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ssvnriseya · 5 months ago

Text

NEED YOU (D.D)

summary - you and daryl were in a fight and he got jealous when he saw you with another man.

warnings - MDNI 18+ oral, (m! receiving) p in v, breeding kink, daddy kink, pet names, dom!daryl × sub!reader, virgin! reader, jealousy, age gap (reader! in her early 20's, daryl! in his mid 40's), loss of virginity, aftercare, intended lowercase.

note - okay! second time writing smut, hope you like it. lol, i'm really hoping it's the smut of your expectation, this is my longest, probably about six or five thousand words?!

masterlist

"we brought dinner." daryl spoke, holding the raccoon up when the gate opened.

"they're okay, they're okay." aaron assured the guy on guard duty when he and eric entered, your group all held their guns by their side.

you smiled warmly at the man when his gaze landed on you, ready to make a good impression and give this place a chance, for judith and all of you.

he then looked back at aaron and the rest of your group walked in, you almost felt embarrassed with the clothes you had on, dirty hospital scrubs.

it was rather dirty and older compared to their clean clothes, you have tried everything to find other clothes but your group's luck and hope ran out ever since beth and tyreese died, you all didn't even get lucky with the village you all checked out.

just as the gate was about to close there was a walker, groaning and trying to get to them. rick nodded at sasha and she raised her sniper, shooting the walker.

"you all should probably talk to deanna first." aaron said as they looked around them in awe, how could something like this place still stand?

"but before that, give up your guns. you stay, you give us your guns." the smug looking guy said, you looked at rick for his reaction.

"we don't even know if we want to stay." rick growled, the smug guy shrugged and aaron frowned at him. he assured rick and the group.

"it's just a precaution, if you want to stay though, you can get your guns back when you go outside the walls." he quickly said and explained.

rick nodded and the group lined up, placing their guns on the cart carefully, some sending a glare on the alexandrians.

"you'll talk to deanna first, then i can show you your houses." aaron said casually, your mouth was gaped open.

"as in plural? you're really giving us houses, for free?" you said at him in disbelief, a few of your group members chuckling at you.

"it isn't the same world anymore, where you have to pay for a piece of shit of a land, and pay more to construct a house." daryl frowned, remembering something.

how he worked his ass off on his work to pay rent and getting paid low, not even enough to save up for a piece of land.

"okay." you said, shrugging as you watched rick go into deanna's house.

"what do you think she'll ask? like do you have a husband, a daughter, or an affair or something?" you blabber to the ear next to you, not realizing it's daryl as you stared at the house, as if waiting for rick to come out crying.

when someone grunted, you turned to see daryl drowning, as usual.

"okay, fine. be that way." you pouted at him and turned away from him, when rick came out, abraham, glenn, noah, rosita and others went next.

all of you was done by the time the sun was almost going down but still blazing hot.

basically deanna just asked you about how you survived outside the walls, what you did to survive, and she bragged about being a political. you tuned her out for most of that.

"we're going to stay in the house together for tonight, rick said." you told daryl who was at the porch and staring into nothing.

"‘m coming in a few minutes." he spoke and you nodded entering the house, you saw rick come out of the hallway and you were shocked.

"oh my— is that you, rick?!" you teased him, he smiled at you warmly.

"shower's free. there's a few clothes for you on the counter by a folk here." rick said as he turned to michonne to watch her reaction.

you snickered at him, he was like a school boy all over again. like getting a haircut and seeing if your crush liked it.

you showered quickly and changed into a pair of pink pajamas. "shower and brushing is refreshing." you sighed as you stretched onto the mattress.

"oh my goodness, for the couples here tonight, please refrain yourselves from like you know..." you teased the couples, most likely rosita and abraham.

abraham smirked at you, "why don't you explore here, go and find someone to bump uglies with." he laughed followed by a few others.

you didn't notice the way daryl rolled his eyes from the corner, an angry expression on his face.

"maybe, i will. once we get settled in here nicely, when we don't have to worry about things anymore... i actually want to find someone to be with me for the rest of my life." you whispered to abraham as a few others engaged into a conversation themselves.

"i hope you find that, little one." he smiled at you like a big brother would, and patted your hair.

"deanna's hosting a party?" rosita asked where you, rosita, maggie, tara, sasha and michonne sat around in the living room.

"yeah, she said tonight." tara nodded, you six had nothing to do as the other went on to explore outside.

"they really don't know anything about what's outside these walls... if they still can think about hosting parties." you sighed.

"deanna said that this place was right from the start, they just built up those walls for protection." michonne shrugged, drinking her coffee.

"they're spoiled, never really knowing how to fight." maggie agreed, it was like a normal morning again... chatting with your friends with no worries about what might happen later.

"well, if she's hosting a party... let's find clothes to wear and might just enjoy the liquors there." sasha raised her brows up and down, suggestively.

you all chuckled and agreed with her, promising each other to go together in the garage where almost hundreds of free clothes were.

you parted from them and went to find daryl, if it wasn't that obvious, you like him, deeply.

you always went to find reasons to be near him but as far as you know, daryl didn't care about you. almost hating your presence whenever you volunteered to go with him on dry runs.

you have tried everything to get closer to him but he always seemed to find a way to push you away. he ignores you most of the time, says harsh words, avoid you completely.

but even though he's like that, you never gave up, always comforting him when you noticed he was down.

you still pursued your feelings for him after all these years, thinking that you might have a chance with someone like him.

how can you not like him? he was selfless, he was kind, he was caring, he cares for judith like he was her uncle, and most of all, he loves.

it might not be that obvious but you know that he loves, so that's why you hoped that he will love you too, not like a friend, but more than that.

but being here made you realize a few things, daryl is never the type of guy to settle down for relationships, even before the end of the world, as merle said.

daryl has priorities and being in a relationship like you wanted was never one of them, he was a guy who never believed in love.

daryl is an emotionally unavailable man, he was all about surviving, so you know he never will have time for shitty relationships, as he said when you asked him one day.

"d–do you ever want to be in a relationship? when we find a safe place?" you asked him as you stared into the fire, you and him were guarding camp and the rest were asleep.

"don't have time f' shitty relations'." he grunted, and you know that was the end of the conversation.

you both were the total opposite, and you know total opposites never work.

he was shy, you weren't, you were talkative, he wasn't, he doesn't love to express his emotions, you do. and there was so much more to it.

just thinking about all of it makes your heart break, maybe it was really time to move on from him, you never even had a chance in the first place.

now that you were in a safe place with the group you considered your family, you were happy.

the group was happy, mostly, rick and daryl still didn't trust this place for a bit.

but you know that someday they will when they had a chance to see the potentials of this neighborhood.

"you're going to move on from him, starting tonight, at the party." you whispered to yourself as you found yourself staring at him, sitting at the porch.

"hey, daryl!" you waved at him, you were shocked how you felt that your heart wasn't going to jump out of your chest anymore, unlike before.

maybe you really were starting to move on.

"deanna has a party, are you coming?" you asked him, squinting your eyes as the sun glared at you from above.

"the rest of the group is coming..." you quickly added as he wore his angry face.

"don't have time f' parties, all you ever do is party. what about waking up, huh? you're back in yer' own lil' world, caring all about drinking."

he spoke long, you can feel your heartstrings breaking. of course, he still remembers.

you, him, and beth escaped the prison together, when you were by the fire, eating snake... you missed everyone, you can't think about anything else so you want to forget.

so you suggested to go find liquors, but daryl didn't respond and beth seemed to realize something, you had a tantrum and left them there, beth following you after cursing daryl for making you upset.

beth was a curious young girl, only a two year or four year gap between you, so she asked why you still want to drink after all that's happened. so you happily explained how the drink makes you forget all the pain and memories, at least just for a while. you both spent days and nights being brats to daryl.

so you, beth, and daryl found a golf club where you and beth tried to find any alcohol, only finding peach schnapps. you immediately declined it.

and daryl had a rampage, throwing the bottle away and leading you and beth to a cabin, full of moonshine.

then it all went downhill there, you guys drank and after, you burned the house down and daryl taught beth how to hunt.

you all found a parlor home and went to stay there but it got attacked by a small herd and daryl told you and beth to wait for him by the road, where you got taken.

you both woke up in a hospital, then worked there. then the group came for you after a week or two. dawn never had the intention of letting you go so she grabbed beth and carol.

then that's where it happened, dawn died... along with beth. you went out of your room and instantly ran to the group.

"okay... but you don't have to be an asshole in everything, i miss her too and i regret that i wasn't even able to save her!you think it's just you? well sorry to disappoint you i was there too!" you said and walked away from the house, tears brimming your eyes when you remembered beth.

he didn't have to be a super asshole about it, he could've just declined you nicely and you wouldn't have to be remembered of beth.

the party only didn't mean alcohol... your group might meet new people, and neighbors, that's if rick decided to settle down here.

"hey, maggie. you're more beautiful tonight!" you complimented her as glenn has his arms around maggie's waist.

"hey, abe, watch rosita tonight, men are eyeing her." you warned him with a smile as you walked further into the party.

you were still upset at daryl but you didn't let it ruin your mood tonight, you greeted a few people from alexandria before walking towards the rest of your group.

"hi, you're all so handsome and beautiful tonight." you hugged them and kissed their cheeks.

"where's robin hood?" carol asked, her gaze around the party, trying to find the redneck.

"he didn't want to come..." you explained.

"well, you go enjoy the party, honey. me and rick just have something to discuss." she told you like a mother would, making you smile.

"okay, carol." you smiled and walked away from them, grabbing yourself a glass of juice when you walked by the table. you felt a presence beside you but ignored them.

"hi, i'm lance." a voice beside you spoke, you turned and smiled at the charming man.

"hi..." you greeted and said your name. he held out his hands for you to shake and you shook it.

there wasn't any spark or whatsoever that you felt with daryl when you held his hands when there were times you were scared, and he let you.

"you wanna get out of here? you know for fresh air, it's too stuffy here." he chuckled and you nodded quickly, you felt suffocated inside deanna's home.

he held your wrist softly as he guided you out of the house, you both arrived at the porch as fresh air quickly surrounded you.

"i hate parties, but at least it's a reminder of what the world used to be, right?" you asked him as you walked with him at the sidewalk, side by side.

"yeah, i arrived here three months ago. and they really don't know what they're doing out there." he agreed.

"a–are you like looking past friendship?" you whispered at him shyly, because you weren't. you were still moving on from daryl and you didn't want to use him.

he shakes his head and laughed. "god, no. i'm gay, but it's not obvious as i'm hiding it from deanna." he said.

"you don't have to hide it, no one will hate you for who you are. it's a new world." you assured him, placing a hand on his biceps.

"thankfully you don't want to, because i'm still hung up on a boy i liked." you chuckled bitterly.

"he's a dick if he doesn't see who you are, i've just been with you for like five minutes and i can see how sweet you are in an instant, it's his fault for not seeing it." he spoke.

"but seriously, you don't have to hide... look at eric and aaron for example." you told him, you leaned in to hug him.

someone cleared their throat and you quickly turned your head to the side in nervousness.

"d-daryl." you said and quickly dropped your hands to the side, he took long strides toward you and grabbed your wrists tightly and dragged you with him.

"w–wait! i'm sorry, lance!" you shouted at the man who chuckled and waved his hands.

he dragged you into rick's house and into his basement room.

"w–what's wrong with you?!" you shout at him in confusion, along with frustration.

"what's wrong with m'? what's wrong with ye'?!" he asked as he let go of you.

"why are you turning the question? i was having a conversation and you dragged me away!" you scolded him.

"you shouldn't be talking to some guy! you trust too easy!" he taught you, something you knew already.

"he's a nice guy." you spoke softer, mistaking his intentions of dragging you away, you thought that he was just worried about you.

"yer' mine, got it? don't care if he's nice." he suddenly mumbled lowly.

"w-what?" you asked, confused. how can he just claim you like that?! you can feel your heart beating so fast it might get out of its cage.

he didn't speak and kissed you roughly, you froze and felt sparks flew to you, you can feel the heat in you.

you gasped and opened your mouth to protest but he used that to enter his tongue in your mouth.

he pulled away, "dar—" you tried to speak but he kissed you again, shutting you up.

you can't help but moan when he squeezed your breast, arching your back, and your head back.

"ahm– da–daryl..." you groaned as he began attacking your neck, your one hand was placed on the bed to support your weight as the other was on his hair.

your grip tightened on his hair as he sucked on your sweet spot making him groan.

"need you, sweetheart." daryl said as he pulled away, you looked into his eyes and saw it full of desire and love.

you nodded and tried to pull off your shirt, when you can't do it, out of nervousness, daryl helped you.

he took in the sight of you in a pink lace bra as he bit his lips, making you squirm and feel even more hot, if that was possible.

he suddenly attacked the top of your breasts as his hands went around you, unclipping your bra and taking it off of you.

"fuck, baby. this just for m'?" he asked and you nodded as you bit your lip, he took one in his hands while he placed another in his mouth.

"daryl..." you moaned as he massaged the other and sucked on the other one.

your hands found their way in your jeans, but due to its rough fabric you can't get friction.

you unclipped your jeans and tugged on them, to pull them down, daryl's other hand helping you as he guided your back to the mattress.

he pulled away from your breasts making you whine, "needy, huh?" he asked as he slipped the jeans of your feet.

he almost wants to take a shot of your body, nearly naked and out of breath, hair out of place.

he started unbuttoning his shirt as she sat up and helped him, almost needy to take the shirt off of him.

he let you do the work and after it was all unbuttoned, you stood up to slip it off his torso.

he sat on the bed as you stayed standing, he tugged on his belt and gestured it to you.

you tilted your head in confusion, before he pointed to his noticeable large bulge, making you nod in embarrassment.

you kneeled in front of him, between his legs as you looked up at him, he nodded at you, encouraging you.

you slowly took off his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling down the zipper as you tugged on it, he raised his hips as you pulled it down, along with his underwear.

your mouth parted in shock as you gulped, looking at him, he looked right back at you with lust.

"h-how's that gonna fit? i-it's so big..." you shyly said as you let your gaze drift down to his cock again.

it stood proudly, the tip touching his stomach, the veins in it noticeable, you also noted of his angry red tip.

"it will fit, you will figure it out, baby girl... daddy will take care of you later, okay?" he spoke in a gentle voice, making you nod.

you were determined to fit him on your mouth and cunt, even if it will squeeze him tightly.

you kitten licked his tip, almost looking like it was to taste the pre-cum dripping down.

you felt foreign to the salty flavor but licked him again making him groan in pleasure.

if he was making that reaction it might feel good for him, and you wanted to make him feel good tonight.

you entered the tip of his angry cock in your mouth, slowly. you took more of him until he reached the back of your throat, and it was hardly half of him.

you placed your hand on his thigh and the other on his stomach, pressing it down.

you raised him out of your mouth then took him again, you looked up at him through your eyelashes as he continued moaning in pleasure. it makes you wet as his voice and moans vibrate.

you moved your mouth up and down faster, each hitting the back of your throat each time making you gag and teary.

he held a good amount of your hair and helped your head in and out of his cock.

"that's it, sweetheart..." he moaned as he moved your head faster, through your hair.

"augh– augh." you gagged again as his tip hit the back of your throat hardly.

"fuck, baby girl... yer' mouth 's so fucking warm, daddy might fuck this mouth f' day to night..." he cursed as he moaned, nearing his release.

you were so turned on by his moans and the things he was saying to you that you pressed your hands harder where they are.

"fuck, baby... 'm near... jus' keep goin'..." he encouraged you, you removed your hands off him.

you placed your hands on the remainder of his cock that your mouth can't take and synchronized it to the rhythm of your mouth.

he was so long and thick that even though it was your mouth and two hands wrapped around him there was still a part uncovered.

how does he hide this monstrous cock in his jeans? it was so long and thick you know it might not even fit you.

he moaned non-stop and then you felt his cum rushing down your throat.

he came in your mouth as he tried to catch his breath, you waited for his cum to stop releasing then pulled him out of your mouth, swallowing his semen.

you wiped the liquid that went down your chin, he looked like he was so proud of you and that made you so happy.

his thumb found its way in your lips, "show m', baby. ye' took it all, hm?"

you nodded eagerly, you opened your mouth and held your tongue out as he examined your mouth.

he nodded proudly and kissed your forehead. "good girl, daddy's proud of you..." he praised you, you whimpered at his words, making him smile.

"i-i need you in me, daddy..." you pleaded with him as if your life depended on it.

"so eager fer m', huh?" he laughed, and you nodded desperately. you couldn't stand the aching heat in your core anymore.

"p–please..." you whispered as you reached out for his cock, he stepped back with a smile making you whine.

"don't be a brat, baby girl... daddy will give it to ya. just wait, 'lright?" he whispered in your ear, you nodded.

"okay..." you plastered on a smile at him as he grabbed you by the waist, grabbing you by the waist and pushing you to the bed, gently.

"you ready fer daddy, baby?" he asked you as he teasingly rubbed his tip at your aching core, covered in your cotton panties.

"s–so ready, daddy..." you moaned at the sensation of something making contact with your clit.

it was a sight to see, your cotton underwear soaked wet with your slick.

his fingers found their way on the hem of your underwear, he slowly took it off, groaning as he saw your wet cunt.

it was pinkish, and puffy and very visibly wet. you felt shy and tried to close your thighs but he held out his hands to stop them.

"nuh–uh, baby girl... daddy wants to see his baby's pussy, okay?" he talked to you, softly.

"yes, daddy." you moaned and tried to raise your hips to feel his tips, but his hands moved your waist down, stopping you.

"daddy's goin' in, baby..." he said.

you felt his tip making contact with your aching core, you hissed in pain as he slowly entered.

"ye okay, sweetheart?" he asked as he pushed another inch into you, he waited for you to respond.

"y-yes, dare... keep going, i–i'm fine." you closed your eyes in the hope of making the pain disappear.

"fuck, baby girl. you're so tight around me..." he also hissed but in pleasure.

he pushed an inch every other minute as he patiently waited for you to adjust to his length.

he furrowed his eyebrows in worry at you as he saw a tear slipped down your cheeks.

"we don't have to do this, sweetheart..." he assured you as he went to pull back but you held his wrist and shook your head as a no.

"i-it's okay..." you nodded at him, and he sighed before kissing you and asking you to take deep breaths.

"jus' focus on me, darling..." he told you and you nodded, you didn't know it would feel this painful.

he pushed the rest of him into you, making you gasp in pain. he did it at one swift move.

you can feel yourself stretched more than ever, you can feel yourself around him, you felt so full.

almost complete, like he was the only one who was supposed to be inside of you.

like his monstrous cock was made for you, and you only. you closed your eyes as you took deep breaths.

"w–why did you do that?!" you hissed at him as you hit his biceps.

he looked guilty and sorry, "sorry, baby... it's better this way, one instant pain, get it?" he kissed your tears and held your chins in his hand.

you nodded in understanding, and he waited for you to adjust to him completely.

you nodded at him as a signal to start moving, he grinned and kissed your forehead.

he pulled out slowly before going back in, then out then in again. you felt a slight pain but it disappeared as he thrusted in again.

the pure pain changed into a mixture of pure pleasure, you held onto his shoulders and biceps, burrying your face into his neck as you moaned.

"daryl... oh goodness!" you whimpered as he thrust into you faster when he noticed you felt pleasure instead of pain.

"fuck, baby... you feel s'good around m'cock... yer' cunt was made fer me." he groaned as if reading your mind just moments ago.

you wrapped your legs around his waist to bury his cock deeper into you.

every time he thrust his tip hit your g-spot making you moan again and again, you don't even know if you will still be able to speak tomorrow.

he kissed your neck as your hands tugged on his hair and gripped his biceps tightly.

"moan fer daddy, baby." he whispered against your neck making you shiver.

"d–daddy... faster!" you moaned and held onto him tightly, you begged him to go faster and he happily obliged.

"you want daddy to fuck a baby into ya? so you can't talk to any other guy? huh?" he roughly asked.

you nodded, "p–please daddy..." you begged him as he grinned.

"please what?" he teased as he slowed his pace making you whine.

"please, daddy. fill your babies in me..." you said out of pure pleasure and desire to come.

"i will, sweetheart... i will make you carry daddy's babies." he roughly talked to you.

"i-i'm nearing!" you moaned at his ear again and again as he felt you clench around him.

you closed your eyes in pleasure as it felt heavenly... you felt so good.

"not yet, baby, not until daddy says so. you don't want to upset daddy, right?" he asked you.

you shook your head with a whimper, "n–no, daddy... i'm sorry." you apologized.

"good girl." he praised you making you clench your walls around him tighter than ever.

all he felt was pure bliss, he can hardly move in your tightness against him, and it felt so good.

"please, daddy. let me come..." you moaned as you kissed him, he moved his lips into you roughly, his beard tickling you.

"wait for daddy, i'm almost near..." he threw back, you nodded and bit your lip, you can't wait anymore.

you need to come now, but you didn't want to upset him so you held yourself from cumming.

he thrusted faster, obviously nearing too. the sounds of skin slapping together along with moans and grunts was all the room was filled with.

his balls hit your ass every time he thrust and that's where you always knew he was deep into you, he always hit into your g-spot.

"cum with daddy, baby." he growled into your ear, his movements going fast.

you let out a loud pornographic moan as you came, panting as he thrust into you.

he slowed and you can feel the liquid inside you, his cum to be precise. he came inside you.

he pulled out slowly and dropped beside you, you both were breathless, trying to catch your breaths.

"t–that was my first time, thank you..." you shyly thanked him as it felt good, you'd rather it be him than anyone else.

"really, sweetheart? yer a virgin?" he teased making you shyly nod, he stood up from the bed and went to another room then came out with a white towel.

he pressed the towel into your cunt softly as he wiped your cum and his cum that was leaking out.

"you were so good fer daddy, baby. 'm proud." he admitted and patted your head as he placed the towel away, dressing you into another clean shirt of him and put you on your underwear, he also wore his underwear and got under the covers.

also covering you with it, you laid your head against his head.

you looked up at him and pressed a kiss on his jaw as you closed your eyes.

"sleep tight, baby." he ran his fingers through your wavy blonde hair as he pressed a kiss onto your head.

he never have felt so lucky before until now, he finally had you, and he was your first time.

he was for sure jealous earlier but the best thing ever came after it.

you and him, made love, fucked, had sex, or whatever you called it.

for him it was love, he had developed feelings for you back at the prison, the first time your group found the prison.

but as a dixon he always rejected it, pushing it deep down him and not acknowledging it.

but seeing you with that man and you angry at him, fueled something into him and it lead to this.

the only one great thing he could ask for besides safety, he was happy he found you through this world.

he loves you and adores you.

#twd fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryldixon #daryl x reader #twd #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #ssvnriseya #irawrites

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misspygmypie · 4 months ago

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Unexpected Return

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader, Lando Norris x Noah Words: 1543 Request: How would Lando react if Noah's dad came back? And him wanting to know Noah but only so he can met all thease famous people? Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando and Y/N had built a beautiful life together. From the day they met there was an undeniable spark between them, one that grew into a deep and fulfilling love. Lando, with his warm smile and unwavering support, had become everything Y/N had ever hoped for. They married in a cozy ceremony surrounded by close friends and family and Lando even adopted Y/N’s son, Noah.

Noah was now seven years old, full of energy and curiosity, a constant source of joy and laughter in their home alongside their daughter Maebry. Lando had embraced his role as a father with all his heart and Noah adored him in return. Their bond was unbreakable but one fateful day their happy bubble was about to be burst.

Lando sat at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the stack of papers in front of him. They were from a lawyer’s office, detailing the request for a meeting with Noah’s biological father, Tom. The words blurred together as a storm of emotions swirled in his mind.

He had been up all night, grappling with the realization that Tom was back. The man who had left Y/N and Noah without a second thought, the man who had abandoned them in their most vulnerable time, was suddenly reappearing as if nothing had happened. Lando’s heart pounded with anger and disbelief. How could he just show up now, after all this time? After not giving a damn for seven years?

He remembered the early days when Y/N had told him about Tom’s departure. The pain and uncertainty she had faced while raising Noah alone had been palpable. Lando had stepped in as a steady presence and he had come to love Noah as his own. To him, Noah was his son in every way.

The idea of Tom coming back now felt like an intrusion, a violation of the family that Lando and Y/N had worked so hard to build. He couldn't help but think of all the moments Tom had missed - the shared hot chocolates on a cold night, the splashing in the water together on the beach, the late-night cuddles on the sofa and the countless days filled with laughter and love.

He paced the kitchen, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The thought of Tom sitting across from Noah, trying to claim a place in his life after so many years of indifference made Lando’s blood boil. It was about Noah’s well-being, his stability and the family Lando had fought so hard to create and nurture. Lando’s role was to ensure that Noah felt safe and loved and now Tom threatened that.

When Y/N walked into the room, her eyes filled with concern, Lando’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “I just don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough and loud. “He didn’t give a damn about Noah. Now he shows up like he’s entitled to something?! How can he just come back after all this time?!”

Y/N moved to his side, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Lando. It feels like a betrayal and it’s not fair but we have to handle this carefully. Noah deserves to understand his past but he also needs to know that we’re here for him, no matter what.”

Lando nodded, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “I just can’t stand the thought of Noah being hurt or confused. He’s my son. I want to protect him from this.”

Y/N squeezed his shoulder. “I know you do and you will. We’ll take this one step at a time, together. Noah’s safety and happiness are our top priorities. We’ll show him that, no matter what happens with Tom, you are his dad.”

They gathered in the cozy corner of the living room, the same spot where they had spent countless evenings reading stories and sharing moments of joy. Noah, sensing the seriousness of the conversation, nestled into the cushions of the sofa, his small frame wrapped in his favorite blanket. Y/N and Lando sat down beside him, their expressions tender but concerned.

Y/N took a deep breath and began gently, “Noah, there’s something we need to talk to you about. It’s very important and might be a bit confusing but we want to be honest with you.”

He looked up at her. “What is it, mommy?”

Lando reached over and gave Y/N’s hand a reassuring squeeze before speaking. “Your biological father has reached out to us. He wants to meet you.”

Noah furrowed his brow, trying to process the information. “But... why?” he asked, his voice small.

“We don’t have all the answers right now, sweetie,” Y/N leaned in closer, her voice soft and comforting. “He’s reached out because he wants to be a part of your life but what’s most important to remember is that nothing changes for us.”

Noah glanced over at Lando, his eyes searching for reassurance. “But I have a dad,” he said softly. “You’re my dad.”

Lando’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Noah’s voice. He smiled gently at the boy next to him. “I am, buddy. Nothing is going to change that. I love you and I always will. No one can take away what we have together.”

Noah’s face softened at Lando’s words, though the confusion still lingered in his eyes. “So... what happens now?”

Y/N wrapped an arm around Noah, pulling him close. “We’ll take things one step at a time. We’ll be there with you. And if you have any questions or need to talk about how you’re feeling, we’re here for you, always.”

Noah nodded slowly and looked up to his parents. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I guess we can figure it out together.”

The next few weeks Lando watched as Noah met Tom under supervised conditions, feeling every pang of discomfort and mistrust. Each visit was a reminder of the betrayal that Tom represented but Lando remained composed. Through it all, Lando’s love for Noah never wavered.

As time went on, it became clear that Tom’s presence did little to alter their family dynamic. Tom’s attempts were weak and in return it was almost as if Noah didn’t care at all about the man who tried to insert himself into his life.

The meetings with Tom had left Lando feeling uneasy and he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that Tom’s motives went beyond a genuine desire to reconnect with Noah. Lando had seen enough to know that something was off.

One afternoon Lando’s suspicions were confirmed. He received an unexpected phone call from a close friend in the entertainment industry, someone who had become familiar with Lando’s life through various public appearances. His friend revealed that Tom had been dropping Lando’s name in circles, speaking of the “potential” opportunities his association with Lando could bring. The friend had heard Tom’s comments about meeting famous people and leveraging Lando’s status for personal gain.

The realization hit Lando like a ton of bricks. It was as if Tom’s return was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated scheme to benefit from Lando’s fame and connections. Tom wasn’t interested in being a father; he was interested in the perks that came with being connected to someone like Lando.

His anger flared. He felt nothing but betrayal - not just for himself but for Noah, who had been unwittingly caught in the middle of this. The thought that Tom could use Noah as a stepping stone to further his own agenda was infuriating and he had to tell Y/N.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her body tense and her eyes brimming with tears. She looked up at Lando with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. The weight of what she had just heard was clearly overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m positive,” Lando said, his tone resolute but edged with a deep-seated rage. “It’s clear that he doesn’t care about Noah or us, he just wants to use this situation to benefit himself.”

The tears she had been holding back now spilled freely down her cheeks. “How could he do this? How could he be so selfish?!” she choked out, her voice breaking with each word.

Lando’s heart ached at the sight of Y/N. Seeing her so devastated made his anger toward Tom burn even hotter. He moved to sit beside her on the bed, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I know, love,” he said softly, his voice filled with pain. “I hate that he’s causing all of us this hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near us, especially not around Noah.”

“We can’t let him do this,” Y/N leaned into Lando, seeking comfort in his embrace. “Noah deserves so much better,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I won’t let him hurt you or Noah. Never.”

The next step was clear. Lando and Y/N made the difficult decision to formally sever contact with Tom. They consulted with legal advisors to ensure that Noah’s well-being and safety were protected, ensuring that Tom’s presence would not be a part of Noah’s life moving forward.

________

AN: This was actually a bit challenging, so Anon I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando x noah #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando x reader

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doomhands-jr · 2 months ago

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 14

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

Buy me a coffee

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Noah pushed in slowly. That was always his favorite part: that slow first push, the quiet gasp she makes at the initial stretch… It was almost as good as coming.

Fuck, she was so wet. She gushed around him, hot and slick around his throbbing cock.

He groaned against her neck, snaking his hand up her shirt and squeezing the soft flesh, thumbing over her perky nipple. She threw her head back as he thrust into her again, exposing her neck for him to lathe his tongue across. It was hot, and slick, and he slid in and out of her over and over again.

--------

“What the—ow!”

You were still half-asleep when your elbow crashed into the coffee table, but you woke up just fast enough to catch yourself before your head followed suit.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You struggled to catch your breath. Searching around for what had sent you tumbling off the couch so early in the morning, you caught a glimpse of Noah’s tall silhouette disappearing around the corner. A few seconds later, you heard the latch to the bathroom door close softly.

Your elbow throbbed, and you pushed up the sleeve to see the damage. Already, an angry red lump had begun to form.

What the hell had happened?

You’d been having a good dream, though you couldn’t remember what it was about. Just that you were warm—a stark contrast to the unexpected chill that slowly started to register now that the spindly fingers of sleep had begun to release you from their clutches.

You exhaled slowly, noticing a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before.

What were you dreaming about?

Noah was there, you were fairly certain. The two of you were pressed up close to one another, him behind you, and…

…oh shit.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes growing wide.

That was real.

Everything froze as your brain began to fill in the holes of your memory.

You and Noah had fallen asleep on the couch together, and you were sure you’d gravitated towards each other in your sleep. Beyond that, and this may or may not have been real, but you thought you felt movement.

Your skin tingled with its own memory—one your brain couldn’t yet latch onto. The back of your neck, your right breast, all along your back, your ass…they thrummed with the knowledge that Noah had been there. You could almost hear him groaning softly in your ear as he moved against you. Your neck understood what it felt like to have him sighing, open-mouthed, against it, and down in between your legs, you were damper than you’d ever been.

It was too much.

Flopping back onto the couch, you stared at the faint outlines of smoke stains that decorated the corners of the stucco ceiling.

Noah must have woken up and abruptly realized he’d been dry-humping you in his sleep. That’s probably what had sent you tumbling into the coffee table, him getting up in such a hurry.

You rolled over to face the back of the sofa.

It was so nice. You didn’t even need to be cognitively present for it to know that it had been nice. You let your eyes drift shut, allowing your body to sink into the memory of him behind you, arm wrapped around and clutching at your chest. Noah, firm and hot against your lower back, grinding himself into you.

You reached down to cup your sex over your clothes. Not much—just enough to relieve some of the tension.

You must have fallen into a micro-sleep because the next thing you know, you woke up to the sound of Noah clearing his throat. You blinked your eyes open to see him standing awkwardly at the far end of the couch. He shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The words were awkward as they tumbled past his lips. “I, uh, had to go to the bathroom.”

“It’s okay,” you said, pretending you had no idea what had happened.

“Power’s out,” he continued. “We should probably get you back to your dorm.”

You sighed, not wanting your time with him to be over quite so soon. The last time you and Noah had been sexual, he’d disappeared immediately after. You wondered if it was a pattern of his, whether or not he would get in his head, decide your presence in his life was too much trouble, and ghost again.

Part of you was already preparing yourself emotionally for that.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Almost nine.” He crossed the room to open the blinds and let the sun in, flooding the dark room with light. “Jesus,” he muttered, scanning the scene outside.

You sat up, craning your neck to see what had drawn that reaction out of him, but didn’t have to wait long.

Overnight, the snow had collected in droves, piled so high you could barely make out the cityscape underneath it. The road out front showed evidence that salt trucks and plows had already begun working, but that just meant that the snow had been pushed to the side in large piles, blocking sidewalks and driveways. In the yard, the landscaping had been blanketed over, sharp edges reduced to vague white shapes that were your only clues that beneath the ice, you may find where the sidewalk stops and the steps to the porch begin.

“Looks like the power’s out all over this side of town,” said Noah. You looked over to find him thumbing over his phone screen. “And my shift got canceled.”

“Yikes,” you said. “Phones are still working, though?”

He nodded, striding across the room to check outside the front windows.

You fumbled around in your bag for your phone, opening it to see a text from your parents asking you about the storm, as well as a notification from the university.

“Power’s out at the university too,” you said. “Generators are down. It says a temporary shelter is being provided at the fire hall just off campus.”

Noah disappeared down the hall, coming back with a bundle of garments in his arms. He dropped them on the floor, then picked out a black hoodie from the pile and threw it on before looking at you.

“Get your coat on.”

You stared at him blankly, then out to the window, and then back to him. “Noah, there’s no way I can make it to the fire hall in this,” you said. “The sidewalks aren’t even passable.”

“I know,” he said, throwing on some sweatpants over his basketball shorts and tying a knot in the drawstring. “We have to check on the neighbors though. There are some old people that live down the street. We gotta make sure they’re okay.”

You slapped a palm against your forehead.

Of course.

How had you missed that? Usually, you’d be the first to jump into service mode, always thinking of how the people around you were affected by problems before worrying about your own comfort. Truthfully, you were a little ashamed you hadn’t considered it.

You allowed that shame to motivate you into action, throwing your coat on and searching around for where you’d put your boots.

“Do you have any shovels?” you asked, working to right a sleeve of your jacket that had turned inside out when you removed it last. “We could at least clear the sidewalks for people so they can get to a shelter if they need it.”

Noah tossed you an extra pair of socks for you to slip on over the ones you were wearing. “Yep,” he said, zipping up a heavy black puffer coat. Then he slipped into a pair of heavy black work boots and began lacing them up. “They’re on the porch. The fire hall’s only a few blocks away. Let’s work on shoveling and salting the sidewalk and then we’ll check on houses as we go.”

You nodded, pulling on your gloves and following Noah out.

Ridding the sidewalks of snow was tedious, but the two of you weren’t the only ones working at it. Across the street, a few men worked to get their sidewalk cleared. Down two blocks were another few people with snow shovels, chipping away at the thick blanket of snow.

As soon as the pair of you cleared the sidewalk in front of a house, you knocked on the door to see who might be inside. So far, only two houses were still occupied in the area. The rest must have evacuated prior to the storm or were visiting relatives for the holidays. One older couple had a fireplace in the house and were taken care of. The other—a frail elderly lady who lived alone, had already arranged for her son to pick her up in his truck and take her to his house.

The two of you worked until lunch, where you heated up a frozen pizza in Noah’s gas oven and ate in relative silence before heading back out to finish shoveling the next block.

The work was heavy and strenuous, but it allowed you to clear your head until you were devoid of thoughts and feelings and existed simply as a body, utilizing its strength to accomplish a task. You worked until your muscles burned with the effort and sweat caused your sweater to cling to you and your fingers to prune beneath your gloves despite the cold.

Ten or so meters away, Noah had his back turned to you as he stuck the shovel beneath the pile of snow, nudged it deeper with his heel, and flung it back over his shoulder. He worked far quicker than you, those days at the gym providing him with ample strength and stamina while you struggled to accomplish even half as much.

There was something about how driven he was to help his neighbors that had you in your feelings. He never once complained or acted like it was a chore, and he never expected any thanks, either. He did it because it was the right thing to do.

You turned back to your own section of the sidewalk, punching through the snow with the shovel again and straining under its weight while you tossed it into the yard. You’d developed blisters on your fingers a few hours ago, but kept pushing through, determined to see the sidewalk cleared. It took until the sun was three quarters of the way across the sky to finish the job, but ultimately, you managed it.

Heaving deep, frozen breaths that cracked your lips on the way in, you locked eyes with Noah and shared a mutual understanding: the work wasn’t finished.

“Fire hall?” you suggested.

Noah huffed a laugh, face red and skin scrubbed raw from the way the wind had whipped at it all afternoon. “Yeah,” he said, and you both ditched your shovels on his porch, heading to the hall.

You arrived to a flurry of activity. The hall was in the middle of being converted into a temporary shelter. A handful of volunteers were busy setting up temporary cots, carrying supplies in from trucks, assembling care packages, and distributing blankets.

You and Noah parted ways for the time being, him heading to help with the unloading of supplies and you making a beeline over to where two middle-aged women were in a corner, sorting blankets into different piles.

“How can I help?” you asked.

“Oh! Good, glad you’re here,” one of them chimed immediately, not even bothering to introduce herself or ask your name. She handed you a pile of folded blankets. “Would you mind setting one of these on each of the cots? Come back when you run out and we’ll have more for you.”

You got to work, methodically distributing the blankets, weaving in and out from the cots. Some already had occupants, who gratefully accepted the offerings. You noticed a number of them looked like they may have not come from the most secure living environments, possibly unhoused, and it pained you to think of them facing the elements on their own. Rather than fighting back the emotions, you let them spur you forward, determined to see as many people taken care of as possible.

Once all the blankets had been passed out, you made your way to the kitchens, where volunteers sorted donated food from boxes into piles. Again, you got right to work, asking how you could best be of service and not minding when you were given the task of sorting expired food from fresh. You didn’t even squirm when you had to shovel out a pile of rotten potatoes from the bottom of a crate, though the smell alone had your stomach clenching uncomfortably.

After that, you got to work scrubbing dishes leftover from the morning’s meal service in preparation for dinner. The staff at the kitchen were in the midst of preparing large batches of soup to hand out, complete with bread and sides of vegetables, and when you finished with the dishes, you switched to chopping carrots for the soup.

The whole time, the only thing you could think was that this was what philanthropy was supposed to be. There was no ulterior motive to ensure the people receiving help believed in a specific god or religion, just a deep desire to see those in need taken care of.

It was nearly eight o’clock when you finally stopped to take a break. Warm at last, the sweat dripped down from your temples and your lower back, and you started to realize just how exhausted you were. It was a good tired, but tired nonetheless.

Wiping your brow, you collapsed into one of the metal chairs lining the hallway outside of the kitchen. As you drank deeply from your water bottle, you observed the scene before you:

The entire community, or what remained of it, had come together to help each other out. Old and young, rich and poor, all working beside each other to ensure everyone was taken care of and had what they needed.

And in the middle, lading soup into bowls and handing them out was Noah.

In the back of your mind, you knew that the modern depiction of White Jesus wasn’t remotely accurate to what the actual person probably looked like. Biblical iconography has been whitewashed over centuries of European colonialism, and the real Jesus looked a lot more like the colonized than the colonizer.

Still, the small part of you that fell in love with the depictions of Jesus you grew up with couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the man that hung from the crucifix in your childhood living room and the man that stood before you.

Glued to your chair, you watched in awe as Noah smiled at the strangers he served. He offered food to the hungry, rest to the weary, and comfort to those who sought it.

Several things dawned on you at once: that the metaphor playing out in front of you was disrespectfully on-the-nose; that you didn’t have a simple crush on Noah, but instead actual, tangible feelings for him; that acting on these feelings would mean taking a serious risk considering he’d already hurt you before; and that you were going to act on them anyway, and in many ways were already in the process of acting on them.

It wasn’t butterflies, but an entire hornet’s nest that erupted in your stomach.

Holy shit, you were in love with this man.

You forced yourself to breathe slower, counting to eight on each exhale because the last thing you needed was to lose it in the middle of a crowded fire hall.

You had to slow down. Was it possible you were deifying him? Had you put this person on a pedestal, failing to see him for who he really was? Had he reminded you of a figurehead you’d always admired, and was that why you were convinced you were in love?

It was possible. You’d been known to idolize crushes in the past.

But Noah had been up front about his flaws from the moment he met you. If anything, you’d had to dig deep to find the parts of him that were pure, like what you were currently witnessing.

You observed him, taking in the way he greeted everyone as they passed him in line, ladling soup into bowls and handing them off with a warm smile. With his hair net and apron, he may have looked more like a lunch lady than any religious icon, but you couldn’t call the humble kindness on his face anything other than Christlike.

Gratitude. That was what you were feeling. You were overcome with gratitude for the opportunity to know this person.

Though there were perhaps a few more tasks you could have finished if you’d really looked, most of the work was done by that point, and you were struck with the notion that perhaps the best work you could do at that point was to take in everything happening around you. To let it change you.

So you did.

--------

Walking out of the fire hall half an hour later, you and Noah strolled down the cleared sidewalk in companionable silence, both tired from the day’s events and content to reflect on the shared feeling of a job well done.

When you came upon the intersection that would take you to your dorm and Noah back home, he finally broke it.

“You heading back to your dorm?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m gonna grab a change of clothes and probably head back here for the night.” You shoved your hands in your pockets, rocking back and forth to dispel some of the nervous energy that had built up in your gut.

“Power’s still out, then?”

You nodded, having just checked on your phone before leaving the hall.

“What about you?” you asked.

Noah looked down the street in the direction of his place, then back to you. “I was gonna head to my studio. I’ve got a wood stove in there. Keeps it pretty warm.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, not wanting to end the interaction, but not sure how to keep it going until Noah chimed in.

“You’re welcome to join…if you want.” You looked at him, watched the steam of his breath swirl in the air as it exited his lungs, noticed the earnestness in his face, the vulnerability behind his eyes.

In the pit of your stomach, you were aware of what could happen should you take him up on his offer. The energy between you had been building for quite some time, and there was something in the air that night that hinted at the unknown—that whatever happened between you that night, it would be formative. You wouldn’t walk out of that shed tomorrow without knowing exactly where you and Noah stood.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to your dorm if you still want to get changed.”

“Thanks,” you repeated.

Inside, you trembled with nerves, already having been overwhelmed by the emotions of the day and anxious about what might come next.

Those feelings from earlier—they didn’t hit you like past crushes. They weren’t something that needed to be acted upon or expressed immediately.

You didn’t need to know whether Noah felt the same. It wouldn’t crush you if you found out his were platonic, though you knew you were about to find out.

Even if nothing happened tonight, you knew you’d be okay. Your feelings were selfless. They arose from the knowledge that this was a person you cared about, whose company you enjoyed, and whose wellbeing you cherished.

You reflected on them on the short walk to your dorm. When you arrived, you fumbled in the dark to find your phone to use as a flashlight.

The two of you climbed the stairs slowly. Your battery was almost dead so you turned the brightness to its lowest setting, which made navigating through the darkness a little more difficult.

Once at your dorm, Noah waited politely outside the door while you changed into a fresh pair of pajama pants and a sweater, taking special care to scrub your teeth with some toothpaste and rinse your mouth out with a bottle of water that was sitting on your night stand. You spat into the trash, feeling much better than you had earlier. It had been almost a full day since you’d brushed your teeth and they’d started feeling gross.

You threw your phone charger in your purse in case the power came back on in the middle of the night, then checked to make sure you had everything else you might need before leaving.

“Got everything?” he asked once you made your way back out into the hall.

“I think so,” you said just as the battery on your phone finally gave out.

“I got it,” said Noah, pulling out his own phone. You could only make out his silhouette in the darkness, but his presence was still comforting.

“Thanks,” you said. “Lead the way.”

There was no light or warmth in the studio when you arrived. It was just as cramped as you remembered, and the added chill left it feeling less than cozy.

Noah immediately got to work loading the small wood stove in the back while you bundled up on the couch with a few blankets that were stacked in a corner. He fiddled around with some old newspaper as kindling, threw in half a brick of a starter log with a few thin strips of wood on top, then started building out the pile with thicker logs until he was satisfied and lit it, keeping the door of the stove open.

“Should be warmer here in a minute,” said Noah, sitting back on his heels to watch his work.

“Hey,” you said, shifting to the other end of the couch to be closer.

Noah turned his head to you, quirking his eyebrows up in curiosity. “What’s up?”

“Thanks for today,” you said, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them. “It felt good to help out.”

Noah averted his eyes and chuckled, flashing that grin you loved so much. “Just doing my civic duty, ma’am.” He finished with a tilt of his head, as if he was tipping his hat to you and you giggled.

“Still,” you continued. “Not everyone cares about the people around them as much as you. It was refreshing to see.”

Noah fidgeted with the lighter in his hands, flicking it a few times in lieu of a response. You allowed him to play off the compliment, knowing full well that sometimes you tended to be too heartfelt with your sentiments, but you were glad you said it, just the same. He deserved to know.

“Want some wine?” he asked, reaching under his desk and fetching a bottle out of a small fridge that had now been rendered useless in the power outage.

“Please,” you said, sitting back further into the cushions and watching the flames dance up the sides of the stove while Noah uncorked it with his teeth.

“I don’t have any cups,” he said, plopping down beside you and taking a swig from the neck. He handed it to you and you followed suit, wincing at the bitterness that flooded over your tongue. “Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I like a dry wine. I should have mentioned that.”

“It’s fine,” you said, swallowing the large gulp with some effort. You caught Noah working to suppress a smile and you passed the bottle back to him. He took another swig and then tensed as the liquid made its way down.

“Hypocrite,” you teased.

Noah sucked in a breath. “That wasn’t the wine,” he defended. “I shivered. It’s fucking freezing.” As if to emphasize, he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Oh,” you said. That made more sense. “Want to share?” You lifted the edge of the blanket and gestured for him to join you.

Noah sighed, scooting close and pressing into your side. “Fuck, you’re warm.”

You giggled, adjusting yourself on the couch so you could curl into his side for more warmth. You brought your knees up to your chest and wedged your frozen toes under his thigh, the double layer of socks no longer doing enough to keep them from going numb. He offered the wine to you again and you took another drink. Now used to the flavor, you found it wasn’t that bad. It had a richness you couldn’t appreciate on the first try.

“How do you normally spend Christmas?” you asked, passing the bottle back to him.

“Usually I’m working,” he said, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. “That takes up most of my time. If I’m not, then I’m either writing music or playing video games.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked.

Noah chewed on his lip, then took a sip from the bottle, held it in his mouth for a second, and swallowed. “Sometimes,” he said, then wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Not right now, though.” You flushed, burning under his touch, despite the cold. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s Christmas like at home?”

“Ha!” you spat out. “We’re so busy with church events we usually don’t get around to actually celebrating.” It wasn’t entirely true. You did receive gifts, but you often opened them whenever you could get around to it, in between helping your family organize different toy drives, attending special services, participating in productions and leading the children’s pageants. There was no time for the kind of cozy holiday celebrations you longed for. That’s why you’d been so excited to stay on campus this year—you could celebrate however you wanted.

“That sucks,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

You chanced a look up at him to find the firelight flickering in his eyes. There was a quiet intensity in the way he held your gaze. Nerves ignited in your stomach, sending the wine churning and causing you to squirm in his hold. For a second, it looked like he might try to kiss you, until he took another sip from the bottle of wine and passed it to you.

You supposed it was wishful thinking on your part, considering how he’d been very clear about his boundaries. Even this much physical contact was more than you’d bargained for. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss once the moment had passed.

“So you really left the church, huh?” he asked, drumming his fingers on your ankle. You sipped from the bottle, working to keep the nerves in your stomach from spreading out through your whole body.

“It was time,” you answered. You offered the bottle back to him but he declined, so you took another sip. Half the wine was already gone, and you’d started to feel the pleasant buzz creeping through your veins.

“The faith itself or just the organization part?” he asked. He wrapped his hand around your ankles and adjusted your legs so they could drape over his lap. The backs of your thighs met the top of his and they immediately warmed upon contact.

“I don’t know,” you answered, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the tingles sparking to life everywhere your body connected to his. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, and at this point, I don’t really care. It might be good for me to figure out who I am when I don’t have anyone telling me who I should be.”

“I can respect that,” said Noah, sliding a palm up your calf. Jesus, was he even aware of the effect he had on you? For a minute you said nothing, choosing to focus entirely on his touch. You leaned into the couch, letting your head rest against the back cushions and your eyes drift close. You didn’t care if you were letting your cards show—Noah might as well know just how much you craved him.

“What about you?” you asked after a while.

“What about me?”

You opened your eyes to find him quietly regarding you. “Any plans to surrender your soul to the Good Lord?”

Noah snickered softly into his chest. “Not at the moment,” he said, taking the opportunity to pick at a stray thread on your sweatpants. “I don’t know though,” he continued. “Maybe there’s something out there. God, or the universe, or whatever. A divine sort of energy that gives people a sense of meaning.”

“You think it’s all the same?” you asked, noticing some of his hair had fallen into his face. Your fingers itched to push it back, so you did, tucking it behind his ear. He caught your palm in his, bringing your clasped hands to rest on your knee. He flipped your hand over palm-side up and started tracing patterns over your wrist.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe it’s the accumulation of all our souls once we die—a divine collective. Maybe all our religions are just each culture’s best attempt at explaining where it comes from.”

His fingers stilled in your palm and you closed yours around them, lacing them together with his.

“I think,” you began, glancing back up at him and trying not to be consumed by the way the light danced across his face, “that maybe we’re not meant to figure it out.”

He smiled a half-smile, the corner of his mouth lifting up and perhaps you’d appreciated his mouth before, but never in this much detail.

“You might be on to something,” he said. He dropped his gaze to where your hands remained interlocked, running his thumb along your knuckle. “Can I ask you a question?”

You sat up a little more. “Sure.”

He hesitated before speaking, sucking in a breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling and turning back to you.

“What was it like kissing Folio?”

Your gaze dropped back to the bottle of wine in your hand. That was not a question you’d expected him to ask. You’d locked the memory of the kiss in a compartment in your brain titled Things You Won’t Bring Up to Noah, and as far as you were concerned, that’s where it should stay.

“I don’t know,” you said, bringing the bottle up to your mouth and taking a large swig to kill some time. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Noah shrugged, relaxing his grip on your hand and you slid your fingers out of his grasp, using it for balance so you could sit up a little straighter and collect your thoughts.

“I don’t remember much, to be honest,” you said. “I was pretty drunk. And in my defense, I didn’t know you were there.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “No judgment here. I was just surprised, is all. Call it morbid curiosity.”

The question felt like a trap, like anything you could say would be the wrong thing, but Noah had asked, so you decided to be honest. You took another large gulp of wine for good measure before you answered, after which, Noah took the bottle and downed the last of it.

“So,” you began, feeling your cheeks flush under his stare, “it was fine, I guess. He tasted like stale beer and cigarettes, which wasn’t great, but he’s a good kisser.”

“How?” Noah asked.

“I don’t know,” you said, sinking back into the cushions. “He’s just… enthusiastic? I guess. He’s not too sloppy or anything.”

“So, you liked kissing him?” Noah prodded.

“Noah,” you whined, rolling your eyes at his questions. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

“Please?” he asked. “I just wanna know.”

You took a deep breath, pursed your lips to slow the exhale, and then rested your forehead against his shoulder so you didn’t have to look at him as you said the next part.

“Yeah, I liked kissing him,” you admitted. “It was better than kissing Isaac, at least.” You rolled your head back again so you could see his reaction. “But keep in mind that I don’t have a ton to compare it with. He could be a trash kisser for all I know, and I only liked it because it was my first time making out with someone and that was exciting.”

“I think you’d know if he was a trash kisser,” Noah said.

You rolled your eyes again. “Still, we were drunk. It was just for fun. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”

“No?” Noah asked, fingers digging into the back of your knee.

You held eye contact, and suddenly you noticed the vulnerability there, just behind his eyes, and in the slight pout of his lower lip.

“No,” you said, softening. “Not even a little bit.”

Noah swallowed, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to wet it. Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Your palms grew sweaty and you couldn’t seem to draw in a steady breath.

“Well,” he said, exhaling a half-laugh. He broke eye contact and let his eyes drop to your legs. “You sure? He’s a real catch. I could put in a good word for you if you want.”

“Noah!” you whined, and you were about to tell him to stop being a jerk, when he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you into him.

The first kiss was slow, meant to give both of you time to process the fact you were finally kissing. Then he went in for a second, this one deeper. He licked at the seam between your lips, and you parted them, allowing him to dip his tongue into your mouth. You released a shaky breath, hands trembling slightly, and not from the cold, until they found purchase around the neck of his hoodie.

For a while, you stayed like that, exploring the textures and tastes of each other, memorizing the shape of his lips and movement of his tongue as it slid over yours. Noah tasted of the wine you’d shared, layered over a heady mixture of herbs and spices and something else entirely his own.

His hand wandered up your leg, fisting itself in your sweatpants and he pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, desperate to eliminate as much distance between your bodies as possible.

He dragged his teeth along your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth before letting it spring back into place and when he was satisfied with how swollen it had become, he pulled you closer by the neck so he could suck a bruise into the skin behind your jaw.

You arched into his touch, digging your nails into his shoulder as he took your earlobe in his mouth and tugged at it, sending all the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention.

Deep in your core, something stirred. A deep need made itself known to you, hot as liquid magma, winding itself around you like a coil—a sensation you’d always associated with the forbidden. The coil would wind tighter and tighter, but it was never allowed to snap.

Senses on overload, you rocked against him, exploring what would happen if you allowed yourself to give in. Noah’s hands clutched at your hips, bracing you against him.

Needing more of him, you took his face in your hands and brought your mouths together in another kiss. Gone were the slow, rhythmic kisses you’d shared before. Now it was a tangle of teeth and lips and tongues and you stopped being able to tell where you ended and Noah began.

You rocked into him again, this time feeling a distinct presence that hadn’t been there before. Noah groaned into your mouth and you swallowed the sound. He rolled his hips into yours, and you felt yourself losing control.

“Are we moving too fast?” you whispered, finally breaking the kiss. Noah wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, bringing your lips back together.

“Mmph,” he said into the kiss. “I don’t know.” He spoke in short bursts between kisses, only half-focused on the conversation. “What do you think?”

“We should probably,” you said, pausing to suck on his lower lip, “slow down.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers dragging across your neck. “Let’s slow down.”

It was a nice thought. The intentions were there, but you both fumbled the execution as soon as Noah sucked a deep red mark into a particularly sensitive area of your neck and your body responded by grinding down onto Noah’s lap.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, releasing your skin from his teeth, “baby, I’m trying to be good here, but you make it hard when you do that.”

Not even registering the words, only the way your body responded when he called you baby, you bit into his lip, sucking on it hard as your hips gyrated on his.

“Hold on,” he said through the kiss, placing his palms on your shoulders to still you. “Hold on.”

It took you a second to register that you were no longer kissing, and when you did, you let out an involuntary whine.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.

“We’re moving too fast,” he said. Your eyes scanned his face, noticing how red and bitten his lips had become.

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t want to slow down, though. Everything you’ve learned up until that point taught you that youshould want to slow down, but slowing down was the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He tilted his head, sliding his hands down your body to rest on your waist. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk though,” you said.

He tucked his lips into his teeth, looking at you with amusement. “Even so, I think we should take it slow.”

You pouted, letting your fingers trail down his chest. “It’s just,” you began, trying to find the right words to articulate your thoughts, but the cloud of lust in your head had your brain fighting to stay afloat. “Do you feel like this is too fast?”

Noah swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing up and down, slightly distorting the shape of his tattoo. “For me? No.” His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass as if to demonstrate his point. “But my virginity isn’t on the line here.”

He had a point, but was your virginity something you even wanted to protect? Lately, it had started to feel much more like a cage than anything of value.

Rather than answer him, you rolled your hips against his one more time, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wrapping his arms around you to hold you in place. You could feel him throbbing under you, a few layers of cotton the only things separating you from the freedom you craved.

And that’s exactly what it was to you, you realized. Taking this next step meant setting yourself free from the guilt and shame you’d always associated with your sexuality. It would mean reclaiming your body as your own. And who better to experience that with than the person who encouraged you to let go of that shame in the first place.

You leaned in to flick your tongue against his upper lip. He caught it in his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth.

You smiled into the kiss, grabbing the hand he kept around your waist and moving it under your shirt until he cupped your breast.

“Succubus,” he whispered into your open mouth.

“Sinner,” you countered.

Something happened in that moment—a transmutation of your soul. In the past, you’d always looked up to the men in your life, idolizing them or striving to be worthy of their time and attention, but here, warmed by the light of the fire and the heat of Noah’s body under you, the tide had shifted.

“Say it again,” he said, pulling you further into him.

You were no longer an unworthy peasant, begging to be noticed—but a goddess. Someone worthy of being celebrated and admired. It was divine and sacred and potentially sinful, but after spending so much time worshiping, perhaps you could allow yourself to be worshiped for once.

“Sinner,” you whispered, draping your arms over Noah’s shoulders. Your mouth hovered just over his, lips parted and wet, begging to be kissed.

For a moment, neither of you moved. It was just you and Noah, sharing the same breath, caught in a game of chicken, each daring the other to move first.

In the end, it was Noah who ran out of patience. He crashed his lips into yours, and you surrendered your body easily to him. When the friction of your hips on his was no longer enough, he lifted you up, flipping you until your back hit the couch, legs wrapped around him while he ground his body into yours.

He was slow to undress you, starting only with the removal of your sweater, and with your skin finally exposed to him, he wasted no time in exploring every inch, sucking a nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue across until it pebbled between his teeth. He then moved on to the other, repeating the act until he was satisfied, and then began kissing his way down your stomach and back up, trying to discover every sensitive spot he could find.

You flushed under him, heat creeping up your chest and neck despite the chill in the room. When Noah was done painting your collarbones with hickeys and teeth marks, he moved lower.

“Wait!” you said, and he stilled, worried that he’d crossed a line, until you grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over him, needing to feel his skin on yours.

He dropped back down to kiss you, and for the first time you could enjoy touching him without any barrier. You sighed into the kiss, running your hands all along his back and shoulders, logging every rope of muscle and ripple of skin and trying hard not to put too much pressure on the freshly tattooed parts, but having a hard time controlling where your hands wandered.

In the time it took for you to register what was happening, Noah had already slid your sweatpants down over your ass and you separated so you could kick them the rest of the way off.

He went slow, at first only caressing the apex of your thighs with delicate fingers so you could get used to being touched in such a sensitive area. It wasn’t long before you were begging for more, however, wrapping your hands around his wrist and pulling him into you.

Apparently, that was the wrong move, because Noah flipped his hand, easily catching both your wrists and slamming them above your head. He switched his hands so he could hold yours with his non-dominant one while the other cupped your sex.

“I have waited a long time for this,” he hissed, eyes boring into yours. “Do not rush me.” It was both a command and a threat.

You bucked your hips into his hand, needing more friction and he removed it, slapping your inner thigh instead.

“Use your words.”

“Please,” you rasped out, flushing a deep scarlet at just how pathetic and needy you sounded.

“What do you want?” he asked again, letting his hand roam down once again to stroke your clit.

You swallowed, feeling uncomfortable being so lewd, but in an effort to rip the band-aid off, you chose to be direct.

“I want your fingers inside me.”

He smiled, slipping one long digit past your entrance. It slid in easily, finding no resistance as by that point, you were dripping.

You weren’t a complete stranger to the sensation of having something inside of you—you’d masturbated before, so you knew how your own fingers felt, but you weren’t prepared for the feeling of his.

They were long, and thick, and moved with a dexterity you had never been able to achieve. The second they entered, a strangled moan escaped from deep within you—one you think may have been begging to escape for years.

Within minutes, he’d worked you into a frenzy. You were no longer the graceful goddess from earlier, but a gasping, writhing mess of a person, falling apart around his fingers.

“Do you want to come?” he asked.

You nodded, fighting to stay in control of your breath. “Please,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he said, speeding up his ministrations. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

Whether it was the dirty talk or the sheer skill of his hands, your entire body seized up and then exploded, sending a rush of fluids to your center, resulting in a loud squelching noise that carried over the sounds of your moans.

Waves upon waves of sensation rippled through your body, muscles twitching from overstimulation and rendering you boneless.

Noah extracted his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean, then smiled down at your lifeless form as he stroked your hair. “Good,” he murmured. “Good.”

He hoisted himself off you, sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor next to you, and bent down to kiss you lazily.

Not being satisfied with so little contact, but still not having control over your legs, you slid off the couch and onto the floor with him, the plush area rug providing a decent barrier between your naked body and the cold concrete floor beneath you.

You straddled his hips once more, kissing him slowly, this time with gratitude. His hands roamed down your back and caressed your thighs and you could feel him, painfully hard underneath you.

You were still sensitive, but not too sensitive to move against him and he sighed into the kiss.

“What do you need?” you asked. Though your body was drained, wrapped in a post-orgasmic glow, you still had an unyielding desire to give as much as you’d received. You wanted him to feel good and though you might not be experienced enough to know exactly what to do, you at least wanted to try.

“I just need to feel you,” he said.

You knew what he meant by that, so you slid off his lap and tugged on the drawstring of his pants until they were loose enough to inch down his thighs.

Once they were gone, you were free to take in the sight of him. You’d never seen a naked man in person, so you weren’t sure what to expect, but you were caught off-guard at how big he was. Tentatively, you wrapped a hand around him, noting how soft and smooth the skin was underneath your fingers.

“Did you really have it pierced before?” you asked.

Noah laughed, and in your hand, a pulse surged through him.

“I did,” he said, taking himself in his hands and tilting it up to show you. “The scar is still visible,” he said pointing to the underside. You squinted, trying to make it out, but couldn’t see much in the light of the fire. You ran a finger along the underside and could feel where the texture changed and he hissed out a breath, grabbing your hand. He leaned over and spit into your palm, then wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing to show you what level of pressure to apply.

He guided your hand up and down. “Please?” he said softly, and you nodded, taking over the motion and watching in awe as he let his head fall back, exposing his neck to you and sending a new wave of desire surging through you at the sight. You allowed your mouth to roam over his neck, trailing your tongue over the pulse point and taking in the expansion of his throat as inhaled.

His breathing sped up, and it wasn’t long before he pulled you into another bruising kiss. He clutched at your hips, digging his fingers in and it was hard to keep hold of him in that position, so you let go and settled for grinding yourself against him, which he didn’t seem to mind.

He set the rhythm, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth over himself. You found yourself growing wetter by the second.

A flood of emotions hit you all at once—pride, fear, anticipation, but strongest was desire. You wanted this. You wanted to be in control of your own body. You wanted to decide for yourself what to do with it, and you knew more than anything that you wanted this with Noah.

Unbeknownst to you, Noah had been carrying condoms his pocket for weeks, just in case this moment arrived, so it was no trouble for him to fetch one, tear the wrapper with his teeth and roll it onto himself.

He laid you down on the plush rug and spread your thighs, positioning himself in between them.

“Are you sure?” he asked, holding your gaze. You’d never seen him look so serious before.

“Yes,” you said, staring back and trying to communicate nonverbally just how very sure you were.

“Okay,” he said, breaking eye contact to kiss you one last time. He brought his fingers to you again, sliding them through your folds and scissoring them inside of you to make sure you were ready. “It might be uncomfortable at first.”

You nodded, slipping his hair over his shoulder so you could better see his face. “Just go slow.”

He did, pushing into you centimeter by centimeter until just the head slipped past your opening. He paused, forehead resting against yours while you adjusted to the stretch. It was big, and he was right that it was a little uncomfortable at first, but it was also better than you could have ever imagined.

“Okay?” he asked, and you nodded, pulling him into a kiss as he slid farther into you.

An overwhelming sensation of fullness—that’s the best you could describe it. He was warm and solid and stretched you in such a way that you knew you’d be replaying this moment in your head for the rest of your life.

He backed out just an inch and pushed in again, and you wondered how and why anyone could possibly consider an act that felt so completely right to be sinful in nature. You threw your head back, exposing your neck and he ran his mouth along the column of your throat, tasting the skin while you soaked in the feeling of being so intimately connected to him.

You pushed yourself off the floor, gesturing for him to lay back against the couch so you could straddle him. You felt safer if you were in control of the motion in case it proved to be too much.

Gently, you rocked against him, feeling the pressure of him inside you stretching you to your limits. He was almost too big in length. You couldn’t sit fully on him without him pressing uncomfortably against your organs, so you hovered just over the base of him, moving your hips back and forth.

You found it easier to brace your hands on his thighs behind hind you and lean back, and when you did, he brought his thumb to your clit so he could trace small circles around it.

Your movements were slow and shallow at first, but with time, you found yourself adjusting better to his size and capable of taking more. You began to bounce, throwing your head back as your hips met his over and over in messy repetitions. Sounds escaped from Noah, first quiet gasps and whimpers, but growing lower and gruffer the more you moved.

His nails scraped along your back, digging into the flesh and pulling you into him, and he held out as long as he could, but eventually needed to be back in control, so he flipped you around so you were once again on your back and hooked his arms under your legs to prop you up.

“Okay if I go harder?” he asked, and you sputtered out something that sounded enough like “yes” to satisfy him.

He sped up, no longer holding himself back and you only now understood the sheer force his muscles could exert because for a second you lost the ability to comprehend what was happening.

Sounds you didn’t know you could make escaped without your permission. Noah threw your legs over his shoulder so he could brace himself on either side of your head, folding you in half as he drove himself into you. It was all you could do to keep your eyes locked on his, watching the intensity of his gaze as it burned into you—pupils blown, brow furrowed, jaw tensing.

“Fuck,” he spat, pulling out of you and flipping you over to all fours before reinserting himself. Wrapping his arm around your middle, he pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest. He held you against him by your throat, hand easily wrapping around the circumference and putting only enough pressure on it to keep you where he wanted.

“This okay?” he whispered against your neck and you nodded, body existing on an entirely different plane, just trying to take in everything happening at once.

He bit your shoulder, sucking another angry red mark into it before releasing you so you could fall forward and rest your face against the soft fibers of the rug—something to ground you while he continued his barrage inside of you.

He dug his fingers into your hips and used them for leverage as he pounded a steady tattoo into your pussy and you felt the same welling up of energy you’d felt when he had his fingers in you.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed in time with his thrusts. One arm reached around you to feel around for your clit, fingers slipping over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he tried to lock them into place. His thrusts grew sloppy and unfocused, losing control of the rhythm he’d been holding before.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, I’m gonna c—,” he began, but never finished his sentence because the rest came out choked, morphing into a guttural groan. He throbbed inside of you, fingers releasing your clit so he could brace them on your hip as he chased his orgasm to its end.

As soon as he caught his bearings, he replaced his fingers on your clit, drawing steady tight circles while he continued the best he could to thrust inside of you despite the fact he was well beyond fucked out by that point.

Already on the brink, you tumbled over the edge easily, cascading waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you rode out your high against his hand.

You collapsed on the floor, Noah on top of and inside of you, muscles twitching while you fought to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” Noah whispered between deep exhales. “Holy shit.” He reached out to tuck your hair behind your ears. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding against the rug. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” he sighed out, wrapping his arm around your middle and rolling you on your side. He peppered kisses over your shoulder and up the back of your neck. “Water?”

“Please,” you breathed. As you returned to your body, you noticed just how much hydration you’d lost in sweat and other fluids. Your mouth was dry, throat parched and aching against the chill of the air as you sucked in breaths.

Slowly, Noah removed his softening cock from you. He slipped off the condom, tying a knot in the end and throwing it in the trash can under his desk. Then he fetched a bottle of water from the same mini fridge that had produced the wine, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to you.

You took it with trembling hands, lifting your head to sip at it, but struggled to force yourself upright.

“Here,” he said, taking your arm and pulling you to a sitting position so your back could rest against the couch.

He dragged a blanket from the sofa, throwing it around your shoulders and turned his focus to your legs, caressing your calves while you came down from your high.

Noah slumped against the couch, resting his forehead on the arm while he drew slow patterns into your legs. After a few more sips of water, your thoughts became less cloudy, awareness returning to the room. You over at Noah, finding him just as exhausted as you felt.

He turned his head, watching you watching him and his fingers stilled on your leg.

“Hi,” he said, breaking out into a smile.

“Hi.” You breathed out a laugh, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to you. He put up no fight, sidling up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He took the bottle of water from your hands, drinking deeply before handing it back to you and encouraging you to drink more.

“How are you?” he asked, and all you could do to answer was giggle, still high off endorphins.

He chuckled softly, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you in so he could kiss you lazily. After a few minutes, he pulled away, collecting a few blankets and cushions from the couch and fashioning a warm nest on the floor.

“We should get some sleep,” he suggested, and you agreed, finally (albeit reluctantly) sliding back into your clothes and cuddling up next to him on the floor. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back into him and you rested your head on his chest.

You were both aware you had a lot to discuss in the morning, the biggest question being what this meant for you, but for the time being, you were content to remain in a post-coital haze, listening to his heartbeat, comforted by how solid and sturdy he was underneath you.

He kissed the top of your head as he wished you goodnight, and the last thought you had before you drifted off to sleep in his arms was that if that was a sin, you could understand why Jesus would feel compelled to die just so you could enjoy it.

___________________________ A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Happy birthday to me! If you feel inclined to support my writing, buy me a coffee. (I also have Venmo if you want to buy me a birthday drink. Dm me)

__________

Taglist:

Please let me know if I missed anyone or if I tagged someone who no longer wants to be tagged.

@noahsebastions

@sundamariis

@cyber-tiny

@xxkittenkissesxx

@treacheryinblue

@flowerynerds

@1toreyouapart

@poisongirl616

@motflysblog

@starvingarsyn

@szebra

@sarahrosw36q

@hyukkie16

@messi-jessi603

@fluumiii

@trvshdxddy

@mentallyillbartender

@gothic-pumpkin

@alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@runadaggerthroughmychest

@alytarg2009

@lilcrazy011

@bugseatmesoon

@anything-more-than-human

@xxrainstorm

@traffordonna

@velvetlilacsdaisies

@sunshinesunny

@rain-down-on-me

@friedchildblaze

@emilygalindo

@rhiannonringss

@sister-sebastian

@badomensls

@collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

@hoe-for-daddywise

@concretejungle420

@sleep-worship

@cncohshit

@adenobabe

@guaginyourarea

@escapingourexistence

@livingdeceasedgirl

@chxrryxox

@dem11

@starcrossedwasteland

@alm0std3add

@karenfranco

#the devil's advocate #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fic #fanfiction

200 notes · View notes

rose24207 · 1 month ago

Note

Reader left Mafia lando and when lando tracks her down he finds not only her but a baby boy. She left pregnant because she was scared but lando promises to protect them both.

He‘s mine

Summary: Lando tracks you down after two years and discovers your son, vowing to protect you both and rebuild your trust.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, Running away, mentions of pregnancy

A/N: let me know if you love it! Or not. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The rain pounds against the window of your small London flat as you tuck your son, Noah, into bed.

He’s just turned two, his curls damp from his evening bath, his soft little hands clutching the edges of his blanket.

His eyes flutter closed as you hum a lullaby, the same one your mother used to sing to you when you were small.

For a moment, everything is calm. The world outside might be full of danger and shadows, but here, in this room, it’s just you and Noah.

“Mama?” he mumbles sleepily, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, baby?”

“Love you,” he murmurs, a small yawn escaping his lips.

Your heart clenches. “I love you too, Noah. So much.”

You press a kiss to his forehead and tiptoe out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack. In the dim hallway, you take a deep breath, resting your hand against the wall to steady yourself.

Every day is a balancing act, a constant effort to keep the life you’ve built for him intact.

But tonight feels different.

A strange energy hangs in the air, setting your nerves on edge. Shaking it off, you head to the small living room, pulling a blanket around yourself as you sit on the worn sofa.

The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, lulling you into a fragile sense of peace.

Until you hear the knock.

It’s soft at first, almost hesitant. For a second, you think it’s your imagination, but then it comes again—firmer this time.

Your heart races as you stand, your hand instinctively reaching for the small kitchen drawer where you keep a canister of pepper spray.

You approach the door cautiously, the tiny peephole distorting the figure standing on your doorstep.

But even through the rain and distorted glass, you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

Lando.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare, frozen in place. He’s here. After all this time, he’s here.

You want to run, to hide, to pretend you’re not home, but you know it’s useless. Lando doesn’t show up somewhere unless he’s already certain you’re there.

With trembling hands, you unlock the door but keep the chain latched. The door opens just a crack, revealing his face—sharper now, more weathered, but unmistakably his. His curls are damp from the rain, his dark coat dripping water onto your doorstep.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low and steady.

“Lando,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He studies you through the narrow gap, his jaw tight. “Can we talk?”

You glance over your shoulder toward Noah’s room, anxiety bubbling in your chest. “This isn’t a good time.”

His expression hardens. “I’ve been looking for you for two years. I’m not leaving until we talk.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of them settling heavily in the small space between you.

For a moment, you consider slamming the door in his face. But you know Lando better than that.

He won’t leave.

Reluctantly, you close the door just long enough to undo the chain before opening it again.

The tension inside the flat is suffocating as you lead him to the living room. He stands there awkwardly, his eyes scanning the small space. You wonder if he’s judging it, comparing it to the luxurious penthouse you used to share in Monaco.

“Nice place,” he says finally, his tone unreadable.

You fold your arms over your chest, trying to mask your nerves. “What do you want, Lando?”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours. “Why did you leave?”

You’ve imagined this conversation countless times, but now that it’s here, you don’t know where to start. “I... I couldn’t stay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your world—it’s dangerous, Lando. I couldn’t raise a child in that.”

His expression falters, his brows knitting together. “A child?”

Before you can respond, a small voice cuts through the tension.

“Mama?”

Both of you turn to see Noah standing in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He’s clutching a worn stuffed bunny in one hand, his curls messy from the pillow.

Lando freezes, his eyes widening as he looks at the boy. It’s as if the world has stopped spinning, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Mama, who’s that?” Noah asks, his voice curious but shy.

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you walk over and scoop him into your arms. “This is... This is Lando,” you say carefully.

Noah blinks at him, tilting his head. “Lando?”

Lando takes a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on Noah. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Noah stares at him for a moment, then buries his face in your shoulder, shy as always around strangers. You rub his back soothingly, but your own heart is pounding.

“He’s mine,” Lando says quietly, though it’s not a question.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “His name is Noah.”

For a moment, Lando doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, staring at the child in your arms as if trying to process the enormity of it all.

“Noah,” he repeats, his voice breaking slightly.

Noah peeks out from your shoulder, his wide eyes studying Lando curiously. “Are you my friend?” he asks innocently.

Lando’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Yeah, little man. I’m your friend.”

The hours that follow are a blur of emotion and uncertainty. Noah eventually warms up to Lando, his natural curiosity overpowering his initial shyness.

Before long, he’s showing Lando his favorite toys, dragging him to the small play corner in the living room.

“This is Bunny,” Noah announces, holding up the stuffed rabbit proudly. “He’s my best friend.”

“Bunny, huh?” Lando says, crouching down to Noah’s level. “He looks like a good friend.”

“He is,” Noah says seriously. “But he gets scared of monsters.”

Lando’s eyes flicker to you for a moment before he turns back to Noah. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll keep the monsters away.”

You watch from the kitchen, your heart aching at the sight of them together. Lando has always been good with kids, but seeing him with your son—with his son—is almost too much to bear.

Later that evening, after Noah is tucked back into bed, you and Lando sit together in the living room. The tension has eased slightly, but the unspoken questions between you are still heavy.

“You should have told me,” Lando says quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of hurt and anger.

You lower your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. “I wanted to,” you admit. “But I was scared, Lando. I was scared of what your world would do to him, of what it would do to us.”

“You didn’t trust me to protect you,” he says, his voice raw.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, your voice trembling. “You can’t just protect us from everything. Your world is dangerous, Lando. People get hurt. People die. I couldn’t take that risk—not for him.”

He leans back, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “I would’ve left it all behind,” he says after a moment. “For you. For him. If you’d just told me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Lando...”

“I’m not asking you to come back,” he says, cutting you off. “Not yet. But I can’t be away from him. From you. Let me stay. Let me be a part of his life.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. You’ve spent the past two years building a life for Noah, keeping him safe from the dangers of Lando’s world. Letting him in feels like opening a door to all the things you’ve tried so hard to keep out.

But then you think of Noah’s smile when he showed Lando his toys, the way he laughed when Lando made silly voices for Bunny.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we take it slow. For Noah’s sake.”

Lando nods, relief washing over his face. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The days that follow are a whirlwind of adjustments. Lando stays in a small hotel nearby but spends nearly every waking moment at your flat, bonding with Noah.

At first, Noah is cautious, his shy nature making him hesitant to open up. But Lando’s patience and charm win him over quickly.

Before long, Noah is dragging Lando outside to play in the small garden, laughing as Lando pretends to be a monster chasing him around.

“Mama, look!” Noah shouts one afternoon, holding up a flower he picked. “For you!”

You smile, kneeling down to take it. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s beautiful.”

“Lando helped me find it,” Noah says proudly, pointing to where Lando is crouched nearby, dirt smudged on his hands.

Lando grins, his eyes meeting yours. “He’s got a good eye,” he says.

So do you, you think, though you don’t say it aloud.

One evening, as the three of you sit together on the sofa watching a cartoon, Noah crawls into Lando’s lap, his little hand clutching Lando’s shirt.

Your heart tightens at the sight, a mix of joy and fear swirling in your chest.

Lando meets your gaze over Noah’s head, his expression soft but serious. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind.

For the first time in a long time, you start to believe him.

Thank you for reading!

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you #f1 #fluff #mafia!lando #f1 mafia au #mafia #angst #dad!lando

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 2 months ago

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THE BATH- J. WASHINGTON

pairing: bf!josh x fem! reader

word count: who knows. small drabble

summary: you keep trying to have a bath at the lodge to warm up, but your golden retriever boyfriend josh keeps trying to come in and talk while you relax

warnings: none! nudity and light drinking, but all fluff

not proof read sorry for any mistakes!

not inspired by any song, but i listened to she calls me back by noah kahan while i wrote this, if people like music for vibes<3

got inspired for this drabble by none other then my cat, who keeps pushing the bathroom door open while im in the bath, and then leaves, and then when its shut he meows like crazy. yes josh is like a clingy cat.

it had been a long day, and the clock hadn't even struck ten yet. from hauling suitcases (josh hauling suitcases) and hours of (josh) driving, you had finally found yourself at blackwood mountain.

it was a relief, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the place, despite the dust and creepy noises from the old pipes. everyone had already arrived by the time josh rushed in to start a fire for you, after he sae you shiver.

he had rushed you up to the doors, wrapping you in his coat and sticking his beanie on your head, making his pretty dark hair all tossled. you smiled at the thought that had happened a few hours prior, the pepper of kisses all over your face as he rushed you inside, wrapping you in fresh blankets- leaving the mothcovered ones for mike and chris.

it was weird in a way, to be here this year.

this was the first time you were here as a couple. before this, it had been years of slight touches and teasing, drunk forehead kisses and praises. but finally- finally you had gotten your wish. and apparently, josh had too.

a little knock sounded at the door, and you poked your eye open towards the door, neck rolling lazily from where it rest on the side of the bath.

"mike if you come in here right now i will chuck this candle at you." you called. the door poked open a creak, and a familiar eye peered over at you. "am i immune to candle throwing?" josh asked, making you giggle.

"you're in the clear." you smirked, water sloshing as you adjusted yourself so your elbows perched on the edge towards him. "hi handsome. whats up?"

"i missed you." he shrugged crouching down to be at your height, a soft smile on his face. "i think its been.. like twenty? twenty mintues maybe?" you teased, making him roll his eyes.

"i also wanted to take advantage of this whole, bathroom thing. you know how many times i wanted to come in before? now i can. boyfriend access only." he smirked, hand coming up to brush your warm cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. his hand lingered and you leaned to kiss his inner wrist, savouring the softness of his skin.

"i think you're just a pervert. and clingy."

josh rolled his eyes. "god forbid men have hobbies. can i not be both?"

you laughed, kissing him again.

"i just wanted to come in to see if you needed anything. and cause i missed you, and chris is drunk and trying to get me to play president with him and matt."

he nearly became asshole in that game everytime. he was terrible at cards.

"what, you dont wanna be asshole again?"

"something like that. i like your ass though."

your eyebrow raised. "don't we all." you teased. "but hey, if you're offerring me something... maybe.. a glass of wine?"

he stood quickly, giving you a firm salute. he drank with you enough times to know exactly what kind you wanted without needing to ask. "godspeed pilgrim!" he ran out of the room, leaving the door wide open as he left.

"HEY! DOOR?! CLOSED PLEASE? IM NAKED!" you yelled out.

"OOOH NAKED?" you heard sam call out from the main room, making you roll your eyes. now you had them all riled up.

two seconds later, josh reappeared, glass of white in hand, water in the other. "thank you honey, but maybe next time shut the door? i almost had an audience." you cringed, taking the chilled wine glass from his hands. you took a sip, the sweet, dry liquid coating your throat.

"i get front row next time." he shrugged, planting a kiss on the top of your head before he snagged your towel.

"kay i'll leave you be baby. but im taking this so you have to come find me naked to dry off." he smirked, dangling the fabric in your direction before slipping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

before you had time to protest, he was gone. you closed your eyes, sighing as you took another sip. he was such a tease. but thats what you loved about him. he never failed to make you laugh, he was so quick and witty.

it also meant he liked to get on your nerves, lovingly.

no longer then five minutes later, a knock was on your door. "yes?"

"its me again." josh murmered from behind the oak. you smiled, laughing softly.

"come in joshy." he sheeplishly smiled, sliding his large body through the doorway, firmly shutting it behind him. a deck of cards was in his hands as he approached you, sitting down on the tile floor next to the tub.

"can you play president with me?" he asked, starting to take the cards out of the paper box.

"baby, you can't play with two people."

he frowned. "well, can you teach me how to do this again? so i can kick everyones ass?"

you smiled. "of course baby. my sore, sore loser."

#until dawn josh #joshua washington #josh washington #josh washington x you #josh washington imagines #josh washington x reader #josh washington fluff #josh washington smut #josh until dawn #until dawn #until dawn remake #until dawn remaster #until dawn fanfics #rami malek x reader #rami malek #josh and sam #sam x josh

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silent-stories · 2 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Series masterlist

The soft early-morning glow filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue on the cozy bedroom. Noah stood at the doorway and saw his daughter snuggled up with her pastel pink blanket. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her small chest and he couldn't help but smile at the view.

He quietly crossed over to her bedside, fell onto his knees beside her, and gently moved a few strands of hair from her face. "Luna, sweetheart," he said softly in a soothing voice. "It's time to wake up."

Luna stirred, her eyelids fluttering open slowly. For a moment, she blinked at him, a sleepy smile stretching across her lips. "mhh" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," he said, smiling back at her. "Time to rise and shine."

"Want to sleep more!" she whined, pulling the blanket tighter around her, her tiny frame almost disappearing under the soft material.

Noah chuckled softly. "But your friends are waiting for you. How about this? If you wake up now, I give you a really, really big hug."

She peeked out from under her blanket, a twinkle of mischief lighting up her sleepy eyes. "A big hug?"

"Absolutely," he promised, opening his arms wide.

Giving a slight sigh, Luna finally threw the blanket off and sat up, her hair messy and wild. Noah didn't hesitate but reached in and hauled her into a gentle hug, raining light kisses over her cheek. "Good morning, princess," he whispered, holding her close for a second.

"Daddy, that tickles!" she squealed, wriggling in his arms but not wanting him to let go.

Later, when Noah and Luna came to the kitchen for breakfast, the little girl looked around, frowning.

"No Y/N?"

Noah laughed. "I'm glad you want her, but she doesn't live here."

Luna snorted.

"Hey, do you want to go visit your uncles this evening? We can invite Y/N too."

Luna beamed instantly. "Yes!"

"Great, now let's go have breakfast."

You loved working at that café. Mostly for the memories.

Mostly for one, in particular.

The first time you laid eyes on Noah, you were standing behind the counter, wiping down the wood surface and getting ready for the rush of regulars. It was still early, the kind of early where the light from outside just about began to filter through the window, casting a warm, golden glow over the tables and chairs.

Muffled murmurs of conversation were already beginning to rise as people huddled into their usual spots, but you weren't really paying attention to anyone in particular, not until he walked in.

Noah caught your eye the moment he stepped through the door. He wasn't in any kind of rush, which was unusual for that time of day because most customers came in rushing to get their coffee and go on to start their day.

He walked in slowly, and on his hip was a little girl, no older than two years, clutching at a stuffed bunny, with a head full of soft brown hair. You could tell by the way she nestled into him that she felt safe. There was comfort there, the soft way her tiny head rested against his shoulder, her fingers tugging on his shirt.

Noah gazed around the shop with calm eyes, taking in everything there was to see, before finally his gaze settled on the chalkboard menu above your head.

You looked at him.

There was something soft in his brown eyes, a certain delicacy that paused you for just a second. There was something quiet in the way he moved, nothing hasty, nothing impatient.

You tried to focus on the next customer, taking their order and passing it along, but your attention kept drifting back to him as he stepped up to the counter. He shifted the little girl -Luna, though you wouldn’t know her name until much later- onto his hip, settling her so that she was comfortable. Her head lolled against him, her eyes wide as she took in the new sights of the coffee shop.

By the time he reached you, his eyes met yours briefly. "Just a coffee. Black, please," he said in a low but warm voice as he gave you the money. He smiled then, a small, polite smile, but reaching his eyes with a crinkling at the corners that was enough to make you wonder if he smiled like that often.

"Sure." You nodded, your hands working on automatic to make his coffee while your mind eddied its way back to him. You couldn't help but turn to him again as you worked, observing how tenderly he spoke with his daughter, his voice too low for you to catch what he said.

Whatever it was, it made her giggle, a soft, innocent sound that made your heart warm.

Noah smiled at her, a real, full smile that spoke of exactly how much he adored her, and you felt that distinct tug in your chest.

You set the coffee on the counter, watched him balance it gingerly with one hand, the other still holding Luna tight.

"Thanks," he said and flashed that smile again.

You were smiling back before you could catch yourself. "Of course."

He turned to leave and in his arms, Luna, who had been watching the world quietly, suddenly raised her little head and waved her tiny hand at you. Bright, big, round eyes, so inquisitive, locked into yours for that one second. A soft laugh escaped you and instinctively, you waved back.

Noah noticed it too, and he chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "She's friendly. Shy but friendly," he said, his voice light with amusement.

"She's adorable," you replied, your gaze shifting to Luna for a second before returning to him.

He nodded, quiet pride in his face as he readjusted her on his hip, her head nuzzling once again into its place against his shoulder. And just like that, he was gone, out the door and away with that same unhurried calm, morning light catching him and his daughter as they stepped out into it.

You found yourself staring at the door long after it had closed behind him, the usual sounds of the coffee shop filtering into your consciousness.

There was just something about Noah, the way he moved, the way he looked at his daughter, the way he smiled at you, that separated him from everyone else who had crossed through the shop that morning.

That day, you just wished he'd come back.

And he did. And kept doing it.

About a year now from when you first met, and months after you started officially dating, Noah would still sometimes drop by the workplace during one of your shifts after dropping Luna off at daycare, usually to get some tea.

And Noah's frequent visits had led to frequent visits from a bunch of men covered in tattoos who you had quickly started to consider your friends. Jolly and Folio had become regulars by this time.

One year from your first encounter, the hum of the espresso machine, chatter of customers, and the occasional clang of a coffee cup still filled that space with their familiar rhythm on that day.

You cleaned some glasses and placed them on the shelf behind the counter, glancing at the line forming by the register as Grace took orders with her usual efficiency. It was just another day.

You had just begun putting a fresh set of pastries on display when your phone buzzed in your jeans pocket. You slid it out in one smooth motion, looking at the screen. It was Noah.

Noah♡: Good morning beautiful

Noah♡: Having dinner with the guys tonight. Band, Matt, Bryan… super chill, probably just getting pizza.

Noah♡: I’m bringing Luna too ofc, the uncles wanna see her. You wanna come?

You smiled, already picturing the evening. Hanging out with Noah and the rest of the group always made things feel easy, and having Luna around was a bonus. You didn’t even have to think twice before replying.

You: Morning <3

You: Yeah, I’d love to.

In a couple of seconds, he texted you back.

Noah♡: Awesome! We’re thinking 7-ish. I'll pick you up if you're free by then?

You: Sounds perfect! I get off at 5, so I'll be more than ready :)

You: How’s your day going so far? Luna’s at daycare?

Noah♡: Yeah, just dropped her off a bit ago before heading to the studio.

Noah♡: Nick keeps saying I need to stop getting distracted by you when I’m here 😂

You: lol tell him I'm sorry.

Noah♡: I should probably get back to work before he actually pulls his hair out.

You: Okay! Good luck with that.

Noah♡: Thanks, see you later <3

You: Bye!

You typed back, finally sliding my phone back into your pocket.

You headed home immediately after your shift, showered, and got ready for dinner. Slipping into your favorite casual outfit, something comfortable yet cute, perfect for a laid-back evening with Noah, Luna, and the rest of the group. You checked your phone to find out it was already 6:30 p.m. You smiled as Noah would probably be there soon.

By 6:50, you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone and glancing out the window every now and then. The minutes ran their race, and before you knew it, 7:00 got there and passed.

You thought maybe he could be running a little late, maybe something came up with Luna, or he was held up at the studio. But as 7:15 got away, you did start to feel a little uneasy. Noah was always punctual, especially with plans such as this.

You sent him a quick text.

You: Hey! Are you almost here? :)

Ten minutes passed, and still no response. You frowned, eyes going to the clock once again. 7:30.

Your mind started to race a little. Maybe his phone had died, or maybe he was stuck in traffic.

You tried to reassure your mind that this could be the case, but the nagging concern just kept growing in the pit of your stomach. You typed out another message, a little more concerned this time, anyway.

You: Noah? Everything okay?

The message sent, but once again, no reply. His silence felt unusual, unsettling. You sat up, looking at your phone, willing it to light up from a message from him. But it stayed dark.

At 7:45, the worry had taken root fully. Something wasn't right.

You called him, waited, but he didn't answer.

You decided to text Jolly. Maybe Noah had gotten caught up with the guys and forgot to message you.

You: Hey! Is Noah with you guys?

It wasn't long before Jolly replied.

Jolly: Nah, haven't seen him.

Jolly: Thought he was picking you up?

You: He was supposed to. He's not answering my texts, though. Do you guys know where he is?

There was a pause before Jolly's response came in.

Jolly: Weird. No, we don't know. He said he'd be here for dinner. Want us to come check?

Your fingers hovered over the screen for a second before you typed back.

You: No, it's cool. I will go to his place and see if he is there. I'll keep you updated.

Jolly: Alright, let us know if something is wrong.

You stared at your phone for a second, trying to calm the nerves spiraling out of control. Grabbing your keys, you made for the door, the pounding of your heart edging up with every step.

You pulled on your jacket, fingers fumbling a little as you tucked your phone into your pocket and you headed towards the door. The cool evening air hit your face, but it did little to wash the storm of worry in your head. You just couldn't kill the feeling that something was wrong, Noah wouldn't just not show up like this without a word.

Your steps quickened towards the car as your heart pounded harder with each second passing. You fumbled with the keys for a second before you opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

You took a deep breath, your hands clasped onto the steering wheel before pulling out of the driveway. If he wasn't home, you had absolutely no idea where he could be.

You drove to Noah's house in near silence, your usual music wasn't filling the car as your mind jumbled with concern and scenarios you'd rather not think about. The streets felt emptier than usual tht night, the sky a shade of deep indigo as the evening settled in. By the time you pulled up outside his place, it was nearly 8:30 p.m., and your heart was racing.

You turned off the engine, your headlights casting long shadows across the yard.

For a moment, you just sat there.

It was probably all okay. But the feeling in your chest refused to budge. You stepped out of the car and went up the pathway leading to his front door, as the cool evening air brushed against your skin.

You reached the door and knocked lightly once, then again a little harder. "Noah?" you called softly, but there was no response. The house seemed still. You knocked again, your knuckles against the wood sounded louder in the silence.

You waited, the stillness compressing around you. Then, you reached for the handle and, hoping it would be locked, turned it with shaking fingers.

It wasn't.

The door creaked open and you hesitated for just one moment before stepping inside. The living room was in darkness, save the soft glow of a lamp that had been left on. Everything looked untouched, but the silence was heavy. You called out once more, your voice barely louder than a whisper. "Noah?"

Nothing.

The wooden floor creaked softly under your feet as, with one more step, you entered the house and stepped into the familiar space. Your mind was racing, scanning the room for any sign of him or Luna. Maybe they went out after all, but where would Noah go without telling you?

You walked deeper into the house past the kitchen and down the hall, your stomach knotting tighter. What if something had happened? You thought you was being too dramatic, but a rising panic tugged at you.

But then, as you reached the end of the hall, you heard it: a soft, almost inaudible sound was coming from Luna's room. Your heart skipped a beat, and that spark of hope just seemed to grow. You walked over, the door slightly ajar, and gently pushed it open.

What met your gaze sent your breath catching in your throat.

There, on Luna's narrow bed, lay Noah, sleeping. He curled onto his side, one arm protectively wrapped around Luna snugged up close against him under her pastel pink blanket, her stuffed bunny tucked against her chest.

Noah's mouth hung a little open as he breathed slowly, his whole face relaxed in that way that tugged at your heart.

His dark hair was messy in a way that made you want to run your fingers through it, falling messily across his forehead, and his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks. So peaceful, so utterly at ease.

Luna looked equally as serene, her little hand resting against her father's chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest sending her deeply to sleep.

The sight made your heart swell, all your earlier fear melting away in an instant: he wasn't missing, he wasn't hurt, he was just there, with Luna, too exhausted from the day and too tired to stay awake for dinner.

You stood there for a long moment, watching them, unable to tear your gaze away. You couldn't bring yourself to wake him. He looked so beautiful, so calm, like everything in his world was right in that moment, and you didn't want to disturb that.

But then you noticed that Noah wasn’t under the covers like Luna was and though the room wasn't cold, you couldn’t help but feel he might get chilly if he spent the night like that.

Quietly, you crossed the room and spotted the folded blanket near the bed. It was purple with may little butterflies on it and you almost let out a chuckle when, without disturbing him, you carefully laid it over his body, making sure it covered him well. He barely stirred, his breathing steady.

You let out a soft, barely audible sigh and stepped back, slowly closing the door behind you, leaving Noah and Luna in their peaceful slumber.

Once back in the hall, you were pulling your phone out of your pocket, releasing that pressing tension that had built up in your chest. A soft smile was on your lips as you took your time typing a message into your phone, directed to Jolly.

You: Everything's all right. Noah fell asleep with Luna. He must have just been really tired.

A moment later, he responded.

Jolly: Ah, makes sense. Glad he's all right. What a dork. You guys still coming?

You smiled softly at your phone, your heart still full from the sight of Noah and Luna together.

You: I'll let him sleep. We'll come another day if that's okay with you guys.

Jolly: Alright, no worries. I'll probably come get a coffee tomorrow anyway :)

You: Okay, see you!

You tucked the phone back into your pocket and looked once more at the door, now closed, to Luna's room. You knew that Noah was tired, between the studio, Luna, writing new songs, and all the rest of it, he seemed never to stop. Yet, seeing him now, so serene, you saw just how much rest he needed, how much of himself he gave every day.

You stepped back, with a hushed tone, towards the front door, walking outside into the cool night air and closing the front door behind you, feeling lighter now. As you got back into your car, couldn't help but smile to yourself, the image of him and Luna still in your mind.

You'd see him tomorrow. For now, he was safe, sleeping, exactly where he needed to be.

Later, when you got home, you opened the door and stepped into the space with a soft smile still on your lips.

You shrugged off your jacket and slung it onto the couch. Your hand went absent-mindedly for the switch near the door, but in the dark, you underestimated the distance and knocked into the corner of a shelf. The sharp edge caught at your elbow, sending a dull, gnawing pain up your arm as a stack of books came crashing down to the floor with a resounding thud.

You hopped back, startled, and your purse fell off of your shoulder. The heavy bag hit the ground with a thud, spewing its insides out in all directions.

You sighed looking at the chaos around you that was the inside of your purse: your keys, crumpled receipts, lip gloss, pens, gum wrappers, random bits of makeup, loose change, all of them on the floor in a disorganized mess.

Dropping to your knees, you began gathering the items, your fingers brushing over the familiar detritus of daily life. A half-used roll of mints. A tube of hand cream you'd forgotten about. More receipts than you cared to count. You gathered everything back into the purse, vowing for the hundredth time to clean it out properly someday soon.

But reaching for a stray receipt that had fallen under the coffee table, your hand hit something made of a different kind of paper.

You pulled it out, frowning in confusion. It was a small photograph, crinkled around the edges, worn from time and handling. You stared at it for a moment, recognition not meeting you at first, before a cold realization settled over you.

It was a picture of you and Jason.

Your breath caught a little as you sat back on your heels, the faint light from the streetlamp outside casting an eerie sort of glow over the photograph. There you were, standing outside Jason's old tattoo shop, your arm wrapped around his waist, his arm slung casually over your shoulders.

He was grinning, that same cocky, self-assured smile that had so effortlessly managed to make you fall in love with him.

You, too, were smiling in the photo, though the version of you staring back from the image felt distant, like a stranger.

You almost perfectly remembered that day, the one of the few times he insisted on taking a picture together, right after he had finished a new art in his shop.

His shop was everything for him, his one true love. More than you ever had been.

You glared at the photo, feeling that old familiar bitterness start to rise in your chest. Jason had been your first serious relationship, the first man who'd made you feel like you could be a part of something exciting, something bigger than the small life you'd been living.

But it hadn't taken long for that excitement to fizzle out, and you realized there was no room for you in his world, and things just couldn't work out between you two, and you had to move on.

And you had moved on. But here now, holding this old photograph in your hand, memories started to threaten their way to the surface, tugging at emotions that you thought had long since faded.

You stared at the photo a moment longer, then let out a slow breath as some of the tension in your chest finally eased. Jason didn't matter anymore. Not like he once had.

He'd been a chapter in your life, but one that was closed now. And you'd found so much more after him. Better people. Real connections. People who made you actually feel seen, valued. People like Noah.

You got up without another word and walked across the room to the trash can. Your fingers were clutched tightly around the photograph for a moment, before you tossed it inside. It fluttered down into the bin, landing on top of the open wrapping of a box that once held snacks.

You returned to the mess that had spilled out onto the floor, gathering the rest of your belongings methodically: a pen here, a few coins there. The usual stuff that crowded your purse throughout the day, every day. Then, you zipped the bag shut with a satisfying snick.

You got up, having cast a final look at the waste bin, and moved to the couch, where you finally realized you were starting to fell rather tired.

You didn't want to think about your ex anymore. Jason was the past. And you had so much waiting for you in the present.

Again, Noah's peaceful face entered your mind, the way he held Luna protectively in his arms. That was the kind of connection you wanted all along, built on love, trust, and being taken care of. And now it was within reach.

You leaned back into the cushions, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips as you closed your eyes.

"Fuck, I need to cook dinner now."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel

#noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian x y/n #noah sebastian series #to build a family #tbaf

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

Text

99 PROBLEMS PT2| MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by.

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had.

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

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soulofapatrick · 1 year ago

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Falling Into You - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader

Summary: you and stiles finally give into your unknown crush on each other

Words: 2.6K

Warning: Heated makeout session; if you squint there's dry humping

Y/N’s POV

Living with Stiles has been far from boring. Ever since my dad was killed and my younger brother - Isaac - went to live with Derek, Sheriff Noah Stilinski graciously opened his home to me. That meant living with Stiles too, and let me tell you, it has been anything but dull. Stiles has this knack for turning even the most mundane day into a storytelling session filled with the antics he and Scott get up to.

I’ve grown to love it here. The Stilinski house is like a second home, and the sheriff is like a second dad to me. He’s been incredibly supportive, especially during the tough times. And then there’s Stiles. He’s… well, he’s Stiles. Quirky, witty and always wearing that mischievous grin.

Lately, though, something’s shifted. I’ve caught myself stealing glances at Stiles when he’s not looking. His passion for solving mysteries, his loyalty to his friends—there’s something undeniably endearing about him. Maybe it’s the way he cares for everyone around him, or the way he throws himself into every insane situation without hesitation. But it's more than that. There's a warmth in his laughter, a genuineness in his concern, that makes my heart flutter a bit faster. And as much as I try to ignore it, I can't deny that a crush has been slowly blossoming.

Living under the same roof, it’s hard to keep these feelings under wraps. I find myself wanting to spend more time around him, hoping for moments where it’s just the two of us, away from the chaotic everyday that is Beacon Hills. Yet, I’m also terrified. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if it ruins our friendship or makes things awkward while living with him?

Stiles is currently sat cross legged on my bed, looking so engrossed in whatever supernatural mystery he's delving into. His dedication is admirable, even if it means sacrificing proper posture for the sake of research. I can't help but steal glances at him every now and then, admiring the furrow in his brow as he concentrates.

I wish I could tell him how I feel. But the fear of ruining what we currently have, the fear of changing the dynamic between us, it’s suffocating. So instead, I go back to focusing on my assignment, the words blurring on the page as my thought drift back to him.

The room is quiet except for the clicking of keys and the occasional muttered comment from Stiles. As I sit at my desk, trying to concentrate on the assignment in front of me, my mind wandering again—this time an entirely different scenario and it’s one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to set aside the fear and uncertainty, to sit next to Stiles and lean in, closing the distance between us. What would it be like to press my lips against Stiles’? Would they be as soft as they look, as warm as his laugh? My heart races at the mere thought, a flurry of emotions dancing within me.

I picture the moment vividly: closing the space between us, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, and the anticipation before our lips meet. I imagine his hands, tentative yet steady, finding their place on my skin, maybe on the curve of my cheek or the small of my back. How would it feel to have his touch ignite a thousand sparks, to feel the electricity between us?

There’s a mix of longing and hesitation, the desire to experience that connection, yet the fear of disrupting the comfortable equilibrium we've found in our friendship. But in my mind's eye, it's a beautiful chaos—a leap into the unknown, a chance to explore something deeper, something that might exist beyond our late-night conversations and shared moments.

Before I can continue imagining me and Stiles the said boy breaks my thoughts, “Hey Y/N! Come here,” He speaks, excitement in his voice but his eyes never once leaving the screen.

I force myself out of the reverie, blinking away the vivid daydreams as Stiles called out to me. His excitement is palpable, contagious even, and I push aside the rush of emotions to focus on the present.

I rise from my chair, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness as I make my way to where Stiles is seated. He’s still hunched over the laptop, his attention entirely captured by the screen. With a careful step, I settle on the bed behind him, leaning over him enough to rest my chin on his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s got him so intrigued.

His warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt, radiating against my chest, a sensation I try desperately to ignore. The scent that envelopes me—a blend of old books, faint traces of motor oil and a lingering hint of coffee—should be distracting, but it’s oddly comforting. It’s quintessentially Stiles, a unique combination that feels inexplicably familiar and reassuring.

I glance at the screen, feigning interest in whatever supernatural phenomenon has grabbed his attention. But truthfully, my focus wavers between trying to understand what he’s showing me and the proximity between us. His presence feels magnetic, drawing me in, yet I fight the urge to let my thoughts drift into forbidden territory.

“Look at this,” He exclaims, pointing to a section on the screen. His enthusiasm is infectious, and for a moment, I forget the inner turmoil, getting lost in his excitement.

Stiles is engrossed in explaining something on the screen, his energy palpable. I try my best to keep up, nodding along as he talks, but the proximity between us amplifies every emotion within me.

Suddenly, he turns his head, excitement lighting up his russet eyes as he tries to make a point. His words trail off mid-sentence, and in that suspended moment, our faces are unexpected close. I feel his breath, warm against my skin, a sensation that sends a shiver down my spine.

As if in slow motion, I notice every tiny detail—the freckles scattered across his pale skin, the way his eyes dart down to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my gaze again. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m sure he can heart the erratic beat of my heart. There's a shift in the air, an unspoken tension that crackles between us. His cheeks flush with colour, a shade of red that matches the intensity of my own emotions. I can't tear my gaze away from him, from the way his eyes flicker between mine and the way his lips part, as if searching for words that elude him.

For a moment, time seems suspended, our silent exchange speaking volumes. I feel a surge of courage and vulnerability intertwine within me, a silent plea for something more, a leap into the unknown.

But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it slips away. Stiles blinks, breaking the trance, and clears his throat, shifting slightly away. "Um, sorry, got carried away there," he stammers, his voice a tad higher than usual.

The air feels charged with an awkward tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I try to ease the discomfort by standing up, intending to head back to my desk and salvage what’s left of our usual camaraderie. But before I can even take a step, Stiles’ hand shoots out, wrapped around my wrist in a swift motion that catches me off guard.

Caught off guard by the sudden proximity, I stumble and practically find myself in Stiles's lap. His warmth envelopes me, and for a moment, our heartbeats synchronise in a chaotic rhythm that seems to echo the unspoken emotions between us.

Stiles’ eyes lock onto mine, a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability swirling within their depths. His tongue darts out to wet his pretty pink lips, a nervous gesture that betrays the intensity of the moment. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand finds the back of my neck, drawing me closer.

In that heartbeat before our lips meet, the world around us seems to still. His touch sends a surge of electricity through me, igniting a fire that I didn’t know was simmering within. And then, finally, our lips touch in a kiss that feels both anticipated and inevitable.

As our embrace intensifies, the laptop becomes a mere afterthought, pushed aside to make way for the burgeoning heat between us. Stiles's movements are deliberate, his hands finding my hips with a confident touch, guiding me to straddle his lap as our bodies mold together.

The kiss deepens, the connection between us sparking a newfound intensity. Stiles’ hands, warm against my skin, slip under the fabric of my teeshirt, sending shivers cascading down my spine. His touch is electric, fingers tracing patterns along my hips, a gentle yet possessive hold that ignites a fire within me. I tangle my fingers in his messy hair, feeling the soft strands between my fingertips as I tilt his head back slightly, deepening the kiss. There’s a dominance in his action, a confidence that surprises me but also excites me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

His lips move with purpose, fervent and seeking, a silent demand for more as our breaths mingle in the shared space between us. Each movement, each touch, feels like an unspoken confession of desires long kept hidden.

My heart races as I lean into him, relishing the sensation of his lips against mine, the way his body responds to my touch. And as I lose myself in the passion of the moment, it becomes clear that Stiles, despite his usual playful demeanour, possesses a commanding presence that takes my breath away.

As the intensity of the moment heightens, Stiles’ touch remains both from and reassuring, his hands guiding me with a tenderness that contrasts his newfound dominance. With a gentle yet firm pressure, his long, nimble fingers press against my back, coaxing me to lower myself onto him. There’s an undeniable pull in his touch, drawing me closer until I’m lying atop him, our chests pressing together in a shared rhythm. Our breaths mingle in the small space between y=us, the heat of the moment making the air around us feel charged.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, syncing with mine, creating an unspoken harmony. The sensation of our bodies pressed together sends jolt through me, an electric current that ignites every nerve ending.

As I rest against him, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat against mine, a rush of emotions floods over me—desire mingled with a newfound intimacy, vulnerability meshed with a sense of comfort in this uncharted territory.

Stiles's gaze holds a mixture of passion and tenderness, a silent understanding passing between us in the shared silence. His fingers trace gentle patterns along my back, a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying a reassurance amidst the fervour of the moment. His lips part as if to speak but instead, in a very Stiles fashion, a torrent of words spill out in a hurried stream.

“I-I've wanted to do this for so long, and I'm sorry, I should've asked, I mean, I wanted to ask, but then this moment happened, and I just... I didn't want to ruin it, but I should’ve—" He babbles, the words tumbling out faster than I can comprehend. His apology mixes with an admission that he’s wanted this as much as I have, and amidst his rambling, I can’t help but laugh softly, finding the sudden flood of words endearing.

Before his apologies and explanations can continue, I decide to silence him the best way I know how. With a gentle yet decisive motion, I cup his face in both hands, capturing his lips in a kiss that speaks volumes, stealing away his words and replacing them with the silent language of our shared desires.

The kiss is deliberate interruption, a way to convey everything I’ve been feeling in a single moment. It’s a tender yet firm assertion, an assurance that words are unnecessary amidst the eloquence of our connection.

As our lips meet, I feel a shift in the air, the nervous energy dissipating into something more serene. Stiles’ initial surprise melts into a reciprocated warmth, and soon, the kiss becomes a dance of shared affection and unspoken apologies. In that suspended moment, the kiss becomes a story of its own—a narrative of unspoken emotions conveyed through the gentle meeting of our lips. Stiles's initial surprise gives way to a newfound ease, his lips molding against mine with a familiarity that feels surprisingly natural yet exhilaratingly new.

His touch, tender yet assured, ignites a cascade of sensations. His hands explore, tracing the contours of my back, sending tingles racing along my skin. There’s a delicate balance in his touch, a mix of reverence and longing that speaks volumes about the dept of his emotions.

As our kiss deepens, I’m enveloped in a whirlwind of emotions. Stiles’ lips against mine feel like a discovery—a blend of softness and fervour, an unspoken language that surpasses any verbal communication. Each movement of our lips is a revelation, a testament to the unspoken connection between us. His closeness has a gravitational pull, drawing me in and enveloping me in a sense of security and desire. In this moment, I feel cherished, desired, and seen in a way that goes beyond mere words.

The intensity of our kiss, a universe of emotions contained within, is abruptly interrupted by the jarring ring of Stiles’ phone. Startled, we break apart, a shared groan escaping both of us as the moment fractures, replacing by the intrusion of reality. Stiles fumbles for his phone, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. With a sigh, he answers and puts it on speaker, revealing Scott’s urgent voice on the other end, asking if Stiles had found any leads.

As Stiles responds to Scott’s inquiries, I take the opportunity to sit back up, adjusting my position so that I’m straddling his waist. The shift seems to catch Stiles of guard, his breath hitching slightly, and I can feel the bulge pressing against my ass. I watch as Stiles bites his lip, a subtle attempt to suppress any involuntary sounds, his focus divided between the phone call and me, shifting on his lap. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, and I can see a hint of frustration at the interruption, mixed with a smouldering intensity that sends a thrill through me.

Leaning closer, I offer an apologetic smile, silently acknowledging the disruption but unable to resist teasing him but grinding my hips against his, pretending to get more comfortable on his lap. I notice the way his breath catches again and his hands dart for my hips unsure if they want to stop my hips or help me roll them against that growing bulge.

“Sh-shit,” A moan escapes him and Scott falls silent as Stiles’ cheeks bloom a pretty shade of red, “Fuck, I gotta go, talk later.” And with that Stiles is hanging up, practically throwing his phone on the floor and in one quick moment has us flipped over so I’m laying underneath him.

“Hi.” I breathe quietly, an ache between my legs.

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me you little tease.” He grumbles, leaning on his elbows either side of my head.

“What you gonna do about it?” I challenge, loving the gleam in his eyes.

Stiles chuckles softly, his eyes dancing with mischief as he leans closer, his breath brushing against my lips.

"Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you've started."

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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koiiiji · 1 year ago

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✧˖° — windbreaker men & their nasty, perverted habits

✧˖° — mdni, smut, description of not safe for work content.

✧˖° all characters aged up ° ˖ ✧

idk why app let me add only 10 pics, so pls sorry, i added mostly rare characters✌🏻🥹😭

HANDSY! vinny

who is always seeking for your attention and physical touches unintentionally. vinny isn’t a big fan of showing feelings on public but he would keep his hand when hugs you by the waist suspiciously close to your ass or boobs. when you two in private, be prepared for a lot of ass spanks and vinny’s nimble hands to be all over your body under the shirt.

SPYING! jay jo

filthy motherfucker who would rather die then admit that he want to fulfill some sexual tension. so he would do everything, but not initiate sex - spying on you while you in bath, or his favorite, when you taking shower and and he can watch how streams of water flow down your hair, down your back, going lower and lower, and clouds of steam create some kind of obstacle, not allowing to fully enjoy the view, but still leaving an intimate picture that he is watching as if mesmerized, from behind a half-closed door

WHINY! min u

min u sometimes moan as a joke when you in hangout together, for example when you slap him on a shoulder after another joke, or when he accidentally hits his hand on a table or corner in your presence. AND he is super vocal in bed, like super super… even if he is on top, his voice go wild sometimes, when he's already euphoric and you're both chasing your second or third orgasm.

DIRTY MINDER! noah

noah thinks about sex in general and sex with you almost 24/7. she not thinking about it only when training and cycling, even in her sleep she saw dreams about having sex few times. she thinks about poses you two can try, about how you would look like under her or on top, or how it would look like in the mirror reflection, or if you try handcuffs, or if…. it’s always on her mind. she likes to experiment, as long as you comfortable with this, but even if you not, she would try to talk about it and comfort you into her experiment.

HORNY! harry

here is a little bit different from noah. harry just wants to have himself inside you, make love with you, hold you, rearrange your insides, all kinds of words that describes fucking. he is not thinking about experiments or things he want to try, he just want to be inside you. especially, he likes after training or after race sex, when he is still full of adrenaline and came to you to relieve himself. it doesn’t matter to be rough and aggressive sex, no, he hates to give you pain. yes, sometimes he likes to be a little bit rough but mostly he stops himself unless you saying him opposite, so mostly it’s just such a passionate sessions of making out, preparing, sex, and after care when he’s already calmed down, rubbing your back and humming softly.

PANTY STEALER! hwangyon

pervert. even though you two in relationship don not wonder that you won’t find your underwear after sleepover at his place. and if on this weekend you decided to stay at your place, don’t wonder if you won’t find pair of thong in your closet, this nasty whore definitely woke up earlier and took pantie to his pocket. it is not necessary for him to do something with them, but hwangyeon will definitely wrap them around his dick and will jack off, so when he finishes he will took photo of your panties covered in his cum and send it to you. you will phone him right after receiving photo and yell for stealing your new pair.

BREEDER! sangho

sangho likes the idea of having wife and his own small family. just him, you and your swollen tummy where will his own child come from soon. (and no annoyingly loud siblings) he likes to be on top, in control, and the idea of impregnate you makes him feral. thought about your fertility, and that he is actually able to make you a child, makes him feel that strange sensation in his lower abdomen, as if a knot is being untied. of course firstly you two had a talk about it, and both probably agreed on having protection initially, but god damn, sangho always cumming harder after imaging you having his child.

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goodlucktai · 2 months ago

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raised on little light (2/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & oc big thank you to @soldrawss for the art included in this chapter and to @mykimouser for making me insane about neutral!michelangelo at all hours of the day title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

2031

Mikey is looking for his little brother. It seems like he spends half his life doing that these days.

The TV is on in Splinter’s room, door ajar but equally as unapproachable as the door to Donnie’s lab, which is shut tight, as usual. Raph’s door is standing open, but his room is empty, because he leaves early for work on the weekdays.

Mikey maneuvers past the closed doors and empty rooms like a professional. He doesn’t even have to think too hard about it anymore.

Rounding the corner to the dining room, Mikey’s stride slows and relief punches an exhale out of him. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he deflates like a balloon.

Gio is asleep at the table, face half-buried in his folded arms, crossbow and maintenance supplies spread out in front of him. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. He rarely stays in his own room, as if he’s afraid of taking up space that isn’t really his. As if they’re going to change their mind and tell him they do still need it for storage, actually, and he wants to be ready when they do. Mikey’s pretty sure he never fully unpacked his bag.

Sometimes he leaves the lair entirely, and since he’s the most unreliable texter Mikey knows, and has never met a phone call he would answer without a gun held to his head, he might as well fall completely off the grid each time he’s gone. Mikey stays up on those nights, keeping busy in the kitchen, worrying worrying worrying.

He feels too much like Raph when he doesn’t know where the kid is. He understands intimately how overbearing big brothers could be, remembers how a tiny rift had formed between him and Raph when they were young because of it—childish and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things to come, but devastating at the time.

So he tries to channel Leo instead, who had always trusted Mikey to know when to ask for help if he needed it. Tries to make sure Gio never feels like he can’t come home again, with a smile ready for him as soon as he slips silently back through the door.

But last night Gio must have stayed in. There’s a blanket draped over him that Mikey didn’t put there, and Splinter almost certainly hadn’t left his room to put there, which leaves two possible culprits. Raph and Donnie don’t know how to make gestures that Gio can see for what they are, hardly know how to be in the same room as the kid without seeing a ghost superimposed where he’s standing. It leaves a lot of the emotional heavy-lifting on Mikey’s shoulders, but it’s fine. A brother could never be a burden to him.

Mikey can’t give Gio everything he deserves to have, everything that should have been his from the very beginning, but he can give him some things.

And we’ll start, Mikey thinks with the kind of absurd resilience that wouldn’t have been out of place at the actual end of the world, with breakfast.

Gio wasn’t trained in ninja like the rest of them were but his senses are as sharp as any other turtle genetically modified for war. Mikey woke him up with a touch once and the fear response only lasted a handful of seconds but it was enough that Mikey made the executive decision that no one would ever do that again, or else.

Mikey pulls a chair out beside the smaller turtle and sinks into it soundlessly. He traces the newly-familiar white spots on that smoky gray-green face with his eyes, counting and recounting them, even though he knows how many there are. Everything about Gio is at once brand-new and well-loved to him.

After a moment, the only other sound the ancient Snoopy clock counting seconds in the kitchen, Mikey starts to hum. Three little birds sat on my window…

He can’t help remembering another morning just like this one, what feels like a lifetime ago. Mikey, all of thirteen, had insisted on being woken up to make breakfast so he could try a new crumble muffin recipe, but he’d stayed up too late the night before and sleep clung stubbornly to him despite the row of alarms he’d set. Their resident insomniac had been the only one awake, by virtue of not having gone to bed in the first place, and he’d parked himself in the beanbag under Mikey’s hammock and hummed the same song over and over until Mikey woke up. He had it stuck in his head for the rest of the day. They sang “GIRL PUT YOUR RECORDS ON” in the kitchen at the top of their lungs until Donnie sent the group chat a PDF of a noise complaint form, completely filled out.

Mikey hadn’t realized he was taking any of it for granted back then. He would do anything— anything—to wake up that way again. Just one more time.

Beside him, Gio stirs. Once he’s awake he’s alert fast, those big dark eyes sliding open and staying that way, head coming up off the pillow of his arms. He has that look on his face that Mikey would be tempted to call earnest on anyone else.

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” Mikey says brightly, reaching over to rub the back of his fingers against a spotted cheek affectionately. “I was craving breakfast empanadas today and was hoping my best sous chef would be willing to help me out.” Then, deliberately light-hearted, he adds, “Little turtles who skip dinner have to eat extra breakfast, you know. That’s house rule number one.”

Gio blinks at him, his face giving nothing away to the casual observer.

“I thought house rule number one was ‘always get it in writing’.”

Mikey’s smile widens, surprised and pleased every time he plays along.

“That’s number three, actually. Right behind ‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded and replayed at family functions.’ If you want, I can tell you exactly why that one’s a rule, and why it’s entirely Donnie’s fault.”

Gio does that thing where he assesses Mikey’s expression and tone as though he’s looking for the trap. Mikey weathers it, makes sure his smile doesn’t slip an inch.

Donatello is more of an urban legend to Gio than his actual living brother. After a few hesitant attempts to approach the older turtle that had been shut down completely each time, Gio made the informed decision that that road was closed permanently.

Sometimes Mikey will tell a story, or April, on one of her increasingly sporadic visits to the lair, will lean over and show him a video on her phone, and Gio will listen or watch like he has no idea who the guy they’re talking about could possibly be.

They do their best, but there’s no way to really introduce the Donnie that they know to Gio, because that Donnie only still exists in their stories and videos. The Donatello who was silly, who loved music and theater, who burst into the living room with some new invention or gadget to boast about, had been replaced by one who rarely spoke, who didn’t even have Spotify on his phone anymore since it took up too much space, who kept the lair running only because it was where his family lived but not because he had any lasting attachment to the place, and he certainly didn’t make any unnecessary tech just for fun.

I know you’re still in there, Mikey thinks sometimes.

He’ll bring Donnie lunch and leave it on the table in the lab, and then hold out his arms. Sometimes, Donnie won’t look at him. Sometimes, Donnie will put his tools down and let his little brother crowd in for a hug. He’ll tuck Mikey under his chin and hold him tight, like they were children again and nothing was wrong that couldn’t be made right.

Thank you for staying, Mikey will think, clinging for every second he’s allowed to. I know it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

The grief is always encroaching, like floodwaters. Rising slow and steady, swallowing up cars and street signs and single level houses, changing the landscape of his hometown until it’s an unfamiliar place. No end in sight. No sign of land.

Someone send us a boat, Mikey wants to cry hysterically. But he knows how stupid that is.

He is the boat.

—

When he met Giorgio for the first time, Mikey was twenty-five and Leo had been dead for ten years.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. His fingers felt numb around the phone. “Could you say that again?”

“A turtle,” Hueso had replied shortly. “I would not have called, but he has familiar eyes. He is not aware of any family in the area. Would you like me to ask him to wait for you?”

Mikey hadn’t tried his portals again since the last disastrous time—since Raph had made him promise to stop—so he knew it couldn’t be Leo. He knew it. Hueso would be able to pick his sobrino out of a million turtles and would have led the call with that. And Leo wouldn’t have stopped for pizza before running back to them, he wouldn’t have stopped for anything. Leo would have been the one to let them know Leo was home.

Still, there was a tiny warbling hope in the bottom of his heart that wailed “maybe, maybe, maybe.” Still, it hurt to feel that hope shrivel up and die when Mikey slammed into the private dining room and found Hueso talking to an unfamiliar mutant with white spots and a black shell and—it was undeniable—Hamato Yoshi’s eyes.

The turtle was small, dressed in dark grays and greens, a strap across his chest that made it clear he was armed by something resting out of sight on his back. He stood with his arms crossed, in a manner that was probably supposed to read as stubborn or defiant, but Mikey clocked instantly as nervous.

This kid didn’t know what he was doing here or who the hell Mikey was and he looked about as comfortable with all the attention as Donnie would have been at that age.

Mikey felt himself soften, some distant part of his heart sitting in disuse and disrepair lurching to life again. Ancestral magic that he had largely turned his back on suddenly stirred, ninpo reaching out fragile feelers toward the person in the room that it recognized as immediately as if it was looking at its own self in a mirror.

“This is one of my creations,” Draxum announced, confirming what Mikey’s heart had already decided. “It must have survived after all.”

“Elaborate,” Mikey said, in a tone that didn’t match the gentle smile he had for the spotted turtle.

“How old are you?” the alchemist had asked instead, which seemed an odd first question to have and didn’t explain literally anything.

“Eighteen,” the spotted turtle replied. Mikey’s brow made a bid for his hairline. He would have been less surprised if the kid had said fifteen. Was he that scrawny as an eighteen year old?

“You hatched at about the same time as the red one,” Draxum said dispassionately, “so you should have been about his age, and he is twenty-seven. And how did you come to be here?”

Gio’s eyes slid away from him, over to Mikey. Mikey didn’t know what his face was doing. He hoped it was encouraging.

“I went through a yellow door,” Gio said. “And I ended up here.”

“By yellow door, I’m assuming you mean a rift in space-time,” Draxum said. “What possessed you to walk into it?”

“Felt safe,” Gio said, and that was the last thing he said about it, expression closing up in a way Mikey was intimately familiar with as I’m done talking and liable to bite if provoked. But Draxum was a lot of things, genius among them, and seemed to already have an idea of what had happened.

Portals could be capricious. The night of Splinter’s mutation and escape from the Hidden City, a machine in Draxum’s original lab had gone haywire as the structure collapsed. Draxum watched as it snatched up various tools and equipment and finally one of the experiment enclosures that Splinter had not been able to reach in time to save its occupant with the four he already carried.

With the machine destroyed, it was impossible to even begin tracking the experiment down to wherever it had ended up. And there were unfortunately small odds that the creature would have survived long on its own wherever the portal deposited it. Draxum had written it off as dead.

But there he was. Ten years displaced, but living and healthy and whole. Apparently he’d been in another dimension all this time, and only came back again because a portal he encountered had looked inviting.

—

And now he’s in Mikey’s kitchen, listening studiously to his brother’s chatter and following instructions with exacting precision, still wearing the ridiculously oversized red sweater Mikey bundled him into the day before. It made Raph’s face do something funny when he saw Gio in it at lunch, but he hadn’t said anything when he saw Mikey hauling it out of the dryer earlier that morning, and he didn’t say anything at the table either.

Over the years and countless wash cycles it’s been worn to unbelievable softness. It used to be that Raph couldn’t keep it in his closet if he tried, caught as it was in a constant rotation between little siblings who loved to wear it, floppy sleeves and sagging hem and all. It’s almost strange to see it again, here under the kitchen lights in this new country they all live in.

Stealing clothes was a baby brother right of passage. And it was just collecting dust in storage anyway.

Gio sees Mikey looking and glances down self-consciously. Then he jolts, and drops the ball of dough in his hands, lifting and twisting his left arm to put it more in the light. Near the elbow of the sleeve is a smudge of flour.

He thumbs at the spot, preoccupied by it. His body language is shrinking because he always makes himself a smaller target when he starts to get anxious.

One day, Mikey is going to find whoever taught him to do that and have words. For now, he rounds the island to Gio’s side and leans against it so he can duck down and peer into that little spotted face. He makes sure to plant his own elbow in the flour dusted across the butcher block counter, sending up a little poof of it as he does.

“Hey, sweet kid, don’t worry about this old thing. It’s already been through everything you can possibly think of,” Mikey reassures, tweaking the hood playfully. “It survived the Paintball War of 2017, it’ll hold up to a little baking accident.”

Gio’s dark eyes lift to meet his, attentive and absorbing everything he sees and so, so careful.

“Raphael won’t get mad?”

Mikey keeps smiling, even though he’d like to start crying.

Of course he won’t, he wants to say. He’s your big brother and he loves you. He’d move heaven and earth for you. He doesn’t know how to say it these days—he doesn’t trust himself to hold people the way he used to, doesn’t know who he is anymore since the shield he used to be was broken—but he’s still Raph. Our Raphie. I promise, it’s still him.

Gio had never been lifted up into strong arms and tossed in the air until he laughed, caught safely and held tight like those arms would never get tired of holding him. He had never crawled under the blankets in a room humming and blinking with electronics after a nightmare, resting his head on a broad shoulder and falling asleep to a low voice rattling off his favorite explanation of gravity—a force that held everything down, pulled everything together, that could always be counted upon to keep you. He had never snuck out for brunch, just him and someone who saw him more clearly than he could ever see himself, who knew when a stack of French toast and a string of Snapchat selfies and a little mischief was exactly what he needed.

Gio had never had any of that. He had been alone since he was freshly mutated and abandoned by pure chance, and now he was barely nineteen and he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t have the first clue, but he was so willing to learn. He soaked up attention like a plant starved for sunlight, petals reaching endlessly for an end to the dark.

I wish you had been there, Mikey thinks sometimes when he looks at him, heart breaking with the truth of it. We would have held you. You wouldn’t even know how to be alone. You wouldn’t be worried about a stain on a sweater.

“He won’t get mad,” Mikey says instead. He channels his most charming brother, the one who could sell water to a fish, who could talk his way out of anything, who convinced his family to keep hoping even when all hope seemed lost. “And hey, if he brings it up, we’ll just blame the cat.”

The corner of Gio’s mouth twitches, and then he smiles despite himself, as buoyed along as Mikey always was when Leo was silly with him, and says, “We don’t have a cat.”

“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to get one!”

At that point, a burst of white noise from the living room cuts over whatever Gio might have been about to say. It sounds like the roar of wind from an open window of a car going seventy down the highway. It cuts off, and then something clatters noisily, and Gio’s reluctantly amused expression vanishes into alarm.

They don’t exactly get a lot of surprise visitors down here. He wouldn’t recognize the familiar sound of transportation-by-time-scepter, followed by the even more familiar sound of its clumsy wielder tripping and knocking something over immediately upon arrival.

“Oops—helloooo?”

“In here, Renet,” Mikey calls back, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s so he knows not to worry.

The timestress bumbles in, scepter tucked into the crook of her arm so she has both hands free to fix her braids. She’s smiling all big and crooked and sweet, mouth open to greet Mikey the same enthusiastic way she always greets him, but she stops dead in the doorway when she catches sight of the second turtle in the room.

Renet takes one look at Gio and says, “Oh! Well, you don’t belong here at all, do you?”

It’s been a long time since Mikey has felt like screaming at her, but the way his little brother absorbs that blow without flinching is enough to get him on his feet.

“Hey, Nettie, can we talk in the hall?” he says with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “Georgie, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gio dips his head in a nod, slowly rolling dough in his hands again, and Renet follows Mikey out of the room like someone who knows they’re about to face the firing squad.

“I did not mean it like that,” is the first thing she says when it’s just the two of them. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mikey does know that somewhere in the back of his mind. Renet is his friend and she’s never been anything but kind to him. If they had met when they were children, they probably would have gotten along like a house on fire.

There was a time when he only saw the best in people, but the idealism had been carved out of Mikey when his portal to the prison dimension failed to open.

Some days, Mikey looks at Renet and can only see the person with time itself at her disposal, the past and future spread out like a choose-your-own-adventure book—the person with the power to help, to change things, who took Mikey’s countless, desperate pleas to be allowed to save his brother and held them tenderly like they were important to her and still told him no.

Some days, that “no” is the most significant thing she ever said to him.

“He’s my brother,” Mikey says. “He belongs wherever we are.”

“Of course he does,” Renet says, brown eyes soft. “Mike, of course he does. That’s not what I meant.”

When they move back into the kitchen, introductions are made properly, and Renet makes it a point to clarify that she’s glad to finally meet him.

Giorgio is watching them with those eyes that take in everything. Deep and trusting when he looks at Mikey, sharpening into something calculative when he shifts his gaze toward Renet.

Looking back, Mikey will recognize it as the moment he lost him.

“Smells pretty good in here, boys!” Renet says, swanning over to the stovetop. “Oh, is that chorizo? Mike, tell me you’re not making empanadas! I already ate on my way over!”

“Then you won’t need to stay for breakfast,” Mikey sing-songs, feathers still ruffled. Then, because he feels bad for the way she deflates at the blatant dismissal, adds, “If you want to stick around, you can take some back with you to Null Time. Just don’t let that jerk Savanti have any, I don’t like his vibe.” “I swear,” Renet says, hand to her heart.

“You talk about time travel like it’s something you can do,” Gio says suddenly. “Is it?”

The air in the room suddenly feels much thinner than before. Renet looks at Mikey quickly before answering.

“Sure, Gio. I’m a timestress—or, you know, I’m a student now. Basically an unpaid intern. But one of these days I’ll be the real deal.” She winks at him, and Gio gazes back at her placidly.

“So you could send someone back in time? To stop something bad from happening?”

Oh, no, Mikey thinks.

“I could,” Renet says. To her credit, she doesn’t sound as bone-tired of this conversation as she must be. “But I can’t. There are so many rules, and for good reason! One little slip-up could be an absolute disaster. It won’t do you any good trying to change the past if you end up destroying the present and the future while you’re at it, right? I’m barely allowed to look at this thing, much less use it,” Renet goes on, wagging the priceless time scepter around like it’s a rubber spatula.

“But you could,” Gio says. “If we followed all the rules. If we figured out a way—”

“Georgie,” Mikey interjects.

“I’ll tell you what I told Mike, baby,” Renet says gently. “It can’t be done. He belongs here.”

Gio says, “But I don’t. You said that.”

“Stop,” Mikey says, not recognizing his own voice.

But it’s too late. It was too late when he tried to open a door inside the prison dimension, because Leo was already dead inside.

He was already dead inside, Draxum had said, clinical in a way that helped to distance himself from the hurt, but also distanced himself from the ones hurting, clinical in a way that made Mikey bare his teeth and say things he couldn’t take back. That’s why you couldn’t reach him. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t a point for you to anchor off of, there was no other end for your line to reach. He was already dead inside. He was already gone.

Mikey stares at Gio, the tuck of his chin as he looks back down at the dough on the counter. He’s unwilling to argue with Mikey, but that stubbornness is an innate family trait. There’s no way he’ll give it up now that he’s got his teeth sunk into the idea. Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.

When he was younger, he was so angry. He was bursting with potential, with possibilities, his magic a wounded, snarling creature in his heart. It’s not fair that he failed. It’s not fair that he didn’t save his brother, that his love wasn’t enough to punch through the prison dimension and wrap Leo in warmth and light and bring him home. It’s not fair that no one was willing to help him.

Fine, he had thought, fine! I’ll do it myself!

Renet had explained to him over and over that his power had more to do with space than time. Casey Jr. said that he’d been sent back in time by his Uncle Michelangelo, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Casey’s arrival in the past had created another universe, parallel to the former. That was Mikey’s power—he could affect and even create other timelines, which was powerful and amazing, but not true time travel. Nothing he did could change his own reality, the one he was living in, because he had already lived it. He couldn’t get back what he had lost.

Mikey plunged ahead anyway, desperate. He could make it work. He could make a change. Even if it didn’t change anything here, he could find another world and save its Leo and—and maybe that could be a start. Maybe he would finally get his head up above water, and stop drowning for just one second of the day, maybe he’d be able to take a full breath for the first time since his brother disappeared on the other side of a closed door.

He didn’t wait for permission or approval. He slunk off into a tunnel a mile away from home and drew the circles himself. Lifted his hands and filled them with power, until it felt like he was holding the sun. And it hurt, of course it did. It burned all the way through. But he was hurting anyway.

A portal opened, a pale yellow window. Mikey looked through it, and saw himself on Staten Island, ripping open a hole in the universe and saving his brother.

What?

He looked again, over and over, at least half a dozen times—and every time, he looked into a universe where Leo didn’t die. Where Mikey saved him, or Raph scooped him up before he went diving off the Technodrome to catch Mikey and Donnie, or Donnie flew back up to Leo with a rocket and yanked him back through the door before Casey managed to close it. Over and over and over, Leo didn’t die.

So it’s just me, Mikey realized. I’m the one who got it wrong.

Raph followed the detonation of ninpo and hysterical screaming through the maze-like tunnels and found him suspended in midair. Rock and rebar were flying around Mikey, everything not nailed to the earth turned dangerous projectiles, his arms burning and flaking away into pieces that disintegrated when they met open air.

His big brother’s expression had been terrified as he pulled Mikey down into his arms and held him through the shrieking storm he’d made. One hand on the back of his head to keep his face tucked safely into Raph’s scarred shoulder, the other arm cradling him like he was half his age, like he was still someone’s baby.

“Angie, it’s okay,” Raph had said, low and aching. His voice was a rumble beneath Mikey’s ear, barely audible but just loud enough. “It’s okay. You can scream, you can bring the whole damn city down if you want. But you gotta let go, sunshine. Let go, Mikey.”

I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to! Mikey wailed, clutching at Raph’s jacket with hands that felt like two white-hot points of pure agony, clinging, holding on. If he let go, Leo stayed gone. If he let go, he really didn’t love Leo enough to save him.

But Raph pressed his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and his next breath shuddered in his chest, and he whispered, “I know you don’t want to, I know. But this isn’t gonna save him. You’re just hurting yourself and L—Leo would hate that. He’d tell you to stop.” One hand crept over to cover both of Mikey’s, squeezing them tight. “Come on, big man. It’s okay. Let go.”

He let go. The magic faded, dropping everything it had picked up back to the tunnel floor with dull thuds. His hands spasmed wildly, grip nonexistent, and Raph just kept holding them as he carried Mikey home.

Mikey sobbed for the rest of the night, what felt like hours and hours. Raph reverted to turtle sounds when nothing he said seemed to get through, and Donnie crept under the blanket and plastered himself to Mikey’s carapace so that they had “A little citrus sandwich!” Leo would cheer, the silliest and sweetest turtle in the world until Mikey finally cracked a smile.

His family made him promise not to try again. It’s not worth it, they said, a unified front—and as much as the words hurt Mikey to hear, it must have hurt his siblings and father just as much to say them. We can’t lose anyone else, they were ready to beg, because they didn’t know it was his fault Leo was gone. They didn’t understand how badly he’d failed them all. If they did, they wouldn’t have been so grimly determined to protect Mikey’s life from his own hands.

It felt like a betrayal at the time, but he understands now.

It’s not worth it, he thinks, staring at Gio. I can’t lose anyone else, he’s ready to beg.

But Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.

What he doesn’t know is how to love someone well enough to keep them.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #hamato michelangelo #rottmnt oc #my writing #tmnt fic #the archer au #hamato giorgio

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n0ahsebastians · 2 months ago

Text

mayday, one, two, your touch is atomic...

18+ below the cut, there is HEAVY smut in this! please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable! this is a fic about real people but NOT about things they would do persay, it's all fiction!!!! please enjoy otherwise!!!!

(this is the fic i said i was gonna post last night but i got home hella late from work BAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA here it is though!!!!)

She’s lying on her stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow below her as he presses kisses across her skin. His breath’s warm, raising goosebumps across her upper arms and her legs. She’s bare, so is he. He’d barely made it in the door before he was lifting her up from the couch and carrying her to their bedroom. He took his time with her, laying her down on the bed, kissing her slowly. His fingers tugged at the hem of her t-shirt before lifting it up over her head.

“Lift up,” he says softly against her lips. She smiled before pulling away to allow him to toss her shirt onto the floor somewhere. She was already out of her daytime clothes and of course wasn’t wearing a bra. She laid back on the bed, her breasts on full display, watching the way his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“You’re so sexy,” he nearly growls, lifting his own shirt over his head, baring his tattooed torso before her. He leans over her, his lips pressing to her, his tongue parting her lips to brush against her own. Her fingers tangle in his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently at the strands. He moans softly when she lifts her leg and her knee brushes against his center. She smiles against his lips, tugging at his bottom one with her teeth.

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” she whispers and he doesn’t hesitate another second. He undresses quickly, tossing his sweats, boxers, and socks to the floor. She reaches out for him and he leans down to press his lips to her left thigh, moving up to her hip bone, before tugging at her underwear with his teeth. He pulls them down with his mouth in one swift motion, her legs lifting up so he can pull them down the rest of the way. They’re tossed to their bedroom floor with the rest of their clothing.

“Wanna taste you, baby,” he presses a kiss to the crease between her center and her thigh, causing her leg to hitch when he nips at the flesh there.

“Yeah.” She can barely speak let alone form a single thought, not while his mouth’s on her like this.

He chuckles at her; she can barely say a single word and it makes this that much more thrilling to him. His mouth trails down her thighs, spreading her legs and placing them over his shoulders. She’s soaking between her legs and he wants to absolutely devour her.

“Baby,” he says, squeezing her knee to get her attention.

“Mhmm.”

“Look at me.”

She opens her eyes, lowers them to look down at this godsend of a man that’s between her legs, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth again, resting her hand on his cheek. He kisses the palm of her hand, then the inside of her thigh again before pressing his mouth to her. She gasps, instinctively pressing her hips against his face and tugging at his hair. She feels his tongue inside of her, licking and pressing into her folds, these sinful sounds that make her head swim. He sucks his lips at her and she throws her head back against the mattress, digging her heels into his back, pressing her hips even closer to his mouth.

“That’s it, there’s my girl. Taste so fucking good baby.”

His breath is hot against her, his voice vibrating against her causing her breathing to pick up and her hips to move faster.

“Fuck Noah…please…”

“Feels good?”

“Yes, so…so good.” She was so close; they could both feel it. Noah moans against her, breathing gently.

“Come for me baby, come on my tongue.”

She does, she comes hard against his mouth and he mouths at her through her release. He rubs circles into her thigh with his thumb, coaxing her down from her first high of the night. Her breath comes in pants as she drops her legs from his shoulders, his lips pressing to her inner thigh again. She drags her fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers against her skin. She chuckles, watching the way his chin glistens with her arousal. She runs her thumb over his lips, watching the way his eyes flutter closed, watching the way the dim lamp from their bedside reflects off his tattooed skin, her cleaner skin contrasting against him, the way there’s a thin layer of sweat covering their bodies.

She loves them like this, loves the way he makes her feel. Even when they’re not fucking or making love. These little intimate moments between them are ones that she’ll always cherish, ones that she’ll always love. She loves him so much, so much that it hurts sometimes.

Her thumb pushes past his lips and she chuckles gently when he flicks his tongue over the pad of her fingertip. She sees a glimmer in his eye and her heart rate quickens; she knows what he’s thinking.

“Can we try something?” he asks her, releasing her thumb from his lips. He crawls up her body, resting their foreheads together. She nods before answering.

“Yeah.” She’s not sure what he has in mind but she knows it’ll be so good, because that’s what they’re best at.

“Turn over for me,” he says, gently tapping her hip. She hesitates for a moment but turns over onto her stomach.

Now they’re here. Her on her stomach, him above her. She’s nervous, he can tell by how tense she is.

“Just relax, baby. I got you.”

They’ve never done it this way before, it had never really occurred to them to try it. He’d thought about it before of course, so had she. But they had never really gone through with it.

But now…now it seemed like the perfect time. And she was more than ready for it.

His knee parts her legs from above her, a hum falling from her lips. Her hips gently rock against the mattress, trying to release some sort of friction between her thighs. He watches the way her body begins to relax into the sheets as he lowers himself to kiss her skin, across her shoulder blades, the backs of her arms, over her lower back. He ghosts his lips, leaving goosebumps in his wake, over the freckles littering the expanse of her back, inhaling her scent in the process. She smells so good, like vanilla and sex, and it clouds his senses. She smiles into the pillow below her, letting his breath and lips overtake her.

“You okay?” he asks her, his lips meeting the slope between her ass and her lower back, his favorite part of her besides her thighs.

“Yes,” she says quietly. He hovers over her again, nudging her cheek with his nose and pressing his lips there. She turns her head just slightly to press their lips together gently and he sighs against her mouth, suddenly lowering his hands to her hips, lifting her so she’s on her knees. A small gasp leaves her lips before she leans back against him, his blunt nails digging into her skin, kneading the flesh in his hands. Her mouth falls open against his when he pulls her hips back gently to press himself against her backside.

“Can I fuck you like this?” he breathes into her mouth, one of his hands reaching up to cup her breast in his hand.

“Uh huh,” she moans, her own mouth falling open against his, their tongues pressing together. She sighs when his other hand descends where she needs him the most and her eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his fingers suddenly entering her. He nearly comes just from watching her fall apart underneath him for the second time. He circles his fingers inside of her and her head falls back against his shoulder again.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he nips at her throat gently. She still feels sensitive from her first orgasm but she knows that she’ll be able to do it again; Noah is well aware she’ll be able to come again.

She can barely form a single coherent thought; she’s being all consumed by him. His body’s pressed against her back, his fingers are moving inside of her, his breath on her neck and in her mouth. She feels light headed and his other hand that was covering her breast comes up to wrap around her throat gently. She moans, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as he fucks her slow with his fingers.

“Fucking Christ, I wish you could see how good you look right now. How sexy you are. Tell me how it feels, love.”

She can’t even speak, let alone form a single syllable. It does feel so fucking good, but she can’t even tell him. She just bucks her hips forward to meet his hand.

“Words, baby girl. Use your words.”

“So…good…”

He chuckles before spreading her legs again, making sure she’s okay, asking her once, twice, and she turns her head again to kiss him slowly.

“Noah…I’m fine, okay?”

“I just…need to make sure,” he says sweetly, rubbing their noses together. He kisses her again, keeping their lips together as he sinks into her from behind. They both gasp and the sound she makes after that mixed with his own is sinful and he nearly comes right then. They’ve never done it like this before, it feels fucking amazing.

“Oh fuck…”

“Noah…” She pushes back against him to try and relieve the ache between her legs but he removes his fingers from her and squeezes her hip gently to stop her from moving.

“I know, baby, I know.”

He keeps his other hand around her throat still, barely putting pressure against her skin. He squeezes her hip again before rocking his hips forward, pulling her closer to him, his hand moving to rest on her lower stomach.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good like this,” he breathes into her neck, his nose nudging at her chin. Her head falls against his shoulder again and her hand lifts to tangle in his hair. The slow drag of his cock inside of her makes her head spin; he can feel every fucking inch of her, more than usual, and it makes his mouth go dry as he fucks her faster, harder. She moans the dirtiest moan he’s ever heard from her and he drags his hand from her throat to her lips, pushing his fingers against her mouth.

“Open your mouth,” he breathes. She gasps as his fingers press into her mouth, dragging against her tongue, his hips snapping against hers, the sensation driving him absolutely insane.

“Noah..unhh…”

“Fucking hell, baby. So…good,” he moans when her tongue curls around his fingers and she begins to suck on them. His eyes flutter closed as he watches her tongue drag against the pad of his fingers, watches the way her legs begin to shake, quivering against his own. She’s so close, he can feel it.

“Oh…oh baby, are you coming again?”

Her breathing speeds up and he squeezes her throat gently, dragging his fingers from her mouth to press against her entrance again.

“Noah…oh fuck, right there…, right there…”

“Right there?” He snaps his hips again in that one spot that has her fucking screaming his name. He never wants this to end, he wants to feel her like this for the rest of his life, wants to be consumed by her for the rest of his life.

“I want…you…to come inside me,” she whispers between breaths, tugging at his hair again and bringing his face around to kiss him again.

“Yeah? Want it inside?” His hips begin to slow down, dragging the length of his cock in and out of her to let this feeling last a few more minutes. She hums at the feeling, gasping as she comes around him seconds later. One hand squeezes her hip, the other squeezing her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his own hips stuttering against her as he finishes inside of her moments later. He moans into her mouth, snapping his hips one last time to feel himself dragging inside of her this way, one more time.

“Fuuuuck I love you…” He wraps his arms around her waist, taking her down to the mattress with him, his cock beginning to soften inside of her as they both catch their breath. He pulls out of her slowly and she turns in his grasp, smiling sleepily at him. She wraps her legs around his own, dragging her toes across his tattooed calf. He presses their lips together, a low hum passing between them for her.

“I love you,” she finally says, petting her fingers through his sweaty hair. He scrunches his nose at her.

“That was probably…the best sex we’ve had…”

“Ever?”

“Mmm…maybe not ever, but close. Very close,” he chuckles, dragging his fingers over the skin of her thigh, drawing circles there. She runs her thumb over his cheekbone, down to his lips and his eyes flutter closed. A quiet tone begins to settle over their bedroom, the low hum of the heater from the vents and the sounds of passing cars outside are all they can hear as they settle into one another finally. He absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down her thighs and over her hip without stopping his movements and she suddenly notices that something’s wrong.

“You okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Noah…”

He sighs. Dude she knows, come on now.

“Just…wish you could come with us, that's all.” He means the tour that’s starting in a couple days; they’re going to be gone for almost a month in Europe and even though she’s used to it by now, the band being gone for long periods of time, she knew that he was more worried about it, about leaving her again.

“Noah, I’m gonna be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Yeah but…last time…”

“Noah, look at me.” She cups his cheek in her hand, running her thumb over his lips before kissing him slowly. He pulls her closer to him by her hip, squeezing the skin. She’s warm, she smells so good, and it’s consuming him once again.

“I’m gonna be fine,” she says against his lips, resting their foreheads together, “I promise if something goes wrong I will call Matt or Bryan immediately.”

“Or Jolly?”

She smiles and kisses him again. “Or Jolly.”

He takes a deep breath, kisses her one more time, before pulling the blanket up over their naked bodies, encasing them in their little bubble.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, kissing her forehead, sleep overtaking them both.

“I love you the most.”

questions? comments? concerns? 🫣

#noah sebastian #bad omens #fanfic #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah x reader #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noah x original character #bad omens band

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