#bad omens fic

[floodflameschosen]

BURNING OUT.

Summary: During the first week of December, a postcard arrives—no name, no return address, just a drunken confession from a stranger who appears to be as lost and lonely as you are this holiday season. Pairing: Noah Sebastian x F!Reader CW: grief, mental health issues (mainly depression), alcohol consumption, open ending Word Count: 11.4k

The postcard arrives on a Tuesday.

You almost miss it at first, tucked between bills you don't want to open and catalogs addressed to someone who no longer lives there—because no matter how many times you informed the magazine that their client’s address has changed, they keep sending the goddamn catalogs every month.

It's only when you're ready to place the pile upon the kitchen counter, intending to just leave the papers there to cluster the space until you eventually muster the energy to toss it all out—as you've been doing with pretty much everything else lately—does the cheap cardstock fall loose and land face up on the floor.

The words are scrawled in messy, uneven handwriting:

“Hey,

I used to live in your house. I’m drunk in Virginia, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays.”

You read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

There’s no name. No return address. Just a half-hearted message from a drunk stranger who probably won’t even remember sending it.

You should just throw it away.

You should roll your eyes, crumple it up, and move on. But you don't.

Instead, you stand there at the counter, holding it between your fingers, staring at the ink until the letters blur.

Outside, the streets are alive with Christmas lights and half-melted snow, with couples walking around wrapped in scarves and mittens, and with families cramming into local restaurants for holiday dinners.

The world is vivid and bright, covered in a soft winter glow. But not for you.

For you, the season is nothing but cold. Empty. A reminder of all the things you've lost this year.

You used to love this time of year—both of you did. The decorations, the ugly sweaters, the way laughter filled the air like a song you could hum along to.

But now? Now it’s just another month to survive. Another string of days where you pretend the silence in the house doesn’t feel heavier with each passing hour.

The postcard lingers in your hands much longer than it should.

Because someone out there—some stranger with messy handwriting and a bad habit of sending drunk mail, of all things—felt lonely enough, lost enough, to reach out to a place they don’t belong to anymore, like it was all they had.

And you understand.

God, you understand.

So, instead of tossing it straight in the trash and forgetting all about it, you set it down on the counter, smoothing your thumb over the words one last time before turning around to walk straight back to bed.

You haven't got a clue who the person behind the postcard is. But right now, for some unknown reason, you really wish you did.

You don't leave the house for the rest of the week.

Haven't, really, in days. Not unless you absolutely need to.

You're used to the routine by now: waking up too late, then staring at the ceiling for too long, and forcing yourself out of bed only when you can't stand the thoughts any longer.

Once up, you go down to the kitchen and make coffee that goes cold before you remember to sip it, and you eat standing over the sink, not tasting the food.

It’s been like this for a while.

Today, somewhere, someone is laughing���one of those deep, belly-aching laughs that used to live here too, filling this same house, rattling the walls.

Not anymore. Now, the space is quiet. Still. 

Grief is a terrible monster. It doesn’t come the way people say it will. It’s not a sudden, crashing wave that devastates you all at once.

No, grief something quieter. Slower.

Grief is a parasite that settles into your bones, feeding on your memories until they're tarnished and rotten, growing stronger by the day, pressing its weight against your chest until it gets hard to breathe and your limbs feel too heavy to move.

It clings. It whispers. It does not leave.

And the worst part? It makes you still. Frozen. Like you’re the one who’s died, while the rest of the world keeps moving.

You think about that sometimes—how the world doesn’t stop for mourning. How people still go to work, still go to school, still go on dates, still adorn their houses with Halloween and Christmas decorations as if nothing had ever happened.

You think about how someone could have walked past him that day, just another stranger on the sidewalk, not knowing it was the last time he’d ever be anywhere.

It doesn’t seem right.

Neither does the silence left behind.

You used to hate how loud he was sometimes—how he filled rooms like he owned them, always going on about something, drumming on countertops, humming, tapping his fingers against door frames.

Sometimes you thought that he laughed too loudly. Talked too much.

Now, all you have left is the silence he's left behind, and it's unbearable. You'd do anything to hear that obnoxiously loud laugh again.

Most days, you still expect to hear his keys jingling in the lock, his voice calling out something stupid as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You still catch yourself turning toward the couch when you pass it, waiting for him to be there, sprawled out with a controller in his hands, feet on the coffee table, because he never listened when you told him not to.

But he’s not. And he won’t ever be again.

That should be enough incentive to make you leave this place, to get out of this house, to push yourself back into a life that isn’t just waiting for him to walk through the door.

But it isn't, and you don't.

Instead, you stay right where he left you and you exist through your days, which by now are all the same.

You consistently wake up late and spend too long staring at the ceiling. Your coffee still runs cold before you remember to sip it, and everything you eat still tastes bland.

Nothing ever changes.

Except for the one new ritual added to that routine: you, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at that anonymous postcard, every day since you got it.

And you wonder why it won’t let you go.

It’s been days, and you still can’t stop thinking about the damn thing.

Maybe it’s because it came at the right—no, the wrong—time.

When the house felt particularly quiet, when the weight of December and the first holiday season without him was pressing in on you, when you felt more like a ghost haunting your own life than a person still meant to be here.

Or maybe it’s because you just want something to care about again. To keep your mind off of things you wish you could just forget.

Whatever it is, it's enough for you to want to know more, and it starts with looking up the brewery it was sent from.

That’s easy enough to find.

A quick Google search, an address in Charlottesville that isn’t too far from you, a website with pictures of the place, and a list of upcoming events—live music, comedy nights, trivia.

No way to connect it back to whoever sent the postcard whatsoever.

Maybe looking up the place should be enough to satisfy your curiosity, but it isn't. So you decide to check the place out for yourself, in person, and maybe look for some additional clues on who this mysterious sender might be.

You shower for the first time in four days.

The hot water stings against your skin, like it’s scalding away something you haven't had the strength to scrub off before now. You stand under the spray longer than you need to, watching steam curl around you, letting it fog up the mirror before stepping out just so you don't have to see yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Once you're out of the shower, you dress without thinking at first—putting on sweats, an old hoodie, your everyday uniform at this point.

Then you pause.

For the first time in months, you reach for something else. Something nicer. Nothing special, but still. A sweater that isn’t stretched out and worn thin. Jeans that fit. You even brush your hair.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

You take the bus to Charlottesville. Miss your stop. Walk the rest of the way.

The streets downtown are slick from last night’s rain, neon lights reflecting off the pavement. Christmas decorations are everywhere—red bows tied to lampposts, wreaths hanging from shop doors, and fairy lights woven through windowsills.

You keep your head down, ignoring all of it, hands shoved deep into your heavy winter coat pockets.

The brewery is bigger than you expected, warm and crowded, smelling of hops and wood and something fried. People laugh, clink glasses, lean in close to be heard over the music playing from the speakers.

You can't help but think that this is stupid—a dumb idea.

Still, you force yourself forward, inside, toward the bar where a bartender with tired eyes and a half-smile leans in to hear you.

“Hey,” You swallow, glancing at the shelves of liquor behind him like they might guide you on what to do next. “Do you guys, uh—get a lot of people passing through here?”

You wince as you ask the question, knowing how stupid you sound.

The guy behind the bar raises a brow, not expecting that.

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, a little unsure, wiping out a glass. “Why?”

You're not sure how to explain this, so you pull the postcard from your pocket, smoothing out the crease you've made from folding it too many times.

“I got this in the mail, from someone who used to live in my house. I don’t know who they are, but—” You lift it slightly. “I figured maybe they come here?”

The bartender takes it, giving it a quick once-over. His mouth twists like he’s trying to place something, but after a second, he just exhales through his nose and hands it back.

“Doesn’t sound like a regular.” He says as he shakes his head.

You frown.

“No?”

“Nah. This is the kind of thing someone writes when they’re passing through, not when they're planning on sticking around.” He wipes condensation off the bar, nodding toward the postcard. “That whole ‘lonely, final goodbye’ thing? Sounds like they were already gone before they even mailed it.”

Sounds like they were already gone.

You swallow.

“The best I can tell you,” he continues, “is to check the event calendar. Look at the performers who passed through in the last month, maybe? See if anything sticks out.”

You should leave—that’s what any normal person would do. Just thank the bartender for humoring them and walk away.

But instead, you glance past him, toward the framed calendar hanging by the register, packed with names and dates in neat little rows.

You hesitate, then sigh.

You've already come all this way, so might as well.

“Can I see that?” You ask, gesturing for the calendar.

The bartender steps aside, letting you lean over the counter to take a better look.

You squint at the tiny print, scanning through a month worth of events—live music, open mics, stand-up comedy. Some names sound like bands. Some are just initials or one-word stage names.

None of them rings a bell, because of course they don’t.

This is stupid.

Still, you take out your phone and snap a picture of the entire thing. For later—not that later will change anything. After that, you tuck your phone away and thank the bartender, finally leaving before you can embarrass yourself further.

Outside, the cold night air bites at your skin. You exhale, watching your breath cloud in front of your face.

Suddenly, you think that he would probably call you crazy for doing this. You can almost hear him now, laughing, amused, and exasperated all at once.

“Jesus, you’re really doing detective work over some random postcard? You need a hobby.”

You swallow hard, throat closing up, because it sounds so real. Like he’s right there beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving you that look—the one that always meant, I love you, but you’re a little insane.

But he isn’t there, and he never will be again.

Your chest aches.

You need to get your shit together.

If this is how you spend your time now—zooming in on a blurry photo of an event calendar from a random brewery, thinking about googling up strangers just to ask them if they perhaps sent drunken mail to anyone lately—it’s clear you don't have much of a life to begin with.

Maybe you do need a hobby.

Walking back to the bus stop, you think about the bus ride here—how you stared out the window as Richmond faded behind you, the hour-long trip to Charlottesville passing in a blur of trees and highways.

How, for the first time in months, you had to exist outside your usual orbit, existing among people who didn’t know you, who weren’t looking at you with pity or concern or asking stupid questions such as “How are you holding up, dear?”

For a second, you almost feel like a normal, functioning person again. The feeling goes away soon enough, though.

The house is too quiet when you get back.

It’s always quiet now, but after the low hum of voices at the brewery, the music, the clatter of glasses and footsteps, this silence is almost unbearable—it presses down on your shoulders, heavy, suffocating.

You take off your shoes, drop your bag by the door, and exhale as you lean against the wall.

You should feel better after getting out, right? That’s what people always say—shit like fresh air, movement, distraction, they're all supposed to make you feel lighter, right?

But instead, it feels like you've aged a thousand years in just a few hours, like the simple act of leaving and returning has drained you of everything.

Or maybe you feel like this because you're here again. Maybe the house itself is sucking you dry.

You rub a hand over your face, pushing away the exhaustion pooling in your limbs, but it doesn’t help. Nothing ever does.

And then, suddenly, you feel it—something ugly, something sharp and cruel, festering under your ribs before you can stop it, because you're miserable.

You're exhausted. You're lonely. And it feels like this is all his fault.

You hate yourself the second the thought creeps in, because what kind of person even thinks that? What kind of person blames the dead for, well—dying?

You do.

Even if just for a split second, you do.

You blame him for leaving you here in this silence. For turning this house into a tomb. For dying and taking everything with him—every sound, every heartbeat, every warm moment that made this place feel like a home instead of just four walls and a roof.

As the thoughts creep in, you press the heel of your hands against your eyes, tears burning behind closed eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

To yourself. To him. To the empty, hollow space left between you.

But the silence doesn’t answer.

It never does.

You tell yourself you’ll stop at number five.

Five quick searches, then you’re done.

It’s not obsession—it’s just curiosity. And curiosity is harmless.

You sit on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, laptop glowing against the dark of your room. The picture of the event calendar is open on your phone, the names blurry from where you zoomed in too much.

You pick one name at random and type it into Google.

The first act is a local band. Their website is an abandoned Tumblr page, and their two songs on Spotify sound like they were recorded in someone’s basement with a single, malfunctioning microphone. No mention of a solo traveler sending drunken postcards, of course.

Next.

The second is an indie-folk duo. Their Instagram is filled with aesthetic black and white photos—sunsets, coffee cups, grainy shots of them performing in tiny bars.

You scroll through, looking for anything—posts about being on the road, about traveling alone, about missing home.

Nothing.

Next.

The third is a singer-songwriter with a meticulously curated social media presence. He posts inspirational quotes under every video, smiling like he has never known a bad day in his life.

You click out of his page immediately.

Next.

The fourth is a stand-up comedian.

Big mistake—you watch exactly thirty seconds of a YouTube video before slamming the laptop shut.

He’s the kind of guy who thinks being loud is the same as being funny, the kind who makes jokes about “cancel culture” and “snowflakes” while wearing a t-shirt with a terrible pun on it.

It's so bad you give up before search number five.

Jesus Christ. This is pointless.

You exhale sharply, tossing your phone onto the bed.

The bartender was right.

This person—whoever they are—is probably long gone, leaving behind nothing but a wasted postcard and a stranger wasting their time on it.

So you shove the postcard into your bedside drawer, and that’s the end of it. You're done playing detective.

Days pass.

Or maybe it’s the same endless day, repeating over and over, like a tape stuck on loop.

You wake up. You shower when you manage to conjure up the energy. You eat when you remember to. You sleep when you can.

The cold settles deeper into the city, pressing against the windows, making the streets feel haunted. The nights stretch longer, swallowing the days whole.

Nothing changes.

You don’t check the drawer. You don’t think about the postcard. Not really.

But sometimes, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you wonder—did they ever make it home, wherever that may be? Do they even remember sending it?

Would they care if they knew a stranger was looking for them, holding onto their words like they meant something?

You don’t have answers, of course.

And you won’t find them, because you’re done looking.

Two days later, you wake up to the sound of something scraping against the semi-frozen ground outside.

It drags and scrapes, again and again, rhythmic but uneven—like someone is digging.

For a long moment, you lie in bed, mind heavy with sleep, not sure if you’re still dreaming or if your mind is simply playing tricks on you.

The house has been so quiet these past months, an unbearable kind of silence, like you're stuck in a soundless limbo.

You’ve spent so many nights staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the heater and the occasional creaks of the old house settling, that you're used to the weird noises.

But this—this is different.

You slowly sit up, ears straining, head foggy and pulse sluggish. Then, there it is again. A dull thud. A scrape. A pause. Then another thud—someone is definitely digging.

You push back the covers, shivering as the cold air bites at your skin even through your hoodie. The clock on the nightstand glares back at you—3:14 AM.

Who the hell could be outside your window, digging, at this hour?

Heart hammering, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and move toward the window, peeling back the curtain just enough to see outside, breath fogging up the glass as you scan the yard below. The dim light of the lamp post isn't much help, but you strain your eyes and focus, and then you see it—a tall, dark figure crouched near your dying garden, a shovel in hand.

Your breath catches, rage and fear flaring hot in your chest. There is a stranger outside your house, messing about in the yard.

No—the garden.

His garden.

He’d spent so many mornings out there, drinking his coffee and pulling weeds, talking to the plants like they were old friends. He loved that garden, and you haven’t touched it since he died.

The frost has taken over, creeping along the dead stems, claiming the once vibrant space. And now—now some stranger is out there, digging around in it?

You let the curtain fall back into place and spin around, adrenaline buzzing beneath your skin. You don’t even hesitate—just head straight for the bedroom door, movements sharp and purposeful.

You don’t bother turning on any lights as you make your way downstairs. Your fingers hover over the switch near the front door, but you stop yourself. If someone’s really out there, and if they happen to be dangerous, you don’t want to alert them of your whereabouts.

Instead, you leave the lights out and reach for the baseball bat that still rests behind the entrance door, untouched for months. It was his idea to keep it there—“Just in case,” he used to say, grinning as he twirled it in his hands.

He would laugh if he could see you now, clutching it in your freezing fingers, about to walk outside and confront some lunatic who apparently decided your yard was prime real estate for digging.

You crack the door open, bracing against the rush of icy wind. The porch light flickers on automatically, its dim glow illuminating the yard, causing the man to startle so hard he nearly falls over, dropping the shovel with a dull clank against the frozen ground.

He turns to face you, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide.

And, okay—what the hell?

He’s tall. Ridiculously tall. And covered in tattoos. Dark ink snakes up his hands, his arms, disappearing beneath the pulled-up sleeves of his black hoodie. You can also see ink all over his neck.

His long, messy hair falls over his face, and even in the dim porch light, you can see the wide-eyed panic in his dark eyes.

“Shit—okay, wait—listen,” he stammers, stepping back. His breath curls into the air in white plumes, and he sways slightly, unsteady on his feet.

Is he drunk?

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start swinging.” You say as you tighten your grip on the bat, jaw clenched.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Okay, look, this—” He says, gesturing vaguely toward the considerably large hole in the ground. “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re desecrating my yard in the middle of the goddamn night!”

“I—yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he says quickly, slurring his words a bit. Definitely at least a little tipsy, then. “But I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He swallows hard, hands once again raised in surrender, palms out. His fingers are freakishly long.

“I used to live here, alright? A long time ago. And, uh…” He yet again gestures vaguely at the hole he was digging. “When I was a kid, I buried a time capsule here. Like, a treasure box? And I just—I don’t know, I wanted to see if it was still here. Get it back, hopefully.”

You stare at him, disbelief mixing with irritation.

“You’re telling me you broke into my yard at three in the morning, in the middle of December, to dig up some childhood treasure chest?”

He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortably sheepish.

“Yeah, but—look, it’s not just some stupid thing. It’s important. You have no idea how much it means to me. I… I need to find it. It’s—” He glances at the hole again, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s the last thing I have left. It’s all I have left.”

His voice cracks at the end, and it stops you in your tracks. For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for the wind whipping through the trees.

You feel it—a tug in your chest.

It’s the edge in his voice, the kind of desperate longing you’ve been trying to ignore in yourself. The kind that made you search for something, anything, to hold onto after everything you knew went to shit.

And maybe he’s drunk, sure. But the look in his eyes—the hollow look of someone trying to cling to some sort of lifeline—makes you hesitate. You’ve seen that look before in the mirror. You’ve felt that look before.

And then it clicks, because—he’s the one, isn't he? He’s the person who sent the postcard.

For a second, you freeze, your heartbeat quickening, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You stare at him, that realization creeping in, and suddenly, you’re not so sure how to handle this anymore.

You blink hard, trying to shake off the weird emotions, and raise the bat higher as you try to remind yourself that, no matter how desperate they might look, this is still a stranger who's trespassing and ruining your yard. You shouldn't be willing to let him get away with this.

“You really think I’m gonna let you just dig up my yard because you need to find a damn child's box? It’s not happening. Get off my property.”

His expression falters, but he stands his ground.

“I’m not leaving. Not until I find it. You don’t understand—it’s more than just some kid’s memory. It’s—” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I’m not crazy. I swear. Please, just let me—”

You hate that you feel that tug in your chest again, harder this time, and something in you shifts. You know what that desperation feels like.

Hell, you’ve been drowning in it yourself.

So you lower the bat just a little, just enough to show him you’re considering it, your eyes narrowing.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For the… You know. Grave robber vibes.” He tries again, and his eyes soften, just a little. “But just—please. I really need this. I swear I’ll go as soon as I find it. Please.”

God, this is fucking insane.

“Fine!” You snap. Even as the words leave your mouth, you can't believe you're agreeing to this. “You can look for the damn thing. But if you turn out to be a serial killer who’s in fact digging my own grave there, then you fucking suck, 'cause I’m being really nice here.”

He lets out a startled laugh, the sound coming out too easily for someone who was just moments ago pleading to keep digging in your yard like a madman.

“A serial killer?” He repeats, and for a second, it seems like he’s genuinely amused, the corners of his lips pulling up while his eyes glint with humor. “That’s a new one. But don’t worry, I’m not the homicidal type.”

He pauses, then looks at you with something else shining in his eyes now, his expression turning oddly sincere.

“Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much this means to me.” His voice carries a weight that makes your skin prickle. It’s enough to make you uncomfortable, the way he looks at you like you just saved his life.

Like this random act of kindness is everything to him.

You clear your throat and take a step back, trying to shake off the feeling.

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep looking, 'cause you’ve got thirty minutes. After that, you’re out. Don’t make me regret this.”

He nods quickly, the gratitude still heavy in his eyes.

“I won’t, I swear. Thank you.”

You watch him go back to digging, his hands moving with determination now, and you still don’t lower the bat completely. You just stand there, freezing under your hoodie and sweatpants, your mind racing, unsure of how you ended up in this bizarre situation.

He digs like his life depends on it.

His breath comes in short puffs of white against the night air, his fingers dirt-streaked and trembling from what you guess is more than just the cold. You watch, arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot to try and warm up, waiting for the inevitable moment when he realizes his stupid box isn't there anymore and he’s wasted his time.

But then—

“Oh, shit.”

His entire body stills.

For a moment, he just stares down at the hole, his chest rising and falling quickly from exertion, and then he’s dropping to his knees, pulling something from the dirt with both hands—a wooden box, old and weathered but miraculously intact.

You expect him to open it carefully, but no—he pries it open with frantic hands, as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he hesitates even a second longer.

His breath shudders out of him when he sees what’s inside.

“Holy shit,” he exhales, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all still here.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch as he sits right down on the damp, semi-frozen grass, and lifts out a photograph, brushing dirt off the edges with the care of someone handling something sacred.

“This—” He says as he turns it toward you. It’s an old photo, slightly faded, showing a familiar house and a young-looking couple posing together in front of it.

Even in sepia tones, you recognize it instantly. The porch, the windows, the yard.

It’s your house.

“My grandparents,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “They bought this place before I was even born. Spent their whole lives here.”

He pulls out another photo—this time, it shows a little boy grinning between that same couple, older now, a backpack almost too big for his small frame draped over his back.

“That’s me,” he says. “First day of school. My grandparents walked me to the bus stop down the street every morning until I was, like, twelve. Embarrassed the hell out of me, but…”

He trails off, running his thumb over the edge of the picture, voice growing softer. “I get it now. They just wanted to hold onto me for as long as they could.”

Something in your chest aches.

He looks different like this—like the weight he carries has been lifted, even if just for a moment. Like, for the first time tonight, there’s some light in his eyes. It tugs at something inside you, something buried so deep it feels like it shouldn’t still be there.

Because you wish—God, you wish—you could do the same. You wish you could dig somewhere and unearth something that could bring back the light in your eyes. Something that could pull you back to who you used to be before everything happened.

But there’s nothing left for you to dig up, is there?

For one crazy, fleeting second, the thought slams into you with enough force to make your breath catch: if digging something out of the dirt is all it takes to bring back a lost part of yourself, then why can’t you just go to the cemetery, dig up your best friend, and demand he comes back?

The thought is so absurd, so horrifying, that your stomach twists violently against it. But the feeling lingers, even as you shake your head, even as you try to push it down.

Because the truth is, if you could, you would. If you thought it would work, you would.

You clear your throat, trying to rid yourself of the weight pressing down on you, and shift your stance. He’s still staring at the photo in his hands, lost in something only he can see.

Then, as if suddenly remembering you’re there too, he glances up.

“Come here,” he says, patting the grass beside him without hesitation. “You gotta see this.”

And you should say no.

You should turn around, go back inside, lock the door, and leave him to his nostalgia.

Better yet, you should ask him to get the fuck out of your property now that he's found what he was seeking.

But you don’t, because that small light is still in his eyes. And you think—just for a moment—that if you sit next to him, maybe some of that warmth will reach you, too.

So you turn around, step inside for a moment, and drop the bat near the door before coming out again and making your way over to him.

He barely even acknowledges you moving, too caught up in what he’s unearthing from the past.

The ground is freezing as you lower yourself beside him, the cold seeping through your clothes immediately, but you choose to ignore it.

He pulls out a tiny Lego man next, dusting him off with an amused huff. “I was obsessed with this guy. Had this whole elaborate storyline for him. He was, like, a secret agent with a double life. Normal guy by day, total badass by night.”

You huff out something that almost resembles a laugh.

“What a nerd.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, grinning, but then his expression softens as he pulls out another object—something small and round that you can’t quite make out right away. He turns it over in his palm.

“My grandpa used to carry this around,” he says. “A pocket watch. It broke, like, years before I found out about it, but he kept it on him anyway. He used to tell me it was a magic watch, that it could stop time if you knew the right trick.” He shakes his head. “I spent so long trying to figure it out.”

He laughs under his breath, but there’s something wistful behind it.

“I put it in here because I thought if I buried it, I’d come back and it’d be fixed. I dunno. Kid logic.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just let him keep talking. And he does—more than you expected.

He tells you about his grandparents, about how his grandma smelled like oranges because she swore by some old family superstition about rubbing citrus peels on your hands for good luck. How his grandpa used to sit on the porch every morning with his coffee and newspaper, humming the same tune under his breath that no one ever recognized.

He tells you about how the house used to be filled with music, with warmth, with a life that’s long since been swallowed by time.

And you listen.

You listen because, for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re just existing. For once, the world isn’t so heavy, so empty, so cold.

And you know it won’t last.

In a few minutes, he’ll run out of things to reminisce. He'll close the box, the light will fade from his eyes, and the weight will return to both your shoulders.

But for now—for now, you sit beside this stranger in the cold, watching the past come alive through the objects in his hands, through the words leaving his mouth, and you glimpse into a life that was never yours.

You don’t know how long you sit there, knees pulled to your chest against the cold, listening as he pulls each tiny relic from the past and brings it back to life with his stories.

There's a marble.

A single, tiny, blue marble, its surface cloudy with age.

“Used to think it held the whole sky inside it,” he murmurs, rolling it between his fingers. “Swore I could see clouds moving in there if I stared long enough.”

There's a folded-up note, edges crumbling with time.

He hesitates before unfolding it, smoothing it out carefully on his knee.

“A letter to my future self.” His lips twitch up when he speaks. “Bet it’s something stupid.”

It is.

The handwriting is messy, barely legible. He squints at it in the dim light, clears his throat, and reads it aloud:

“Dear Future Me,

Are you famous? I hope you got us into a cool band like I planned. And do we have a dog? Our own house? Did you manage to leave town, or are we still in Richmond?

I hope you didn’t turn out lame. If you did, just lie about it.

(P.S.: If you have a wife, don’t be a dumbass. Tell her you love her. That's what grandpa always says, and he's usually right about that stuff.)”

You don’t mean to laugh, but the way he groans and drags a hand down his face makes it impossible not to. He crumples the letter back up, tossing it inside the box.

“God, I was a little shit.” He mutters, but there's amusement in his voice.

He keeps going, explaining trinket after trinket. Sharing fragment after fragment as he pulls random things out from his little treasure box.

You don’t say much—instead, you just listen.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like you’re drowning in silence.

But eventually, inevitably, he runs out of objects and stories, and starts putting things back. Your chest tightens as you watch him tuck each piece of his past carefully into the box, securing the lid, brushing away the dirt.

He’s leaving.

You shouldn’t care. You barely know him. You don't know him.

But the thought of this moment ending—of him leaving and taking the momentary warmth away, of being left alone in the silence again—makes your stomach twist.

So, before you can overthink it, you clear your throat and blurt out the words: “Where are you staying? While here in Virginia, I mean.”

He glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask.

“Charlottesville.” He nods vaguely down the street. “Took the bus here earlier, figured I’d just go to the bus station and wait for the first bus back in the morning.”

At that, something in your chest twists even tighter, and you don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because you know how miserable the bus station is at night—cold, empty, barely more than a fluorescent-lit limbo. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t sit right with you that he’s just going to disappear into the dark, back to whatever life he’s been wandering through before this.

Or maybe—maybe you’re just simply not ready to be alone again.

So, against all logic, against every instinct that should be screaming at you to let him go, you say, “You can stay here.”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Just for the night,” you say quickly, before you can change your mind. “You can crash on the couch. It’s freezing, and you’re kinda drunk—no, don't deny it, I can smell the alcohol in your breath.”

The words make his cheeks darken enough that you notice it even in the dim light, but you don't comment on it.

“Waiting at the bus station for hours sounds like hell,” you shrug. “But it's up to you.”

He just looks at you, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake—if you’ve misread the entire situation, if he’ll think you’re weird or crazy or too much. But then—

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that, you’re bringing a stranger into your home.

A stranger who sent you a drunken postcard.

A stranger who just unearthed his childhood from your backyard.

A stranger who, for some reason, doesn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Inside, the warmth of the house seeps into your freezing skin, making goosebumps rise all over your body, and you realize just how truly cold you were outside.

You shut the door behind you, locking it out of habit, then glance at the man as he steps further in, his eyes sweeping the space carefully, like he’s making an effort to commit every detail to memory.

There’s something oddly hesitant about the way he moves around the room, like he’s walking through a dream, a place he only half remembers.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just takes it all in—the cluttered bookshelves, the old coffee table, and the worn sofa that doesn’t quite match the armchairs sitting opposite it. As you watch him, you can’t help wondering what he thinks about it all.

“You changed the layout so much,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His fingers skim the back of the couch absentmindedly, and when he speaks again, it's louder, like this time the words are actually directed at you.

“The walls used to be a different color. Furniture was all pushed against them, too. My grandma had this old ass china cabinet right over—”

He gestures vaguely toward the far wall, but his words trail off, his attention shifting elsewhere, thought forgotten. You follow his gaze, and that’s when you realize what he’s looking at.

The pictures.

They line the wall, sit over the fireplace—snapshots of moments frozen in time. In every single one, you’re there, smiling, laughing, caught in moments that will never exist again.

And beside you, always, is him.

You feel the question coming before he even says it.

“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

It’s such an innocent question, and yet, it slams into you like a fist to the chest.

He doesn’t notice your reaction at first, still looking at the photos as if they’re the most interesting things he's ever seen.

“Is he sleeping?” He presses, voice lowering to a murmur, as if it would make a difference after all the noise he's made by digging about outside. “Shit, sorry if I—”

“No.”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend—too cold. Too final.

“That’s my best friend,” you say, forcing the words out, as if it costs you greatly to explain this. And it does, you realize, as you try to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Silence.

You can feel him looking at you now, trying to put the pieces together and make sense of what you mean, but you don’t meet his gaze. You keep your expression blank, keep your shoulders squared, keep yourself from folding under the weight pressing against your ribs.

“Got it,” he says after a moment, voice quieter now. Gentler.

Just like that, the conversation ends. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just nods and keeps moving as he looks around, but the air between you feels heavier now, thick with something left unsaid.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off. Then, before the silence can stretch any further, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”

He blinks, caught off guard.

“What?”

“Your name,” you repeat. “I just let you into my house, and I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Oh. Right.” He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—Noah. My name’s Noah.”

Noah.

The name settles into your brain, into your chest, into the walls and the floorboards and the space between you.

You nod once.

“Okay, Noah.” You say the name out loud, trying it out, testing the weight of it on your tongue. “Are you hungry? I can fetch us something to eat.”

And then, without waiting for a response, you turn and head for the kitchen, pretending the sound of his name doesn’t linger in your head—on your tongue—a little longer than it should.

You hear his footsteps follow, and when you reach the kitchen, he steps in right beside you. When you look at him, you can see he’s scanning the place, taking in the details, like he’s once again trying to piece together what’s changed since the last time he was here.

You move toward the fridge, but before you can open it, he steps forward.

“Oh, please—let me.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You want to make your own food?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to make our food. It’s the least I can do after waking you up, trespassing in your yard to dig around, and then keeping you up to talk about my—” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “—my stupid childhood stories.”

His words make something protective flare in your chest, though you’re not sure why. It doesn't make any sense.

“They weren’t stupid,” you protest immediately.

Noah just gives a noncommittal shrug.

You shake your head but don’t argue. Instead, you lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest and watching as he opens a cabinet at random.

“Not that one,” you say, and he pauses.

“Where’s the bread, then?”

“Cabinet to your left.”

He adjusts, grabbing the loaf and setting it down. Then, without looking up, he asks, “Plates?”

“Top shelf.”

“Silverware?”

“Drawer next to the sink.”

Noah follows your instructions without hesitation, pulling things together with an ease that surprises you. You don’t know what you expected—maybe for him to be more hesitant, more awkward in a space that isn’t his—but he moves through the kitchen with confidence, his hands steady as he unwraps the bread and starts making the sandwiches.

You find yourself watching his hands.

They’re big—really big—but oddly graceful. His fingers move with precision as he spreads mustard onto a slice of bread, and something about the motion is… calming. Strangely comforting.

The repetitive, familiar sounds of food being prepared fill the quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there isn’t suffocating silence in your house.

“So,” he says after a moment, “what’s your verdict?”

You blink.

“On what?”

“Me being a serial killer.” He says as he quickly glances at you, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Have I redeemed myself of that first impression?”

You snort, shaking your head.

“The jury’s still out.”

“Damn. Tough crowd.”

“You did dig up my yard in the middle of the night.”

“I did,” he agrees, nodding solemnly. “And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, holding a knife while making you a sandwich and definitely not stabbing you. If that’s not proof of good character, I don’t know what is.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

Noah doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too focused on what he’s doing, stacking slices of ham and cheese onto the bread like he’s making the most important sandwiches of his life.

Then, without looking up, he says, “I used to make these for my grandparents all the time.”

You blink. The shift in conversation is so sudden, so casual, that it catches you off guard.

“When I was a kid,” he continues, “they both worked a lot, so I’d try to help out however I could. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I was a master at peanut butter and jelly. And sandwiches. Lots and lots of sandwiches.”

There’s fondness in his tone as he sifts through old memories yet again.

“They never complained, even when I sucked at it, coming up with terrible new combinations,” he says, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “My grandma used to say that a sandwich made with love tastes better than a five-star meal. Which, looking back, was probably her way of trying to make me feel better about putting way too much mustard on everything.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“So should I be worried?”

“About what?” He sounds genuinely confused, and it's adorable.

“The amount of mustard, of course.”

“Nah,” Noah says as he looks up, meeting your eyes again. He grins. “I’ve perfected my craft since then.”

You huff a small laugh but don’t look away. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—something warm, something open—that unsettles you in a way you don’t quite understand.

Instead of dwelling on it, you shift in place and say, “And just so you know… I really meant it when I said your childhood stories weren’t stupid. I liked hearing about them, and about the house, too.”

For a moment, Noah says nothing, and just stares at you with those unnerving dark eyes of his—eyes that make it feel like he's looking right into your soul.

After what feels like forever, he clears his throat and looks away, sliding a plate toward you.

“Well,” he says, voice quieter now, “thanks for listening.”

You don't say anything as you take the plate, the coolness of the porcelain sinking into your fingers, and as you walk back to the living room, his footsteps following close behind, the house doesn’t feel quite so empty.

Neither do you.

You settle onto the couch while Noah takes the armchair across from you. The air between you feels lighter now, easier.

You finally take a bite, surprised at the taste.

“Okay,” you say, chewing, “not bad. Not bad at all.”

Noah scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“You were talking this up like you were some kind of sandwich prodigy, man. I was expecting a life-changing experience.”

He places a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

“I’ll have you know, that is a damn good sandwich.”

You smirk. “It’s edible.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head, taking a bite of his own sandwich, clearly trying to hide a smile. “Ungrateful.”

You let out a small chuckle, and for a few minutes, the two of you just eat in comfortable silence.

Then, between bites, Noah says, “I still can’t believe this house is so different now. Even just the living room. The couch used to be over there,” he gestures toward the opposite wall, “and my grandma had all these little porcelain birds over the fireplace that I wasn’t allowed to touch. But I did, obviously.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I broke one,” he admits. “A tiny blue jay. I was, like, eight, and I panicked. So I tried to glue it back together, but I sucked at it, and it ended up looking like some Frankenstein version of a bird. My grandma took one look at it and just sighed, all disappointed. My grandpa, though? He laughed so hard he nearly cried.”

You huff out a laugh.

“Sounds like your grandma had her hands full with you two.”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, settling deeper into the chair. “I was a menace, just like grandpa. You have no idea how many times Mrs. Peterson threatened to call the cops on me.”

You nearly choke on your sandwich.

“Mrs. Peterson?”

“Yeah,” he says, giving you a look. “You know her?”

“Know her?” You groan the question out. “That woman was the neighborhood number one gossip. I swear she made it her personal mission to know everyone’s business.”

Noah laughs.

“That sounds about right. She used to sit on her porch and act like the neighborhood security system. If I so much as looked at my bike the wrong way, she’d be yelling at me about how kids these days don’t respect their belongings.”

“Oh my God,” you groan again, more dramatically this time, rubbing your temples. “She used to do that to me, too! Except instead of my bike, she was always getting on my case about my car.”

Noah raises an eyebrow. “Your car?”

“Yep,” you say, sighing. “I used to drive this old, beat-up Toyota, and I was never exactly… gentle with it.”

He smirks. “Define not gentle.”

“I mean, it got me from point A to point B.” You say, waving a hand dismissively. “Who cared if I left empty coffee cups in the back seat or if I never remembered to take it to the car wash?”

Noah just stares at you, blinking. And then—

“Oh my God,” he says with a laugh. “You were the menace!”

You gasp.

“I was not!”

“No, no, I see it now,” he says, pointing at you with his sandwich. “Poor Mrs. Peterson was just a concerned citizen, and you were out there treating your car like a dumpster on wheels.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever. The point is, Mrs. Peterson was obsessed with how I treated that car. Every time I passed by her house, she’d make some comment about how I was ‘disgracing a perfectly good vehicle’ or how I ‘lacked discipline and self-respect.’”

Noah snorts.

“Sounds about right.” There's an amused, teasing glint to his eyes when he says it.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter.

“Come on,” he says, grinning. “She was kind of funny.”

“Oh yeah, hilarious.” You retort sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “You know she once told people that my best friend and I were actually related?”

Noah blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “She decided that we had to be related in some way because, apparently, a man and a woman being just friends but living together wasn’t believable enough for her.”

“So… What?” Noah looks both amused and confused. “She just declared you relatives?”

“Not just relatives,” you say, pointing at him. “According to her, we were close relatives. Practically siblings. And the only reason we pretended to be just best friends was because we were actually a couple living in sin.”

Noah stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter.

“No way!” He says between laughs.

“Yes, way!” You insist. “She spread that story around like gospel. And you know she believed it too, because every time she saw us, she’d give us these looks—like we were bringing some scandalous shame upon her sacred neighborhood.”

Noah is still laughing, actually doubling over a little, shaking his head.

“That’s insane.”

“You’re telling me.” You exhale, leaning back against the couch, a soft smile on your lips. Then, without thinking, you add, “He actually liked her, though.”

That makes him pause again, tilting his head.

“Your friend?”

“Yeah.” You nod, picking at the crust of your sandwich. “I complained about her a lot, and every time, he would just shrug and say she was probably lonely. That minding people’s business was her weird way of connecting with the world.”

Noah’s expression softens, and it makes your heart ache.

“He used to help her out, too,” you continue. “Cut her grass, help her plant new flowers, and all. He liked doing that stuff—gardening, I mean.” You pause, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “He had a way with plants, y’know? Could bring anything back to life.”

Noah is quiet for a moment, just watching you, then he says, “I get that. My grandma taught me everything I know about gardening. We spent every summer afternoon out in the yard together, tending to the plants. She made it feel… Peaceful, I guess.”

Something about that makes your heart ache harder.

It’s a simple thing, but it means something. The way Noah speaks about his grandmother with warmth, the way he understands why your best friend would’ve found comfort in the soil and the roots and the life that comes from them.

“Do you still garden?” You ask.

“When I can,” Noah says, giving you a shrug that's accompanied by a small smile. “It’s kinda hard when you don’t have a real home.”

You stare at him, suddenly aware of just how much he’s been carrying.

You don’t know why, but the thought of him—this person who once had a home full of warm memories—now floating from place to place, with no roots, no permanence… It bothers you.

It shouldn’t. You don’t even know him. And yet.

Something about him—about the way he’s sitting in your living room, eating a sandwich he made in your kitchen, sharing stories that make you feel something other than empty—makes it feel like maybe you do know him now. Even if just a little.

“Anyways,” you say, trying to stir the conversation back to safer grounds. “Mrs. Peterson? That woman lived to stir up drama.”

“I bet she still does,” he says with a soft chuckle.

“She, uh…” You hesitate, all the humor draining from your face. “She passed away. A few years ago.”

Noah pauses.

“Oh,” he says, expression sobering. “Damn.”

You nod, staring down at your sandwich. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Still,” Noah says, softer this time, “I bet she was spreading rumors ‘til the very end.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

“Yeah. She probably told the nurses at the hospital that the doctor was illegally selling organs on the black market or something.”

That makes Noah laugh again, and his laughter makes you laugh, too. It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this.

But as the laughter slowly fades, a familiar heaviness settles back in your chest. Because suddenly, he is in your mind again—your best friend, his smiling face flashing through your thoughts like a memory you weren’t prepared for, and it makes you realize: this is the first time you’ve talked about him out loud since he died.

The first time you’ve let yourself share with someone else even a fraction of who he was and what you had.

It should hurt more than it does, you think.

In some ways, it does hurt—like a dull, familiar ache in your ribs. But as you glance at Noah, who’s still a bit flushed from laughing too hard, you realize that talking about him, especially like this, isn’t as painful as you expected.

In fact, it almost feels nice. Like, for just a moment, the weight of grief isn’t crushing you completely.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

After you finish eating, Noah stands up and gathers the plates without a word, surprising you as he walks back to the kitchen to deal with them, leaving you a moment alone with your thoughts.

The open space allows you to watch as he moves around with efficiency, rinsing off the dishes and wiping down the counter, his movements relaxed, unhurried, as if he still belongs in the house.

Watching his back as he stands by the sink, you can almost convince yourself that it’s not Noah you’re seeing—it’s him. For a fleeting second, if you pretend the tattoos aren’t there, or that the strands of his hair are much shorter, you can make yourself believe your best friend is back.

For a blissful moment, you get to pretend the last few months of pain and loneliness and despair had never been real. That it was all a big, horrible nightmare.

God, you wish.

Shaking the thoughts away, along with the sharp sting of pain it brings, you get off the couch and climb the stairs, your steps slow and heavy. At the far end of the hallway stands the closed door of your best friend’s room, right next to yours—a room you haven’t dared enter since the funeral.

For a moment, you consider offering Noah to stay in the room. After all, a soft, warm bed would be much better than a cold, hard couch. But the thought immediately makes something twist in your stomach.

You still can’t bring yourself to step into what used to be his space, the room that holds so many memories of someone irreplaceable. No one else is allowed to disturb that place, much less a stranger, no matter how nice a stranger they might be.

So instead, you rummage through the hallway closet and pull out a couple of extra pillows and a thick, worn comforter—the only items that might turn the living room couch into something resembling a proper, comfortable sleeping space.

When you return to the living room, you find that Noah is still in the kitchen, putting away the condiments he used for the sandwiches back inside the fridge.

Just as he’s about to close the fridge door shut, something catches his eye.

“Huh.” He tilts his head. “You like Corona, too?”

The reaction is instant—you stop mid-step, frozen. Your grip tightens on the blankets. He doesn’t notice the way your face shuts off, the way your body goes rigid.

“Mind if I have one?” He asks, still looking into the fridge, reaching for one of the bottles as he speaks out.

You remember the six-pack you’d bought weeks ago—purchased out of habit, without thought.

They’re not yours.

They’ve been sitting in the fridge for weeks, untouched. You weren’t even thinking when you grabbed them at the store—just running on autopilot, your mind so foggy with grief that muscle memory took over.

He always asked you to grab him beer whenever you went shopping. Always made you double-check that you wouldn’t forget. And so you didn’t.

Even when he wasn’t there to ask or to drink them.

Even when he wasn’t there at all.

A lump forms in your throat as memories of late afternoons spent with your best friend over beer—his gentle smile, his ridiculous humor—flash before your eyes.

You had only realized your mistake when you got home that day, unpacked everything, and saw the six-pack sitting on the counter. Then you cried yourself to sleep at four in the afternoon, only waking up again the next day.

Noah turns to you, still holding the fridge door open, waiting for an answer.

You want to be pissed. You want to tell him to put the bottle back. Tell him to fuck off and just go to sleep.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice quiet. Then, to your own surprise, you add, “Grab one for me, too.”

Noah pauses for a moment, watching you closely, as if he can sense something’s off. But instead of asking, he just nods and retrieves two bottles, pops the caps off with the opener on your fridge, and hands one to you when he’s back in the living room.

You take the bottle without another word, then take a careful sip, the cool liquid mixing with bittersweet memories.

This time, as you both settle into the living room, you take the armchair near the window, while Noah arranges the pillows and comforter on the couch. Making himself comfortable, he pulls the comforter over his lap.

He takes a sip of his beer, then glances at you.

“Corona is my go-to, you know,” he muses, tipping the bottle slightly to watch the liquid shift inside. “Reminds me of my grandpa. That was his beer of choice, too.”

You hum in response, taking a sip from your own. You don't have anything to add to that, so you don't.

The mention of his grandfather seems to unlock a few more memories, and he begins to speak again, eager to talk about someone he clearly misses, his tone soft and reflective.

You’re not sure how you get there, but as you drink, he ends up telling a story about how his grandpa always tried to fix things around the house himself instead of hiring someone to do it, and much to his grandmother's amusement and chagrin, somehow always managed to make it worse.

And you listen.

“Don’t get me wrong, he was full of wisdom—always had the best advice for anything you’d throw at him.” He says with a fond smile, but the glint of sadness in his eyes is impossible to miss. “But he was terrible with his hands.”

Noah chuckles, shaking his head. His voice is steady, easy—a comforting sound to accompany the low hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen, and the gentle rustling of the comforter whenever he moves.

“I remember the time he tried to fix a leaky sink. Ended up flooding half the kitchen until grandma had to come in and shut everything down herself. She practically dragged him away, threatening to file for divorce if he didn't call a plumber.”

You listen, each word wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You can picture his grandpa—the man from the picture, determined, wise yet hopeless with a wrench—and the way his grandmother’s stern love would have both scolded and comforted him.

Noah continues, “He was the kind of man who might make a mess of the repairs, but he could fix a broken heart with just a few words. Always knew what to say to make you feel better. I always admired that about him.”

The conversation meanders into lighter topics after that—memories of summer afternoons spent in the garden, laughter that echoed on warm evenings, and the comforting routine of a simple, happy childhood.

At some point, the warmth from the beer seeps into your skin, the exhaustion from the day creeping up on you.

You don’t remember when exactly your eyes close.

All you know is that, for the first time in months, you fall asleep with someone’s voice in the background instead of unbearable silence.

You wake up to the soft glow of late morning light spilling through the curtains, casting long shadows across the living room.

There's a crick in your neck and an ache in your lower back, your body stiff and uncomfortable from the awkward position you must’ve slept in.

Your eyelids flutter open, and as you slowly try to blink the haze of sleep away, the first thing you register is that you’re curled up in the armchair, tangled in a heavy comforter.

Confusion settles in. Why were you sleeping in the armchair?

You push yourself upright, wincing as your joints protest, your brain still sluggish with sleep. You blink some more and look around the living room, trying to piece together how you ended up here.

And then, slowly, things start to come together—the cold night air, the crunch of semi-frozen dirt. The quiet desperation in the eyes of a stranger digging in your yard.

Noah.

Memories flood back all at once—the treasure box, the stories, the sandwiches and the beers in the living room. His laughter ringing through the house. His voice lulling you into sleep before you even realized you were drifting.

Your stomach sinks as you glance at the couch, because it’s empty. The pillows are still there, slightly indented from where he must have laid his head, but Noah himself is gone.

Noah is gone.

A strange, hollow sort of disappointment settles in your chest.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re not surprised. He was always going to leave—this was never anything more than a passing moment in the middle of a winter night, a crazy chain of events wrapped in quiet conversation and borrowed warmth.

And yet, something in your chest twists at the thought of him leaving without a word. You don’t know why it stings. He never said he’d stay.

Maybe it’s because, for the first time in so long, the emptiness in this house wasn’t unbearable. It wasn’t suffocating. It was filled—by another voice, another presence, another person simply existing here beside you.

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence had filled the cracks, how much softer everything had seemed with another person breathing in the same space as you.

And now, in the aftermath of that, the silence feels even worse than before.

Sighing, you shift the comforter off—realizing Noah had draped it over you before leaving, and ignoring how that small detail makes you feel—and start folding it, smoothing the fabric between your fingers.

It’s only when you move to place it back on the couch that you notice it: something small, something slightly crumpled, resting on the pillow Noah had used.

A note.

You hesitate before picking it up.

The handwriting is slightly messy, like it was written in a hurry, but still legible:

“Thanks for letting me dig around in your yard and crash on your couch. I owe you one.

If you ever want to fix the mess I made—or if you need help with the garden, since you said your friend was the one who used to take care of it—shoot me a text. I’ll be more than happy to help.

I don't know if we’ll be seeing each other, or even talking to each other again, before Christmas.

If we don't—Merry Christmas. And thank you so much. Again.

— Noah”

He left you a phone number.

You stare at it for a long time, your fingers ghosting over the ink. Something tight presses against your ribs, something stupidly close to relief.

Waking up alone, the comforter around your shoulders like a silent apology, the space around you empty once again. His absence had felt too much like an ending.

But this—this note—felt like something else.

An afterthought, a lingering presence, proof that it wasn’t just some meaningless, passing moment to him either. And yes, sure, the offer is casual. Maybe he doesn’t even mean it, maybe he’s just being polite.

But it’s there.

You don’t realize how long you sit there, the note loose in your grip, until the stillness of the house starts pressing in again. Until the ticking of the clock on the wall reminds you that you’ve already wasted enough time sitting around like this.

You press your lips together, shoving the note into your pocket as you move toward the stairs, up to your room.

You try to tell yourself you won’t text him.

You last less than 24 hours before you do.

YOU: Hey, Noah. I might take you up on that offer to help me fix the garden. Let me know when it’s best for you.

A reply comes less than five minutes later.

NOAH: How does tomorrow sound? Say, 3 PM? YOU: Sure, that works. NOAH: Awesome! See you tomorrow, then. :)

this silly little thing was inspired by this post here. also, some of the grieving parts were inspired by @concretejunglefm's 'poltergeists'. i channeled bubs a few times there, so thank you for the trauma, lexi!! and thank you for beta reading this and being so supportive, if i'm writing again and sharing it, it's mostly thanks to you. i love you.

[kaliforniahigh]

I think it's onlay fair if we get jealous ex husband Noah now🤭

Set when they're not back together - maybe another dad flirting with reader who doesn't mind it at all, Noah has some comment about it and she just says something like "He's hot and I haven't got laid in weeks so." and shruggs her shoulders, face full of dissapointment after Noah dragged her to his car with "family dinner" excuse for leaving the school event so early

Ooohhh, this is sooooo good! It's only fair we get to see the other way around, right? I think I twisted it up a bit, but oh well. I imagine this is set after they reconnected, but they're not officially back together yet!

WC: 1.5k words.

Warnings: jealous Noah and a little bit of tension. I think that's it.

Exhusband!Noah and Exwife!Reader masterlist.

It was Ezra's basketball game.

That's right. Ezra, the overly artsy kid, wanted to try to play basketball at school.

He wasn't exactly bad at it, and the fact that he was the tallest kid in his classroom gave him an advantage - you thanked Noah's genes for that.

Everyone was in attendance. You, Noah, and the boys from the band. After the game, they were taking Ezra to dinner and to - hopefully - celebrate the win.

You were all sat together on the second row. The school gymnasium was filled with parents, as the little ones ran around the court, trying to score.

You saw him from afar. Sean was Henry's father, a kid is Ezra's classrom. They played together on the basketball team, and Sean was at every game.

He was still wearing his police officer uniform, which means he probably came here straight from work. Henry's mother was nowhere to be seen - as per usual. From the few times you've talked to him, you learned that Sean was basically a single father. Henry's mom doesn't usually bother showing up for the kid, and when she does, things tend to get messy.

Your eyes caught his from a distance, and he gave you a small wave as a greeting gesture, which you reciprocated.

Sitting next to you, Noah raised his eyebrows at the interaction.

"You know him?', he asks, head nodding to the direction Sean was at.

"Yeah, he's Henry's father", you answer, mostly paying attention to the game in front of you, and not really at the way Noah seemed to be throwing imaginary daggers in Sean's direction.

"Who's Henry?", he asks, once again.

"Number 12 on Ezra's team"

Noah only hums in acknowledgment, Ruffilo snickers from beside him which catches his attention.

"What?", he inquires from his friend, who keeps a knowing look on his face, along with a little smirk.

"Nothing, man. You're just so transparent. It's really funny."

Noah only sighs, not wanting to entertain Nick and his absurdities. He just wanted to know who the man was, that's all.

Halftime comes fast enough, and all of the little ones gather around their coach, and P.E. teacher, to talk "strategies" and drink some water.

The parents take the time to talk amongst themselves. You see a figure approaching from your right, and when you turn to look, you see Sean moving closer to where you and the boys are seated.

"Hey there, Y/N", he greets, extending his hand for you to shake, which you do, with a smile and a hello of your own. "How have you been? It's been a while since we've seen each other", he makes conversation.

"I've been great. Taking care of the little one and keeping the shop afloat", you tell him, keeping your answer short enough for the occasion. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know. Balancing work and parenting, like always. Good thing Henry doesn't give me too much trouble."

"Oh, Henry is a great kid", you point out. Him and Ezra were good friends, and he always toldyou about how kind and generous Henry was. "Ezra has actually been asking me about that sleepover."

"Oh, yeah. Henry has mentioned it as well. We should definitely schedule something over the summer. How about that?", Sean suggests and you agree, telling him that it would be a great opportunity for them to spend some time in the pool.

"I see you brought friends today?", Sean looks over at the boys.

They're usually not always available for these events. But when they are, it's always a suprise to see the whole gang here.

"Yeah, these are my friends. This is Nicholas, Jolly, Nick, Bryan, Davis and...", right when you were about to introduce Noah, you didn't even have the chance to stutter out his name before he was talking over you.

"I'm Ezra's father", he said, with a serious and clipped tone, and an almost unapproachable look on his face. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else rather than here, talking to Sean.

"Yeah, man. Y/N has mentioned you a few times", Sean tried to lighten the situation. "Congrats, you two have an amazing son."

"Thanks", Noah nods once. He knows he has an amazing son. He doesn't need this man telling him the obvious.

"Well, the game is about to resume soon. I better get back to my seat", Sean announced just as the referee blew the whistle and another quarter began.

"Nice talking to you, Sean", you waved goodbye and focused back on the game.

Beside you, you could feel Noah's energy radiating off of him. You could always tell when he was feeling either angry, pissed off, or downright jealous.

And in this moment, you could basically smell the jealousy in the air.

"Something wrong?", you ask, looking sideways and talking a little quietly next to his ear.

"Nope. Everything's great", he tells you, but you notice that's not really what he wants to say. You decide to push him a little more.

"Sean is nice, right?"

He looks at you when you say this, and you try to keep a neutral look on your face.

"Regular guy. Wouldn't say he's nice", he shrugs his shoulder with indifference.

"Did you know he's single? Hard to believe that", you add.

"Why is it so hard to believe?"

"Because he's nice, charming, polite", you list things off. "Besides, I'd say he looks pretty good in a uniform", you make a motion of fanning over your face.

You didn't need to tell him twice for him to notice you found Sean attractive.

"This is unbelievable", Noah snickers. "Let's just pay attention to the game, ok?", he says, turning his face away from yours, and for a second, you think that you might have taken this too far.

What can you say? Jealous Noah was always one of your favorites.

When the game was over, and Ezra's team came out on top, everyone congregated back on the parking lot.

Ezra couldn't contain the energy still coursing through little body. Excitement written all over his features.

"Daddy, did you see that one point that I scored? It was sick!", he exclaimed, and Noah said that yes, he did see that one point he scored, even though he had no idea what point he was talking about.

"Mommy, can I be a basketball player when I grow up?", he asked, eyes all hopeful and glimmering with passion.

"Of course you can, buddy", you encourage, and he becomes even more elated than before.

"Ok", you crouch down to his level, putting both of your hands on his shoulders to stop him for a minute. "Now, you're gonna go with your uncles, and I need you to be on what?", you ask him, putting your hand on your ear to "hear better" what he has to say.

"On my best behavior!", he exclaims.

"That's right", you congratulate him with a high five. "Don't eat too much, or you'll have a bellyache later, you hear me?", you instruct him, and he says yes. "Now, go say bye to your dad."

Noah and Ezra share their own little conversation at the same time Nicholas tells you not to worry about anything, and that they'll take good care of Ezra.

You assure them that you know they will. You trusted them with your son with your eyes closed. Ezra loved to spend time with his uncles so much, that him going out with them without you or Noah became a regular occurence.

Once they were all in the car, leaving as Ezra waved goodbye from the back window, you and Noah made your way to his car.

"Do you wanna grab something to eat?", you ask him as you wait for him to unlock the car so you can get inside.

When you're both settled and bucledk in, and he stil hasn't answered your question, you ask again, only for him to come out with the pettiest answer ever.

"I think Sean would be up for dinner. Think you should ask him", he says, and your mouth actually kind of drops open at this.

"Maybe I will", you challenge back when you compose yourself. "Think I need to put my theory to the test."

"What theory?"

"That men in uniforms are a good fuck", you look at him with a little fire in your eyes, and he's looking back at you with just as much heat. The tension has filled the car completely. "Been a while, you know? Think he can show me a good time"

The silence is thick, and it hung heavy in the air. Noah knew what you were doing. He knows this is not about Sean anymore. And he sure as hell knows that you're not about to fuck another man other than him tonight.

"You want someone to show a good time? Is that what you've been looking for?", his voice wore a smirk, and there was a promise hidden beneath the surface. "You don't gotta go looking anywhere else, honey. You got it right here."

You let his words linger in the quiet between the two of you.

"Well, now that you know what I want, what are you gonna do about it?"

"You're gonna find out soon enough", his tone held a provocation to it. "My place or yours?"

Tag List: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mysterygirl-srl @lacy1986 @dream-machine-love @theanarchymuse95 @missduffsblog @xmads-omensx @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @pipidoll @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @kissestomyomens @hedonist-k1l @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @daemontargaryenwife @h0riz0nsiren @astronoids @flowery-mess @renegadebirch @ashlynnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn @jesuisunchaton @carrieontillmay @bloody-spades @amelia-acero @death-ofpeace-ofmind @saythatuwill @kenjipepsi1 @concretejunglefm @renvconta19 @artbyamixx @13-11-95-blog @ichoosetenderomens @oobleoob @concreteangel92

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[darksigns-exe]

ghost in the silence // deer in the headlights — part i: the void between us

Warnings: Grief, minor character death, swearing, alcohol and drug consumption, intercourse, swearing

Word Count: 10k

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

The comments are full of the same comparison. 

Pia can see it in a way. 

But then again, they’re all a little guilty of finding inspiration in Sempiternal, although she would never admit that to Oli. She’s not giving him that satisfaction. But the commenters under this video are taking things a little bit too seriously even for her taste. From what she can tell, this is a fairly new band. At least this is the first she’s heard of them. The label had sent her a few links of bands they were considering as support for the bands' next tour. It wouldn’t be a big run, just a couple of shows up and down the country. 

These guys could be fun to bring along, Pia thinks. She does a little more digging, looks up what their live shows are like. She has a reputation to uphold, after all, can’t bring a group of dorks on tour who are only good on tape. 

Deciding that she’s happy with what she’s seeing, she sends a couple of links to the rest of the band. 

The rest will have to co-sign her decision before she’ll even consider giving the label an answer. 

While she waits for their responses, Pia orders another Americano. Maybe this one will take her headache away. With her coffee ordered, Pia decides to actually reach out to the band. Regardless of if they’ll bring them along or not, she wants to show a little bit of support. She knows how much that means when you’re still in the infancy of your career. 

She pulls up the band's account. 

badomenscult

It’s a little cliché, but there are only so many ways to name an Instagram account. She scrolls through their posts for a bit and quickly before she settles on a message. 

⮚ Hi! Just got sent some of your stuff and really liked it. Do you have stuff planned for next year?

She’s popped into enough band guys' DMs at this point to feel somewhat unaffected by it. It stopped being a big deal once they started to crawl into hers. She doesn’t expect an immediate response. She doesn’t know where exactly in the US they are, but Pia knows that it’ll still be early over there. 

She still has a few things she needs to finish before she can take a break. The band pays okay, but it’s still not enough to feed everyone. And besides that, Pia would rather have a second leg to stand on, just in case. 

By the time she has tweaked the last few things on the poster she’s been working on, Alex and Morgan have already given their approval. She’ll annoy the other’s about it when they meet up later that week. 

It’s nearing three when she decides to call it quits for the day. She’ll stop by the shops on the way home, pick up something quick to eat so that she won’t have to worry about that. 

The line-up of sandwiches and salads is always unimpressive, and she settles on the same pasta salad she usually goes for. As a treat, she grabs a bottle of Lambrusco that will leave her with the worst hangover. 

She needs the buzz of it, though. 

Just as Pia turns the corner towards the underground station, her phone pings with a notification. 

She pulls it from her bag, unlocking the screen quickly. 

noahbehumble liked your post

When she taps on it, it’s an image from 2012. A horrifically grainy and honestly unflattering image of her squished between a variety of people at Slam Dunk. She’d just turned 18 and spent the summer selling merchandise for another band to build up a little bit of a cushion before she’d start university. 

It’s a nice memory, but it’s buried so far down her timeline that she doubts that he meant to like it. When she checks the people who have liked it, his username has conveniently disappeared again. 

A moment later, a message from the band account pops up at the top of her screen. 

⮘ Hey! Thanks for the support. We’re currently looking for shows to book over the summer. We have a couple of festivals lined up but nothing big - Noah

Pia decides to let him stew for a moment. He can wait until she’s home. And at any rate, she doesn’t know if they’ll even go for these guys. But there’s something endearing about how quickly he’d answered. She knows the excitement too well. She’d been through the roof the first time someone from a bigger band had reached out to her. 

They’d just put out the EP, entirely independently. And sure, all of them had friends and contacts in the scene before, but the five of them had been determined to make it with as little support as possible. The overall reception had been so much better than any of them had anticipated. The cherry on top of all of it had been the love they got from other bands – their peers. Hearing that they liked what they’d put out had been so incredibly validating. 

Throughout the ride home, Pia tries to come up with a good way to keep this conversation going, even if they don’t end up taking them on this tour, she wants to keep things friendly. 

You can never know, after all. 

By the time she’s home, Pia is sure that she’s come up with a decent answer.

⮚ Oh that’s sick. We’re coming to the US for a few shows later that year too, maybe we’ll run into each other at some point

It’s neither here nor there, but she can’t exactly ​​tell Noah that they’re considering them as openers. That’ll be a job for their label. 

The flat is too quiet when she unlocks the door. 

She still isn’t used to it. And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be. It’s especially bad in the mornings. Sometimes she thinks that he’ll be there when she wakes up, but the bed is always empty. The sheets are starting to lose his scent too. 

Pia hasn’t had the heart to put any of his things away yet. 

Realistically, it would probably help if she’d do that. 

Not being constantly reminded of what has been can only help her, but at the same time, removing him from their home makes it final. 

And so she avoids the flat as much as she can. 

She works from a café in the city, even if the coffee is too expensive there. Pia doesn’t remember the last time she set foot in the kitchen to cook a real meal, either. None of this is healthy, she’s well aware of that. But she just isn’t ready to let him go yet. 

You don’t just let six years disappear like that. 

She knows that he’d want her to move on, and honestly, she’s trying, but taking the steps is so much harder than she thought it would be. She’d poured all of her pain and anger and sadness into writing this album, hoping that it would take a little bit of it from her shoulders. 

They’re almost done recording it and maybe by the time it’s out in the world, she’ll feel a little less heavy. 

The week drips by like honey. 

Pia goes through the motions of her daily life. It’s a safe routine that keeps her on track as best as possible, but she still finds herself struggling. Her mornings do become a little easier, if only because she drags herself out of the house at the crack of dawn to start working. It’s not entirely healthy either, but at least she’s not rotting away in bed for the whole day anymore. 

The one time she’d dared to go out with friends — they’d practically dragged her out of the house and into the nearest pub — people got so offended that Pia hadn’t shown herself publicly for a good few weeks. 

How dare she try to crawl out of this Marcus-shaped hole again? 

It’s been all downhill from there – as if she hadn’t been heading towards a destructive downward spiral already. 

In a way, Pia understands it. They want her to be upset because he is was a beloved figure in the scene. People have lost, and she understands that they want him to be mourned, but they’re demanding something impossible for the sake of her well-being. She’s glad that she’s become aware of this at least. And maybe that’s the first step in the right direction. 

She’s saying her big goodbye with this album. 

She still has a few tracks that they’d worked on together. Fragments of things that she at least wants to try to incorporate into this new album. Maybe that’ll make it feel  a little better. 

It’s been almost six months, and one some days, Pia still catches herself thinking that she has to stop by the hospital to visit him. 

Taking this particular line will always remind her of that. She almost gets out at an earlier stop but catches herself, just before she rises from her seat. 

Maybe one day she won’t feel like this anymore and this stop will just be a normal stop again. 

Stepping out into the stuffy underground station, Pia quickly makes her escape towards daylight. She stops by one of the overly expensive coffee shops on her way to the studio they’re renting at the moment. She lets herself into the building with the electronic key fob. 

Pia can already hear the rest of the band debating further inside the space. Whatever they’re discussing has them tangled up in a heated debate. Knowing her friends, it’s not that serious, and they’re just trying to rile each other up. 

“Look who’s finally made it.” Liam announces, when she attempts to quietly sneak into the main room. 

Pia pushes the nagging anxiety to the back of her mind – at least she tries to. Keeping herself occupied with this will be good. She throws herself into the conversation, hoping that it’ll make her chest feel less tight.  

“So what are we thinking for the tour?” Charlie asks when they gather in the main room for lunch. 

“I think there’s a clear winner.” Alex replies, taking a bite out of his burger, “Don’t get me wrong they’re all good, but I really felt that those Bad Omens boys have a lot of potential.” 

Pia had a feeling that they’d all be on the same side with this. 

“I messaged their singer. He seems nice.” Pia adds, “Said that they’ve been trying to get a foot in the door over here, but their label hasn’t been very helpful.” 

They all know what that feels like. Their label had been rather unhelpful in getting them overseas so far and the band had only made it to the States with the help of friends. Another thing she’ll never tell Oli about. 

His ego really doesn’t need that. 

It’s a quick decision. Liam’s excitement about the band's drummer seems to seal the deal and while the real final decision is with the label this is a pretty done deal. They won’t tell the band until the label has given their okay.

Pia’s glad that they decided on these guys, they remind her a little of their own start. If it hadn’t been for other people having faith in them, they’d never made it this far. It’s only fair if they try to do the same for other bands. 

It’s nearly midnight when they leave the studio again. It starts to feel better, as if every bar they write, every song they finish seals up the open wounds in her chest a little bit more. It’ll take a while for it to heal completely but for the moment the exhaustion of the day is heavier than the grief. It’s a good kind of exhaustion. The kind you feel after a day of creating and engaging with people you like. On the way back home, Pia lets her eyes slip shut. The rhythmic rattling of the underground almost lulls her into sleep, but the sharp sounds of the breaks stops her just before her mind slips from her entirely. 

She watches as a few more stragglers enter the carriage. She only has a few stations left until she has to exit. As much as she dreads going home, she can’t wait to curl up under her duvet. 

Sometimes she thinks that she should just get a new place, start over in a new part of town. There’s so much attached to this one place. Moving out of that flat would surely make things easier, but at the same time Pia has never felt more at home in a place. And maybe she just needs to find a way to feel comfortable there without Marcus. He’d want her to move on, to be happy without him. Moving on doesn’t mean that she’s erasing him entirely, even if that is what it feels like on some days. 

Climbing the stairs to the top of the station feels odd, knowing that he wouldn’t be there to walk home with her. Whenever she’d come home late, Marcus would pick her up from the station, and they’d talk the long way home, stopping on the way to get a little late night snack. Now, Pia takes the shortest route home, not stopping unless absolutely necessary. Their part of the city isn’t unsafe, but walking around on her own like this has always made her a little nervous. 

The flat is quiet when she enters. 

It’s always quiet now, but for the first time in a while the quiet doesn’t feel overwhelming. Instead, Pia feels a rush of comfort when she closes and locks the door behind herself. She takes a moment, draws in a deep breath, before she toes off her trainers. 

The noise of the city is non-existent here. There was always comfort and quiet in this place, and maybe Pia just to find a way to let herself feel all that again. She’s managed to shed the overwhelming guilt that she’s still here when Marcus isn't, so maybe she’ll be able to feel comfortable in her own home again some day. 

June comes around sooner than Pia had expected. Before she knows it, they’re rehearsing the new songs and getting the show ready. 

They've been informed that they’ll meet Bad Omens a week before the first show in Leeds. They’re friends with the other support and will travel to the venue with them. 

Pia is surprisingly excited to play these songs live. Over the last few months, she’d found herself dreading the moment she’d have to step on stage and face these people. They’ll forever look at her as the person who could or should have done more. They’re not alone in that. For months, Pia had told herself that she should have seen it coming. That she should have known, but at the end of the day there was nothing more she could have done. Pia had chewed through the whole thing multiple times with her therapist, just to be repeatedly reminded that she had done everything she could have done. 

She had come as soon as she had heard him fall, she’d called the ambulance, tried to resuscitate him while she’d waited for them. In the end, the paramedics had pronounced Marcus dead less than five minutes after they’d arrived. 

They had taken her to the hospital too, and Pia hadn’t fully realised what had actually happened until a few hours later. 

Since then, she’d played through that day again and again, trying to find something she could have done differently. And much to her dismay, she’d always come to the same conclusion. 

She had done everything she could have done. 

Pia had thought about clearing the air about it. Whenever she had brought the idea up with Charlie, he’d only shaken his head. 

They don’t think that it’s your fault he had said the first time – and every other time the topic had come up. 

Commotion drags Pia out of her thoughts. They’ve gathered at a practice space that will give everyone a bit of space to sniff each other out. 

“They’re here.” Morgan announces, quickly slinking away from the window again so that whoever is approaching won’t see her, “Why are they all so tall?” 

Pia just about manages to conceal her chuckle. 

There’s a crush in the making there, she thinks. 

Knowing Morgan, they’ll have to tie her down by the second week. 

They’ve done this often enough for her to only feel nervous about meeting someone new. There’ve been a few conversations over the last few months, but at the end of the day, they’re still strangers. 

A few minutes later, a group of boys – varying shades of tall and tattooed – make their way into the room they’ve all been hanging out it. 

Pia eyes them as they file into the room. 

The one she recognises to be Noah – their singer – lingers at the back, almost hiding behind another one. 

Alex thankfully takes over introductions, allowing Pia to sit back and watch for a moment longer. 

They make a good first impression. Jolly, the guitarist, seems to be fairly comfortable being the voice of the band and really Pia gets it. People always expect the singer to be front and centre, but if she’d never had to give another interview again, she’d be just as happy. 

They’re an hour into getting to know each other when Pia feels eyes lingering on her. She follows the line-up of boys until she finds Noah. When he notices that he’s been caught, he quickly averts his glance, suddenly so interested in a loose piece of string on his jeans. But Pia doesn’t miss the bright pink that colours his cheeks, no matter how hard he tries to hide his face. 

It’s a little endearing. 

The next time she gets to talk to any of them is the morning of the show. It’s an all hand on deck kind of morning. The only person she doesn’t see until midday is Noah. And it really does colour him in an off light. No one from their camp seems to be worried that Noah is painfully absent, which makes Pia think that this is not the first time he hasn’t shown his face during set up. 

“Bit odd that he just doesn’t show his face until lunch.” Pia notes, when he finally slips into the dressing room, they’re all forced to share. 

Morgan shakes her head, “Without saying anything too. If he’s poorly, he could have just said something.”

Pia shoves another forkful of pasta into her mouth, “It’s not a good look.” 

Across the room, the band's drummer – Folio – lets out a loud barking laugh. 

None of them seem to be particularly rustled by the fact that their singer had been so glaringly absent. In fact, she thinks that the band's bassist still regards him with a degree of worry that she doesn’t quite understand. 

Going up to one of them to ask hey why was your singer all morning? feels misplaced too. And somehow that makes Pia feel even worse about just assuming that he couldn’t be bothered to help. At the end of the day, she doesn’t know why he wasn’t there, and she thinks that at least a small part of her is trying to look for things to dislike. 

Either way, someone could have said something. 

The next thing she hears of Noah makes her want to scratch out her own eyes. Pia has gathered that he’s the stoic silent type. The shy smile he’d thrown her way on the first day seemed to have been a once in a lifetime mistake, rather than a common occurrence for him. The boy has a near terminal case of resting bitch face, barely manages to exchange more than a handful of words with any of the other people on this tour, and when he does he sounds so absolutely full of himself. 

None of it makes sense to her. 

Pia gets that at least a part of it has to be compensation. They’re the least experienced band on this bill, and they’re overseas for the first time. He’s probably trying to cover up the fact that he’s nervous. She’s been in his shoes herself. 

His calculation comes with a fatal flaw, though. 

Instead of garnering sympathy for himself, his act slowly chips away at Pia’s patience and, at least in parts, she’s starting to regret the decision to bring a band they don’t really know on this tour in particular. 

Her nerves are raw enough as it is, she doesn’t want – or need – to deal with the tough boy act of a newly signed frontman. 

Sleep is always rare on these tours. They’re finally in a bus, which makes things a little more comfortable if there wouldn’t be the small detail that Pia has been barely sleeping as it is. It’s getting better, but she still doesn’t feel as if she’s ever truly rested. 

The exhaustion of running around on a stage for ninety minutes does help. It’s better than running circles into the living room carpet while she attempts to listen to another audiobook that she’ll quit not even three chapters in. The shameful pile that she’s starting to build up feels more and more daunting every time she opens that damned app. 

They’re in Bristol when Pia decides that she’s had enough of whatever kind of trip Noah is on. At the very least, she has to find out why he keeps missing out post show dinners, shared breakfasts and most importantly set up. 

She just catches Nick – the bassist – as he’s slipping out of the back of the venue. Out of the four of them, he seems the most approachable to her. Jolly seems decidedly too been-there-done-that for her, and the other Nick is busy throwing heart eyes at Morgan. 

She doesn’t even add Noah into this calculation.

After another failed attempt at a conversation with him that had ended with her frowning and him looking as if he’d rather be doing anything else in the world, Pia had given up on trying. 

“Nick.” she calls after him, almost tripping over her own feet as she tries to catch up with him. 

Nick not only has the vibe of someone who spends most of his free time in a tattoo shop, as she has learned that this is exactly what he does. Most of their conversations so far had consisted of him showing her pictures of his cats, which Pia had countered with pictures of her mum's Bernese mountain dog. She’d learned that Nick is, while entirely inoffensive, not the bland kind of inoffensive. He’s somehow the second most level-headed person she’s ever met. Third if she includes Marcus. 

Pia thinks that Marcus would have liked Nick. 

Marcus had repeatedly tried to get her to agree to a cat of their own. Pia’s argument against it had been their touring schedules. And now she wishes that she’d just said yes the last time he had asked. 

Nick stops when her words reach him. He turns, looking pleasantly surprised.

“One of your guys said you’re going for coffee?” she offers. 

He gives a nod in reply before he takes a drag from his cigarette, “You wanna join?” “If I have to have another cup of whatever piss they’re serving in his venue I might cry.” 

He laughs at that, “Believe it or not, we’ve had worse.” 

He tells her about a venue they’d played back home that served what he describes as brown water as coffee. Whatever they had here wasn’t too far away from that. 

“So how did you all meet?” she asks while they’re in line at the coffee shop. 

He thinks for a moment. 

“I’ve known Noah for ages. Jolly’s a friend of a friend and we found Nick online. Or rather he found us.” 

Still nothing that explains why Noah is the way he is. 

“You just know a guy who knows a guy from Sweden?” Pia asks. 

“Basically. Yeah.” Nick nods, “We needed a new guitarist and Jolly’s old band was about to end things. Just kinda worked out like that.” 

They talk about everyone else for a while longer before the topic finally reaches Noah. 

“Noah put this whole thing together, you know? He’s the brains behind this whole operation. We all contribute of course but Noah’s doing most of the writing.” Nick talks about him almost reverently. 

She gathers that they’ve been friends for much longer than she’d anticipated and from how carefully Nick seems to navigate around anything that seems too personal she assumes that he won’t take well to her digging for more details. 

She does have to ask about the absences, though. She reasons that if anything is going on they should know. As much as she currently hates his guts she’d hate for him to have some kind of health condition that they didn’t know about. 

“So some people have noticed that he keeps disappearing.” She starts. 

Framing it as some people instead of Morgan and I have been speculating about what he gets up to feels a little less — forward. 

“Is that normal?”

Nick gives a chortled laugh in response, and Pia thinks that he almost choked on his coffee. 

“I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this to be honest. It’s a multipart problem, actually. He gets these really bad headaches sometimes. It’s been worse since we got here. I don’t think that the jet lag and the time difference help.”

Pia knows that this isn’t everything. And Nick doesn’t seem to want to hide that he isn’t telling her everything. 

It does explain some things, and Pia does sympathise with him. She knows how big this is for them and feeling poorly on a tour like this is awful. She watched Morgan barrel her way through their first big tour before she’d started to get any kind of help with her endometriosis. They’d had so many late night talks trying to decide if they could ethically ask her to continue like this, but Morgan had insisted. 

“I’m sorry that he has to deal with that.” She says finally, “If we can do something, just say the word.”

Nick mouths a quiet thank you. 

The headaches don’t explain the arrogance Noah puts on display. It’s frustrating, and Pia really doesn’t understand where this attitude is coming from. Sure they’re a good band, Noah’s a great frontman, but he’s not exactly in the position to act like this. 

It all comes to a head just three days later. 

Pia watched from the balcony of the venue as Bad Omens set up their gear. She had intended to work on a few designs – new merchandise that they’re planning to drop later in the year. Her attention is quickly drawn to the goings-on on stage. 

She watches as Alex joins them, asking if they’ve got a hand to lend. 

Noah is nearest to him, but barely manages to look up from his phone. She’s within earshot and the fact that he doesn’t even say a single word or give any kind of indication that he has even heard Alex fills her with a deep settled fury. 

And when he turns away mid-sentence, Pia decides that she’s had enough of this. She makes her way down to the main part of the venue and just as she rounds the corner Noah comes towards her. 

“Got a moment?” she asks without a lot of fanfare, hoping that her anger is somewhat masqueraded. 

He nods, “Sure.” 

And even then he sounds as if he’d rather not listen to whatever she has to say. He still follows her towards one of the two dressing rooms they have available at this venue. 

She paces towards the far end of the room, trying to gather herself a little. When she turns around, Noah is leaning against the door. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing but this act –” Pia gestures towards him, “is not doing you any favours. I know what it’s like to be the new band on a bill. All of us do. But you need to cut back on the attitude. If someone asks if you have five minutes to help with bringing boxes inside, the least you could do is pretend to listen.” 

His face twists into a frown, but he remains silent. 

“And this is not the first time people have noticed this. If you want to act as if you’re better than all of us, by all means do it, but it’s not going to help you make friends.”

“Who says that I want friends?” 

Pia thinks that he sounds more like a bratty teenager than the Alex Turner-esque cool guy he’s trying to be. 

“You need friends – contacts – people don’t fucking hate you in this industry.” 

He has the audacity to scoff.

“I really don’t know what your play here is.” Pia shakes her head, “Do you think that this is going to help any of you in the long run? Burning bridges on your first international tour is not going to make anyone want to take you on again.” 

“Then we’ll just go on our own.” 

“You know that you cannot make it on your own in this industry right? Egotism and this fucking awful attitude will not sell your records.” 

Pia realises that this is going exactly nowhere. She gets ready to push her way out of the room, but Noah makes no indication that he’s willing to move away from the door. 

“Why do you think that I need to hear you tell me how to go about our career? We’ve gotten this far without help.” The almost cocky sound of his voice makes her want to jab her fist into his stomach. 

“Why are you here then? If you need no one, why did you agree to this?” 

Noah doesn’t have a quipped reply for this question. She can practically see the cogs in his head turning. 

“You don’t need to put on this weird ass tough guy act. Whatever you think it’s achieving it’s not doing that. It makes you look like a dickhead and if that’s who you want to be, that’s great. But the guy who replied to my initial text didn’t seem like a dickhead.” 

Noah fixes her with an odd glare. She thinks that he wants to say something, but he remains silent. 

“I get it – wanting to make it on your own. But that’s just not how this works. I would know. I tried.”

Pia doesn’t know why she’s trying to convince him of something he very clearly does not want to understand. She has no horses in this race. It shouldn’t matter to her if they “make” it or not. And yet here she is. Watching someone who very clearly has the ambition and talent for this flush it down the drain with an awful attitude just feels wrong. 

Pia can’t decipher the emotion that flickers across his face. 

“This has to work out.” He says quietly. 

It’s a moment of vulnerability Pia hadn’t expected out of this confrontation. 

“I know. But you need to get your act together. And you need to do it quickly. Alex is already on my ass about me putting a word in for you. I’d hate to be wrong about this.”

They’re silent for a long moment and Pia feels as if there’s something Noah wants to say. But he doesn’t. He remains silent – albeit not stoically. No, this is someone who was caught, someone who she thinks looks at least a little ashamed of how he’d acted. 

“Can you move away from the door? I need to pee.” Pia says after a long moment. 

It’s only half the truth. 

The reality is that she needs to get out of this room as soon as possible. She doesn’t need him to see her fight her tears or the panic that is threatening to bubble over in her chest. 

Noah steps out of the way, but doesn’t look at her. 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook.” she says as she opens the door, “If this has to work out, fucking act like it.” 

Pia slips out of the dressing up and, as quickly as her feet will carry her, makes her way into the nearest restroom. As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, her breathing is out of control. She has to clasp her hands together to stop them from shaking, but even that doesn’t seem to help much. 

She doesn't do this. 

She doesn’t do confrontational like that. 

And now she pays the price. 

The adrenaline has worn off and all she is left with is panicked breathing. The tightness in her chest is like an old friend these days, but something about this feels worse. This isn’t like the panic that grips her when she remembers that day. 

It takes her a moment to feel like she’s a person again. 

And once the panic has subsided, Pia lets herself out of the restroom again. When she makes it back into the other dressing room that has been designated as a communal space she finds Alex and Noah wrought up in a conversation. She doesn’t involve herself in it, but she makes a note of the fact that Noah seems to be capable of accepting advice, after all. 

“So I was thinking – we’ve done Crownless with Kadeem this whole run. What if we do it with Noah?” Alex suggests, and Pia almost chokes on her water, “Just as a change of pace.” 

It’s been a day since they’d had their conversation in the dressing room. This is the London show, their hometown show. A part of her had hoped that they’d be able to get Sam to come, but he’d sent her a very apologetic text to say that he wouldn’t be able to make it. 

Bringing Noah out at this show in particular feels bigger than it probably is. 

“Sure.” she says flatly, “Why not.” 

Alex looks as if he’s won a bet, and she doesn’t like it one bit. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that they’d tried to play her like this. She eyes Alex for a moment longer before she shakes herself out of her stupor. 

“Does he know about this?” she asks then. 

“Oh, he brought it up when we talked about it. Said that it’s his favourite.” 

And suddenly it all makes sense. 

This has to be Noah’s attempt at showing her that he’s willing to put in the work. 

“Great. I’ll go find him.” she sighs. 

She finds all of the band at the back of the venue, sitting neatly lined up on the low wall near where the bus and vans are parked. There’s something oddly sweet about Nick and Noah sharing a cigarette as they talk. 

Pia stays at the door, waiting for him to notice her. When he does, Noah passes the cigarette back to Nick and hops off the wall. 

It only takes him a few long strides to reach her. 

“Hi.” he says, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Got a moment?”

“You wanna tell me how I’m a massive fuck-up again?” there’s a hint of a smirk on his face, and Pia feels her insides heat.

“You already know that.” His smile widens a little, “Alex said something about you liking Crownless?” 

“Like?” He looks almost appalled, “That’s one of the best songs I’ve ever heard.” 

Pia’s sure that he’s one wrong move away from breaking into a speech about it. 

“Do you know the words to Sam’s part?” 

She watches as the pieces of the puzzle assemble in his brain. It’s a little endearing to see his face light up when it finally clicks. 

“Of course.”

“Good.” for a second she thinks that it’d be hilarious if she’d just leave it at that and leave him standing here like this, “You wanna do it with us?” 

“I’d love to. Thank you.” Noah looks genuinely thankful, “Really.” 

“Alright London.” she paces along the length of the stage, “You know that we usually bring out a friend for this one. Now, bad news first. Sam’s busy.” a round of ohs goes through the audience, “Good news, we found someone else to do it.”

The noise of Liam’s kick drum is almost drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. 

They start into the song and Pia goes through her usual moves. 

She looks over to the side of the stage, where she can just make out Noah. Something about the way he looks at her is different. 

He watches her every move, focused entirely on her. It sends a shiver down her spine and Pia almost misses her cue to continue the song. When the part he’s supposed to do comes up, she holds her hand out signalling to the crowd — and Noah that it’s time. 

He practically bounds onto the stage. 

She has watched a few of their sets but seeing him this up close feels different. 

He brings a massive amount of energy to the stage, his presence demands the audience's attention. Some of the girls in the audience seem to be particularly drawn to him and in a way she gets it. 

She’s never denied that he’s attractive. Tall and tattooed just so happens to be something she enjoys. 

Before she knows it they’re heading towards the high point of the song. She knows that Noah has the capabilities to pull it off, but actually hearing him pull the low growls out of his admittedly slight frame still surprises her a little. 

He does better than Pia had expected — not that she’d expected him to mess it up. 

“Make some noise for Noah from Bad Omens!” She calls as the last notes of the song ring out through the venue. 

She watches him take in the deserved applause the audience showers him with. Pia thinks that he looks a little too surprised by the reception for someone who’d just a few days acted as if he is already headlining the biggest venues of the country. Noah gives a slight bow and then turns to her. Without even thinking about it she pulls him into a quick hug. And just for a moment his hand rests at the small of her back but it’s enough to send a shock of electricity through her body. Noah pulls away not even a second after that. 

He felt it too, she thinks. 

Static surely. 

He stays at the side of the stage watching the rest of their set and Pia is acutely aware of his eyes on her body. He burrows into the marrow of her bones, settles in the cracks of her that have ached for this kind of attention. And at the same time she feels nauseous knowing that someone who is not Marcus looks at her like this. It’s different when she doesn’t know that it’s happening, when it’s someone from the audience. But this — knowing that Noah is watching her so intently makes her skin crawl in the most confusing way. 

They’re barely on speaking terms. There’s still a little bit of that tension bubbling underneath the surface. She still thinks that he’s sabotaging himself and it’s frustrating. And still — she likes how he looks at her. 

The audience is still roaring when they finally leave the stage. Her blood buzzes with the thrill of it. This is the good kind of adrenaline rush, the one that makes her feel alive again. She’s missed this more than anything. 

Alex knows the guy who owns the venue, and they’re allowed to host a little get-together with friends after the show. Pia doesn’t plan to get drunk, but she also can’t say no to the drink Morgan shoves into her hand. She’s surprised to see Noah, eyes heavy with something. 

He finds her looking at him, and she swears that he blushes a little. Maybe it’s the heat inside this room too. She keeps catching him staring at her and after a while the heat around her becomes too much to bear.

Pia pushes out of the main room into the backstage area of the venue. She has to escape the mass of bodies and eyes for just a moment. 

She finds her way into one of the dressing rooms. It’s quiet here, a little cooler too. 

Her heart races at a thousand miles a minute, but this time it’s not the anxiety. It’s been ages since she’s allowed herself to feel this — attraction, lust. Since Marcus, she’d retreated into a shell warding off every kind of advance. 

Pia still doesn’t want the commitment. She can’t tie herself to someone else yet. But she still feels Noah’s hand on her back, his eyes drifting across her body. 

She wants to know if his skin is as soft as it looks, what kind of noise he’ll make if she pushes his buttons. 

Starting anything with him now would be incredibly unprofessional. 

The door opens before she can make up her mind about it. 

“Everything okay?” He asks and Pia almost wants to say that nothing is okay. 

She nods, “Yea sure just needed to — get out of there for a moment.” 

Pia feels his eyes burning into her back. 

She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to control herself if she looks at him now. 

“Do I need to give you a speech about how not looking at people when you talk to them is rude too?” Noah says, and she knows that this damned cocky look is on his face again. 

The need and annoyance fight for dominance in her chest. He still makes her want to claw at her eyes, that hasn’t changed. The buzz under her skin, that’s new. 

He’s so awfully full of himself sometimes. He talks so much about wanting to make it when they’ve barely gotten started. 

She listens as he steps closer to her. 

“You know for someone who talks so much about how we need to make friends, you’re being really unfriendly right now.” 

Pia fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Do you always talk this much shit?” she asks, finally turning to face him. 

“Maybe you bring that quality in me out.” 

It’s obvious that he’s had a few drinks – maybe something else too. She’s not much better off either. Her own thoughts swim and waver and her self-control is teetering right at the very edge. 

“I think it’s a natural talent.” she quips back. 

They’re so awfully close – too close. 

She can smell the alcohol, the cigarette, the weed.

He hums, “Nah I think that’s all you. Normally I’m much more chill.” “I don’t buy it.” she shakes her head, “You look like you’re fucking annoying most days.” 

“That so? Why were you so worried about how we go about our band then?” 

Something inside her snaps then. Pia yanks him down by the collar of his shirt. 

Noah lets out a surprised little sound when their lips meet. 

Her hands skitter across her body, trying to find purchase. They settle at her waist, fingers digging into her flesh almost desperately. 

There’s a hunger in the way he kisses her. It’s the same kind of starved need that has made its home in Pia's chest. 

Feeling someone else's hands on her body again is a little odd – but she needs this. She needs to feel wanted. 

She shoves her hands under his shirt. His skin is so warm beneath her fingers. He feels softer than she’d anticipated. 

Noah sighs against her lips. 

It’s a brief moment of tenderness before Pia catches herself again. Tender isn’t what she’s after. 

She scrapes her nails against his back. 

He winches, pulling away from her. 

“Are you going to stay in a shit mood even when we fuck?” Noah asks bluntly, and she almost wants to punch his lights out. 

The assumption is one thing, but it’s the way he says it. 

“Shut up, Noah.” she says instead of aiming for his jaw. 

For a moment, she thinks that he’s about to walk out on her, but then she feels his hands flex against her waist. 

He lets out a quiet curse before he leans in to kiss her again. Pia allows herself to melt a little in his hold, lets him pull her in closer. 

They barely make it to the sofa. Pia finds herself straddling him, arms draped over his shoulders. She grinds down against him, and Noah lets out what she can only describe as a whine. 

It’s a little amusing. 

He rights himself quickly enough, though. She knows that this was a slip up. A sound like that isn’t meant for a moment like this. 

She fumbles with his belt, yanking at it a little rougher than she’d planned. Noah lets her undo it without intervening. 

Getting out of their clothes proves to be a bit of a struggle with neither of them being very willing to move, but somehow they manage to free up just the necessary parts. 

Noah’s fingers trace through her folds. 

Pia lets her head drop back when his fingers dip into her. The long digits curl against her, thumb pressing against her clit. She lets out a sigh of her own. If she were looking for something soft and intimate, she’d let him continue like this. But that isn’t what they’re here for. 

She tangles her hand into his hair, tugging at it rather harshly. 

“Fuck.” he groans, “Ready?”

“Yes.” her reply sounds less steady than she’d hoped, but what is she supposed to do with his fingers still moving inside of her, “Condom?” 

“Shit. Yes.” he tries to reach for the backpack that sits at the side of the sofa, but can’t quite seem to reach it. 

Pia clambers off him. In the corner of her vision she sees him pulling off his underwear. She’d get it if he’s cocky about that. 

“Where?” she asks, crouching down in front of the bag.

“Front zip.” 

Noah sounds a little breathless and when she gives a brief look over her shoulder she understands why. His hand is wrapped around his cock, slowly and carefully teasing himself. 

She digs through the zipped compartment, trying to find the foil wrappers. She passes snack bars, receipts, folded up notes before she finally finds what she’s looking for. Pia sets herself upright again. 

When she turns back to Noah, he’s reclined against the back of the sofa. He watches her with hooded eyes. His hand has stilled, but it’s still wrapped around his length. 

Pia rips open the wrapper as she makes her way back towards him. She places herself back on his lap and one of his hands immediately finds its way towards her waist. 

Noah lets her take him into her hand. His eyes flicker between where she carefully puts the condom on him and her face. Once it’s on, Pia sits up. 

His hand remains on her waist when she shuffles forward. 

Pia feels her breath catch in her throat when she sinks down on him. It’s been too long and her own fingers just don’t compare to this. He fills her so perfectly, it’s almost too much. Her movements falter for a moment. 

His hands shift on the body, one remains on her waist while the other finds its home on her backside. 

She chances a look at him. 

Noah’s face and neck are flushed pink. It’s barely visible beneath the tattoos of his neck, but it crawls lower beneath the neckline of his shirt. He draws in a deep breath, and she thinks that he feels just as shaken by this as she does. 

Everything about him feels different from Marcus and maybe that makes it easier to push the vision of their last time together from her memory. 

She lifts herself up again, until just the tip of him remains inside of her. 

When she sinks down this time it doesn’t feel as groundbreaking anymore.

With his hands steadying her Pia manages to find a comfortable rhythm. But it all feels too tender, too intimate, too close. 

Noah seems to sense that they need a change of pace too. His hands dig into her flesh with more determination. 

“Don’t get soft on me now, Desmond.” He chokes out through gritted teeth, “Had so much bite a moment ago.”

She feels his dull nails digging into her skin. 

“You want bite, huh?” She shoots back. 

If he wants bite, that's what he’ll get. 

Pia brings her hand back to the back of his head. Her fingers tangle into his hair once more, gearing up to tug at it. His reaction from the first time she did it still reverberates around her mind, and she needs to hear it again. 

Noah lets her yank his head back, allowing her to scrape her teeth across the skin of his neck. This time he rewards her with a groan. 

Pia lets herself get lost in the feeling. 

Between his hands on her body and the drag of his cock inside of her, she can’t quite decide what she is supposed to focus on. It’s just the right amount of too much. There’s no rational thought left in her head. Everything that tries to tell that this is foolish, that they shouldn’t be doing this has been drowned out by nothing but pleasure. 

A moment later, she finds herself on her back with Noah leaning above her. She brings a leg around his waist. He’s surprisingly rough with her. Pia doesn’t have time to question where this is coming from, but that won’t stop her from enjoying it. 

She drags her nails along Noah’s back, pulling another moan from him. 

He grips into her thigh, keeping her leg angled up. 

All thoughts about wanting to come across a certain way fall from her brain when he readjusts his position. She lets her head fall back, allowing the pleasure to take over all of her. That thrum of static soon makes itself known. It crawls up the length of her body, twists around her spine.

She can see his determination wavering. It’s starting to get to him too. 

Pia doesn’t know how much more of this she’ll be able to take. She can feel herself getting closer and closer to the tipping point. The sounds Noah makes only push her further. He sounds so worn out, so lost in his own pleasure. 

She pushes the loose hair away from his face, just to get a better look at him. Noah briefly leans into her touch, but quickly catches himself before the tenderness of the moment really settles. 

His eyes meet hers. 

The lids of his eyes are heavy, and he barely manages to hold her gaze. 

He folds forward then, leaning in to kiss her. 

“You feel so fucking good.” the breathless words barely reach her mind. 

It’s the first thing he’s said to her since she settled back in his lap, and actually hearing how affected he is by all of this makes her insides bubble up a little. 

The particularly rough thrust he gives after that makes her gasp out loud. 

“Getting close?” his breath brushes against the skin of her cheek as he speaks, “Fuck. I don’t know – I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.” 

Pia pushes a hand between them. She gasps when she makes contact with herself. It doesn’t take her much, just a few swipes of her fingers across her clit. Her climax pulls Noah across the edge too. 

He follows her down the ledge so easily, burying his face in the side of her neck as he tries his best to work both of them through their highs. But his movements have become unsteady and almost erratic, as if it’s all becoming too much for him. 

He stays leaning over her body for a few moments, drawing deep breaths into his lungs. 

Pia lets her eyes fall shut for a moment. She feels Noah remove himself from her. The weight of his body disappears, and Pia feels herself shiver with the sudden chill. She lies still as he rummages around the room. 

When she dares to open her eyes, she finds him pulling on his underwear. He doesn’t seem to notice that she’s watching him, and Pia takes a moment to take the shape of him in. For a moment, while he’d been leaning over her, she could have sworn that there was more of him. 

He crosses the room to where the venue had set up a now mostly raided table with snacks for them. He plucks something from the table and picks up a bottle of water before he comes back to her. 

Noah holds both the bottle and the chocolate bar out to her. 

“Not a lot left. I don’t know if you like those.” he says, likely regarding the chocolate bar. 

It’s not her favourite but the thought counts. 

“Thank you.” she replies quietly. 

Pia sits up against the armrest of the sofa, pulling her legs up against her chest. 

The first sip of water feels like the best and most refreshing she’s ever had. 

They’re quiet for a while.

Noah sits at the opposite end of the sofa, still only half dressed, trying to look as if the moment isn’t as awkward as it is. 

He speaks up, just as Pia takes a bite out of her chocolate bar. 

“So what happens now?” 

The truth is that she doesn’t know how they’ll move on from this either. 

She’s glad that she’s still trying to get through the caramel filling of the chocolate bar and doesn’t have to answer his questions just yet. 

“I mean – do we just pretend that this didn’t happen?” he doesn’t look at her and in a way Pia understands. 

“We don’t have to.” she says finally, “Personally I would prefer it if the others wouldn’t know, but that’s more of an I don’t need my friends to know who I sleep with thing. Morgan’s terrible at keeping secrets.” 

She holds out the other half of the chocolate bar to Noah. He takes it from her with a thin smile. 

“We’re both adults. This is completely fine and normal, and it doesn’t have to be complicated.” she continues, “We have what – two weeks of this tour left? If we feel like doing this again I don’t think that there’s any harm in it. Tour’s rough sometimes. A little comfort can’t hurt.” 

Noah nods, now silenced by the caramel as she was a moment ago. 

“Obviously I’m just speaking for myself here, but I’m not exactly looking for complicated right now. I get it if that’s what you were hoping this would become. I just want you to know where I stand.” 

He shakes his head quickly, “No – no I’ll be honest I didn’t think much farther than this. I don’t know where this band is going to go and getting into a relationship when I don’t know if I’ll have the time to do that justice feels shit.” 

“So we’re on the same page. If we happen to be in the same place, and we’re up for it, a repeat of this –” she gestures vaguely between them, “Is an option. No hard feelings if someone changes their mind and no obligations.” 

“Sounds good.” Noah agrees, “I think I’m gonna head back out before someone starts asking questions.” 

No obligations also means no pleasantries. 

Pia has set up the rule, and so she swallows the lump in her throat. 

It happens again at the next venue – the one after that. 

There’s no rhythm to how it starts, nothing that triggers it. They’d agreed on no obligations, but Pia still feels a little odd when he doesn’t pull her aside for a day or two. She’d noticed that Noah had thawed a little since their first encounter; he seems less rigid when he talks to the others, more willing to take part in the community aspect of it all. 

And when his behaviour reverts back to the quiet and cold she’d grown to dislike she notices immediately. 

Through a conversation with Jolly she’d learned that Noah retreats to the van they’ve rented for this tour when his headaches get too bad. And when she doesn’t see him for most of the day, Pia goes to investigate. 

The windows of the van are covered in tarps and blankets to darken the interior – they’d done the same back when they still toured in a van. 

No obligations doesn’t mean that she doesn’t worry or care, and so she takes a trip to the pharmacy she saw as they arrived here. She’s sure that he has whatever he needs, but a few necessities can’t hurt. 

Armed with pain medication, fresh coffee and a sandwich, Pia goes to fetch the ice pack from the freezer on the bus. 

She feels a little odd knocking on the window of the van. And in the moments it takes Noah to pull open the door she wonders if this was a bad idea after all. 

He looks pleasantly surprised to see her even when he still seems a little groggy. 

“Nick said you weren’t feeling well?” she starts, “I got you some stuff.” 

He looks from her face to her hands and back to her face. 

“I thought we said no obligations.” 

Pia rolls her eyes, “Listen.”

His face breaks into a faint smile then, “Thank you. I ran out of pain meds, so that’s a lifesaver.”

“I got what the guy in the pharmacy suggested, so if they’re shit blame him not me. Also, I don’t know how you drink your coffee, so I got what Nick had. I hope that’s okay.” 

“That's really nice of you, Desmond.” 

“I am determined to keep up my good reputation. Don’t think that makes us friends.” 

His head drops as he lets out a quiet laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. We’re having dinner at 5:30 by the way.”

“I’ll be there.” 

It’s the last day of the tour. 

The last stop. 

Cardiff. 

They’re staying the night before people will go their own ways again. Alex had insisted that they have a big dinner together, maybe drinks afterwards. And knowing Alex that meant that they’ll only see the insides of their hotel rooms for a few hours to get changed and maybe shower. 

For once, Pia doesn’t feel like drowning herself in liquor. 

Pia stuffs the book she’s been reading into her backpack. If she times things right, she’ll be able to just slip away when they move from the restaurant to the first bar. Maybe she’ll even stay for a little bit. 

It was a good tour, all things considered. 

Finally getting the songs out, hearing other people's reception to them, had eased the pain in her chest a little bit. Naturally, it didn’t heal everything, but she feels a little bit better. 

Going home will still be odd.

Maybe she’ll ask Morgan to stay with her for a day or so. 

The door to the dressing room opens. 

“Oh – sorry.” Noah says quickly, “Didn’t know you were still in here.” 

He’s clad in nothing but a blue and gray striped towel. His hair still drips from the shower he just had, and the droplets of water race down his chest. 

“I was just packing up. I can do something else if you want to –” she gestures towards him. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” he shrugs, “If you don’t mind.” 

She keeps her back turned towards him, keeping herself busy with packing and repacking her backpack, all in an effort to not turn around. 

She already feels a little too attached to him. 

The end of the tour can’t come soon enough in that regard. 

“Are you going out with the rest?” Noah asks. 

“For a bit.” Pia replies, “You?”

“Of course. Gotta make the most of this, no?” 

Pia can’t stop herself from letting out a little chuckle, “Sure. Just don’t let Liam involve you in his drinking games. You cannot out drink him.”

“Noted.” 

They fall silent after that, both busy with their own things. Pia is just about to zip up her bag when she feels the warmth of a body behind her. 

“Am I going to see you before we leave?” He asks a little too softly. 

“Noah.”

“I don’t know when I’m going to see you again and — said it yourself gotta foster my connections and all that.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He replies, and she knows that he has that little smile on his face, “But maybe you’ll let me have this. Who knows if this’ll happen ever again. Maybe we’ll never cross paths again.”

Pia has discovered that she is incredibly bad at saying no to him. 

And so they do end up back in her hotel room after dinner. Noah has the cheek to call it dessert when he’d made his home between her thighs and for a brief second Pia considers just walking out of the room. But all that is quickly forgotten when she feels his fingers, his tongue on her. He’s careful and diligent, taking his time to explore her like this. 

She knows that he’ll be gone in the morning. 

They’re taking an early flight out. 

He’ll be long gone by the time she wakes up, and so she allows him to indulge in this. Or maybe she’s the one indulging. 

He is right after all there’s no knowing when they’ll meet again. 

Pia is home for two days when his message pops up on her phone. 

⮘ What are you up to in October? Just got news that we’ll be heading your way again. 

She wonders if he already knew when they’d said their goodbyes. He had to have known. 

Either way, she feels a little bit too excited about the message — and the prospect of seeing him again. 

No obligations, she repeats in her head, no responsibilities. 

Just really bad decisions. 

taglist: @th4t-em0-k1d @malice-ov-mercy @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @chey-h @theanarchymuse95 @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @concretejunglefm @xmads-omensx @saythatuwill @lacy1986 @somebodyels3 @ladyveronikawrites @ferduttini @circle-with-me @collapsedglasshouses @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @renegadebirch @ami--gami @dominuslunae

[concretejunglefm]

A taste of the Divine.

Kind of enemies to lovers vibes with Noah being a complete munch who won't stop until you're squirting all over him.

CW: fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), squirting, body worshiping.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Only you hold this kind of power over Noah—the ability to bend him to your will, to have him literally on his knees, voice thick and trembling as he makes his request.

These are the rare moments when he resists his instinct to take what he desires. Instead, he obeys, eagerly clinging to every word you utter, eagerly hanging on to each taunt you make, yearning for the permission you draw out just to tease him.

“Fine. Go on, then.”

His stomach flips and his cock twitches as he hears the tone of your voice���exasperated and almost put out. Somehow, over the course of your time together, even your most dismissive words have become another trigger for him, another thing he craves.

He doesn’t delve between your thighs the way his body aches to.

Not right away.

Once invited, Noah moves with agonizing restraint, taking his time to warm you up properly. His mouth is soft against the skin of your leg as he works his way upward, scattering slow, reverent kisses along your flushing skin. His fingers ghost along the sensitive inside of your thighs, always inching closer, always teasing.

He’s worshiping you—exactly as he should. Exactly as he wants to. Noah is a man of his word, most of the time, especially when it comes to promises whispered in dark, breathless moments like this.

Mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin, his breath hot and trembling as he moves higher, his voice thick with longing. He’s intoxicated by you, completely and utterly.

The tender worship slips away the second he has you where he wants you—where he needs to be. His arms hook beneath your thighs, spreading you wide open for him as he sinks between them, his mouth pressing hungrily forward. He’s instantly greeted by the sweetness of your arousal, a taste that’s become an addiction to him—something he chases without shame.

Noah’s patience finally snaps. His tongue now moves with a raw, desperate hunger, and his touch, once gentle, has become urgent, forceful. Every deliberate stroke of his tongue, roughened by the scrape of his scruff against your most sensitive areas, sends gasps and shudders rippling through you, no matter how fiercely you resist.

He doesn’t hide his desire or his willingness to drown in the scent and taste of you. The way he gently nuzzles his nose against your clit, and the way he licks and sucks with unwavering concentration, leaves no room for doubt. He intends to push you over the edge, whether it’s through his mouth, his fingers, or his cock—but tonight, he has chosen his mouth as his weapon of choice.

Every sound you make is a song to him. He greedily drinks in every little gasp and broken moan, pushing you higher and loving the way you lose yourself under his touch. He knows every telltale sign of your body, every little tremor and tightening of your thighs, and he guides you toward release with almost devastating precision.

When you finally break apart above him, your climax crashing through you, he feels it against his tongue—a rush of you flooding him, overwhelming and perfect. He doesn’t stop; he rides it out with you, slow, savoring strokes of his tongue coaxing every last ripple from your shaking body, desperate to taste every last piece of you.

But Noah doesn’t stop there.

Even as you tremble from the aftershocks, his long fingers slip back into you, curling deep and determined to find that perfect spot inside that makes you fall apart all over again. You squirm beneath him, the sheets growing damp with the rush escaping from you, but it only intensifies his desire. He’s feral and hungry, driven beyond reason. If necessary, he’ll suck the sheets dry to have every last bit of you.

There’s no satisfying him—not when he’s in this state, utterly insatiable and intoxicated by you. His mouth latches back to your skin, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thigh, your hip, and any other accessible area. The insatiable hunger within him is endless, and at this moment, it’s all directed towards you.

Only when you’re completely spent does he relax, his kisses becoming softer against the inside of your thigh, leaving delicate marks on your skin. His grip loosens, allowing you to move, should you wish, before he climbs up the bed, dragging his body along yours, slotting himself between your thighs once more.

The taste of you lingers heavily on his tongue, and with a forceful kiss, he invites you to indulge in it, relishing in his pleasure as he openly moans into your mouth, your tongues colliding in a passionate fury.

In these moments, entwined with you, Noah swears that he has finally found heaven—and it all begins with a divine moment between your thighs.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens  @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconictaurus

[flowery-mess]

pairing: nerd Noah x female reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI! / shower sex / edging? / unprotected sex / Noah showing signs of dominance I guess? / let me know if there's anything else

words: 2,4k

author's note: well, period hormones make you think of things... and I got a request for nerd Noah smut, so I hope you like it🤭 not proof read sorry lol

nerd Noah masterlist

It all started when Noah suggested you two take a shower together, that he missed you after not spending the whole week together. And who are you to say no to a shower with him.

He lets you stand under the upper shower head, letting the warm water cascade over your curves with your eye closed to avoid the water in your eyes.

His eyes follow a random water drop that lands on your forehead, slides over your face, then down your neck and then over the curve of your breast. You turn around to get a better angle to wet your hair, your ass now facing Noah who’s already making its way to you.

You pull your hair to one side, combing your fingers through it which Noah uses as an opportunity to put his mouth on your shoulder.

You feel the familiar warmth of his lips on your skin, starting with slow kisses on your shoulder and then he slowly makes his way to kiss your neck, your jaw and then your ear.

He stops there and whispers “Open your legs for me.” and then his arms make their way around you, changing the water stream to flow out of the manually used shower head and you feel one of his knees helping you spread your legs to give him more access.

“I missed you.” he whispers again, setting the flow of the water to the strongest level and putting it against your nipple.

You gasp at the feeling, not expecting it. The warm water relaxes your body immediately. You let your head fall against his shoulder and close your eyes.

He moves the shower head to your other nipple, teasing it just as much. Meanwhile his mouth is kissing at your jaw, switching to soft bites here and there.

You feel his hard dick against your ass and feel overwhelmed in a good way by everything your body can feel now.

“Noah.” your moan almost gets lost behind the sound of running water.

“Mhm?” he hums against your skin, using his free hand to wrap around your middle, already feeling you shifting your weight to him, giving into the pleasure.

“Please.” you know he knows what you’re asking for, but you find out very soon that he decided to be a little tease today.

He lifts the shower head higher and lets the water run over your neck and then down your body. Some droplets find their way between your open legs, running over your clit, which just makes you groan in frustration.

“Please, Noah please.” you grip his hand that’s around your middle, hoping he’ll give in.

“Look at you, begging like that.” you feel his cock twitch behind you and you decide to tease him back by rubbing your ass against him.

His hand leaves your waist and gently, but firmly grabs your hair.

“That’s not how you gonna get what you want baby.” you hear the smirk in his voice even without seeing his face.

“Then do something Noah, please.” he’s making you go crazy, the desperation in your voice makes him even more hard and eager to finally get what he missed the nights you spend apart.

“I got you.” his hand that’s holding the shower hand finally moves lower and his other hand finds its way back around your waist, but not stopping there.

He slides it low enough to use his fingers to spread your fold and angling the shower head in a way that the water runs directly on your exposed clit.

He hears you take a sharp breath in and your fingers wrap around his forearm.

You missed him too, falling asleep every night thinking of his touch on you, but you made it without touching yourself, which only made you more sensitive and horny stupid for him now.

You’re sure the flow of the water alone is enough to make you cum, fearing it won’t take long. But that wouldn’t be Noah if he would let you come easy like that. Soon the shower head is moved back to your nipple, making you groan and turn your head sideways to hide in the crook of his neck.

You hear him chuckle against your forehead before he presses a soft kiss there.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good baby, you just have to wait.”

“Don’t wanna.” you mumble against the skin of his neck.

He lets the water run over your nipple for a few more seconds before he moves his hand back down between your legs.

His decisions are based on the amount of pressure you use to squeeze his forearm, everytime you squeeze harder he moves the shower head away from your core, denying you the orgasm you desperately want, need.

“Noah please. Please, please, please.” if it wouldn’t be for the water running down your face from your dump hair the tears of frustration would be visible on your face.

He felt your legs shaking and saw your chest going up and down quicker each second, deciding to finally have mercy on you.

“Okay baby, you can cum for me now.” spreading your folds apart again, he started making small circles with the shower head, making the water flow circle your clit, teasing it and slowly but surely making you see stars.

After all the teasing it didn’t take long for the knot in your lower tummy to snap, your knees almost failing you and pleasure taking over your whole body.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good.” little praises left Noah’s mouth as he watched you have your first orgasm of the night. He was happy with his work here, he let you push his hand away when the water became too much for you pussy, too sensitive.

He switched the water flow back to the one over your heads and used both of his hands to hold you through the aftershocks.

“That was,” you let out a breath and finally opened your eyes to look at him, “so fucking good.”

He smirked at your flushed face and used his fingers to run them through your hair and then pull you in for a kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his middle and kissed him back.

“You’re okay? Wasn’t that too much?” he knew you would tell him if it was, but he still felt the need to ask, because he knew that at one point you hated him for prolonging your needs.

“I’m okay, more than okay actually. We’re gonna be spending every week apart if this is what I’ll get when we’re together.” you smirked against his lips and he frowned at the idea.

“Absolutely not happening.” he said and pulled you in for another kiss, more passionate this time.

You felt his dick against your tummy, screaming for attention.

Your hands slid down his chest before wrapping around his hard cock. It was his turn to grab your hips to get some stability. He was sensitive in your hand, you felt him twitch after every stroke, you felt the pulsing every time you squeezed him just a little bit more.

He knew he wasn’t gonna last long, so he just leaned his forehead against yours, his mouth open as moans were coming from his throat.

You occasionally slipped your tongue inside of his mouth, his own reacting almost naturally and meeting yours in a fight for dominance.

You saw his abs flex and you knew his orgasm was close.

You felt his warm cum on your hands as you continued to stroke him until he grabbed your wrists and stopped your movements.

While giving him a few seconds to catch his breath you kissed his chest, neck and jaw until you captured his lips with yours.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” he breathed against your mouth and let his hands slide down to squeeze your ass.

“I want you to fuck me Noah.” he groaned at your request and grabbed your chin before pulling in messy and aggressive kiss, a one that promised you that he’s going to do exactly that, fuck you so good.

He helped you out of the shower, neither of you bothering to dry your bodies and making your way straight to your bed.

Noah left zero space for you to have some power, pinning you to the matters and kissing you hungrily.

He supported his body on his left elbow and used his right hand to explore your body.

He started with giving your throat a gentle squeeze, something that he learned made you go crazy.

Then he palmed your breast, rolling your still sensitive nipple over in his fingers a few times before his hand made its way to squeeze your hip.

You opened your legs as much as you could, silently begging him to touch you there while never breaking the passionate making out. He pulled away first so he could see your face when he used his fingers to apply pressure against your clit.

Satisfied with you rolling your eyes and arching your back off the mattress, he leaned down to bite the skin on your shoulder. He knew that having more than one stimulation made your head dizzy.

When he felt you’re wet enough to take him he stood up and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He helped you spread your legs and then took his dick in his hand.

He used his swollen tip to gather your wetness and spread it through your fold, sliding between them a few times, teasing your clit while doing that.

“Noah I need you inside me.” you whined while you watched his dick move between your folds.

He repeated his movements a few more times before he easily slid into you.

Your shared moans filled the bedroom as you both enjoyed the feeling.

“So tight, so wet and warm. So fucking perfect just for me.” he leaned down to his elbow again to whisper those things in your ear.

You held him by the back of his neck there, loving the feeling of having him this close to you while he was moving his hips in and out of you.

“I love you.” you said. Sex with Noah was another level of intimacy you never experienced before.

He was the dominant one, sometimes his actions could seem harsh, but it never felt like that. His touch was gentle, even when he used his long fingers to hold your hands above your head or wrap them around your throat. He always made eye contact with you, looking for the smallest signs of discomfort, scared that he’s hurting you. Everything he did was followed by the softest kisses, wiping away the pain even if it was pleasurable.

He lifted his head from your neck and looked you in your eyes, never stopping the movement of his hips when he said “I love you.” back.

He felt you squeeze around him and it made his heart skip a beat, that you don’t only get turned on by his dirty words, but that he gets a reaction like that even with sharing his love for you.

“I love you baby, but I need you to fuck me harder.” you whispered before pulling him for a kiss.

He kissed you back, giving you a few last seconds of this steady pace.

When he pulled away you could see the saliva connecting your lips until it popped when he was standing straight again.

He pulled you closer to him and held your legs against his chest with one hand, using the other one to rub at your clit.

His pace became faster, harder, giving you what you asked for.

Your left hand gripped the sheets under you while your right hand went to squeeze your breast.

Noah’s eyes were on you, flicking between your boobs bouncing from the movements of his hips and your face.

You tried to hold eye contact, but it was too much.

His dick filling you up, his thumb toying with your clit and your own hands gripping your own skin.

“Let go, make a mess on my dick.” Noah said with a hoarse voice when he saw you struggling to hold it together.

He felt your legs shake against his chest when your orgasm hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and hands gripping anything they could.

Your pussy squeezing him made it impossible to last longer, just a few more thrusts and he was coming inside of you.

He collapsed on your chest and you laid just like that for a few minutes, in silence trying to catch your breaths.

“You okay?” he traced his nose along your jaw, inhaling the mixture of sweat and shampoo from your skin.

“Mhm.” you nodded and ran your fingers through his hair.

“Really?” he lifted his head from your chest and his hair fell down, hiding you both from the real world.

“Yeah.” you replied with a soft voice, running your thumb over his cheek.

He smiled at you, his eyes softening like every time he looked at you.

“I love you bug.” he whispered, as if anyone else could hear him.

“I love you Noah.”

You laid with him inside you for a few more moments, before he noticed the goosebumps on your skin.

“Let’s get cleaned up.” he slowly pulled out of you and started getting up. You mirrored his actions and stood up next to him.

“We need to change the sheets.” you said when you saw the wet silhouette of your body, consequences of not drying up after you got out of the shower.

“Can we get the soft ones? The ones you had last time?” it made you laugh how his behaviour was back to your sweet nerd Noah, asking you for the softest sheets you own with an excited face.

“Of course.”

The intimacy never ends when you leave the bed. Noah made you sit down on the edge of your bath and used your hairbrush to gently comb your hair and then dried them with a hairdryer. He lets you do the same to him, holding you by your hips while you run your fingers through his locks, kissing your tummy over the fabric of his shirt.

Then he makes you get snacks while he changes the bedding, waiting for you under the blanket when you come back, with a satisfied face cuddled into the soft sheets, lifting it only for you to get in and cuddle him some more.

dividers by silent-stories🤍

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

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

[concretenoah]

NOAH LOVES TAKING POLAROIDS EXCUSE ME?? You can't just attack me like this

god i am a firm believer that noah loves physical media. and i think he would love taking photos of you. sure he could just use his phone and he does usually, but every once and awhile he'd whip out the polaroid camera to take lil keep sake photos of you. ones that he could keep in his wallet or put on his desk in the home studio. he puts them wherever he knows will give him a lil pick me up. he even brings a bunch of them whenever he's on tour just so he could feel closer to you.

sometimes it's just you being cute, lil smiles on dates with you or when you're in your pjs on the couch with bed head. there's silly ones of you guys together, ones of you and your cat/dog, there's even a couple of you all cuddled up while wearing his hoodie. he couldn't help but snap a photo of you when you look so soft and sweet. these are the moments he loves to look back on whenever he's missing you or feeling down. they instantly bring a smile to his face.

nsfw 18+ below the cut

but noah also has other needs when he's away. he had gotten off to your nudes before and that's when he got the idea to start taking polaroids of you during sex (consensual ofc). he would pack them in a secret spot in his suitcase so nobody else could see them. they were for his eyes only. he learned pretty quick that nothing gets him off more while he's away than looking back on all of the ways you make him feel good. he had some of his fingers playing in your mouth, or teasing your nipples. some of his hand wrapped around your throat. he had some of you laid out for him with your legs spread, aching to be filled by him. he couldn't help it, he has to be able to see your pretty pussy while he's away. it helps him think about the way you taste, or the way you feel wrapped around his cock. he even took some of you while fucking you from behind with his fingers digging into your hip. his favorites though are the ones of you on your knees looking up at him while sucking him off. those pretty eyes, and that perfect mouth of yours. it instantly brought him right back to that moment and how good you made him feel. sure they're just pictures and his hand is nothing like the real thing, but they bring him back to you, all of you.

(don't get me started on the audios you would send him while touching yourself. the sweet sounds of your wet pussy in his headphones mixed with the pictures of you? yeah. he can't help but fuck himself and send you audios right back. AND don't think he wouldn't let you take polaroids of him too. he knows you're just as needy as he is hehehehe)

[concretecultist]

Kingdom Come

summary: you ask Noah, your Dom best friend, for a big favor.

pairing: sub!fem!reader x dom!noah

word count: 7.4k

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

warnings: 18+!! BDSM, restraints, slapping/impact play, light degradation, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, p in v, oral (f receiving), subspace

A/N: this was purely self indulgent. please reblog and comment if you enjoyed 🥰

~Berry🫐

Life was kicking your ass. Harder than normal and the weight of the world was getting harder the bear.

Your job sucked, your body ached all the time and the one guy who you thought was going to be it for you, ended up ghosting you. All of it was a slap in the face and it was even worse when your landlord calls you to let you know the water would be off for a couple weeks due to maintenance issues. You guess you could tolerate it since he’s reducing rent during the time that the water will be off.

So, once you find out this information, you’re calling your best friend to see if you can crash there for a while. He had no problem with it. He no longer had roommates and often found himself missing having someone around.

So when you arrived and got yourself situated after a steamy shower to wash the day off, you find yourself sitting beside Noah with a question burning a hole in your tongue.

“I know this idea is out there but,” you choke on the words and realize how ridiculous this sounds.

“What?,” he keeps clicking away at his controller as he played his game, not taking his eyes off the screen. When you don’t answer, he takes a peak over at you and can see you biting your lip so hard it looks like it’ll bleed.

“Stop doing that,” he paused his game and used his thumb to gently pull your lip down from between the grip of your teeth, “What’s going on. It’s just me, Y/N,”

You look to him, twiddling your thumbs and decide it’s all or nothing, if he says no you guys can just forget you ever said anything.

“I need to turn my brain off,” you blurt out.

“Okay?,” he shrugs as if there was nothing to it, “I can have Folio bring some weed by,”

“No, I-,” you throw your face in your hands, cheeks burning as you think about it, “You are in the…. the BDSM scene and I want you to help me turn my brain off,”

His mouth drops in an ‘o’ shape as it clicks what exactly you mean. His hesitation has you feeling so silly. You should have just showered, went home and rubbed one out.

“Sugar, I’m not exactly sure you know what you’re asking for,”

You were his little sugar cube. Too sweet to know exactly what his life entailed behind the scenes. You never really seemed interested in it before. But little did he know, you were just nervous to show it.

He could be mean at the request of his subs during sessions and you were requesting it now but you were his best friend and he didn’t want to cross that line unless you were 110% sure.

“N-no, no I do,”

He’s briefly talked about his sessions enough for it to cause a burning of desire in your gut. You’ve never been in the scene but with the way things are going lately, you just need to be taken care of, to be manhandled and you’d rather do that with someone you trust.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you mumble, humiliated now that you’d expect your hot, dom, best friend to do that for and to you, “I just made a fool of myself,”

The silence that he was giving after your initial ask was gnawing at your emotions, you just wanted to disappear right now.

“Sugar, it would be an honor but if we do this, there’s no going back because I’m going to want you forever,” his words spilled like the smoothest whiskey on the market. Sure, now this sounds like a typical cliche of friends to lovers but what’s wrong with that? Sometimes things like this are meant to become something more. Maybe that’s why long term relationship never worked for either of you… because you two were it for each other?

“Please,” your voice cracks with need. You had showered while he stayed on the couch playing a video game and yet your body is still tense.

“Follow me,” he stands tall before you, extending a hand in which you take easily. You could already feel some tension relieving from simply holding his hand.

He kept his pace slow, easy for you to keep up with as one of his steps equaled three of yours.

He had a spare bedroom that no one was allowed in, not even you and you guys had been friends for almost a decade now. So when he reached above the door to grab the key, you snatched your hand from his and took a giant step back.

“I can’t go in there,”

“Right, without my consent,” he peaked over his shoulder, “But you have that now and then some,”

You looked at him with wary eyes and he dropped his shoulders with a knowing sigh.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” his hands made their way onto your shoulders to deliver a comforting squeeze, “This is the way,”

One of his hands is gently cradling your cheek now and it’s so soothing that you can’t help but lean into it and he notices the way your eyes flutter.

He already knows you’re going to be so good for him tonight.

Noah leans his forehead down to yours and your lips are only a few centimeters a part.

“You trust me… don’t you, Sugar?,”

Immediately weak in the knees, noticing he’s already entering into his persona. You nod feverishly against him.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,”

A gentle peck on your lips has you leaning in for more when he pulls away.

“Take your hands off the wheel and let me drive,” is all he says before turning his back to you to unlock the door.

Time seemed to slow down when he pushed it open, a part of you wanted to close your eyes, still feeling nervous about seeing a space he deemed so private that he kept it locked up. Your hand is in his once more with him pulling you through the threshold as he flicks the light on.

Red fluorescent lights filling your vision.

It smells so good in here and you wonder how, considering what possibly goes down based simply off of what’s in here.

The bed frame looks like one luxurious bird cage, bolted to the floor and a sheer canopy draping over it. There’s bars hanging from the ceiling with cuffs hanging from them.

Open cupboards of different items like floggers, paddles then another filled with masks and gags, one full of toys. There’s a full fridge in here with a clear door and you can see different replenishing beverages and snacks.

This is his sex dungeon

“Something like that,” he spoke aloud.

Realizing your thoughts weren’t kept in your head you avert your gaze to the ground.

“I don’t use it much other than personal uses, any time I have a scene with someone I meet them at theirs. I’ve just been keeping this a secret until I found the one worthy to be in here,”

Your eyes widen as you raise your head to meet his.

“M-me?!,” poking yourself in the chest, “I… you mean me?!,”

His shoulders tremble in soft laughter, shaking his head at your disbelief.

“This entire time, I’ve just been wanting to bring you here but you never expressed any interest in the scene,” he played with your fingers in his grasp, something he always found comfort in doing.

“I didn’t know if you’d take me seriously. I’m not exactly… what comes to mind when someone says they want a submissive,”

“You’re exactly what comes to mind,” he brings you to a plush crimson couch, covered in velvet material. When your ass meets the cushions, he’s reaching to a table beside you to light a candle, bringing it over with him as he lowers himself into his knees before you.

“I’m going to go over a few house rules while I get you relaxed okay?,”

You offer a simple nod and he smirks,

“Rule number one- I always need a verbal answer. I don’t want to leave anything to the imagination and possibly misread body language, got it?,”

Swallowing thickly you nod once more, “I understand,”

“Good girl,” his hands make their way onto your calves, kneading the tight muscles, causing an involuntary moan in which you try to subdue.

“Number two, don’t be shy,” he says plainly, “I know this is new but you know me and I’m here to keep you safe so don’t shy away from me. Be as vocal and as emotional as you need to be,”

“I understand,” you answer once more. Your eyes watch his hands, curious when he picks up the candle, the flame flickering in his eyes.

“Three. Trust that I will never hurt you outside of what you ask for,” he tips the candle and a quiet gasp leaves your lips, quickly turning into a moan when the wax drips onto your tired legs, Noah instantly setting the candle down and massaging it into your skin.

“Pheromone massage candles,” he answered your unasked question.

“Four. I usually go by King during these scenes but since this is new for you I don’t want you to feel detached from me so call me Noah until you feel comfortable, okay?,”

“Y-yes,” your eyes cross slightly while his thumbs work into the sore soles of your feet. This was helping so much and just from this simple interaction, your core is buzzing already.

“Five. If you need to stop or directions are not okay or unclear- speak up. I’m going to need you to pick a safeword for me,”

You squirm on the couch, becoming putty in his hands as they move from your feet to your calves and now your thighs.

“Kingdom,” you answer with ease, if he goes by King might as well make it coordinate right?

“Good one,” he plants a kiss by your knee, “Rule six, no negative self talk or thoughts. I may degrade you but I will always follow it up with praise. You are loved and cared about, you understand me?,”

“I understand,” you nod.

“Seven. Have fun and let go. We are here together so remember I will always catch you,”

With his last rule he spreads your thighs, squeezing them to get a reaction out of you.

“Do you have any rules for me?,” eyes dark yet caring in the red glow.

“Don’t hold back,” an embarrassing whimper escapes, “I know I’m a rookie but I can take it and I know you’ll take care of me just…,”

Your hands grab his, holding them tight so he knows how bad you need this.

“Just don’t hold back. I need it, I know I’m safe so I just need you to hurt me, I need you to help me turn my brain off and surrender myself to you,”

Your words from earlier echoed in Noah’s head and he thought they were a crock of shit.

I’m not exactly what comes to mind when someone says they want a submissive

Bullshit. You were perfect.

He wipes his hands on a towel that he kept on the table with the candle, setting it and the candle back in their original spot when he was finished.

His hands are now sheltering your face because he can see your mind is still running a million miles a minute.

“What do you need from me right now?,”

You were embarrassed to say it.

“What were rules 2 and 7, Sugar?,” his voice pulled you from your own thoughts.

“To not be shy and to let go,”

He nodded in understanding, “So why are you breaking my rules and overthinking?,”

God, he was so good at this. The twinge of disappointment in his tone had your heart aching, you wanted to be good.

“Can.. c-can you smack me?,” your voice was barely a whisper and you knew he wouldn’t let that slide.

“Speak up, baby. Closed mouths don’t get fed,” his thumbs were rubbing such comforting circles on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but oblige.

“I need you to smack me,” it wasn’t a plea, it was a declaration.

Noah just reads your face. Studying your expression to see if there’s any doubt, any hesitation. He stands you up and then he leans in to kiss you with a sort of need that you’ve never been kissed with before. You two are breathing heavily in between and you can barely keep up. Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, just wanting him to consume you.

He pulls away but before you can protest, you feel the searing heat of his open palm meeting your cheek. A gasp of surprise comes from you and yet again you’re left with no time to react when he does it again.

“Fuck,” you mewl, “More,”

He answers your demand with a little more power behind this one, the pain feeling so good you almost fall to your knees but luckily, he held you upright.

“Turn it off,” he says through clenched teeth, smacking you once more. If you were naked you know for a fact you’d be dripping down your legs, “Turn it off, Sugar. I see you trying,”

Hand on your neck, he’s pushing you backward and each step is another slap until he pins you to the wall, you can feel your eyes burn as the tears of desire being to rise.

You need this so bad.

“I said. Turn,” a harder slap, “It. Off!!,” with one more smack, you’re practically howling at how exceptional it felt, eyes closed as you welcome the sting that lingered on your flesh, feeling the heat running down to your neck and up to your temples.

Your head feels like you’re in limbo and when you open your eyes, he can see the change in yours and you can see the change in his.

You’re both in your designated positions. He has his hands on the wheel now. Your brain was off and the part of you that needed to be taken care of has entered the chat, the stressed version was locked away in a dark cell of your mind and would stay there until it was time to let her out.

“There she goes,” his hand soothed your cheek and you were liquid in his hands

“Thank you,” doe eyes shining up at him, he feels so proud of himself.

“Oh baby, it’s my pleasure,” he cooed, “Can you be good and undress for me?,”

“Can you help?,” your body was feeling fuzzy, like you had a few shots and were floating now. You felt like if you tried to undress yourself you’d topple over.

“Of course,” he felt gratified to be asked.

One article of clothing at a time until you were bare in front of him, pinned against the crimson paint on the wall.

“How are we doing? You okay?,” a kiss planted to your neck, his large hands running up and down your body had you sighing in content.

“On cloud nine,” you answer dreamily. You were in a daze, this room felt like your own amusement park now.

A room you once weren’t allowed in because this is his sanctuary. How many others were close to being brought here? How many others did he put in a hypnotic state?

“Put her away,” his gruff voice echoed in your ears, “She doesn’t get to come back. Lock it away,”

He could tell through your body language that you were starting to overthink again.

“Do we need to stop?,”

“No,” rearing back to look him in his eyes so he can see how bad you truly need and want this, “No. It’s turned off,”

“That’s what I need to hear,”

He brings you back over to the couch you were on a few minutes ago but this time he’s sitting on the cushion and he’s positioning you over his lap.

“Think you can handle a few spanks?,”

“Uh huh!,” excitement coursing through your veins, body jolting when you feel his lips press against the supple flesh that he was soon about to tenderize.

But first, he had to feel you. He has to feel your wetness coat his fingers. So his fingers trace figures on the back of your thighs and you’re jutting your ass up to get him to touch you, he delivers a light smack as a warning.

“Patience,” is all he speaks. Slowly but surely, his middle finger swipes your clit and lightly presses into your entrance.

He pulls a long drawn out moan from you when he fully pushes his finger inside. A quiet growl emits from his chest and your toes are curling.

“Noah pleeeeaaase,” you grip his calves, eyes rolling at his slow movement of removing his finger and reinserting it.

“What do you need, Sugar?,” you could hear the smile in his tone. The way he was speaking to you and touching you just made the anxiety melt away.

“Wanna feel your fingers. Always wanted to feel your fingers,” you couldn’t help but be unapologetically honest. For years you’ve watched his hands and how he talks with them, how he uses them to hold multiple things at once, how he sucks on them when he gets ice cream or ranch on them.

But until now you’ve always buried your desires deep.

“Oh yeah?,” without a warning, he’s stretching you open and you’re bracing yourself against his thighs, spreading your legs as open as possible so you’re not falling off his lap.

“You feel so good, Sugar,” he affirms, “So wet for me, so fucking warm,”

His fingers were reaching so deep it was intoxicating, never having experienced anyone with fingers as long as his has you going cross eyed.

“Thank you, Noah!!!,” your walls pulsing around his middle and ring fingers while his free hand soothed your ass cheeks before taking a big strike against them, the sound of his palm meeting your flesh bouncing off the walls.

“You’re so welcome, baby,” he picks up the pace of his fingers and he can feel the way you’re trying to get friction on your clit.

“Nuh uh,” he spanks you once more, “Be good, take what I give you,”

“Please,” singing a beautiful tune, you just want to let go for him, you want to crumble in his lap, you want him to feel what he does to you.

“Please what?,” another strike on your ass and another curl of his fingers inside you.

“W-wanna cum for you,”

“Is that right?,” there’s that teasing tone again, it makes you feel small but it only tightens the coil in your core. He moves his fingers with expertise inside of you and you think you’re about to orgasm strictly off of penetration which is rare for you. You almost always need clitoral stimulation.

“Please. Please. Wanna be good for you, wanna let go for you,”

You two have only just begun and you’re already a mess. You can hear the squelching, you can hear your heart thumping in your ears, you’re trembling.

You’re a fucking mess in his grasp.

“I think we should make your first one easy enough to earn,” he observed, positioning his knee right under your pelvis, adding the perfect amount of pressure as his fingers stroked the deepest depths of you.

“C‘mon, Sugar. Give it to me. Let it out,”

Your nails are digging into his calf and you’re drooling, rocking back into him but he didn’t mind this time, he’s enjoys seeing how desperate you are to cum, not just for yourself but for him.

You want to offer all you can to him. All of your emotions, all of your whimpers and cries, your mind, body and spirit.

“I’m gonna… can I cum, Noah? Please”

He gives a hum of approval and he can feel it, he watched your body swell with a deep breath and watched it deflate as you let out the most beautiful, guttural moan he’s ever heard.

His fingers halt their movements inside of you and he makes sure to rub your back to bring you back down.

“You’re okay,” a soft murmur leaves his lips while he slowly removes his fingers from your soaked hole, sitting you up and repositioning you in his lap so you’re straddling him.

“Be good and open for me,”

You follow his directions and bask in the glory of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, making you taste yourself. You collect your flavor but before you can close your mouth and swallow it down, he’s pushing his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

Your eyes instantly roll in the back of your head, relishing the taste of his mouth sharing the taste of you.

“Need you,” you pull away, hands cupping his face as if he’s made of glass, “Always needed you,”

His gaze softens for a moment, letting you know that ‘regular’ Noah hears you, that it’s not just his persona hearing those words.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he purred, “You have me, Sugar. Just as I have you,”

With ease, he lifts you up and walks with you to the cupboards.

“Pick a toy, a gag and a restraint and come to the bed when you’ve made your decision,” a kiss is given to your temple and he walks away, leaving you to make your choices without any pressure. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and makes his way to the bed.

He has so many trinkets to choose from. He just stock piled all of this stuff until he found the one? He really is a stickler for this kind of thing.

After some careful self-deliberation, you grabbed your chosen items and made your way over to him. Noah sat patiently within the doorway of the cage-like bed.

“I chose these,” you offer them to him and he gave an intrigued ‘hmph’

A rose, a silicone bar gag and wrist-to-thigh cuffs.

“Good choices, baby” standing up and kissing your forehead, he moves out of the way so you can see the bed. Silk red sheets, chains hanging from the bars, and the sheer canopy keeping secrets in with just a glimpse of what was to come.

“Climb up,” he pats your ass and you do just that, at a leisure pace so he can get a good view of you from behind. When you sit flat, you see him entering and closing the door behind him.

This feels much more intimate than just any ole bedroom. The lighting, the enclosed space, all of it made you feel closer to Noah.

“Before we start, take a drink for me,”

“But I’m okay,”

“Did I ask that?,” he tilts his head, eyes squinting as if to tell you ‘watch it.’

“I’m sorry,”

He cracks open the bottle and holds it to your lips, giving you a knowing look as if to say ‘I told you so’ when you drink down half the bottle.

When you’re finish he sets it to the side and hovers over you until you’re laying back on your elbows, eyes not leaving his.

“How are we doing? You still okay?,”

“I’m perfect, Noah,” a tender smirk made its way into your face, “I know I’m safe,” you assure.

“Are you okay? I know this kind of thing takes time, just don’t want you to feel pressured,” you inquire.

“There you go overthinking,” he kisses your neck, “For you, it’s easy to turn on. You never took notice to how I always took control? No matter what we did?,”

He’s got a point. Any time you two went out grocery shopping because you were anxious and didn’t want to go alone, he hooked his arm with yours, took your list and did all the shopping. Any time you two went out to the movies, he’s picking your snacks and drinks and doing all the talking. A hand on the small of your back each time you two were out, always helping you zip up your dresses or fastening your necklaces.

It was subtle, but it was always there.

“I was made for you. I was made to take care of you,” he continues his trail of kisses, planting them wherever he pleases, “And you let me. Which means you were always mine,”

A relaxed sigh is released at his words. He’s right and you know it.

“So, knowing this. I’m more than okay and am filled with joy of knowing that I get to break you and put you back together again, over and over,”

Bucking your hips up wasn’t a good idea, considering he pinned them down and got your restraints ready.

“I need this. Noah, please I need you” a shameful cry bounces off the bars of the enclosure you found yourself in.

“I know,” he growled, fastening your hands into the cuffs and attaching the other bands to each thigh. With your hands tied to your thighs now, you wouldn’t be able to touch him.

“You need me to wreck you. To hurt you so that the stressors of your everyday light aren’t plaguing your brain for once,”

He squeezes your cheeks so your lips are parted and lifts your head up to move your hair out of the way so he can tighten the gag.

You looked so beautiful like this.

“I’m here to give you just that,” he grabs the rose, “I don’t care how many orgasms it takes. I’m going to reduce you to nothing and fill you back up with worth again. I will end you and resuscitate you over and over again until you’ve had enough. Is that understood?,”

“Yeth,” you slur around the gag.

“Good,” on his knees, between your legs, he turns the rose on and the low hum fills the space, he leans forward to spit on your nipples before placing the opening of the toy over your harden buds, your back swiftly arching off the bed with a moan around the silicone.

He’s at this for a while, just teasing your nipples, biting at your jawline, groaning in your ear until you’re leaking onto the silk sheets.

You’re begging around the gag but he just teasingly looks at you as if he can’t understand you. But he knows. He knows where you need him.

“It’s a lot, are you sure you can handle it on your clit?,” he smirks so devilishly it’s almost scary. But the twinge of fear makes you ache.

“Mmhmm mmhm!,” already drooling around the bar, you nod feverishly, just wanting to feel something, no, needing to feel something.

You get what you desire when he sits back up on his heels to spread your legs even wider to get a perfect view of your swollen clit, glistening as your arousal is painted all over your core.

When he finally attaches the toy to your clit, your toes are curling, your eyes are rolling and your back is arching.

Maybe you weren’t ready for this, maybe you should have gotten a wand or something.

“Relax,” he says simply, using his own legs to pin yours down.

“Breathe, Sugar. Just breathe. Look at me,” he sees the way your eyes are swimming with tears and it brings him satisfaction, especially when your chest is trembling from him keeping the buzzing toy on your sensitive bundle.

“It’s a lot, I know but I wouldn’t give you more than you could handle,”

He slowly inhaled with you, guiding you to calm you down but it was just too much, so much that you’re already cumming and groaning behind the gag which causes Noah to darkly chuckle.

But he keeps it there. He keeps the rose there and you’re convulsing under him when he sinks his fingers into your messy core.

“That was pathetic,” he looked into your eyes, “And you didn’t even ask,”

He got so much amusement out of your whimpers, how the hell were you supposed to ask with a gag in your mouth?! But maybe that’s the point? It’s a set up for him to milk you as a form of torture.

It was sadistic but, you were the masochist after all.

“You’re so creamy,” he said in a daze, absolutely obsessed with the way you’re painting his fingers, your walls pulsing around his appendages as if they’re trying to draw them in and keep them there.

“Noaaaaaaahh!!,” your cries muffled, your face so wet from the tears and the spit but Noah finds it beautiful, if he could, he’d paint how you looked right now and frame it, get it tattooed even.

“You can do it. You asked for this, remember?” His eyes rolled at the feeling of his fingers deep inside, drenched in your offering, his tattoos glistening, catching his eye in the ruby lighting. He just wanted to be bottomed out in you already.

You’re calling for him from around the gag, breasts shaking as you’re overcome with yet another blinding climax. Your nails dig into your thighs, just wanting to dig them into Noah’s instead and pull him toward you. You wanted him, you craved him.

“Sshhhh. You’re okay, Sugar. You’re doing so well for me,” he picked himself up off your legs and grabbed a rag to wipe the spit that dribbled down your chin, “I’m gonna turn you over, need you to give me one more before you have me. One more and we can take the cuffs and gag off okay?,”

Sitting you up, his hand supporting the back of your head as he checks over you, making sure you’re okay.

“Do you need anything? A break, water?,” he breaks character for a moment

With a verbal “Nuh uh” behind the bar, you let him position you like a Barbie, letting him move your legs, manually arching your back and propping a pillow under your head so you were comfy and could breathe.

You feel him leave open mouthed kisses on your ass, biting the pillowy skin just to hear you hum in delight.

“Can’t wait to give you what you want,” Noah positions himself under you so he can stare right up at your leaking heat, no matter the angle, it was a mesmerizing sight to see, “But first, I just need to taste you.”

He exasperated in desperation before using his hands to grab your ass, bringing you down and lifting his head to feast.

Your fists are clenching in your restraint and your moans are flowing from your chest like a river. His tongue worked your overstimulated clit, suckling and licking. He ate as if you were the finest delicacy, trying to savor but also consuming you with greed.

Your body just responded to him without a fight, you were his puppet and he pulled the strings but you happily danced for him, giving him what he wanted. Yet again you feel his fingers push into you, you’d never get enough of his fingers, he knew how to use them and he knew how to use you. You were a howling mess against the pillow when you feel your next orgasm approaching. How did he expect you to stay up like this? Your legs felt like jelly and you were falling a part.

“You can do it, baby. I feel it. You’re almost there,” he murmured against your pussy, “One more and you can have what you want but you gotta show me you want it,”

Oh God did you want it, and bad! Your head felt fuzzy, your body was playing tug of war, fighting between it being too much versus you wanting it.

You gave in. Pussy pulsing, chest burning from hyperventilating and muscles aching. Despite it all, you’re cumming for him again, giving into your deep craving to just be his doll.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” he cheers, drinking you in. He pulls himself away to position you on your back, quickly working to remove your restraints and gag.

“Sit up for me, Sugar,”

Your head lulling to the side, both of you giggling about it. He has you drink some more water and cleans your face with the towel again.

“I’m ready,” it was a simple whisper, “Show me what I’ve been missing. Please, King,”

The title takes Noah by surprise. He thought it would take a few sessions to get you fully under his spell but, you truly were for him. You were ready to bow to him, to fulfill every quest he bestowed upon you.

It kind of pulled at his heart strings. Whenever he was out in the scene he only cared about showing the subs a good time, a time for him and them to release and never see each other again. But this, this was euphoria.

“Lie down for me,” he hums, taking off his lounge wear and boxers so he’s bare just like you are.

He was a beautiful man to begin with but to see him like this in all his glory? It had you feeling like royalty. Others got to see him, yes, but you… only you get to see him.

He makes sure you’re comfortable before he inches forward, the tip nudging your clit and he grabbed your hands when you flinched away at the contact, lacing his fingers between yours.

“Don’t run away from me,” his lips were so plump, glistening with his spit and you just know they still taste like you.

“Call it before I ruin you,” he gave you one more chance.

“Do it” it wasn’t a teasing phrase. You wanted it. You have yearned long enough and now your wish is his command. His pins your clasped hand to the bed and takes your free hand, guiding it to his cock.

“Take it,” he ordered.

He was a perfect mix of girth and length, a mouth water red tip that shines with precum, two prominent veins, yeah- he was going to destroy you.

You couldn’t help but stroke him, watching the way his mouth hung open and his eyes closed gently, this is the face of a King all right. Scooting closer to him, not wanting to leave any space, you slapped his tip against your own clit, the breath of both of you hitching in tandem. The noises that emitted from between the two of you, while you rubbing him against your entrance, were sinful.

“Show me what you’ve been wanting. Show me how bad you need me,” he growls, hiking both of your legs around his waist.

You guide him into you slowly, the eyes of both of you going wide, rejoicing in the way he fit in you like a missing puzzle piece, filling you up to make you whole.

“Fuck!,” choking on your own spit, the heels of your feet pulled him in so he could bottom out. You needed to catch your breath because you know once he gets started, you’ll lose it again. He drew in a shaky breath, bewitched by how good you feel.

“Give it to me,” you squeeze his hand, “Make me yours. I want to be yours. Ple- Oooooh fuck!!,”

His hips drew back and snapped into you, cutting you off as the pleasure drowns you. He kept the stacattoed pace, just taking in your expressions.

But then he saw the way you looked at him, it was a look of complete surrender, a look that says “I love you, I trust you”

It was a look to tell him to let go.

So, he used his free hand to take your thigh and press it back so your knee was almost touching your chest. This wasn’t Noah, the King was here and he was going to show you exactly why he was given that title.

You’re pinned beneath him from all angles and it’s overwhelming. His chain dangling in your face with each thrust, his voice smooth like suede as he talks you through it.

“Just like that, pretty girl. Take what I give you,”

Your moans slipped out like a hot knife to butter, he was fucking you through the mattress, bodies tangled and noises echoing through the room, he was making you melt.

“S-so fucking good!!,” the tears were spilling from your eyes and he just kissed them away without missing a beat.

“I know, Sugar,” he bows his head into your neck to leave a trail of bites, sinking his teeth into your dewy skin, your cries of surprise being music to his ears. You welcomed the pain of his biting, he had beautiful teeth and you always wondered what it would feel like for him to bite you. You don’t care if any marks are left. You’re his, he can leave marks for you to brandish all he wants.

“I’m so proud of you,” he grunted into your ear, “Coming to me all vulnerable, wanting me to take care of you and now you’re taking it like the good little slut you always wanted to be,”

“Please!,” your free hand tangles in his hair, your other makes crescent shaped dents in the back of his hand that held yours, “Please, fuck! Don’t stop!,”

Noah lifts his head to see the spaced out look in your eyes, half lidded and dick drunk. He never thought he’d see you like this.

“Please what? Use your words,” he pulls back from you to watch the look of despair on your face when he slows down.

Your words are caught in your throat, finding it hard to make a coherent sentence.

“Please, what, Sugar? Don’t make me ask again” He lets your leg go to grab the bar of the caged bed above your head, preparing to pick up his pace when you admit what you need.

“W-wanna cum around your cock,” it was a strong wail, one of pure carnal desire.

“You need it that bad?,” he teases.

“King, please. I need it so bad!!,”

The wind is knocked out of you as he sets his pace, rolling his hips, the tip of his cock rubbing against every sensitive spot within you, causing you both to be vocal. A harmony unmatched. His whimpers fueling you to make it to the finish line. He wasn’t ashamed of the noises he made, especially because he saw how they impacted you.

He let go of your hand and smacked you just like he did earlier, eyes rolling once again as the heat only adds to the pleasure.

“More, please, please, please!!,”

“Such a dirty fucking slut. Getting off to her King slapping her around like a rag doll,” he smacked you again, earning another loud cry from you, he could feel just how much you love it, he can feel it when you clench around him each time his hand meets your cheek.

“Yes, yes,” your eyes never left his, not shying away.

“You like it when it hurts?,” another slap delivered, “You like it when it hurts knowing I’ll make it all better?,”

“Fuck!,” the tears just keep spilling but he knows they’re tears of release, of pleasure, they’re tears for him. Another offering to the King.

“I’m gonna make it all better, Sugar. Just keep being good and taking it, okay?,”

“Y-yes,”

He grabs your cheeks, squishing them together again so his tongue can slide in your mouth effortlessly. Teeth clashing, spit being swapped, the energy between you two was potent, a potion that you’d keep coming back for, drinking it down without being asked.

“I wanna cum for you,” biting his bottom lip, you pull back with a fucked out smirk on your face, “I wanna make a mess. I wanna show you that I’m worthy,”

“I already know that you are, baby,” his thumb tracing small circles onto your clit, his other releasing the bar and coming to wrap around your neck, “I know you’re my pretty little slut who will do anything to stay in my good graces,”

When his hand began to squeeze at your neck you were done for. Your moans came out in tremors, you were clutching onto him in anywhere you can. You groan at the loss of contact on your clit until his thumb is replaced with the same toy he wrecked you with earlier.

“You’re gonna take this toy from me. You’re going to be a good girl for your King and make yourself cum on my cock. You hear me?,” his voice was dangerously low now, letting you know there was no negotiation.

With a shaking hand you snake your hand between the two of you, grabbing the bulbous toy from him and holding it against yourself despite your body telling you to pull away.

“You’re doing great, baby,” he assures, a soft kiss placed on your lips, “Just focus on me. I’m right here,”

He was so close now. One hand on your throat and the other holding the back of your head, pressing your foreheads together.

“My King,” you gasp, chest heaving as you feel yourself ready to fall off the edge.

“I’m gonna catch you. I’m always going to catch you, baby,”

Your eyes stared deeply into his and you just sobbed, needing this more than anything and you just cried. Getting fucked within an inch of your life so good you’re crying was not something you expected to happen considering your past endeavors with men who only cared about getting their own rocks off.

“I know. I know,” he’s still driving his hips deep into you and you’re circling the toy lightly on your swollen, cum soaked bud, you were almost there.

“Give it to me, Sugar. Give me what you owe me,”

And that was all she wrote.

With one deep gasp to fill your lungs he delivers a strong thrust, your fingers trembling around the toy so hard you accidentally turned it up to the next level and you were done for.

You practically screamed as Noah siphoned your orgasm out of you. You were shuddering beneath him as he kept thrusting, still talking you through it.

“You’re okay. You did so good for me, I’m right here. Fuck!”

With one last searing kiss, Noah is stilling his movements, emptying himself inside of you, both of you practically giving each other mouth to mouth CPR as you try to catch your breath. His head has fallen in the crook of your neck and your eyes are fighting to stay open.

“You can come back down now. Come back to me,” he mutters.

You slowly regain all your senses back. Taking in your surroundings and what just happened. As everything hits you, your cries echo in the room.

“Hey,” Noah is quick to sit both of you up and set you in his lap, “What’s going on in that head of yours?,”

Swallowing your cries and wiping your eyes you search for him, eyes connecting, the same beautiful brown eyes you could point out in any crowd.

“Thank you,” is all you say, “I needed that. More than you know,”

He smiles in relief, worried that the scene had somehow upset you.

“We got to get you cleaned up. We’ve got some aftercare to do and some things to talk about,”

Once both of you were all bathed, Noah took the time to moisturize your skin, apply soothing lotion to your ass and even being gentle in doing your skincare routine for you.

Once he has you curled up in his bed, he went to go clean the other room and brought back some snacks and water with electrolyte packets.

He takes it upon himself to feed you all while affirming how good you were. That you’re loved and cared for, not wanting to leave any room for doubt to sneak in.

“You okay to talk?,” he questions.

You sit up against the headboard, worried about what this talk can pertain to.

“I see the cogs turning, relax,” he soothes, “If you want this like I want this we need to talk,”

“I want this,” you answer definitively. He can’t help but laugh at your excitement.

“I know it’s a little too late to say that I don’t want to rush into things but, I’d like to rewind a bit and start at square one,”

“And that is?,”

“A date,” he answers simply. Sure you’ve gone on friend dates all the time but this is different, this is serious, “I want to build it from the ground up. I know we’ve been friends for ages and have built trust but this is different and I want to build a stronger foundation because I want this to work,”

You take in his words, listening as he goes over his requests and needs for the relationship. You gave him your own list of demands and found yourselves giddy at the fact that yes, you two are a living cliche.

But who cares?

It was you and Noah against the world now.

Til Kingdom Come.

This idea was burning in my head for ages and I had to write it!!

Please be sure to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, thank you for your support!! 🥹

~Berry 🫐

tags: @lma1986 @thisbicc @theroyaldixon @whatitsdecending

[lonelydragonlady]

My god he’s so 😩🫠. Why does he look so soft and melty? I just want to cuddle him. Among other things…

[lolitaonline]

Now playing: Meddle About

Noah x F! Reader smut 18+ MDNI

Tw- mentions of choking, teasing, grinding, man handling (please please please tell me if you feel I missed a tw, I never want to upset anyone, thank you!🫶🏼) not proof read

Summary- you and Noah have a little cat and mouse game, who is bound to break first? You or Noah?

AN will be at the end, enjoy 🫶🏼

word- around 3k

Divider by- @saradika-graphics 🫶🏼

Noah wasn’t one to believe in the ‘love at first sight’ he was more of a ‘I would hook up with her’

The boys always either attended parties or hosted them. Noah typically stayed alone in his room or would hang with the boys and if someone came along to hook up then he would do that.

Noah was more concerned with his needs and wants for and to the band. He didn’t want any distractions or anything tied down that would take his attention away from his ‘work’.

Ever since you both met, he hasn’t gotten you out of his head. You both haven’t known each other long and have only talked a couple of times but that didn’t stop him from craving you and your presence.

He wasn’t one to crave something or someone for that matter but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know if he wanted you on your knees worshipping him or vice versa.

He did know though that he wanted you. He was thinking of different scenarios for you both to become closer and different fantasies about you doing different things.

Ever since you first met you both felt this little spark, neither of you acted it out at first though. When you first moved to LA you were very hesiastan about the scene, seeing as you weren’t from the area.

Your friends had assured you that the ‘party’ you were all going to was not a party, normally that meant it was a party but relief was hit when you saw it really wasn’t a party.

You remember the first time you saw him in the living room, you had walked over and taken a seat next to him. You weren’t gonna flirt with him you just thought he was cute and it was the only seat available, perfect.

You both had spent that day talking a bit and getting to know each other, but, as the night carried on and the drinks were passed around you were both in your own world. You had asked him about his music, he was asking why you moved down to LA. You were just getting to know each other.

But the more you talked through the night the more you couldn’t help the feeling of craving something coming around your body. You tried to shift your mind off of whatever it was that was pulling you towards those thoughts.

Noah took note of the way your thighs were rubbing together and the way you were shifting around in your seat, tilting his head “you okay?” he asked with a smirk coming to life on his lips.

You both knew what that question meant, “yea, just getting cozy” you say flashing an innocent smile, you couldn’t help but take a look at his tattoos and lick your lips, bringing your eyes back up to him and giving him another smile.

Noah knew the look in your eyes because he did the same thing when you walked in, short shorts, a black tank top, showing off your curves, hair up, exposing your neck that he definitely didn’t want to take a bite of.

“Okay, just making sure, don’t want my guest to be uncomfortable” he says nodding his head, he took note of the lack of attention on them, half the boys were in the kitchen, the girls you were with were outside playing a game with the boys.

“I’m having a lot of fun actually” you say, seduction dripping from your lips, you were picturing him taking control of you but you were one to not break.

Noah was sat on the right side of the couch, man spreading, arms on display due to him wearing a plain black tank top and some black sweatpants, he didn’t plan on coming down.

Noah typically stayed to himself with work but when the boys told him some new friends were coming by he figured he should take a break. With the band taking off he knew he deserved a break and some fun.

What he didn’t expect was to see a beautiful woman standing in the doorway with some friends. He didn’t care for your friends being there at the moment but as soon as he saw you he needed you. The boys followed behind him welcoming you and your friends inside.

Getting food and drinks out, talking and getting to know everyone better. You and your friends had moved away from your small town into the big Los Angelous scene. You were excited to finally break free from a place you were being held down at. You just didn’t expect to see an extremely handsome man though.

You both spent the night teasing eachother, you found you both had a lot in common. You wanted to stay longer but the girls were ready to go and you didn’t want to give Noah what he wanted.

As the girls said goodbye and gave hugs you made sure to give Noah and extra big hug, whispering in his ear “I hope to see you again, handsome” you wanted to get the last word before leaving.

Noah bit his tongue and smiled “it was nice meeting you, Y/N, hopefully next time we can pick up where we left off”. You knew that smile was not a regular smile, it was like a challenge. Would you be the one to make the next move or him? You didn’t exchange numbers, you wanted to make him wait it out.

Ever since the first meeting you both spent time playing cat and mouse, everytime Noah tried to get you alone you would slip away. Just barely missing his finger tips, you loved working him up.

Everytime you were near him he craved you, he wanted to take you every chance he could when it was just you too. You were very aware of how Noah felt, you felt the same way but you loved this cat and mouse game.

When it was just you together you would subtly tease him, rubbing your hands against his thigh, everytime you would stretch you would make sure to wear something to help reveal your skin.

Noah couldn’t take his eyes off you, he just wanted a taste, a bite of you, anything. Noah couldn’t get the thought of you lying under him, panting, whining, crying for him to go harder, faster, slower.

The boys this particular night were hosting a big party, their second album was doing great, their shows were kicking off, they had interview after interview, so it only made sense to celebrate the new accomplishments that were made.

Noah was making his way through the crowds of people in the house, he was keeping his eye out for you. Noah needed to see you tonight, he couldn’t hold off on another week of not touching you.

As Noah made his way into the kitchen that’s where he spotted you, leaning up against the fridge, drink in hand, talking to someone. Noah could see the boredom in your eyes from the conversation you were having with the guy. He made his way further into the kitchen, reaching into the cooler for a beer.

Noah tried to be nonchalant and not get pissed at the fact this guy was cornering you. He should be the one in that position, he should be the one teasing holding you, not someone night jackass.

As Noah stood back up, he he couldn’t help but over hear your conversation, peaking his interest. “Well, it has been a while since I was with someone” you said, a smirk now plastered on your face, teasing eyes meeting his, you give him an innocent smile.

You were aware of what you were doing, you wanted to see how long you could get away with teasing him before he cracked. The guy, whose name you didn’t care for, was now interested in what you had to say, but Noah was more enthralled with your words.

Deciding to stay where he stood, in your presence, he wanted to hear more of what you had to say. He took a seat at the island stationed in the center of the kitchen. Cutting any conversation started with him short.

“Well, babygirl, I can help you with that” the man replied, you didn’t care for him but you knew he needed to be there for your game. You bring your hand to his chest, tapping on it rhythmically “mmm, I don’t think so” you teased, humming to yourself.

Keeping an eye on Noah’s reactions, you saw him start to clench his jaw, and his fist tighten around the can of beer, hearing the metal crinkle under the pressure.

“Oh come on” the man said, his hand was now on your lower back, pulling you closer to him and away from the fridge, you forced out a giggle to keep Noah’s attention up and high, you didn’t want him to miss the show you were gonna put on.

Before you could reply, one of your favorite songs came on “Meddle About by Chase Atlantic”, what a perfect opportunity you thought to yourself. You stood up and grabbed the man’s arm leading him out the kitchen and to the living room.

“I wanna dance, this is my favorite song” you said, you didn’t want to grind on a stranger you didn’t know but you knew in the long run it would be worth it..

As the song started the man pulled you close against him his chest. You closed your eyes and let the music to take over your body, you couldn’t wait for Noah to snap, you had been working him for what felt like ages.

You started to grind up against the stranger, opening your eyes, looking across the room to meet Noah’s. Jaw clenched, eyes piercing with anger? Jealousy? You couldn’t help the little smirk come to life on your face, the plan was working.

Noah sat back in his seat, never taking his eyes off you, watching the way your hips danced around with that man and not him. The way you would giggle at the touches he gave you as the song progressed.

Noah wanted to pick you up in his arms, take you back to his house and fix the problem you started in his pants. Noah wasn’t one to fall for games though, he was aware of your plan and what you wanted, he wasn’t gonna give it to you though.

As the song finished up, you turned around to the guy, telling him you had to use the restroom real quick. You quickly made your way through the living room and up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. As you walked down the halls you felt someone grab you and muffled your mouth.

You kick and thrash in the persons arms, trying to break free, “shhhh, shhh, it’s me” you heard, recognizing Noah’s voice, you slowly turned around in his arms.

You stood inside, what appears to be someone’s bedroom, you were pressed against the door, Noah leaning over you, brown eyes never looking away from you.

You could feel your pussy soaking through your panties, as Noah started to run his fingers against your thighs, tracing your warm skin under his fingertips.

Leaning down against your ear, whispering darkly “I know your little game, Y/N” he said in a teasing voice, bringing his fingers up closer to your shorts.

“I see the way you look at me, I see the way you sway your hips when you walk away from me, the way you stretch making sure your ass perks up in the air” the more Noah spoke the more Noah’s fingers explored, sliding under the hems of your shorts, coming close to your pussy, then slowly taking them away.

“You thought I wouldn’t catch on but I knew the moment I saw you” he says, turning you around, your chest now against the door, pulling the hips towards his, bringing you closer to him.

You could feel Noah’s hands tighten around your hips, grinding your pussy down against his cock, giving you some relief. Forcing out a moan from pleasure, you had spent nights fucking yourself to the thought of him taking control of you.

“ remember at the pool party? When it was just us, hmm?” Noah asked, slipping his hands inside of your shorts, slowly bring his fingers down to your pussy, just barely missing your clit.

“N-Noah” you whined out, he was so close to touching you, giving you what you wanted, pushing your hips forward trying to get any friction and pleasure.

“No, answer my question” Noah says sternly, taking his hand away from your pussy, placing his hand back on your hips, grinding you against him. He could feel his cock pulsating in his jeans, he could just imagine your tight pussy wrapped around him.

“Yes, I-I remember!” You cried out, of course you remembered. The boys had left for a quick second to grab the food for the barbecue you and you did a strip tease for Noah, sliding down your shorts, swaying your hips in the process. Fixing the top of your bathing suit, and accidentally letting the top drop, flashing him for a quick second. You had ‘apologized’ but you both knew it wasn’t needed.

“You teased me, and then flashed me these beautiful tits, except you didn’t let me touch them, remember?” Noah asked, leaving kisses against your neck, sliding his hand up your chest, grasping your boobs and squeezing them, he was running his hands all over your body, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“Please, Noah, touch me” you cried out, your pussy was throbbing with need, and the way he was running his hands up and down your body didn’t help. You could feel your body getting hotter and hotter. The way Noah was taking control of you made you feel like a hunter caught his prey.

Noah slipped his hands under your shirt, mumbling in your ear “is this okay, pretty girl?”, you nod your head, pleading for more. “Yes, more please” you cried out, you hated the way he had you under his eyes like a spell. You were suppose to be the hunter and he the prey.

Pushing your bra as best as he could to the side and out the way he started to fiddle with your boobs. Drawing out whimpers and cries, he was very skilled with his hands, you wanted that skill to go somewhere else though, you wanted him to hurry up and give you what you wanted.

You turned around, causing Noah to drop his hands from your boobs back to your hips, pushing you back up against that door, “come on, pretty girl, you know I have the upper hand” Noah teases, leaning down, eyes lowered, mouth barely pressed against yours.

“It’s my game” you whined out, you were so used to being the one in control, Noah was the only one who made your body feel hot and good. “No, baby girl, it’s my game, I give you what you want, when I want” he says firmly, pressing his lips against yours.

Forcing out a moaning, giving him open invitation to slide his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance, you didn’t want to give up, but the way his tongue felt against yours, teasing and strong. You couldn’t help but give up, allowing him full control.

Now that you gave your submission up to him, Noah took this opportunity to tease your mouth his tongue, tangling it with yours, pulling back giving you a quick kiss, he brings up his fingers replacing them for his tongue.

Wrapping your lips around them, sucking the digits he had placed inside. You couldn’t help but wonder what his cock would feel like in your mouth. This thought brought out a moan from you, the thought of him throat fucking you, taking you raw.

“What’s wrong, baby? You need something bigger?” Noah teased, the way you were so compliant under his hands now, you were so close being fully under his hands.

You nodded your head as best as you could, your hands grasping his wrist to keep his hand in place. Noah bringing up his other hand, gently wrapping his fingers around your throat, tightening just a bit.

“Too bad, you’ve been a bad girl, and now you’re gonna have to wait” Noah says firmly, taking his hands away from your body, taking your away from the door, “see you next time”.

Noah slipped out the door, leaving you standing alone panting, you didn’t think he would do all that so quickly, but you also knew it was your move next. You weren’t sure of how you would get him back you had an idea. Taking a look at your surrounding you realized you were in Noah’s room.

You thought of a quick idea, and quickly unbuttoned your pants, slipping off your panties, you quickly got dressed again, slipping them under his pillow for him to find later tonight.

AN- Mandy and I have spent the last few weeks about this and I’m finally getting it out now, I tagged everyone who I thought might like it, I’m not sure when the next part will be out but I plan for it to be soon. I want to get back more into writing it’s just life has been very hectic as of late, I will be posting a master list soon, and updating a few things on my blog.

Tags- @fadingintothegrey @fadingangelwisp @bluestdai @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @flowery-mess @thisbicc @english-fucker @silent-stories @veephoenix @hurricanesfollowyou @dollieomens @dontwantthemoney @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @amelia-acero

[frightenedcricket]

Noah pushes his chair back but misses the way your eyes fall on him.

His hoodie is ridden up when he stretches his arms and then when he crosses his arms it looks even cosier.

You are not really sure of what Noah and you have going on. There are flirting, touches, and occasional make-out sessions. But you are sure that you are falling for him.

It has been a long day in the studio, and Noah and you are the last ones. He wanted to finish the song, and you had good ideas for it, so you stayed when the others left. But you are tired and your mind is already burning from so much thinking.

He looks comfortable, tired but comfortable.

Noah feels you staring. "All good?"

"I'm just tired"

"Yeah? I'll be done soon. Ten minutes"

"Good"

You yawn and he chuckles while leaning back against the chair. He runs his hands over his torso and accidentally lifts again the damn hoodie, obviously catching your eye.

"What?" He chuckles.

"Nothing"

"You think I'm hot"

You roll your eyes. You do, but that's not your main thought right now.

"I think you are cosy and warm, not hot" You mention with a smile. "And I'm so damn sleepy"

Noah laughs and moves his chair to the side, offering his arms and lap for you.

"What?" You ask this time.

"Come here"

"What?"

He scoffs and drags your chair closer, then grabs your hands to pull you up.

"Noah?"

"Come here"

You don't complain when he makes you straddle his lap. It's so sweet when he cups your cheeks and pulls you for a soft kiss. You melt against him instantly.

"You are clingy" He mutters with a cheeky smile.

"Not my fault that you are huggable"

Noah pecks your lips once more and literally pushes you to the gap in his neck. You crack a laugh and get comfortable with your hands sliding in his hoodie for some warmth. He hisses because your hands are cold, but engulfs you on his arms.

"Better?"

You hum on his neck and close your eyes. It's sweet and intimate.

Noah keeps working, sometimes kissing your head or caressing your back. You didn't mind late nights at the studio, but if they keep being like this you are just more than happy with it.

[measuredingold]

you right

authors note: hello hello ! two weekends in a row ? i am on fire lol I’ve been working on this piece for awhile and finally got around to finishing it. inspired loosely by you right by doja cat. feedback is always appreciated and i hope you all enjoy !

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

cross posted on ao3

word count: 2.3k

cw/tw: infidelity, p in v ( be like them and wear protection! ), slight…angst?, noah sebastian is bad at feelings, slight hurt ig?, situationship lol, toxic relationship, 18+ mdni

Your breath hitches when Noah's hand runs up the back of your thigh, hiking your leg up against his hip. His lips brush over yours to muffle the noise you make when his hip rolls into yours, pressing you flush against the wall.

"Shit." He groans, pulling back to drop his head down to your chest, lips attaching to your exposed skin.

Your shirt was lost about five minutes ago, along with your bra, and your skirt was now bunched up around your waist. You knew it was a sight to see, Noah attached to you with your head thrown back against the wall, his lips wrapping around your hardening bud. Your hand moves to his hair, fingers twisting in his dark locks and tugging ever so slightly, and the vibration of his moan against your skin has your back arching.

The disappointment that was settling in your stomach was still there, fading, but still there nonetheless. You should be disgusted, ashamed for letting yourself get into this situation again but you're not surprised anymore. Noah was an enigma, pulling you to him whenever he could even if you tried to fight it. You couldn’t help that you wanted him, could never get enough of him. Constantly always craving to feel his lips against yours, to feel his hands caress your body, to feel his hips pressed flush against yours.

He was something you always wanted, needed, and you don't think you'll ever get tired of it soon.

Which you should. It'll never go further than this. Sex. That's all it is, all it'll ever be. Two people too stubborn to address their feelings for one another, instead hide it with casual sex. It's sad, and borderline pathetic, but that's how it's always been with him.

And how it always will be.

You thought you got over it. You met someone a few months ago, had a nice thing going. They were nice and treated you well. You thought the hold Noah had on you was finally over, you've moved on. Though, the second your eyes met his across the room tonight, celebrating a mutual friends birthday, you knew that it was a fucking lie.

You're not over him. You never were.

"Noah..." Another tug at his hair has his hips pressing into yours again, causing a moan to slip from your lips.

"Missed this." You hear him mumble, lips trailing up your chest to your neck. "Missed you."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, the weight of it slamming into your chest. Missed you. That's the most vulnerable thing he's said to you in... ever. Your hips stutter for just a moment, eyes fluttering open to find that he's pulled back, already staring at you.

"Yeah? You missed me?" You hum out, your grip on his hair loosening.

"Of course I did." He pauses, tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip, eyes dropping from yours to drag down your body. "Did you miss me?"

When his eyes find yours again you notice the grin tugging at his lips because he knows you did. If you didn't you wouldn't be here right now, his hips flushed against yours with your back against the wall. You roll your eyes, but you know your cheeks are flushing.

"Maybe."

"Don't be like that." His head dips down again, lips brushing against the base of your neck and you can't help but shudder, your fingers in his hair tightening their hold yet again. "Say it."

"...Say what?" You sound breathless, eyes fluttering shut as Noah's teeth grazed over your skin.

"That you missed me." You don't even bother stopping the whine that slips from you when he pulls away, but he doesn't go far. His lips are barely brushing against yours now, forehead pressed firmly against yours. "Say it. Please."

"...I always miss you, Noah."

There's a split second of silence before Noah's surging forward, lips pressing into yours with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you woke up with a bruise on your lips. It moves quickly after that, your underwear being lost somewhere in the dimly lit room with your shirt, and then the sound of his rustling belt as he shoves his jeans down. He pulls away to flip you around, your cheek now pressed against the wall.

Big hands sprawl against your backside, gripping, and the groan Noah lets out from behind you has your core aching.

"Fuck. Look at you..." You hear him shuffling behind you and then the sound of the condom wrapper ripping, and for a second your stomach drops.

He was prepared, which isn't shocking to you, but he couldn't have known you were going to be here tonight. He acted shocked when he saw you, even telling you that he didn't think you'd make it. Had he planned on hooking up with someone else tonight? You don't get to dwell on it for too long, or the way it makes your blood boil from jealousy, because his tip is pressing into your entrance.

"Oh fuck." Your eyes squeeze shut and you reach back blindly, his hand finding yours immediately.

"So fucking tight." He grits out.

Your fingers lace with his and you squeeze hard, because the stretch is almost too much. Almost. You can't lie to yourself and say you hate it, because you don't. You loved the stretch, the burn of it all, because it was a sore reminder the next day that he was yours for a moment. His hand that wasn't laced with yours gripped your hip, his thumb sliding across your bare skin in a comforting manner.

"Always take me so well," He exhales, voice teetering on a whine, and he leans his forehead against your shoulder. "So good."

You just whimper in response, squeezing his hand again. The both of you moan in unison when he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against together. He lifts his head before you feel his lips ghost over your shoulder.

"You okay?"

You nod, teeth digging into your bottom lip to try and keep your noises at bay, mind already racing at how fucking delicious he feels inside. You never understood how he always felt so good, snug deep inside you, like he was meant to be there. He presses another kiss to your shoulder before unlacing your fingers, letting both of his hands now grip your hip as he slowly starts to move.

The drag of his cock has your eyes rolling back, mouth dropping open as he pushed back in, hips snapping against yours. The gentle demeanor is now gone because he knows your time is limited so he doesn't waste it, rocking into you with such force that has you seeing fucking stars. Pleasure courses through your body as the head of his cock slams into that spot over and over, your body shuddering against the wall.

"Noah..."

"What is it, baby?"

"I... I need..." You don't even know what you need and find yourself grinding back against Noah, pushing his cock deeper inside you.

“What do you need?” You only whine at his words, grinding back against him again. You feel one of his hands slide from your hip and down to where the two of you meet, his fingers brushing against your swollen clit. Your body shudders again, a broken moan leaving your parted lips. “Oh? Is this what you need, sweetheart?”

You nod, cheek still pressed against the wall as your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Noah, baby, please.”

He shushes you, fingers pressing against your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts. “I got you. Don’t worry. Gonna give you what you want.”

You hear him grunt behind you as your cunt clenched around his cock at his words. It was all becoming so much so quickly, if you were more coherent you’d be sad at how little time you actually had left with him, but you can’t even think of that. No, you’re too focused on how fucking good his fingers feel, rubbing circles against your sensitive clit. His thrusts don’t let up either, his pace quickening and the drag of his cock has a fire building in the pit of your stomach.

“Shit.” He whines out, giving you one hard thrust before grinding himself against your ass. “Does he fuck you like this, baby?”

You choke on a sob, pussy clenching around his cock and you hear him groan.

“No, he doesn’t. Poor baby was begging me to fuck her.” His face buries against the back of your neck, his thrusts picking up again. “But it’s okay, you don’t need him… because you know all you need is me, right? I’ll always give it to you the way you like.”

He sounds drunk, words slurring in between his moans as he thrusts into you again. Your cheek is starting to hurt with how hard it’s pressed against the wall but you don’t care, chanting Noah’s name over and over again. The fire in the pit of your stomach keeps growing and you blink away the tears that are burning at your eyes.

It’s so good, feels so fucking good but so wrong at the same time. He wasn’t lying. Your sex life with your current partner was fine but nowhere near compared to this. Noah knew your body better than you did and knew exactly what you needed every damn time.

“Noah, I’m…” Your eyes burned and you choked on another moan. The hand between your thighs never let up, and his other hand comes up to wrap around your throat gently.

“Gonna come?” You try to nod in his hold, but his grip on your neck tightens slightly making it difficult. “Yeah? Go ahead. You can come, pretty girl.”

And that does it, the coil in the deepest pit of your stomach undoing. Your vision blurs and if it wasn’t for the grip on your neck, you’re sure your moans would be so loud the entire house would’ve heard you. You don’t even fucking care at this point, too lost in the pleasure that’s coursing through you, and the way Noah continues to pound into you to reach his own high.

“That’s it, fuck. Come all over my cock, baby.” He groans behind you, face burying against your shoulder to muffle his own noises.

Your body convulses with aftershocks of your orgasm, whimpering in over sensitivity. It doesn’t take much longer for Noah to find his own release, hips stilling against your ass as he whined out your name. His hold on your neck releases but he doesn’t move from you.

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a few moments longer, trying to catch your breaths. The reality of what just happened settles over you but for some reason you feel… content. The guilt and disappointment was no longer lingering over you.

“Fuck.” Noah chuckles behind you, lifting his head from your shoulder just a bit to scatter a few kisses where his forehead had been. You preen at the affection. “That was…”

“Yeah.” You say breathlessly, groaning quietly when you feel him shift behind you, cock still buried inside you.

The two of you both whine at the feeling of him slipping out and you couldn’t help but feel sad at the emptiness it left behind. You hear him shuffle around behind you, probably to throw away the condom and to hopefully look for something to clean you off with, and when your felt him settle behind you, the gentle touch of a cotton between your legs has you melting against the wall.

“Sorry to whoever shirt this is.” Noah mumbles, chuckling quietly.

You only hum in response, eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion enters your body. Noah takes his time and even places another kiss against your shoulder, whispering to you that he was done and that you could get dressed now.

Something shifted in the air after that, the moment much more intimate than the other times you had spent together. But you nod, humming in response again before turning to find your clothes. You find your clothes with ease, Noah's words lingering in your head.

Because you know all you need is me.

The truth in those words makes your throat close up and you try swallowing whatever it is you're feeling away, pulling your underwear up and under your skirt that was still bunched up around your waist. You smooth it down before reaching for your shirt, slipping your arms through the holes. The weight in your chest returns, just like it had when Noah mentioned that he had missed you, the first admission of its kind.

Maybe there was some truth behind that for him, as well. Maybe all he needed was you, too. Your stomach turns at the thought as you begin to button your shirt up with shaky fingers, hearing Noah shuffling behind you in silence.

You begin to wonder what he must be thinking and a part of you is hoping he's thinking the same thing. It's foolish believing, you know it is, but you can't help it. Maybe you two had finally gotten over that unspoken rule that was set in place to where all feelings were avoided? Maybe it was time you two faced the music and admitted to whatever the fuck was going on?

You shouldn't want this. You should let it go. Yet, your mind is racing with all the possibilities and what if's, and you find yourself speaking before you can double down on it.

"Noah, I..."

You finished buttoning your shirt, turning around to finally face the male but find him nowhere to be found. Your heart drops, sinking so low into the deepest pit of your stomach. He's gone. He left you here without even an utter of a goodbye. Your eyes burn and there's a sour taste in the back of your throat, building up slowly as the realization dawns on you.

[collapsedglasshouses]

HOTEL NEIGHBORS || Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader

PHOTO CREDIT: Bryan Kirks

SUMMARY: After you hear Noah talk about liking experienced women, you can't help but feel insecure about yourself. Noah wants nothing but to lift your spirits.

WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, friends to lovers, inexperienced reader, slight ? dom!noah i guess, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v (dont do that), slight mutual pining?, not edited oopsie, ...

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6

A/N: This idea planted itself in my head last night and I don't even know what to say anymore. I’m more than stressed because of university, but I hope my creative spark is coming back rather sooner than later. Is anyone actually reading what I say here. If you're reading this say hi in the comments, ily. Please, enjoy and consider reblogging if you liked it.

You didn’t exactly know you had gotten into this situation but at this exact moment you were shifting in your place and wanted nothing more but to vanish into thin air.

You were currently sitting in a hotel lobby, exhausted and tired from the show the boys had played, and waited for Matt to hand you the keys to your hotel rooms. Somehow in the course of the last ten minutes, the conversation between the guys had turned. They were talking about previous relationships and the experience it came with since Folio had been freshly separated from his ex-girlfriend.

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I just want someone with more experience, you know? I’m not saying I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t have much experience but I just-… I don’t know. You know what I mean, Noah?” Folio rambled and looked at the man next to you in hopes to find confirmation.

“Yeah, I know. I prefer women with experience, too. I guess.” Noah just mindlessly mumbled while looking at his phone.

You knew for sure the boys didn’t say this in an ill intend but somehow this exchange began to bother you more than you wanted it to. In all honesty, it felt like a punch straight to your face. You felt stupid that this simple exclaim from Noah got to you, but you couldn’t really help it. It wasn’t like you never had sex. You had a boyfriend that you dated from high school to about two years ago, but when it came to your sex life it felt like you never really experienced anything. You knew almost everything that only concerned you, but when it came to another person being involved, your knowledge stopped. You knew what you liked and what you disliked. But that didn’t make the conversation you just witnessed any less hurtful.

You swallowed hard before standing up from your waiting seat in a rather fast manner.

“Imma head to the bathroom.” You mumbled so quietly you feared nobody would have heard you, before walking away. You didn’t see how Noah looked after you with a confused facial expression.

You slammed the door shut behind you and stared at your reflection in the fancy bathroom mirror. Your eyes were watery and you hated yourself for that. Especially Noah’s sentence echoed in your head and you hated that you had a weak spot for him. You hated that you got along with him too well for your liking. When the band hired you as an assistant for Matt about a year ago, you hadn’t planned that all of this would happen. You thought you were there for only one tour and now you were already on your third with the band. To your astonishment, you got along wonderfully with everyone, but you and Noah had a special bond. You didn’t know what it was exactly but somehow you repeatedly found yourself in deep conversations about literally everything with him. It took you well over six months to realize that you didn’t just simply like him as a friend, but you were starting to fall for him.

Right now, you hated yourself that you never got brave enough to admit it to him. You always acted like nothing had changed and you felt embarrassed about the fact that a small sentence like that could throw you off so bad when you didn’t have the right to act like that about it.

A couple of minutes passed before you had enough courage to head back to the boys. So, you took a deep breath and wiped away the single tear that had managed to escape, before stepping out of the bathroom again. Gladly, you didn’t have to justify your sudden move as Matt approached the group at the same time as you to hand you the keys.

“Finally, I thought we needed to sleep in the lobby.” You managed to say with a lopsided smile while Matt handed you your key.

While your group headed in the elevator, you took up a small conversation with Matt about things that had happened at tonight’s show, before he headed out together with the others. The only two left in the elevator being, of course, you and Noah.

“Looks like we’re neighbors tonight.” He answered you with a sweet smile after looking at your key for a second.

“Cool.” You tried to exclaim as friendly as possible and cringed for your second. Even the most unempathetic person on this planet would have realized that something was going on with you, but you were glad Noah decided to not talk about it as you walked to your rooms.

A couple of hours later, you were finished with your evening and ready to go to sleep but before you could slip under the blankets, you heard a slight knock on your door. For a second, you considered to just ignore it but when it knocked again, you sighed and opened the door just enough to look who was disturbing your peace at these ungodly times.

You were greeted by Noah with a worried expression on his face. For a second, you just looked at him confused, but he was fast to explain, while you opened the door a little more.

“Tell me what I did. You’ve been ignoring literally all my texts for more than three hours at this point.” He exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course, he was right about his statement. You had seen his texts. Normally, you’d test about the concert or some random stuff until you were both to sleepy to respond, but you had decided you couldn’t deal with him this evening. Not after you got so emotional because of a stupid sentence.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” You lied and mirrored his gesture.

He lifted his eyebrow, and you already know he wouldn’t let you out of that conversation until you gave him the answers he wanted. “Gaslight someone else, sweetheart.” He grumbled.

You sighed and looked at your hands. “It’s nothing, Noah.”

“Oh, come on. You know nothing you is unimportant.” He encouraged you.

It felt stupid. Stupid how easy it was to open up to him, but you knew you couldn’t just tell him what’s been on your mind, so you simply shook your head. You were about to close the door, when he reached into the doorframe and pressed himself in your room while you protested.

“Y/n. Seriously, what’s going on?” He muttered in a soft tone while sitting down on your bed. He patted the place next to him. When you sat down, he turned to fully face you and touched your shoulder. “Please talk to me.”

“I really can’t, Noah.” You whispered. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You felt so dumb, you wanted to slap yourself. You didn’t want this to go bad. You hated your feelings for choosing him. For opening up to him. For becoming so close with him. You remembered how you had joked with Matt about how everyone would eventually fall for THE lead singer and how you said Noah is just a really good friend and now look at you. Unable to even look him straight in the face.

“Did I say something?” Noah wanted to know, and you briefly looked at him. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer in fear you would crack. You looked at his shirt to calm your thoughts but that was when you noticed his neckline and your thoughts instantly began to wander.

“You never not tell me anything.” Noah urged.

“Why are you so desperate?” You asked him in slight annoyance and swept his hand of your shoulder.

He blinked surprised for a couple of seconds before answering you. “Because you can’t even look at me and I don’t like that.”

Your heart jumped with happiness when you heard that confession, even if it was innocent.

“That’s not true.” – “Then look at me.”

You sighed before forcing your eyes onto his for a second just to look away again.

“See?” He mumbled, defeated. “I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. I didn’t mean it.”

“So, you didn’t mean you liked girls with experience better than others?” You spat out before you could even think about it more and instantly regretted it.

Noah opened and closed his mouth in confusion. He knew about your previous experiences or lack of experience.

“See that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. It is dumb.” You tried to brush off what had just happened, but Noah shook his head.

“No, no, no. It’s not dumb. I didn’t mean it like that, I-…” He began to explain but you just sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Just stop, Noah.” You mumbled and laid down on your bed. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow is another stressful day.”

“N-no… I really didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t even paying attention to Folio. I-… I don’t care about experience, Y/N. I consider myself lucky if anyone gets close to me at the moment. I’m a stressed mess, you know.” Noah rambled out and you noticed that he was nervous. You couldn’t really think about why.

“Oh c’mon. Everyone would consider themselves lucky to sleep with you, Noah. And you fucking know that.” You joked halfheartedly, but then a smile crept onto his face.

“You too?” He asked with a broad smirk on his face.

“Huh?” You huffed as your eyes grew wide.

“I mean… I know you are worried about not having too much experience… I just-…” He swallowed hard. “I could… help with that.”

“You wanna have sex with me?” You bluntly asked your friend and felt your heart almost exploding in your chest.

“I-… You know, we-… I-…” He began to stutter for a second but then he saw how nervous you looked and stopped in his tracks. “So, you wanna have sex with me.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you swallowed hard. “Uh… I…”

“Forget it, you don’t have to answer th-…” – “Actually, I do.”

Your voice was not more than a whisper while your thoughts were racing. You just blankly confessed that to him, because you were tired. Tired of holding back.

“You are joking, right?” Noah mumbled; his mouth slightly open.

“Oh, come on. As if this comes as a surprise. There are literally people writing fanfiction about you.” You said and ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

“And you know that why?” He exclaimed and smiled lopsidedly.

Your eyebrows rose for a second when you realized what you had said.

When you didn’t answer, he spoke again. “So, you wanna have sex with me?”

“Trust me, with each word coming out of your mouth, the urge is getting less and less.” You answered him and rolled your eyes. His smile faded slightly, and he looked you deep in the eyes.

“Would you feel better if I told you I’ve thought about it, too?” He exclaimed and the tone of his voice shot straight to your core. This didn’t feel real.

“Yeah… Yeah that would help.” You mumbled and swallowed hard, not knowing how to proceed.

A second later, Noah was hovering over your, his face only a couple of inches away from you and you felt how the atmosphere in the room changed.

“You really wanna do this?” He asked you as your hands travelled to the hem of your shirt. You nodded.

“Tell me, you want this.” He almost pleaded with you.

“I want you to fuck me, Noah. For god sake, should I write it down for you?” You whisper-shouted against his lips and with that he giggled quietly before kissing your lips with such force that you realized he wasn’t joking. You grabbed his face and pulled him even closer to you. It felt like you two grasped onto everything. It felt like you were each other’s last meal. Like you were starved for so long, you couldn’t control it anymore.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him down towards your core that was only clothed in your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was. You couldn’t help but grind against him. He slightly moaned into your mouth as your tongues danced with each other and you moved your hips again.

“Stop that.” He suddenly groaned against your mouth, and you began to grin. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’m not going to go easy on you, sweetheart.” He warned you. It didn’t take a second for you to grind against him one more time, while smiling proudly about what a hard time he had with you.

“You’re going to regret that.” He mumbled and grabbed your hips with his hand firmly. This alone almost made you cum. It felt like something in him snapped. His pupils were blown wide with lust and then he was underdressing you. It was like he was ripping you out of your clothes.

When he reached your underwear, he stopped for a second and looked at you for reassurance. It was the last chance for you to tell him, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to stop.

“I trust you.” You breathed out and bucked your hips for a second.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for his, Y/n.” He answered you as he slowly slipped down your underwear. He didn’t waste any time after that and only a few kisses later to your stomach, you felt how his tongue moved through your folds. A soft moan escaped your mouth and you arched your hips to possibly get any closer to him.

Your hands found their way in your hair. It wasn’t the first time someone went down on you, but never before had it felt so intense to you.

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one arm and his tongue was devouring you like it was the last thing he would do. The sounds you were making only made him go harder. Then you felt how he added a finger inside of you, quickly followed by another.

“Oh my-… Fuck, Noah.” You gasped and you felt the vibrations of his laugh against your core. You felt a knot building inside of you and you tried to concentrate on anything that would help you not to come instantly.

“I can feel that you’re close.” He mumbled against you and flicked his tongue over your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

You nodded, unable to form clear words without moaning them.

“I know, you can go longer than that, Y/n.” He hummed against you, and you felt like you were going insane.

“God, please.” You cried out, fearing you couldn’t hold it any longer.

His mouth and fingers felt so good, you were sure you couldn’t help yourself much longer. You felt your orgasm built up and then-… He stopped. He pulled away from you, his fingers out of your pussy and you whined at the loss of contact.

He grabbed your face with the hand that had been inside of you just seconds before and looked you in the eyes. “When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock.”

“You know, it’s kind of unfair that I’m laying here completely naked while you’re fully clothed.” You breathed out with a small smile on your face.

“Oh, yeah?” He laughed against your lips before climbing of the bed to get out of his clothes. His eyes never left yours and yours never left his.

He was in nothing but his underwear, his cock hard underneath them and you bit your lip as his hands hooked under the waistband and he slowly slit them off. Your eyes slowly widened at the sight of his member, and you suddenly realized that all of this was real. He looked so perfect. All of him.

“You still okay?” He asked as he crawled back to you.

“Yes.” You breathed out when he was on top of you again. He leaned down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as if he belonged there.

“Noah, please.” You moaned out and let your hands roam over his back.

“Yes?” He teased you and rocked his hips once more.

“Don’t be such a tease.” You whined and dragged your fingernails over his back. He let out a soft moan.

“Tell me what you want, Y/n.” Noah exclaimed, and you whined, before rolling your eyes.

“Do that again and I’ll make you regret it.” He breathed out.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” You answered him in a mocking tone and he instantly gave his words truth.

For the second time something snapped inside of him. You let out a small yelp as he flipped you over in a swift motion, your chest hitting the mattress. He grabbed your hips with such force, you were sure he would leave bruises.

“You still wanna continue to be a brat?” He asked you in an almost dangerous tone and you shook your head.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He almost moaned and you felt this cock against your ass. He positioned himself behind you, his tip teasing your entrance. His hands wandered over your hips softly and you felt a kiss against your neck. “We can stop anytime.”

“Please, don’t stop.” You breathed out. After that he slowly slid into you, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out.

“Is that alright?” He asked with a soft tone as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside of you.

“Yes, everything is perfect.” You moaned out.

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when your time has come, this was how you wanted it to end.

“Oh, my f-… Noah.” You whispered out and gripped the sheets beneath you.

His right hand slowly reached to the front of your body and found your clit. He swiftly circled it while rocking into you.

His head was buried in your neck and the room was filled with moans and pants and curse words that were almost illegal to speak out.

“Shit, Y/N.” He whined into your neck. “You feel so good.” His thrust became faster and you were almost certain the bed was going to break if he kept that pace. But you were too far gone to care. You felt that knot in your stomach again and you knew this time you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Come on. Come for me, sweetheart.” He whispered against the back of your head, and you screamed. You screamed load enough that you were sure Jolly in the room underneath to you would hear.

He fucked you through it, his pace only slowing down moments later, right before he pulled out and you felt hot liquid painting your back.

You let yourself fall onto the pillow and he soon collapsed next to you. You turned to face him and could help but smile at him. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m in desperate need of a shower and I don’t even wanna talk about the lack of sleep we’ll have tomorrow.” You answered him and giggle for a second that caused him to smile.

“It was worth it.” He mumbled before leaning in again.

“Yes… yes it was.” Your lips met in a soft kiss and for a second everything inside of you began to tingle. You knew this was a new chapter for the both of you and that this was only the beginning.

“Let’s shower.” He mumbled before getting up and reaching out to help you up. He slung his arms around you for a second. “Maybe you can tell me about those fanfictions while showering.”

Your eyes widened for a second, before you made your way to the bathroom, followed by a laughing Noah.

“I’ll keep that to myself.” You answered him, before closing the bathroom door behind the two of you.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[kaliforniahigh]

You usually left Noah to his own devices when it came to recording, writing and producing. You knew he got very focused whenever he was in there with the boys.

But tonight, every single one of them has already left the studio, passing by the living room to bid you a quick goodbye before making their way out of the door. They all looked tired in their own ways, and you wondered how long it would take for your Noah to leave the studio.

You tried to busy yourself watching videos on your phone and scrolling through social media. But as the time passed, you realized it was close to 11PM and you haven't even had dinner yet. Your stomach was rumbling and your eyes were beginning to feel tired. So you made your way to the studio to check on your boyfriend.

Opening the door slowly, you saw him sitting on the chair in front of the computer. You could see the back of his head and his ever growing hair that you loved to grab on to and run your fingers through. He wasn't even moving, just blankly staring at the screen in front of him, and you knew it was time to try to get him out of here.

His broad shoulders were being hugged by his black t-shirt. You loved him in everything he worn, but a basic black t-shirt would always be your favorite.

You lingered by the door for another couple of seconds before you knocked, only loud enough for him to hear and turn around on his chair to finally land his eyes on you.

"Hi, baby", his voice was low and a little raspy, clearly tired after a whole day of singing and screaming into the microphone.

But what caught your attention were his drained eyes. You felt a little guilty for finding the sight before you completely adorable, but you couldn't help it. Besides, you knew he got extremely soft and touchy when he got tired, so that's why you made your way over to him, his arms already extending towards you to rest on your hips.

You got closer to him and ran your hands through his hair, he sighed in pleasure and encircled his arms around you in a hug, resting his head on your tummy. You could feel the ends of his hair prickling your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

"It's already 11PM, baby. You need to eat and go to bed", you told him in a small voice, almost a whisper. The room was quiet and despite the cold lightning, you felt a sense of comfort being here with him.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't realize it was this late", he murmured into your shirt, but didn't move his head at all.

"I'll get something ready for us to eat, and then I'll be back to get you once it's done, ok?" you asked him, but he made a sound of complaint and you felt his arms tighten around you.

"Want you to stay here. Haven't felt you all day", he nuzzled his head closer as if to get his point across and convince you to stay. He never had to convince you to stay, your favorite place would always be with him.

You moved around a bit in his embrace and settled yourself on his lap, straddling his hip. The position didn't feel sexual at all in this moment. You were both craving some sense of closeness - him more than you - and the feeling of each other's body heat, so you decided to give him what he wanted before you would have to inevitably get up and fix you both something to eat.

You rested your head on his shoulder and he started to move his hands up and down your back.

"How was the studio session today?", you asked him, wanting to know if the reason he was staying here so late was because he was struggling with something, or because it was going so right, he didn't want to stop.

"Started good, but then we hit a brick wall. The guys left to clear their heads and I stayed here to try and sort it out", he mumbled into your neck. You knew that he felt more responsible than the other guys, and you always tried to tell him that this is a team effort, but you knew your boyfriend would always work himself to the bone regardless. And that'd when you would gladly step in.

"How about you also get out of here to clear your head? You can wait for me on the couch while I get dinner done", he knew why you were so adamant on him eating something. Having watched him go to bed without eating one too many times. The thought of you worring about him so much filled his stomach with butterflies. He loved being cared by you.

He finally nodded, realizing he wouldn't get anything done this tired and hungry.

You got up from his lap and he stood up after you, taking your hand in his and leading him out the door. Making your way to the kitchen, you thought he would situate himself on the couch and rest for a bit, even doze off for a while. But he followed you to the kitchen and made a personal home behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

You smiled to yourself, knowing there was nowhere you'd rather be right now. From time to time you gave him a piece of whatever you were cooking - and he gave a hum of appreciation, telling you it was good - and from time to time he gave you a kiss on the neck.

Noah was forever grateful for your presence in his life, knowing that he needed you to bring him back down when his head got too far up in the clouds. He didn't know what he'd do without feeling the heat of your body and your delicate hands on his skin at the end of a rough day.

[darksigns-exe]

it's delicate - noah sebastian x f!reader

warnings: swearing, fingering (f receiving) oral sex (f receiving) protected intercourse

word count: 4k

note: a little continuation of this thing that i combined with a request from @somebodyels3 hope this comes close to what you had in mine <3

masterlist | taglist sign-up

The party around you buzzes. 

It’s the end of the year – New Year’s Eve – and everyone is here. The band's place is stuffed full of all of your friends. You’ve had a drink or two already, just to curb the bubbling anxiety that has settled in your belly. 

These things aren’t for you, but at the same time you like seeing everyone. You haven’t seen some of these people in ages, and really it is nice to see some familiar faces again. 

You’ve only seen Noah for a moment. 

Things between you have been interesting since the encounter. Noah has kept a little more distance and while it had stung at first, you’re somewhat glad that he had taken that step. Getting that close to him had ignited a few feelings you had been very happy to ignore so far. Having a little bit of forced distance between you had given you time to reevaluate how you feel. Unfortunately, you had always come back to the same conclusion. 

The things you feel for him are just a little bit more than friendship. 

You can’t tell where he stands on the matter, but there’s a small part of you that hopes that he feels somewhat similar. 

You’re ripped from your thoughts by the sounds of commotion in the kitchen. 

The source seems to be an animated discussion between Folio and someone you can’t immediately recognise. It distracts you enough for Noah to be able to sneak up on you. 

He drapes an arm around your shoulder, sidling up next to you. 

“What’s he up to?” he asks, trying to get a glimpse at whatever is happening. 

“I have no idea.” you reply. 

You can barely make out Folio, and you honestly have no idea of what they’re debating. All you can tell is that it clearly isn’t entirely serious. 

“You wanna head upstairs with me? I have something I’ve wanted to show you for a while.” 

If he hadn’t sounded so earnest and things between you hadn’t been so off you would have made a joke out of it. Instead, you quietly follow up to his room. 

You know that he’s been looking for a place of his own, but seeing boxes stacked in his room still takes you a little aback. 

“Did you find a place?” you ask, pushing past some of the boxes so that you can sit down on his bed. 

The room feels so much colder than it usually does. 

Something about this feels odd. 

“I did. That’s what I wanted to show you.” he pulls up a page on his computer, motioning for you to join him, “I know you’ve been having issues with your landlord so – there’s a spare room that could be yours if you want it.” 

You sit on his desk chair and start to scroll through the listing. 

The place is stunning. 

Central, but in an area that feels like an actual neighbourhood. The rooms are spacious, and flooded with light. The living room is gorgeous, the kitchen looks to be newly renovated too. You know that Noah has already put so much thought into this, and really it’s a tempting offer. Maybe you would be less hesitant if it hadn’t been for that encounter.

“Can I think about it?” 

“Of course.” he gives you that pretty smile of his, “It’s just an offer. It’s closer to where you work, too, just in case that influences your decision-making process.” 

A small part of you wonders if that is part of why he settled on that apartment in particular. 

“While I have you up here, I think we should talk about something else.” Noah continues. 

You shoot him a questioning look, even though you already have a vague idea of what he wants to discuss. 

“When I came over to your place and you — got me off?” you give him a nod, prompting him to continue, “I didn’t want it to make things weird between us. And I think in trying to give you space, I made it weird. I’m sorry about that.”

“To be fair, I took a step back too.” you reply, “Let’s just forget about the whole thing.” 

Noah cocks his head to the side, “The whole thing? What if I don’t want to forget about it.” 

You swallow a breath. 

You can’t deny that you’ve been thinking about it a lot. The way he had looked up at you with tear stained eyes had seared itself into your brain. The visual of him thrust into your hand with nothing but pleasure had played on repeat in your mind. 

“I don't think that you want to forget about it either, hm?” Noah squats down in front of you, “I can’t stop thinking about how good you made me feel.”

He brings a hand to your knee, thumb gently caressing your bare skin. 

You force yourself to look at him. 

His eyes are so soft, and there’s nothing that tells you that he’d be upset if you’d ask him to stop this. He waits patiently for you to make your move, quietly watching you with a curious expression. 

You bring a hand to the side of his face. Noah leans into your touch, practically melting at the warmth of your palm.  

“What about everyone downstairs?”

“They’ll be busy for at least another hour. We have plenty of time. And if we miss the countdown, we’ll just say that I wasn’t feeling good, and you stayed with me.” 

He removes your hand from his cheek, and presses a kiss to the backs of your knuckles. 

He rises back up to full height, your hand still grasped in his. 

You let him pull you up from the chair. 

Noah mirrors your earlier motion and places a soft hand against your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The words just won’t come to you. The nod you offer seems to be satisfactory to him, though. Noah moves in so slowly, giving you plenty of time to move out of the way. 

The first touch of his lips against yours is so soft and chaste. You hadn’t thought about what kissing him would feel like. But when you feel the gentle brush of his lips against yours, you never want to miss it again. His hand remains on your cheek, keeping you close to him. In return, your arms wrap around his middle. 

Noah’s free hand comes to rest at the small of your back, and you can feel him toying with the tie that keeps your dress together. 

When you finally part, your head spins with the lack of air. 

“Sit down for me, will you?” he says softly. 

His hands slowly drift away from you when you take a step back to sit on the edge of his bed. A moment later, Noah sinks to his knees in front of you. He moves to take off your shoes, placing them somewhere off to the side. 

“Nothing you don’t want will happen. You can stop this at any point.” he says quietly, “We’ll only go as far as you want.”

You try your best to focus on the soft brush of his fingers against your calf, instead of the bubbling anxiety in your belly. 

It’s always like this. 

You want this – him – but when it gets to it, the anxiety to do well overwhelms you. 

“Hey.” Noah gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh, “Everything okay? You’re looking a little lost.” 

The concern on his face is unlike anything you’ve seen from him. You know that he cares deeply for his people, you included, but this feels different. 

“Just a little nervous.” 

“Don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart. I promise I’ll take good care of you. This is not the first time you’re doing this, right?” 

You shake your head. 

Maybe not the first time, but your anxieties had limited your experience quite a bit. More than a few partners had headed home again without seeing any kind of action after you’d gotten too into your head to enjoy it. 

“Okay. Can I do something to make this better for you?”

You look down at him, finding only comfort and warmth in his eyes. 

“Can you tell me what you’re doing? I keep trying to anticipate what’ll happen and –” 

“Takes you right out of the mood, huh? Well, we can’t have that. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m doing. All you have to do is lie back and feel good. Sound good?” 

You give him a nod in return. 

“Has anyone ever eaten you out?” his voice is surprisingly calm considering the nature of his question. 

“Just once, but – it didn’t seem like he enjoyed it.” 

Noah scoffs, shaking his head. 

His voice turns so awfully soft when he finally speaks up again, “Will you let me show you how good it can be? For both parties?”

“Will you?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, “Do you want to stay like this or do you want to lie back?”

“Like this is okay.” 

“Good, if something feels off, let me know. No hesitation. I want this to be good for you.” another kiss to the inside of your thigh, a little higher this time, “Do you want to keep your dress on?”

“Is that okay?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with. If you want to keep it on, that’s okay. You wanna push up your hips for me?” 

You do as he asks, allowing him to take your panties off. He’s careful, slowly sliding them down your thighs. 

“Put on something cute before you came here, huh? Got all dressed up just for me.” he speaks more to himself than anyone else. 

His hands roam across your thighs, giving gentle pressure to make you part them. 

“Spread your legs a little, darling.” when you’ve made enough room for him, he continues, “I’m gonna touch you now, just with my fingers.” 

His fingers slowly trail up your thigh. His touch is feather-light, barely there. You hold your breath when he reaches your centre. The tips of his fingers brush through your folds, until they catch at your clit. You gasp when he circles his fingers across the bundle of nerves. 

“Don’t be shy, darling. Let me hear your pretty sounds.” 

He keeps up the slow, gentle touch for a good while. Occasionally, his fingers drift a little lower, swiping through your folds again. With every pass, his focus shifts towards your entrance. You try your best to focus on him, but it’s already so hard to keep your eyes open. 

Noah gives you another warning before he begins to tease the tip of one of his fingers into you. 

He takes his time working his finger into you. The slow, teasing touch makes you gasp out loud. And, as his finger sinks deeper into you, you let yourself fall back against the mattress. 

“There you go, baby. Does that feel good?” Noah asks softly.

You whine out a yes, but Noah doesn’t seem to be very happy with that. 

“Words.” He says then, sounding almost a little taunting. 

His fingers still, as he waits for your response, eyes fixed on your face so very expectantly. 

“Feels good. Feels so good.” you choke out. 

“That’s it. Gonna let me get a taste of your pretty little pussy?” 

“Y-yes.” 

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Thank you.”

Noah removes his finger again and a moment later, you feel him trailing a barely there line of kisses up your thigh. And then you finally feel his lips pressing against your folds. 

At first, it’s a soft little kiss, but then you feel the tip of his tongue dragging through your folds. He moves so slowly, that you feel like you could stop him so easily if it becomes too much.  

You shift yourself upwards, in the attempt to get a glimpse at him. And when you look down, Noah meets your glance with the softest look. 

You feel him smile against you, before he pulls away just so. 

“Still feeling okay?” He asks. 

This time, your nod is enough for him. 

Noah quickly dives back between your thighs, burying his face there once again. He’s so careful with it. There’s something devotional about it. His attention is entirely on you and your pleasure. 

You bring a hand into his hair, remembering how he had shuddered last time. 

Noah lets out a sigh in response, but shows no sign of wanting to remove himself. In fact, you think that he sinks even deeper into you. You can just make out the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks as he continues his efforts. 

He gives a first experimental suck to your clit before he pulls away again. 

“Think you’ll be okay with my fingers inside?” 

“I want to try.”

“That’s good enough for me.” He presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Just keep making those pretty sounds for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He keeps his focus on you while he eases his pointer finger back into you. When you give him no sign of discomfort, he returns his lips to your core. 

Noah gives the softest little kitten licks to your clit, drawing whine after whine from you. As overwhelming as it feels, you just can’t tear your eyes away from him. 

Soon enough, he starts to work a second finger into you. The stretch of it makes you sigh, and the grip of your hand tightens in his hair. And in turn, you’re rewarded with a moan from Noah. 

The careful curl of his fingers, mixed with the steady licks he gives to your folds, drags you closer and closer towards your climax. 

“Noah.” you choke out, making him look up at you. 

“Getting close?” he asks, “You wanna cum for me? Let me hear how pretty you sound when you fall apart for me?”

You can only give him a desperate nod in reply. 

“That’s it baby. You’re so tight around my fingers. I bet you’d feel so good around my cock.” you don’t understand how he sounds so unaffected by all of this, when you feel as if you’re about to be torn apart, “Come on, let me feel you. You’re so close, aren’t you?” 

You’re right at the edge of it, but something is still holding you back. You let out a whine, hoping that it’s enough to tell him that you need more. 

“Aw need a little more, sweetheart? That needy little pussy just can’t get enough, hm?” 

He brings his thumb towards your clit. The slow circles he draws there, are enough to push you over the edge. You feel yourself clenching around his fingers, as you cry out in pleasure. You’re suddenly so very glad that the music playing downstairs is loud enough to disguise the sounds you’re making. 

Noah works you through your climax with practised ease. The gentle praise he showers you with only makes you feel dizzier. 

Eventually, his fingers slow until he stills entirely. 

“You did so good for me.” he says softly, “I’m gonna pull out my fingers, okay?”

You give him a nod. 

Your breath catches in your throat when he pulls his fingers from you. His fingers immediately dip between his lips. His eyes fall shut again, and he lets out a pleasured hum. 

“Noah?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes fly up to meet yours, “Hm?” 

“I want you.” “You just had me, sweetheart.” Noah says with a smirk.

“All of you.” 

“All of me?” the smirk fades into something you can quite identify. 

He rises up to his feet and for a moment, you think that he’ll turn around and leave. But instead, Noah leans down to you, placing a hand against your cheek. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?” 

Your heart is beating at a thousand miles a minute. Since the evening when you’d gotten him off, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. 

“Please, Noah.” 

His lips meet yours just a split second later. And before you know it, you find yourself on your back, with Noah hovering above you. 

You bring your hand into the hair at the back of his neck, to keep his lips on yours. 

One of his hands drifts up your thigh and under your dress. You feel his fingers digging into your waist. 

From your lips, Noah trails a line of kisses along your jaw and neck. You sigh when he sucks a pretty little mark into the skin of your neck. 

You try your best to tug his shirt out of his trousers, desperate to feel his skin beneath your fingers again. Noah seems to understand what you’re trying to do and quickly pulls his shirt off. He doesn’t return to you immediately, instead he moves to unbutton his trousers. You’re sure it’s just your imagination, but for a brief moment, you’re sure that his hands tremble just a little. He drops them onto his desk chair, together with his shirt, before he finally returns to you. 

You scoot back, making a little more space for him on the bed. Noah kneels between your parted thighs. You let your eyes wander across his mostly bare body. His chest heaves with quick breaths. You can’t deny the bubbling anxiety in your belly, either. 

Taking this step could change everything between you.  

You bring your hand to his waist, to guide him back to you. 

Noah meets you in another quick kiss, before he sits up again. 

“Can I take this off?” he asks, playing with the hem of your dress. 

As much as you want to seize up, you have to feel his hands on your body. And so you give him a nod. 

Noah helps you sit up, allowing him to take off your dress. You don’t care where it lands because as soon as your body is bared to you, his lips are back on your neck. His hands roam across your body, and now you’re actually able to feel the tremble of his hands. 

Noah kisses his way across your chest, grazing his teeth against your collar bones. You bring a hand between your bodies, pressing your palm against the bulge in his boxers. Noah’s forehead instantly drops to your shoulder. The groan he lets out makes you shiver. 

“Careful, baby.” he sounds so breathless already, “Don’t wanna finish before I’m inside you.” 

He shuffles out of his boxers, finally giving you a proper view of him. 

“Hurry up then.” You say, once again reaching out for him. 

Noah manages to catch your hand in his before you get a chance to catch him. 

“Don’t get impatient now. You’ve been so good until now.” 

He leans over to his night stand and pulls open the top drawer. Somehow you hadn’t thought about protection until now, but you’re glad that he did. 

“Better to be safe.” He notes as he tears open the package. 

Noah leans back over you, dipping down to steal a kiss from you. 

“Ready?”

You nod, bringing your hands to his waist. 

Noah remains focused on your face for a moment longer, before he looks down to where he’s working the head of his cock into you. 

The focused furrow in his brow makes you wonder if he’s struggling to keep himself composed. He takes his time with it, slowly working his length into you. 

Your hand remains on his waist, trying to steady both of you. 

“Oh—fuck.” His head drops against his chest, “You feel so fucking good.”

You wrap your arms around his body, gently coaxing him back down to you. Noah drapes himself across your body, burrowing his face against your neck. 

You feel his breath against your skin. He’s still for a long moment, his body heavy against yours. The weight of him eases your worries. He’s warm and comforting, skin so much softer than you had imagined. 

The skin of his back twitches when you move your hands. 

He begins a slow, steady rhythm. He rocks against you, barely moving away from you. But it’s enough for you. His lips return to the side of your neck, leaving what you assume will be a rather prominent mark. 

He sighs out your name, whispering it against your skin. 

With every thrust, he picks up a little bit more movement. Noah still doesn’t allow a lot of distance between you, but with the extra bit of leverage, he manages to hit all the right spots. 

You’re not sure how long you’ll last. 

The intensity of the moment is quickly dragging you towards your climax. Your belly already feels so taught. 

You can’t tell where his body ends and yours begins. 

Your name is a prayer on his breath. You’ve long given up on trying to form actual words. Between the moans and sighs that fall from your lips, you barely manage to utter his name. 

Your fingers dig into his back. Noah gasps against your skin. You swear that you feel teeth scraping against your bare shoulder. 

It’s a slow unravelling. 

Your climax hits you in slow waves, dragging you under like a current. Noah stills above you. You feel him release into the condom with a quiet gasp. His breath fans out against your skin. 

He stays where he is for a long moment. 

Noah’s back rises and falls beneath your palms. A part of you wants to keep him close like this forever, but you know that you’ll have to face the people downstairs at some point.

Eventually, he begins to pull away from you. Your hands stay on his body as long as possible. But once he has sat up completely, you’re practically forced to let go of him. 

“I’ll be right back with you, sweetheart.” 

He gives a barely there squeeze to your waist just before he gets off the bed. 

You don’t have time to feel shy about being entirely bare, as Noah quickly returns to you. You find yourself scooped up in his arms. Before you know it, he’s wrapped all around you again, this time with his chest pressed up against your back. 

There’s so much you want to say, but you just don’t know where to start. 

Noah’s arm snakes around your middle, somehow pulling you closer against him. You wrap your hand around his. 

He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“So about that room –” you say quietly, scared to disturb the mood.  

“It’s yours if you want it.” 

“Gonna make me sleep in the spare room, huh?” 

You hope that you haven’t read too much into all of this. Every little touch is still embedded in your mind. The way he had looked at you is burned into your brain. And in that moment, all you hope for is that you’re not the only one who feels like this. 

“Can you look at me?” he says and is voice is so unexpectedly soft then, “Please.” 

Noah eases his hold on you enough for you to turn around. 

His brow is furrowed so faintly, “Would you want me like that?” 

“Noah.” 

“Please – I need to know.”

Just like you had done at the beginning of the night, you place your hand against his cheek, “Of course I do.” 

The corners turn up into the faintest beginning of a smile, before he dips down for a kiss. 

“Does that mean that I can call you mine?” 

The barely there nervousness makes your chest ache a little. 

“Only if I can call you mine too.” 

He breaks into that pretty smile of his, “I think this might be the best start into a new year so far.” 

And really, you can’t disagree with him.

The party downstairs is long forgotten. The important thing is right here in front of you. And as selfish as it feels, you’re glad that you have him all to yourself in that moment because truth be told, this has been a long time coming. 

Eventually, you hear the fireworks, but neither of you moves even a muscle. You stay here, wrapped up in your own little moment, wholly entranced by each other. And for the first time, you realise that he’s been yours for a while, just like you’ve been his for just as long. 

All it took was a little nudge.

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@rumoured-whispers@cheyyyyr@mathfairchild1 @thewrstinme @Follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[concretejunglefm]

The way you bend, the way you break.

Summary: Your best friend, Noah, has harbored a deep and obsessive crush on you for a long time. Driven by his intense jealousy, he reaches dangerous extremes to finally claim you as his own.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x f!reader.

THIS IS A FIC CONTAINS DARK THEMES PLEASE CHECK TRIGGER WARNINGS.

CW: smut including unprotected sex (p in v), ghostface, mask kink, boot riding, obsessive bestfriend!noah, stalking themes, yandere themes, manupilation, coercion, blackmail, dubcon, threats of violence, knife play (reader on receiving end), blood play (readers), degrading dirty talk, dacryphilia, breeding kink if you squint, hair pulling, pussy slapping

Names: Princess, bitch, (little) slut, little rabbit, baby, pretty thing,

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“What’s your favorite scary movie, princess?” An enigmatic, almost mechanical voice purrs through the receiver.

“So original,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “You can stop playing games, Noah.” The idea of your best friend playing games like these with you, just to tease you, wouldn’t come as a surprise.

“Wrong, it’s not Noah,” the voice corrects you, dismissing your assumption, and your heart drops.

“Look, asshole, whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested, okay?” You huff, hanging up and choosing to ignore the strange sensation of being watched that begins to creep in.

A moment later, your phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. Attached to the message is a video. You pause for a moment, contemplating whether to press play on the thumbnail, which features a frame of your face. You could choose to delete the message, pretend you didn’t see it, or even block the number. However, curiosity overpowers you, and you decide to press play.

The video you’re watching features you and your ex. What you’re seeing is something you had presumed to be long erased from the existence of any phone belonging to either of you. Then again, you also know better than to assume anything could be permanently erased from the internet in this modern era.

In the frame, you’re on all fours and facing the camera, while your ex, out of frame—lucky bastard, is pounding into you. Every sound from you is almost as exaggerated as the way your eyes roll back and your tongue hangs freely, playing up for the camera—and for him.

When you close the video, another text appears.

Unknown: Hang up on me again, and this video will be sent to everyone you know.

Your chest tightens, and your mind races with panic and dread. As you try to message your best friend with trembling fingers, an incoming call interrupts you, preventing you from reaching out for help.

“What do you want?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady, though it falters slightly. Fear creeps in, and you can’t help but notice the amusement in the strangers’ mechanical voice.

“You might want to use your manners, unless you want everyone to discover your little home movie.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of anyone else seeing that video. The fact that a stranger already has it in their possession sends a sense of dread through you, accompanied by another strange feeling.

“Now, are you going to be a good girl and listen to me?” He poses it as a question, but the cold, unsettling tone of the stranger on the other end suggests it’s more of a command.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat and find your voice as you respond, “Yes.”

“That’s good, or you’ll end up starring in a snuff film for your next movie.”

“Oh god…” the words escape your lips, a choked sob rising within your throat.

There’s a ringing in your ears, and you take a step back. Your eyes dart around the open living room, looking towards the front door. But it’s as if the stranger can sense your thoughts, because his voice interrupts your train of thought.

“Don’t even consider running. We’re going to play a little game called hot and cold.”

“I-please…” A soft plea escapes your lips, followed by a choked sob. Fear has frozen you in your tracks, fear and something else, a subtle thrill that creeps into your mind, suggesting that you might be enjoying this.

Surely not?

The stranger completely disregards your plea for freedom, continuing to explain the rules of his game. “If you manage to find me, then maybe I’ll grant you your wish and leave you be.”

There was something about that “maybe” that you didn’t entirely trust. It hinted at the possibility that he had no intention of letting you go once he had you in his grasp.

Slowly, you begin to walk yourself through the house, one ear attentively listening to your surroundings while keeping the phone firmly pressed to your other ear, listening to him call out the varying degrees of how hot and cold you were.

You’re on the verge of giving up, ready to confront him and call him out on his bluff. He’s not here; he’s been playing you, making you believe he is. But just as you’re about to make your move, a rustling behind you catches your attention. As you turn, you’re met with a towering figure standing above you. He’s dressed in an all-black ensemble and wears a ghostface mask.

“Surprise, princess!” he announces, raising the blade in his hand. As you try to pass him, he swiftly scoops you up with his free arm, capturing you in a tight embrace and pulling your back flush against his front.

“Tsk tsk, sweet little rabbit, where do you think you’re headed? Don’t you want to play?” He smirks beneath the mask, and you hear the sly grin seeping into his voice.

When you feel the cool metal blade against your cheek, you softly whimper, “Please…” desperately hoping to somehow escape this or at least beg this stranger to release you unharmed.

“Please,” he repeats your word back to you, his tone mocking. Before asking, his voice laced with a menacing undertone, “Are you scared, princess?”

He gently caresses the skin of your cheek with the flat side of the knife, causing your heart to quicken in your chest as it trails down your throat. You yearn to say yes, but you can’t bring yourself to admit your fear to him, especially not when you can already sense the intensity of his arousal pressing against your ass.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” he whispers, his mask tipping up slightly to reveal his lips. With a gentle yet firm touch, he presses rough, lingering kisses along your throat, making his first move in asserting his claim over you.

You wish for your body not to betray you as it currently is, feeling the heat rising in your stomach, which gradually spreads throughout. Your thighs press together in your pajama shorts, the fabric giving little cover.

Your mind reels from his words as you suddenly realize that this could be someone you know or someone who knows you, at the very least.

“Aww, listen to you whimper. Are your legs shaking too?” He teases, and you realize just how unsteady you are on your feet. His arm is the only thing keeping you firmly in place, as his twitching arousal rubs against you, and his hips rut in a way that provides him with a semblance of relief, even though he’s already fantasizing about how you’d feel wrapped around him.

You hadn’t even realized you were whimpering until he pointed it out. Now, you could barely silence yourself, only soft pleas falling between the quiet sounds. But you no longer knew what exactly you were pleading for—to be let go, to have something more. Especially now that a growing ache was forming between your thighs.

“I bet if I reach down, you’ll be soaked.” You shake your head in denial, but deep down, you know he’s right. No matter how hard you try to pull away or squirm against him, his hand won’t stop descending into the front of your shorts. His gloved fingers glide over the fabric of your lace panties, sending shivers down your spine.

He doesn’t stop there; instead, he pushes aside the fabric and presses a finger between your folds, applying a pressure you didn’t realize you needed to your clit. The pressure makes your hips buck, and instead of a whimper, a needy whine escapes your throat. His dark chuckle in response washes over you, and you feel a wave of shame for genuinely enjoying this.

The delightful sensation of his leather glove is so pleasurable that when he starts withdrawing his hand, it makes you whine, your hips instinctively moving to follow him.

“Look at you, you enjoy this, don’t you? Desperate slut.” His words are confirmed when he raises his hand, reveling in the wetness that coats his gloved fingers. To your surprise, he pushes them into your mouth, making you clean them off with a low growl of an order against your ear.

Beneath the mask he reveals in the sight of you and continues his mocking as he glides the blade of the knife along the front of your sleep shirt, just scraping the fabric. “Mm, you’re making this too easy. I had anticipated a fight. But no, you’re just a twitching mess.”

You despise yourself for loving it so much, for the gentle sounds emanating around his fingers and the way your cunt throbs with need, your arousal intensifying with his degrading words.

“Now, it’s time for some real fun.” He delights, pressing the tip of the blade against the fabric of your shirt. He twists it slightly before pulling it to tear, slicing it all the way up until the fabric is reduced to two hanging pieces at your chest. You gasp, feeling the cool air against your hardened nipples as he spreads the fabric further apart, intensifying your arousal.

Before you have a chance to comprehend what’s happening, he starts dragging you backward down the hallway and towards your bedroom.

When you reached the bedroom, he ordered you to strip completely. Now, he has your hands tied behind your back while you rub your soaking, wet cunt against the thick, black leather of his boot.

You want so intensely to hate this, to vehemently protest against him, yet every sound you make, every desperate shift of your hips, contradicts those thoughts.

Honestly, you’re enjoying this more than you’d ever dare admit.

“I knew you’d be a good little slut, just like you are in that video.” The mention of the video from him sends a wave of embarrassment across your already flushed skin, causing your eyes to dart away from him before he suddenly grabs your chin with a harsh grip, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at you, you’re gasping like a whimpering, bitch in heat. What’s got you so worked up? Is it me or the knife?”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the glint of silver from the blade, the one he’s been taunting you with. He traces it over your collarbone and throat, but not with enough force to cause any damage. The weight of it emphasizes the threat behind his words each time he promises to ‘slit your pretty little throat’ if you don’t follow his instructions. It’s what led you into this position, yet you find yourself desperate and needy, pleading for him to let you cum and even give you more because you’re aware of how far gone you are.

“Are you going to cum all over my boot like a good little slut?” he teases, and when you try to look away once more, you feel the unforgiving grip of his fingers in your hair, forcing your head back as he compels you to gaze upon him. “Do you need a reminder about not answering me, princess?”

You gasp when you feel the sharp, cutting sensation of the blade against your skin, at your collarbone. This time he’s applied enough pressure to create a small cut, a pool of blood forming. As he lifts the blade to show you the blood, he offers it towards your mouth.

“Lick it,” he commands, and you obey, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and lust. You watch him, fixated on the mask, as you roll your tongue over the flat edge of the blade. The warm metallic taste of your blood coats your tongue.

A moment later, he advances just enough to tilt his mask and press his lips against yours in a passionate exchange. His tongue forcefully enters your mouth, stealing and sharing the lingering taste of your blood, and you moan into his mouth in response. The taste of him is both familiar and electrifying, reminiscent of sweet watermelon halls.

When he breaks away, the mask is swiftly pulled back into place, thwarting any chance of catching a glimpse of your tormentor, but that concern becomes pushed aside when your mind grows clouded by the tight coil forming in your stomach as you careen closer to your climax. You almost don’t want to reach it, fearing the consequences of its end, yet also it being an acknowledgement of your enjoyment and present desire.

There’s no escaping the moment you start to crumble before him, not when you’re trembling and your moans are intensifying in volume.

“Come on, pretty little thing. Give me what I want. Make a mess for me.” He murmurs his encouragement, his eyes fixed on you behind the mask, locked onto the way your hips buck and you desperately grind against his boot, coating it with your arousal. He can sense that you’re restraining yourself and his fingers in your hair tug harshly, drawing your attention to him. “There’s no shame in it. No one’s watching except me. So cum for me, baby.”

It’s as if, on command, you follow his words and let go, feeling your body quiver as your release surges through you with a roaring heat, strained whimpers escaping your lips. You quickly feel yourself growing limp, your body exhausted as the adrenaline wears off, but you know that he hasn’t finished with you yet.

It’s as if you’re a doll, and he’s treating you like one, placing you on the bed and positioning you just the way he desires. You willingly submit, no longer resisting now because you don’t want to. You want this. Even after your recent orgasm, you feel yourself tightening around nothing, the overwhelming desire to be filled consuming you, and you’re certain that’s precisely what he’s going to do.

“Keep your legs spread wide for me, princess.” He says, pushing you down against the mattress as he shifts behind you. When you try to look up, you spot the mirror facing the bed and glance at your reflection. What a mess you are spread out for him—your ass pulled up and presented while your upper half is pressed to the mattress. In that moment, you realize he’s mimicking the position you were in, in the video.

“Please…” you whine, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel his gloved fingers gently stroke your wet folds.

“Hush, you’ll get exactly what we both know you want.” With his other hand, he strokes his cock, positioning himself behind you. His eyes scan your exposed body, taking in the way you tremble under his touch. “Oh, you’re soaking.”

Another whine escapes your lips, and you instinctively try to conceal your face with the flush of embarrassment. However, his gloved hand forcefully slaps between your thighs, right against your clit, causing you to yelp and lift your head.

“No hiding. I want to see you,” he warns, and your eyes dart to the mirror, where you catch a glimpse of his head turned. He’s watching you, and he wants to watch you while he’s fucking you. That sick bastard, you think, but perhaps you’re the sick one because you feel a strange thrill coursing through your body, your clit throbbing with anticipation at the thought of what's to come.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs softly beneath his breath. As you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, your hips shift, trying to push back against him and you feel his harsh grip holding you firmly in place. “God, you’re such a desperate little slut,” he taunts, chuckling darkly.

The tip of him feels so big against you, yet you crave more, yearning for him to fill you up, despite the pain it’s already causing to feel him pressing into you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he forcefully slides you, your walls stretching around him, struggling to accommodate him. A tear escapes and rolls down your cheek from the immense pressure he brings as he slides into you until he’s deeply buried, asserting his claim on you.

“God, you should see how well your pretty pussy is taking my cock.” He growls, gripping your hip firmly with one hand and the back of your neck with the other, pinning you down. He starts thrusting into you, his pace quickening with each stroke inside your tight walls.

The intense movement of his hips makes you cry out, sobs bubbling up your throat from the overwhelming pleasure as you feel him pounding deep into your stomach. “Please…” you choke out once more, unable to find any coherent words.

Did it hurt? Did it feel too good? Was it a delicious combination of both? Regardless, it already felt like too much for you to handle, and your fingers curl into your hands, still tied behind your back. It only makes it easier for him to grip onto you, forcing your entire body down onto the mattress as he slammed his hips against your ass.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groans, and you whimper, your body trembling from the intensity of another climax building within you. You can’t stop the tears that continue to fall; your sobs slip out between your moans, something he’s quick to notice. “That’s it, baby—keep crying for me. I want to feel those beautiful sobs as you come undone.”

That’s precisely what he experiences when you squeeze around him every time another sob rises in your throat, his cock throbbing within you. However, it’s just as he teeters over the edge that you follow, feeling him thrust himself deep into you as his cock twitches with the release of his warm cum, filling you—completely claiming you as his.

No amount of protest could have stopped him, especially since he never gave you any warning. Despite your whining and attempts to throw him off somehow, you’re pinned beneath him as he leans over you, caging your smaller frame beneath him. “Just take it,” he growls, making you feel even smaller as you tremble, unable to deny the way your own body falls apart with the knowledge that he’s cum inside you, filling you deeply, feeling the bulge of him in your stomach.

He remains buried inside you, twitching and throbbing as you squeeze him, as if holding him there, unwilling to let him go.

Neither of you moves, frozen in this moment. There’s a part of you that secretly doesn’t want to.

For a fleeting moment, your eyelids flutter, and your body succumbs to exhaustion. However, you’re jolted to your senses when you notice him raising his hand to remove his mask.

In the mirror opposite, you’re greeted by a familiar face that makes your stomach flip and your eyes widen. “Noah…” you breathe out, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers,

“Surprise, princess.”

[flowery-mess]

in the woods

pairing: Noah x female reader

words: 840, it's just a little something with a moodboard that's been on my mind for a few days

Noah masterlist

Rain. The sound of raindrops against the big glass that allows you to see a number of different shades of green. Many would say the dark forest was scary, but not you, you find it calming, peaceful.

Fog. The greyish color that almost makes it look like the forest is covered by the softest blanket. An unforgettable part of the autumn weather, your favorite time of the year.

Warmth. The warmth of Noah’s hands on your skin. There is this big love seat in front of the window. It’s soft and comfy, almost like it was made for the two of you. Like if you were meant to stay here, hidden from the whole world.

You both felt like you needed a break, a pause from the day to day life. From responsibilities and from people. Just the two of you.

You booked this cabin just a few hours before you left your home.

The drive was a few hours long, but you didn’t mind that. You and Noah always found something to do in his car on long drives, this time you played “I’m thinking of” while listening to your shared playlist.

Noah made you laugh many times during that game with his little comments here and there and you made his face soften every time you guessed the thing he was thinking of and was so excited about it.

When you got bored of that game a silence took over the car and you turned the volume higher so you both could be in your own heads for a minute.

When you got close to the cabin you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the window.

You drove through small villages, each unique in its own way. You saw stray cats running around, kids swinging on the playground and two older women sitting on a bench together, talking about whatever was currently happening in their lives.

Then you entered the forest, the one you’re looking at now. It swallowed you completely with its beauty.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” you asked Noah with your eyes still locked on the outside.

“It really is beautiful.” you hear Noah say behind you. In the car he just chuckled at your excitement for the forest, he was focused on the road and the GPS that wasn’t working due to bad signal.

But now when he’s sitting on the loveseat with you against his chest, he can finally relax and admire the beauty of nature in front of you.

The whole moment is beautiful, the forest just making it perfect.

Noah’s hands lift the blanket that’s over your intertwined bodies, making sure you’re covered and warm.

In the background you can hear the sounds of cracking wood in the small fireplace in the big living room.

Noah’s hands sneak under the blanket, wrapping around your waist so you’re closer to him, as close as possible.

You feel his warm lips against your hair and you can’t help the smile on your face. In this moment you feel safe, happy and loved. Everything you ever wished for, Noah gives it to you any chance he gets.

You’re nowhere close to the end of your stay, but you know already that you never want to leave this place, this bubble made only of the two of you.

You watch the raindrops race with each other on the glass, squeezing Noah’s hands when you hear the thunder.

“I’ve got you.” he whispers against your hair.

And you know that.

You stare into the void and think of the next few days ahead of you.

Tonight you’re going to sleep in the big bed upstairs and make love before you fall asleep in each other’s arms. Noah’s going to worship every part of you, just like he always does. Not a single part of your body goes unnoticed by his hands or lips. He’s whispering sweet words of encouragement and sweet nothings in your ear when his head is in the crook of your neck, when he’s on the edge of the high. His hand always slips between your bodies to make sure you two fall apart together.

Then he’s going to make you get up from the comfy bed and take a shower with him. A hot one, where he will wash your body like you were made of glass.

Falling asleep in his arms and wrapped in the soft sheets will be the best way to end this day. He’s going to hold you, caress your hair with so much love in his touch. You’re going to think about the plans for the next days, only wondering what the two of you will be doing, because Noah said to leave the plans to him, that he’ll make sure you’re going to like whatever he comes up with.

And you trust him with that. You trust him with your whole life.

“I love you.” will be the last thing he whispers before you two will fall asleep, together, safe in each other’s embrace and very loved.

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

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