familiar smell of amplifiers cooling down — Noah is there.

His fingers circle her wrist before she even sees him coming, warm and slightly damp from the stage lights, and the contact sends electricity straight up her arm. She turns to him on pure instinct, muscle memory from a dozen stolen moments, and he pulls her close enough that she can smell the salt on his skin, see the way his pupils are still blown wide from the adrenaline rush.

"You're wearing that fucking skirt again," he whispers, his voice rough with something that might be restraint or might be its complete absence. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear, and she can feel the words as much as hear them.

Fuck.

A chill runs down Talia's spine like ice water, followed immediately by heat that pools low in her belly. Her knees go weak, and she almost melts into a puddle right there on the industrial carpet, surrounded by the organized chaos of a tour in motion. She isn't given the chance to dissolve, isn't even given a chance to blink or breathe or think, before Noah's hand slides from her wrist to her palm and he's pulling her down the narrow hallway.

His grip is firm, possessive, and there's a hunger in the way he moves — all barely leashed energy and intent. His stage clothes stick to his skin with sweat, his hair is wild from the performance, and Talia can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenches into a fist at his side like he's fighting every instinct he has.

She knows that look. She's seen it before in quiet moments, in stolen glances across hotel rooms and green rooms and cramped backstage areas. This is Noah without his careful control, without his gentle restraint, without all the ways he usually holds himself back from taking what he wants. This is a man who won't hold back, can't hold back, unless she really asks him to.

But Talia won't. God, she won't. She wants him to give in, to stop being so damn careful with her like she's made of glass. She wants him to stop treating her like she might break, like she might run, like she might regret whatever's about to happen between them.

Just for tonight, she wants him to take what he wants. What they both want.

The dressing room door appears ahead of them, and Talia's heart pounds so hard she's sure he can hear it echoing off the narrow walls.

They step in together, and within a beat of the door closing she’s pressed up against it. She hears the lock click as his mouth finds hers — hungry, possessive, claiming.

She melts into it, whimpering against him. He presses into her, and she can feel how hard he is, how much he aches for her.

Talia tears away from this kiss reluctantly, “Couch, please.”

She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him in that direction. He sinks into the cushions a moment later, probably expecting her to land in his lap. But she sinks to her knees in front of him.

Noah’s breath hitches audibly, and she takes it as permission to trail her hand up his thigh, feeling him shudder underneath her touch.

When she reaches his hard length, she palms him through the material of his pants — just enough pressure to make him groan. She quickly replaces her hand with her mouth, ghosting her lips over him. His hips roll up into her, and his fingers slip into her curls.

But then his hand stills, and before she can actually touch him, he’s pulling her head up gently.

Noah shakes his head once, firm. “Not tonight. Get up here.”

Talia lets out a soft whimper, pouting a little. His other hand reaches out to trace the pad of his thumb against her lower lip.

“Another night, baby.” He coos, and then pulls her hair a little. A clear signal: get up.

Talia stands and is immediately pulled into Noah’s lap, his chest pressing against her back. She’s aware of the sweat sticking to his skin, aware of the heat radiating off him. His arm snakes around her waist, his hand coming to rest against the pale skin of her upper thigh.

It’s one of the only places on her body that doesn’t have tattoos, so to see his inked hand there mesmerizes her for a second. She wishes she could take a picture of this.

Noah’s fingers tug up the hem of her skirt a little, revealing more skin. His knuckles graze against it.

“What are you doing?” She manages, voice a little distant.

Noah’s lips brush the shell of her ear as he leans in, “What I should have done in Denver.”

And suddenly, her skirt is pushed all the way up, exposing the black cotton panties she’d picked out to wear tonight. They’re soaked through, and Talia tries not to be embarrassed by that.

Noah’s fingers slide the panties to the side with expert ease, and she leans into him as his fingers ghost over her clit for just a moment.

“Can I —”

“Please,” Talia begs, spreading her legs for him.

With just enough pressure to make her squirm, he begins to rub quick circles against her clit. Soft moans escape her lips, and Noah begins to trail open mouthed kisses along her neck.

“You sound so pretty for me, babygirl.” He murmurs against her skin, voice rough with want. He presses his hips up into her, rolling them slightly.

Talia nearly falls apart right there.

She wants more, needs more, so she spreads her legs further. An invitation.

Noah takes it without question, slipping a finger through her folds and into her. She gasps at the stretch, but he moves her through it with slow, gentle strokes. He begins to roll his hips at the same maddening pace, letting out breathy groans against her skin.

“Fuck,” She whimpers, rolling her hips into his hand. He presses his palm into her, grinding it against her clit as he continues to finger her.

Noah adds a second finger, “Just like that, baby..”

She’s all but fucking his hand now, lost in the bliss of fullness and dirty talk. Noah’s hips move at a faster speed now, and he’s shuddering beneath her.

The thought of him getting off to her like this sends a chill down Talia’s spine. She can feel her release building, tight and hot in her stomach.

“Noah,” She moans out, leaning back into him, “don’t stop.”

He takes it as a cue to speed up, his fingers moving inside her at a brutal pace now. He curls his fingers slightly, and that’s all it takes to send Talia over the edge.

Her eyes flutter shut and she begins to roll her hips through the waves of her orgasm. Noah’s hips stutter below her, but she doesn’t notice.

When it comes crashing down, she slumps into Noah, boneless and trembling, her skin slick with perspiration. The dressing room feels smaller now, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with its shabby dimensions and everything to do with the way they're breathing in sync, hearts hammering against each other through sweat-dampened fabric.

Noah nips gently at her collarbone before slipping his fingers out of her, the loss making her shiver. His touch is reverent now, fingers trailing soft patterns on her thigh as she comes back to herself.

"You good?" he asks quietly, breathlessly, his voice still rough around the edges but softer now, concerned. His free hand smooths her hair back from her face, fingers gentle against her temple.

Talia turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, and the expression she finds there nearly undoes her all over again. His pupils are still blown wide, his cheeks flushed, but there's something achingly tender in the way he's watching her—like she's something precious he's afraid he might have handled too roughly.

"More than good," she manages, her voice hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with screaming over concert crowds. She shifts in his lap, feeling the evidence of his own need pressing against her, and reaches back to cup his face. "But what about you?"

Noah catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm that's so gentle it makes her chest tight. "Tonight was about you," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Noah—"

"Shh." He pulls her closer, if that's even possible, his arms encircling her completely. "Let me just... hold you for a minute."

So she does. She lets herself melt back against his chest, lets herself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers trace absent patterns on her skin. The ugly fluorescent lights hum overhead, but they might as well be stars for how peaceful this moment feels.

"We should probably get cleaned up," Talia murmurs eventually, though she makes no move to leave his lap. "People will be looking for you."

"Let them look," Noah says against her hair, and there's something fierce in his voice that makes her believe he means it. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

Outside, she can hear the distant sounds of the venue emptying, equipment being loaded, the organized chaos of a tour moving on to the next city. But in here, in this moment, with his arms around her and his heart beating steady against her back, the rest of the world can wait.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Talia isn't thinking about what comes next, isn't worrying about complications or consequences or keeping things casual. She's just here, just his, just exactly where she belongs.

"Hey," Noah whispers, his lips brushing her ear.

"Yeah?"

"No more pretending, right?"

Talia turns in his arms until she can see his face, can read the vulnerability there alongside the satisfaction and the lingering heat. She reaches up to trace the line of his jaw, marveling at how someone can look so completely wrecked and so beautiful at the same time.

"No more pretending," she agrees, sealing the promise with a kiss that tastes like forever.

---

This chapter...how we feeling? This is the first smut scene I've ever written (I know) so I hope you enjoy it!

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Please feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Six II | Chapter Eight

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #through the lens #noah sebastian x ofc #not quite enemies to lovers #slow burn #angst #fluff #noah sebastian smut #smut

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mothman-writes · 1 month ago

Text

Nutmeg Chapter Eleven

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner.

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4273

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 12

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @ami--gami @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse @cheyyyyr @respectfulrebel @hskcut-blog

WARNINGS: Some fluff, oral, piv, fingering, overstimulation, horny Noah, aftercare, talking about sex toys, 'panties'.

Noah enters your house quietly, locks the door, washes his hands in the kitchen sink, and walks right over to you, drops down on his knees in front of you and grabs your face. ‘Hi,’ he says and then he pulls you close to him and kisses you.

You were surprised, but not unpleasantly so and you match his fervour quickly. His hands slowly travel down over your arms and then rests around your waist, like all he wanted was to hug you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He was making sounds at the back of his throat, small little grunts and moans and you were sure that he had no control over them.

His mouth was insatiable. He kissed like he could not get enough. Like he has been waiting for years to run his tongue along the roof of your mouth. His hips were pushed against yours and you felt that he was so hard, but it was like he didn’t even know.

He stopped kissing long enough to rip his hoodie and shirt off at the same time, carelessly tossing them back towards the couch. Then he pulls you against him and you gasp at the skin-to-skin contact. Feeling the heat of his body.

He pushes you backwards with his body, almost crowding you, until you do what he wants. When he has helped you lay down, carefully with his hand behind your head, he continues to kiss you.

Suddenly, he stops and looks down at you, his eyes hardly focusing, out of breath. Then he walks back on his knees so he can settle between your legs. You spread for him, he didn’t have to ask.

He runs a finger over the little bow on the dark purple pair of panties you have on and smiles briefly, before he pulls the fabric to the side with one hand and pushes your one leg back with his other hand. He puts his mouth against your pussy like he was kissing you a moment before. His lips and tongue working together to take as much from you as he possible could, like he would starve without it.

The desire that was radiating from him was intoxicating. Your head was completely empty except for the small part that was processing the delicious pleasure of where he was in contact with you. It didn’t take long at all, before you were so close you had to break the silence.

‘Holy shit, Noah, I am so close, I am going to cum, please may I cum?’ You get it out barely coherent.

He hums and you buck your hips up against his face in all consuming bliss, your hands gripping onto his hair a lot tighter than you meant to. He finally lets up after way too long and looks up at you from between your thighs with a devilish grin on his face. ‘Good girl.’

He holds a hand out and helps you sit up again so you can get back into your kneeling position for him and he looks on appreciatively. You notice his eyes were on your breasts often. Most of the time, Noah was very good at controlling his eyes and body’s and urges around you. Sometimes having full conversation with you completely naked and it sometimes felt like he didn’t notice. Not today.

You look at him when you say, ‘Hi.’

He laughs. ‘How are you?’ he sits in front of you on the floor.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ you laugh too. ‘And you?’

‘Christ, I’m horny as fuck,’ he is still smiling.

You nod. ‘Yeah, you are.’

‘I have not had an orgasm for the whole week, Peach. I am going crazy,’ he says. ‘Please relax your arms, I want to hold your hands.’

You bring your arms to your sides and reach out for him. ‘You were doing homework with me?’ you ask.

‘I tried last week, you remember I told you? But I actually did it this week,’ he said very proud of himself.

‘Did you touch?’ you asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now I understand what I have been putting you through,’

‘I’m getting better at it,’ you say softly.

‘I have been getting boners at the most inconvenient times, and sometimes it just won’t go down. I just stay hard for so long,’ he says and he looks down at himself, where you could see the outline of a bulge.

‘I hope you plan on taking it out on me,’ you say almost managing not to blush to the tips of your ears.

He smiles with soft eyes at you. ‘Oh baby, this is all for you.’

‘Do you want me to take care of you?’ you ask.

‘In a moment,’ he says. ‘We need to talk first. Because your words have been haunting me non-stop. You have no idea what it did to me.’

His face is serious when he says this. ‘What did I say?’ you ask worried.

‘When you said that you were willing to try new things if it’s with me,’ he says that little frown back between his eyebrows.

‘Oh, yes,’ you say remembering.

‘You ticked a lot of things on that list, Peach,’ he says his eyes wide.

You think a moment before you speak. You squeeze his hands. ‘Initially when I was applying at the agency, I was given that list and it all seemed like so much and it was scary. It seemed crazy to say yes to some of those things.’

‘You were labelled as ‘very vanilla’ on your profile,’ he says softly.

You raise your eyebrows. ‘Really?’ Then you think. And your brain goes in all directions at once. ‘Wait. You accepted my application because I was very vanilla, or in spite of being very vanilla?’

He smiles a little bit. ‘I think because of it.’

‘And now I’ve ruined it because I ticked too many things?’ you ask him, feeling the disappointment already spreading through you.

‘No, not at all,’ he shakes his head. ‘Look at me, please.’

You look him in the eye.

‘You didn’t ruin anything. Will you let me just explain without thinking a hundred miles ahead?’ he says while he weaves your fingers together. ‘Please?’

‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

He kisses your knuckles. ‘Initially, I was nervous and unsure of myself, and I looked at some applications and they intimidated the hell out of me. There were women who wanted things I had to google to know what it was.’ You saw the borderline fear on his face when he says this. ‘So, I wanted someone inexperienced with being submissive, so I could learn too. Your list was one that didn’t scare the crap out of me.’

You nod to show that you were paying attention. Instead of thinking too much, you tried to picture Noah sitting on his grey couch in his neat room, sweating while going through applications, google open on his phone.

‘But now,’ he stretches out the word ‘now’ and takes a deep breath. ‘I feel the same as you. I am willing to try if I know it’s with you. I would be honoured to try and lead you through these things. Jesus Christ, you had me almost in tears when you said you wanted to learn with me.’

‘Why in tears?’ you ask.

‘That you trust me that much?’ he asks. ‘Goddamn, it made me weak.’

‘So, we are okay?’ you ask.

He nods with a small smile. ‘We are.’

‘Good,’ you exhale. ‘I don’t need everything on the list, I want to be clear. I just thought that if you maybe wanted to try some of those things, I would be okay with it. I know you wouldn’t push me too far.’

‘I understand,’ he says his brown eyes so soft when he looks at you. ‘And it means we will have conversations, and discuss everything before we try anything.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ you add.

‘Let me go get my backpack,’ he gets up and takes such big steps to reach it where it was by the door. ‘I went to a sex shop, my god, I tried to be an adult about it, you know. But I was blushing and shy.’

You laugh softly. ‘Next time, order something online.’

‘I was in a hurry,’ he said in explanation. ‘But next time, yes.’

‘What did you get?’ you ask feeling just a slight bit nervous.

‘Come sit here with me,’ he says and he sits on the couch.

You get up and join him, relieved. This conversation shouldn’t be rushed, but your knees were not in the mood for a thorough talk.

‘Don’t freak out about anything. These are ideas only,’ he says putting his hands up like he was proving his innocence.

‘I won’t freak out,’ you say. You turn to sit sideways on the couch so you could see what he had and see him.

‘I only got three things,’ he starts off.

He looks at you and he looks so nervous that you scoot closer towards the backpack between the two of you and with a big smile say, ’Show me.’

‘Alright,’ he exhales. ‘First one,’ he takes out a small black drawstring bag.

You open it and shake it out into your hand. Inside was the tiniest little butt plug. It had a blue gemstone-looking thing at the end, really pretty. ‘It’s so small.’

‘I took the smallest. Some of those things are scary. We can always go bigger later,’ he says.

‘Small is perfect. Good choice,’ you say as you hold it between your fingers.

‘Then I got this,’ he handed you another black bag.

When you get it out, you frown a little bit. ‘What does this do? Or shall I say, where does it go?’

He snorts. ‘It’s a cock ring,’ he takes it from you. ‘This part goes around the base of my cock and then this part,’ he points at a something like an attachment. ‘This is supposed to stimulate your clit while I’m inside.’

‘Oooh,’ you take it back. ‘That is clever.’

‘And then I got this,’ he hands it to you. ‘Some fancy-looking lube. I don’t know,’ he shrugs.

You twirl it around in your hands and only now do you feel just a little nervous too. ‘Looks like a good choice.’

‘Alright so, we are not doing these tonight. We have a week to think and decide what we want,’ he says.

You feel a sense of relief. ‘Thank you. Some warning time would be appreciated.’

‘So here is what I was thinking we can do tonight,’ he says, taking the lube from your hands and putting all of the things to the side. ‘Some overstimulation?’

‘What do you mean?’ you ask.

‘I just make you cum as many times as I possibly can,’ he says simply.

With your eyes wide you say, ‘How many times?’

‘I don’t know yet. We will see how many you can take,’ he shrugs.

‘Okay,’ you say your voice small.

‘You don’t have to worry,’ he says. ‘You know the rules.’

‘I do know the rules,’ you confirm.

‘Because you are my good girl,’ he smiles looking at you from under his hair.

‘Can I please take your pretty cock out now?’

‘Oh my god, thank you, yes,’ he leans back and two of you get his pants off.

His cock is bulging obscenely and horizontally in the boxer briefs covered in peach emojis, trying to look for space. ‘These look amazing on you,’ you say with a giggle.

‘Thank you, I think so too. Um, before you take me out, can we please go to your room?’ he asks.

‘Of course we can,’ you get up and he takes your hands for the short walk.

He sits on the edge of the bed and spreads his legs where you stand between his thighs and then, with his hands on your waist, he starts kissing your breasts sweetly. His kisses start leaving little wet spots as he parts his lips. He makes the little sounds again, his eyes are gently closed. You lift a hand to run your fingers through his hair slowly, while you couldn’t keep your eyes off his lips.

He cups one breast with his hand and then sucks on a nipple gently, taking time to also run his tongue in circles and then suck again. He seems like he has forgotten the rest of the world. Your breaths are becoming shallower. ‘Fuck, I love these tits,’ he almost moans out as he switches to the other one.

Before you had too much time to process what he was doing, he pulled you onto the bed next to him and he swiftly rolls over until he is hovering over you. He works his knees between your knees and then opens your legs with his. He pulls his boxers down just enough that his cock is free and then he is pressing the tip against you after pulling your underwear to the side again.

‘Is this alright?’ he asks, his voice ragged with need.

‘Of course,’ you say as you pull your knees back for him.

As he slowly pushes inside of you and his mouth falls open. ‘This little cunt is so tight. Do you feel how I stretch you?’

You just moan an affirmative. He thrusts slowly, agonisingly slow. ‘You are so deep,’ you choke out.

‘Do you feel me against your cervix, baby?’ he whispers to you.

‘Yes,’ you say and you start to rock your hips up into him.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asks.

‘Just a little,’ you say, knowing that hurt is not really the word you would use, but you do not have the time to explain it now.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks.

‘No,’ you answer immediately. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

‘I’m sure,’ you say, your hands grab onto his hips. His eyes go back and forth between your face and right where his cock is thrusting into you.

‘I love watching my cock disappear into you,’ he sighs, his hair falling forward.

‘I really wanted to taste you again,’ you say softly.

‘You will, baby, don’t worry,’ he says, still moving so slow. ‘Peach, I want you to touch your clit as lightly as possible to help you cum.’

You reach a hand down.

‘Are you still listening?’ he asks.

‘I am,’ you say looking him in the eye.

‘When you start getting close, you need to touch even lighter. I want my cock to get you through the orgasm, not your fingers. Do you understand?’

‘I think so,’ you say, touching lightly. ‘Can you go a little faster,’ you ask in desperation.

‘A little bit,’ he says as his hips pick up speed. ‘I want to you feel me.’

You start concentrating, and wondering how light you were supposed to touch and deciding at what point would be best to stop when he interrupts your thoughts.

‘Stop thinking, baby,’ he drops a kiss on your lips. ‘Let your body feel, stop analysing. Your body knows what to do.’

‘Yes, okay,’ you agree and you take a deep breath and try to let it all go. You circle your clit lightly, but you try to focus on Noah inside you. Feeling the way your body accommodates him every time he thrusts. Feeling how he slows down just a little before he is all the way in so that he does not hurt you. Feeling how he rolls his hips against yours. Hearing his fast breath and growls of pleasure every time he hits home. That is what gets you – realising that you were also making him feel good.

‘Are you getting closer,’ he pants. ‘I can feel you clenching on me.’

‘Mmm, it’s beginning to build,’ you reply.

‘Focus on me,’ he says. ‘Please cum on my cock, Peach. Please, all over me.’

‘May I?’ you ask.

‘Yes, please, my good girl,’ he says. ‘I need you to join me, I am not going to last much longer.’

His thrusts become just a little harsher into you and you try to balance the point where you need to stop touching yourself. You stop right when it starts, when the pleasure makes you buck your hips against Noah and you grab onto his arm. He fucks you right through it, deep and steady.

‘Keep going,’ he whispers to you as his hips does not stop. ‘God, I am cumming,’ he chokes out again and then loudly groans as he stays inside you, pulsing. He collapses almost immediately on top of you and you waste no time hugging him to you.

It’s quiet for a moment with the only sounds in the room is both of you trying to catch your breath. ‘That was different,’ you say.

‘Your orgasm?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, just a little,’ you say. ‘I can’t really explain it.’

‘That’s alright,’ he sighs. ‘But, baby, you made a mess all over me,’ he says as he pulls out of you. ‘Will you clean it for me?’ he asks as he falls to the side of you on his back.

You move to get on your stomach near him. ‘So shiny,’ you say as you touch him lightly.

‘You taste sweeter after you’ve cummed,’ he says. ‘See if you notice.’

You lick up his length a few times. His length that is still hard and stiff under your tongue. You put the head of his cock in your mouth and work your tongue into the little slit and Noah throws his head back with a hiss. ‘Are you still sensitive?’ you ask.

‘Mmm, very,’ he rasps.

‘Sorry, baby,’ you say as you get back to licking slowly and gently.

‘It’s alright,’ he says through his teeth. ‘But I think I need you to spread your legs for me again, baby. On your knees, please.’

He is up and behind you faster than you can get ready and his hands couldn’t wait to get on your body. ‘I’m sensitive too, please be gentle,’ you ask with a small voice.

‘I know you’re sensitive, but I need you to take me. I’ll go slow, alright?’ he says with a sweet voice. ‘Tell me if it’s too much, but I want you to try.’

‘I’m trying,’ you say as he pushes inside again.

‘I can feel you are a little swollen, already,’ he says slowly thrusting, keeping his body close to yours. ‘I’ll go slow until you tell me you want me to go faster.’

‘Just give me a minute,’ you say as your forehead rests on your hands.

‘Remember, focus on the good feelings, don’t think too much,’ he says, rocking into you steadily.

It felt like too much for a short time, but before long the need for more pleasure and more Noah inside of you overtook all your senses and you were very willing to ignore the slight sore feeling.

‘Baby? Baby, oh fuck that feels so fucking good,’ he sobs out. ‘These hips fucking me back? Oh my god.’

‘Noah, can you please go faster?’ your voice sounds like you are begging.

He grabs your hips with a firm grip and fucks you faster and harder and his grunts become louder. ‘Tell me if it’s too much,’ he manages to get out.

‘No, just like that. Please,’ you groan out. ‘I am so close already.’

‘Already?’ he says and you hear the smile in his voice.

‘Yes,’ you cry. ‘You feel too good. Please may I cum?’

‘Please do,’ he is breathless.

He keeps hitting something inside of you that you barely need to touch yourself before you clench around him so tightly that you feel he has a hard time thrusting.

‘Holy shit,’ he says, stopping while he is deep inside, staying there while he kisses along your spine.

You feel like all you can do is collapse and breathe. The familiar emotional overload hits you afterwards and it surprises you a little. You just let it happen. You let yourself have a little cry while Noah is holding you and kissing you and whispering how proud he is of you, while still being inside you.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks after a while.

‘Boneless,’ you say.

‘Is it alright if I pull out?’ he asks.

‘Mmm, yeah,’ you groan. ‘Please do it slowly.’

He does as you ask. You feel the sticky mess, a mixture of you and his cum from the previous round. ‘Such a beautiful little mess,’ he whispers.

‘Can it please be my turn now?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you in my mouth, please?’ you ask shyly, not looking at him.

‘Of course, Peach,’ he says as he lays down.

You made yourself as comfortable as you could and then started off with licking him clean again. You had to stop thinking about it too much. But you had to admit that the idea of tasting the combination of the two of you together was sexy, almost regardless of what it tasted like, the idea was enough. Then you started with his head again, focusing on the slit with your tongue, but just taking that perfectly shaped dome into your mouth and giving it attention.

You kept your grip on him firm with one hand and then started sinking down again. Little by little taking him slightly deeper each time you tried. He moaned loudly every time you gagged on him, like it turned him on a lot. You had to take a break after each gag to catch your breath and make sure the reflex faded before you went again.

You could tell that he was trying really hard to keep his hips still. You could feel his desire to fuck up into your mouth held back.

‘I am close, baby,’ he warns you, and you keep going. When you were taking him as deep as you could he stuttered out a ‘fuck’ and pulsed inside your mouth. You tried to swallow his cum with as much dignity as possible, savouring him for a moment.

He opens his arms for you and you climb up to get next to him and he strokes your hair so sweetly.

‘That felt amazing,’ he sighs. ‘I loved that.’

You felt sleepy. ‘I’m glad,’ you barely get out.

‘Don’t sleep, baby,’ he says. ‘You are going to give me one more.’

You hide your face in his shoulder. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Of course you can,’ he says. ‘I believe in you.’

You let out a lazy giggle. ‘I’m sore, though.’

‘I know you are,’ he soothes you. ‘I will be careful.’

‘You can try,’ you concede.

He kisses your forehead and then mumbles against you, ‘I will clean you up afterwards and hold you and cuddle you.’

‘Oh, that sounds kinda good,’ you smile.

‘Spread your legs for me?’ he asks softly.

He stays beside you and his hand sneaks down between your legs where his fingers gently touch like he was gauging your reaction. He works two fingers into you, curls them a little and slowly starts working into you, building up speed.

‘Oh, Noah,’ you cry out. ‘Are you trying to make me squirt?’

He laughs. ‘Not necessarily. It would be cool if you do, but I just want you to cum.’ He places his free hand on your lower belly. ‘I’m going to go faster, you ready?’

You grab his arm to hold on to something. ‘Yes?’

He speeds up, moving so fast your body is vibrating with his movements inside you. ‘Come for me? Please?’

‘Oh, I’m going to,’ you say.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says as you start to convulse. ‘Keep your legs spread. That’s my good girl.’

‘Holy shit,’ you pant. It’s intense and fast and your body feel completely out of your control for a few seconds, but you grip onto Noah’s arm for your life.

He pulls his fingers out and softly touches you through the aftershocks and spasms. ‘I think you squirted a little.’

‘No, I did not,’ you say still breathless.

‘There was a little gush,’ he smiles as he explains.

‘Is it a mess?’ you ask.

‘You were a mess before, but it’s fine. I’ll be right back,’ he drops a kiss right on your pubic bone and hops off the bed, completely naked.

You have barely caught your breath before he comes back into the bedroom. ‘I came four times,’ you say with disbelief.

‘Yeah, you did,’ he confirms, and then he is easing your legs apart again. Then he is cleaning you with a warm washcloth, so gently, taking care to treat you so carefully.

‘That feels so nice,’ you admit, feeling a little embarrassed.

‘You were so good,’ he says with pride in his voice. ‘I am so proud of you.’

‘I can do that myself,’ you offer.

He looks at you with a frown. ‘I know you can, but I want to take care of my Peach.’

‘Okay,’ you say. ‘Can we go shower in a little while? I want to wash your back for you.’

‘Of course we can,’ he says. ‘I’d love that.’

‘Please come kiss me?’ you ask him, and he leans in without hesitation. He tosses the washcloth to the side and then lies down next to you, brushes your hair back and then kisses you like you are the most precious thing he has ever known – and that makes your heart swell with good feelings. But it also breaks your heart just a little.

Chapter 12

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #dragoncopper #nutmeg #d/s relationship #dom/sub

110 notes · View notes

mothman-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter Six II: Revealed - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Description: Denver wraps itself around Noah and Talia like a snowy blanket — full of dark confessions and hopeful revelations.

Warnings: Drinking mentions, alcohol mentions, found family vibes, no smut just tension, angst, trauma, abuse mentions, fluff, Noah is seen, big reveals.

Word Count: 3,536

Tag list: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Six II: Revealed

Six

Noah Sebastian

November 19th, 2022

Later, when conversation dies down and the others move on to their own things — bed, video games — Noah grabs the other bottle. He turns to Talia, who stares up at him with mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Come with me.” He says, reaching out for her hand.

She takes it without hesitation.

They manage to find some empty, low-lit lounge somewhere in the hotel. They tuck themselves into a corner booth, overstuffed but comfortable. Noah leans against the backrest, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it to Talia.

She takes a drink, looks at him for a beat, and then takes another drink.

Talia hesitates, running her thumb along the condensation on the bottle before looking up at him, “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re thinking.” Noah says, taking the bottle. “That’s dangerous.”

And then, after a beat, “Go ahead.”

Talia looks at him cautiously, like it costs her everything to ask this, “Who is she? The one you wrote the album about?”

All of the air is sucked out of Noah’s lungs. He can hear himself inhale sharply, but he’s too focused on how the room shrinks around him. His shaking hands raise the bottle to his lips and he drinks. He drinks and drinks until he feels like he can’t swallow it all.

The bottle is placed on the table with a soft thud.

“You don’t have to answer —”

But he does, because the truth is already slipping off his tongue and spilling into the space between them.

“Her name is Lydia. We were together for…god, years. Things were good — or maybe they weren’t, not really — but then they got twisted. She was…controlling. Possessive. I’m pretty sure she was cheating on me? But, uh, that’s not the point. The point is I left. And then I wrote an entire album to process everything.”

Noah doesn’t look at her. He can’t bear to, because he’s not sure what he’ll find. He swallows thickly, staring at the table in front of him.

Talia reaches out and takes the hand that’s still holding the glass like a lifeline. She laces her fingers into his, brings his hand up to her lips, and presses a gentle kiss there.

He completely unravels, a confession already falling from his lips.

“The night I left, she said something that I can’t get out of my head. She said she ‘made me.’ It’s been two years and I can still hear her voice. ‘I made you.’ Sometimes, I think she was right.” He admits.

He just barely catches her breath hitching over the thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Within seconds, Noah’s face is in both Talia’s hands and he’s staring in to her eyes.

“Listen to me, Noah,” She says, her voice shaking, “She didn’t make you.”

“But what if she did?”

Talia swallows hard and shakes her head before pressing their foreheads together.

“You made you. Every brilliant, shining part. And I’m fucking furious that she made you think otherwise.”

Noah feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He blinks, and suddenly they’re both teary.

They sit like this for a few moments, both desperately trying not to cry. Eventually, Noah pulls back a little.

“My turn,” He manages roughly.

She throws him a cautious glance, sniffling a little, “Go on.”

“The music thing,” He takes her hand in his, “you’re ashamed of it.”

“That’s not a question.”

Noah rolls his eyes at her playfully, leaning in to press a kiss at the corner of her lips.

“Why?” He asks.

Talia shrugs a little, “I’m not ashamed…it’s more like, self-conscious? I don’t really like actual musicians to find out, because it’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t really do anything with it other than writing music in my bedroom.”

“So you write?” Noah asks, excitement edging his voice, “Can I hear sometime?”

“That’s three questions,” Talia laughs out, “but yeah, I do. And maybe, some day.”

Noah leans back against the booth, his hand still wrapped around hers. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, “you don’t have to be anything but exactly what you are. You’re already kind of extraordinary.”

Talia exhales like she’s been holding her breath, her fingers tightening just slightly around his. “You really think so?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

For a while, they just sit there, knees brushing under the table, the tequila bottle forgotten between them. Outside, the wind howls against the hotel windows, snow piling up in soft drifts — but here, in this quiet, low-lit bubble, it feels like the world has paused for them.

Eventually, Talia leans her head on his shoulder. “I think I needed to hear that tonight,” she murmurs.

Noah rests his cheek against the top of her hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

And they stay like that for a long time, until Talia reaches for the bottle. She takes a drink, locking eyes with Noah. There’s something electric behind them, something wanting. Noah feels it stirring in himself as he watches her swallow. She licks her bottom lip when she pulls the bottle away, and then hands it to him. He takes a drink, then sets it aside.

Their lips crash together in heat and hunger. Talia parts her lips for him and he eagerly explores her mouth, his hand coming to rest on the side of her neck.

When they pull away, they’re panting. Noah pulls her closer, almost so she’s in his lap, and slides his hand in a slow trail down her body. She watches him, eyes granting him silent, pleading permission. He stops at her waist, curling his inked fingers carefully around the swell of her hip.

“Not here.” His voice is low and ragged with desire.

Talia nods in agreement, “Okay.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the space just below her ear. When she whimpers — a soft, beautiful sound that makes him ache in the best way — he moves down her neck with feather light kisses until he reaches the crook of her neck, where he bites and sucks and teases it with his tongue.

Talia lets out a soft moan at this, encouraging him.

He coos softly at her, “Babygirl, you have to be quiet.”

“Noah,” Talia pleads, reaching up to thread her fingers in his hair, “I want you.”

Noah pulls back just enough to look at her, his breath still coming in short bursts. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with want, and the sight of her like this — vulnerable and trusting and completely his in this moment — makes his chest tight with something deeper than desire.

"Come on," he whispers against her ear, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

He helps her slide out of the booth, their movements careful and deliberate, like they're afraid sudden motion might break whatever spell has settled over them. The bottle of tequila sits abandoned on the table, forgotten in favor of something infinitely more intoxicating.

Noah takes her hand, threading their fingers together as they make their way back to his room. The alcohol and emotional exhaustion hit them both the moment they cross the threshold — the weight of confessions shared, of walls torn down, of hearts laid bare.

They collapse onto the bed together, still fully clothed, Noah's arms wrapping around her as she curls into his chest. Her breathing evens out first, soft and steady against his collarbone, and he finds himself stroking her hair as sleep pulls at the edges of his consciousness.

"Thank you," she murmurs into the darkness, barely audible.

"For what?" he whispers back.

But she's already asleep, warm and safe in his arms, and Noah lets himself follow her into that quiet peace — two people who found exactly what they needed in each other, even if it wasn't what they thought they wanted.

Seven

November 20th, 2022

From backstage, the venue hums with life — a living, breathing thing that pulses through the walls and into Noah's chest. There's something different in the air here, and not just because of the altitude. The energy feels sharper, more electric. There's a sense that something has changed, just a little.

Noah stands just off stage, waiting to go on. He rolls his shoulders, moves his neck side to side, cracks his knuckles — the same ritual he's performed dozens of times on this tour. But tonight feels different. The familiar pre-show nerves are there, but underneath them sits something steadier. Something solid.

He's ready. More ready than he has been this whole tour.

Because tonight, this isn't Lydia's story.

It's his.

The crowd's anticipation bleeds through the curtain like heat from a fire. He can feel their energy, their hunger for what's coming. Summit Music Hall has always been intimate — the kind of venue where you can see individual faces in the crowd, where every breath and heartbeat becomes part of the collective rhythm.

A few minutes later, he steps onto stage, lit only by the ethereal glow of the graphic screen behind him. The crowd erupts — a wall of sound that hits him like a physical force. Their roar ripples through the room like wildfire, igniting something deep in his chest.

He wraps his hand around the microphone, the metal warm and familiar against his palm, and begins the opening verse: "Can you see yourself, through the bruises when the makeup melts?"

His voice cuts through the darkness, raw and clear. Noah is bathed in red light that transforms him into something otherworldly, painting shadows across his face that make him look both vulnerable and fierce.

As he continues, he slowly scans the crowd for Talia. She said she'd be there tonight, taking photos. That this was important for her to shoot. For both of them.

Talia had admitted — amidst their rounds of confessions over the bottle last night — that she had grown up going to this venue. She took some of her first photos from this very room, learning to capture light and movement in the spaces between heartbeats.

Behind him, Folio settles behind his kit with the fluid grace of someone who's done this a thousand times. The drums join Noah's voice, building the foundation as the song grows. Nick and Jolly step into their positions on either side of him, the four of them becoming a single organism, perfectly in sync.

When the song finishes, streamers and confetti rain down into the audience like celebratory snow. The crowd's cheers wash over him as he ducks off stage to grab the mask.

Talia is standing there in the wings, camera slung around her neck like armor, holding the mask out for him. She shoots him a small, shy smile that somehow cuts through all the chaos around them.

"Wanted to wish you luck. Not that you need it," she admits, her words almost lost in the thunder of the crowd calling for more.

Noah leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, tasting the salt of nervous excitement on her skin. "You got this," he says — though whether he's talking to her or himself, he's not entirely sure.

With that, he pulls on the mask, the familiar weight settling over his features like a second skin. He steps back onto stage just as the opening notes of ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE begin to slice through the air.

He grabs the microphone, steps onto the risers, and feels the crowd's energy coil beneath him like a spring waiting to release.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, JUMP!"

The music explodes — drums and bass and guitar colliding in perfect chaos. The crowd erupts with him, hundreds of bodies launching into the air as one. Pillars of steam shoot up across the front of the stage, creating a wall of white that catches the strobing lights.

He crashes down with force. With confidence. With the bone-deep certainty that every word he's about to sing, every note that's about to tear from his throat, belongs to him and no one else.

The mask may hide his face, but it can't hide the truth blazing behind his eyes: this is his story now.

Behind him, red and green lights begin to strobe like a digital heartbeat, painting the stage in alternating waves of fire and poison. The colors slice through the steam and sweat-thick air as he launches into the first verse, his voice cutting through the chaos with surgical precision.

"Soaked in the neon glows, silver-forked tongues talking to you in the digital snow. A glitch in the chain, a loop in the brain that you wanted to break, but you still wanna play the game."

Each word lands like a physical blow, the crowd absorbing them and throwing the energy back tenfold. Bodies surge forward against the barricade, hands reaching toward the stage like they're trying to touch something sacred and dangerous.

And then he catches a glimpse of Talia. She's weaving her way through the crowd at one side of the stage, camera in hand, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knows how to navigate chaos without disturbing it. When she reaches the barricade, their eyes meet across the strobing madness. He nods in her direction — a small acknowledgment that sends electricity shooting down his spine.

As the second verse begins, he crouches low and creeps toward her side of the stage like a predator stalking prey. The crowd screams louder, sensing the shift in his energy. "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Lightin' molotovs for the broken youth."

The words taste like rebellion and gasoline on his tongue. Talia raises her camera, the lens catching fragments of colored light as she frames the shot. The moment stretches between them — performer and observer, artist and muse — until the shutter clicks and captures something indefinable.

Their eyes lock through her viewfinder for a heartbeat that feels like eternity. In that split second, he sees himself reflected in her gaze: not broken, not manufactured, but whole. Burning bright with his own light.

He moves back toward the center of the risers as the verse builds to its crescendo, the crowd's energy pulling him like a tide.

"Can you hear me through the white noise? Can you hear me through the white noi— "

Noah cuts off mid-word, throwing his head back and his arms out wide like he's embracing the entire universe. White light floods down from above, transforming him into a figure carved from pure energy. The music stops — drums, bass, guitar all cutting out in perfect synchronization — and the room falls into a silence so complete it feels like the world has stopped breathing.

In that suspended moment, he can feel everything: the heat radiating from the crowd, the sweat cooling on his skin, the weight of the mask against his face. And underneath it all, the soft mechanical whisper of Talia's shutter capturing this instant of perfect vulnerability.

He welcomes it. Welcomes being seen.

The music crashes back in like a dam bursting, and the spell breaks into a thousand pieces of sound and light.

The rest of the set unfolds like a fever dream — song bleeding into song, the crowd and the band locked in perfect communion. The room pulses with shared breath, shared heartbeats, shared euphoria that seems to lift the ceiling and push against the walls. Bodies move as one organism, voices joining Noah's until the distinction between performer and audience dissolves entirely.

Through it all, Noah catches glimpses of Talia weaving through the crowd like a ghost with a camera, capturing moments he'll never see but somehow feels in real time. The click of her shutter becomes part of the rhythm, another instrument in their chaotic symphony.

Summit Music Hall has seen thousands of shows, but tonight feels different. The air itself seems charged with possibility, thick with the kind of electricity that only comes when something fundamental shifts. The venue that shaped Talia's early vision now witnesses Noah's transformation — two artists finding themselves in the same sacred space, years apart but somehow perfectly aligned.

As the final song builds to its crescendo, Noah's voice soars above the instruments, above the crowd, carrying all the weight of confession and release. The words are his now, completely and utterly his, and every person in this room feels the truth of it.

When the lights finally dim and the last note fades into the rafters, the silence that follows is different from before — not empty, but full. Pregnant with everything that's been said and sung and shared.

The crowd erupts in applause that seems to shake the foundations, but Noah's eyes are already searching. Through the haze of stage lights and adrenaline, he finds her — Talia, camera lowered, watching him with something like wonder in her eyes.

Their gazes lock across the chaos of the dispersing crowd, and in that moment, everything else falls away. The noise, the lights, the lingering high of performance — all of it fades until there's just this: the promise of reconnection, the anticipation of what comes next, and the certainty that whatever they built in that hotel lounge last night has only grown stronger under these stage lights.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she smiles — bright and real and just for him.

The rest can wait. But not for long.

Eight

When he finds her, Talia's already in the green room, the post-show chaos of the venue muffled by concrete walls and a closed door. She hasn't sat down yet — still riding the adrenaline high that comes from capturing lightning in a bottle. Her laptop balances precariously in her hands, and she's got her brow furrowed in that particular kind of focus that means she's seeing something the rest of the world hasn't caught up to yet.

The room smells like stale beer and years of cigarette smoke that no amount of cleaning can fully erase, but there's something else in the air now — anticipation, electricity, the lingering magic of what just happened on that stage.

Noah knocks on the door frame, his knuckles rapping against the metal with a sharp sound that cuts through the silence easily.

She looks up at him, and her entire face transforms — like someone just turned on a light behind her eyes. "Come here, I want to show you something."

There's something breathless in her voice, something that makes his chest tighten with possibility. Noah closes the door with a faint click that seems to seal them off from the rest of the world, before crossing the room in four long strides. His body is still humming with performance energy, sweat cooling on his skin, the ghost of stage lights still dancing behind his eyelids.

He pulls her gently toward the couch, the worn leather creaking under their combined weight as he settles back with her in his lap. She fits against him perfectly, like they were made for each other.

He leans in and nuzzles the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "Show me," he murmurs against her skin, his voice still rough from singing.

Talia inhales shakily, like whatever she's about to reveal makes her nervous in the best possible way. Her hands tremble — just barely, but he feels it where her fingers brush his arm. It's the kind of vulnerability that makes his heart skip.

Slowly, deliberately, she clicks something open on her laptop. An album appears on the screen, simply titled The Sound of You in clean, minimalist font.

The album contains a dozen pictures, all of Noah. But these aren't the Noah he sees in mirrors or promotional shots or the candid photos that float around social media. These are something else entirely. He barely recognizes the figure on screen, but knows with bone-deep certainty that it's him — the version that exists only in Talia's eyes.

He clicks through them one by one, each image hitting him like a physical blow:

A closeup of his gloved hand wrapped around the microphone, fingers tense with the effort of holding onto something precious. The lighting catches every crease in the leather, every white knuckle, transforming a simple grip into something that looks like prayer.

His eyes closed during the bridge of Just Pretend, face tilted toward invisible light, expression so open and raw it makes his chest ache to look at. He remembers this moment — the vulnerability of that song, the way it always threatens to break him open. But in Talia's frame, it doesn't look like breaking. It looks like becoming.

Him on his knees center stage, bathed in red and white light like it was something holy to witness. His arms are spread wide, head thrown back, and there's something almost transcendent in the image — like she caught the exact moment he stopped performing and started communing.

Each photograph is a revelation, showing him not as the damaged thing Lydia's voice whispers he is, but as something powerful, something worth witnessing, something that deserves to take up space in the world.

Noah's breath catches in his throat, words sticking like honey. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah," Talia admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to show you how I see you. Wanted to show you that you deserve to be seen."

The laptop gets set aside carefully, like it contains something too precious to risk damaging. He pulls her impossibly closer instead, until there's no space left between their bodies, until he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. Talia turns toward him slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder.

The sob that escapes him is broken and raw and completely beyond his control — two years of Lydia's poison working its way out of his system all at once.

Because Noah's never felt so seen before.

Not like this. Not by someone who looked at him and saw art instead of damage, strength instead of weakness, light instead of all the dark spaces he's been carrying around.

Not by someone like her.

And somehow, it's everything.

Nine

Before the tears get a chance to stop flowing, reality bursts in. It starts with a rapid, sharp knock on the door — three staccato raps that cut through the quiet like gunshots. Seconds later, the guys are piling into the room, a tangle of limbs and laughter that dies the moment they cross the threshold.

"I hope you two are fully clothed!" Folio teases, making a show of covering his eyes with his hands, his voice still carrying the remnants of whatever joke had them laughing in the hallway.

Talia responds by throwing him a sharp glare that could cut glass, her jaw clenched tight. Nick catches the tension immediately, his elbow finding Folio's ribs with enough force to make him grunt.

Noah can just barely make out Nick's hissed warning over his own ragged sobs, "Dude, read the room."

The shift in atmosphere is instant and jarring. Folio's hands drop from his face like dead weights, his easy grin dissolving as he takes in Noah's tear-streaked face, the way Talia's protective arm tightens around his shoulders. His own shoulders droop, the color draining from his cheeks. He says nothing — a rare occurrence — only crosses the room with careful, measured steps and gently moves the laptop aside to sit beside them. The couch dips under his weight, springs creaking softly.

Nick joins them next, his sneakers squeaking against the hotel carpet as he crouches in front of Noah like he's cautiously approaching a wounded animal. His dark eyes are wide with concern, searching Noah's face for answers. Jolly takes the arm of the couch, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. The man who always knows what to say sits frozen, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Noah knows why. They haven't seen him cry like this since he left Lydia — not these gut-wrenching sobs that shake his entire frame, not this raw, broken sound that seems to tear from somewhere deep in his chest. It's like watching something fundamental crack, and not knowing what caused the fracture.

"What happened?" Nick asks eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing is holding Noah together.

Talia nods toward her laptop, its screen still glowing on the coffee table. Nick's hands shake slightly as he swipes it up, the device warm from use. The room falls silent except for the soft clicking of keys and Noah's uneven breathing. When Nick's done reading, he looks up at them with tears already spilling over his lower lashes, his face a mirror of the devastation they're all feeling.

"Jesus," Nick breathes, setting the laptop aside with shaking hands. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, not bothering to hide his tears.

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable — it's the kind of quiet that comes when words feel inadequate, when the only thing that matters is being present. Folio settles fully onto the couch beside Noah, close enough that their shoulders touch. Jolly remains perched on the arm, one hand coming to rest gently on Noah's back.

They stay like that for a long time, the five of them creating a protective circle around something fragile and precious. Noah's sobs gradually quiet to occasional shuddering breaths, Talia's fingers never leaving his hair, and slowly the room fills with the steady rhythm of shared breathing.

"We're here," Nick says finally, his voice rough with emotion. "Whatever this is, whatever you need — we're here."

Noah nods against Talia's shoulder, unable to trust his voice yet. But he doesn't need to say anything. The weight of his friends surrounding him, the warmth of Talia's arms, the unspoken promise that he doesn't have to face this alone — it's enough. For now, it's more than enough.

Outside, the world continues spinning, but in this room, time has slowed to accommodate grief, to make space for healing, to hold them all exactly as they are.

---

Part two is here! I hope it felt like a satisfying enough chapter.

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Six I | Chapter Seven

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #through the lens #noah sebastian x ofc #not quite enemies to lovers #angst #slow burn #fluff

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