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Series summary: Stuck in a life you don’t want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and that’s how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.
Tw: violence, death, fighting, drowning
Series masterlist
It started with the attack.
Later, when you would look back and try to understand where everything began to shift, where the first cracks in what you thought you knew about Noah had formed, your mind would always return to that day, to the moment the horizon changed and something unfamiliar appeared where there should have been nothing but open sea.
At first it looked like every other morning, the sky was clear, the wind steady enough to keep the sails full without straining them, and the Specter moved smoothly across the water.
You had been on deck, not doing much of anything, just leaning lightly against the railing and letting the sun warm your skin.
It was one of the crew who spotted it first.
“Ship!” someone called from above.
It wasn’t alarmed. At least not yet.
A few heads turned, including yours, your gaze lifting toward the horizon where a shape had started to form, small at first, just a darker line against the bright stretch of water.
Noah was already moving before anyone said anything else.
He stepped out from where he had been standing near the helm, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked out in the same direction, one hand resting on his hip.
“Can you tell who they are?” Davis called up.
The man above shifted slightly, adjusting his position for a better view.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Still too far.”
There was no immediate tension, since pirates ships crossed paths all the time, some ignored each other and some traded.
You straightened slightly, watching as the shape on the horizon grew clearer with each passing minute, the outline of masts and sails slowly taking form.
Noah didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed, calculating.
“Toward us?” Ruffilo asked.
A pause.
“…Yeah.”
That was when something shifted.
“They could just be passing,” someone offered.
“They’re not just passing,” Noah said calmly, but there was no doubt in his voice.
By now, the other ship was close enough to make out more detail, the sails darker, the movement more direct, cutting across the water in a straight line that left very little room for interpretation.
“Recognize the flag?” Davis asked.
Another pause from above.
“…No flag.”
A few quiet curses followed that, ans you glanced at Noah. His posture had changed, subtly but unmistakably.
“Alright,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to reach everyone nearby. “Stay ready, but don’t start anything.”
The crew moved, hands drifting closer to weapons, positions adjusting slightly across the deck.
The other ship kept coming.
Closer ans closer.
“Still think they’re friendly?” Folio muttered under his breath.
No one answered.
The distance between the two ships closed faster now, the sound of water shifting louder as their paths aligned, the size of the approaching vessel becoming impossible to ignore.
It was bigger, heavier and not slowing down.
“Noah—” Davis started.
“I see it.”
The first cannon fired before anyone could say anything else.
The sound split through the air, sharp and deafening, followed almost immediately by the impact.
The Specter lurched violently as the cannonball struck, wood splintering somewhere along the side with a crack that echoed through the ship.
Everything changed at once.
“Positions!” Noah snapped, his voice cutting through the noise.
Another shot followed, the force of it rattling through the deck beneath your feet.
Men were moving, shouting over each other, grabbing weapons, adjusting sails, preparing for impact and for the fight.
“They’re not slowing—!”
“I know!”
The ships collided moments later.
Wood slammed against wood with a brutal force that sent a jolt through your entire body, the sound was heavy and crushing as the two vessels scraped against each other.
The men on the other ship flooded over the side of the Specter like a wave and it was impossible to notice that they outnumbered you.
They were brutal, swinging without precision, shouting, crashing into the deck with weapons already raised.
Chaos exploded around you a moment later, steel clashed, voices rose and pounded against wood.
Someone shouted in pain.
You stepped back instinctively, your heart jumping into your throat as everything around you blurred.
Noah was already fighting. Of course he was.
You caught a glimpse of him cutting through one of them, his movements sharp and efficient, nothing wasted, his focus absolute even as everything fell apart around him and blood splashed on the deck.
“Stay back!” someone yelled near you.
Another man went down a few feet away, the sound of it sharp and loud. You were too scared to look if it was one of Noah's crew or someone else.
Noah’s voice cut through the sounds.
“Go to your cabin!”
You turned toward him.
Another man rushed him and he moved again, faster this time, his attention already pulled away.
“Stay there,” he added over his shoulder. “And don’t come out until this is over.”
And then he was gone again, swallowed back into the fight.
You knew what you were supposed to do, go below deck like the last time, stay out of the way, and be safe.
But your feet didn’t move yet.
Maybe the months at sea had gotten to your head.
Maybe you had always been stubborn, reckless, a little too quick to act before thinking things through.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that, in the middle of all that chaos, you saw one of them coming toward you.
He wasn’t far, but far enough that you hadn’t noticed him before, too focused on everything else happening at once. He turned in your direction, eyes locking onto you for a moment.
You stepped back instinctively. Once, then wice.
Your breath came a little faster now, your pulse loud in your ears as the noise around you seemed to dull for a fraction of a second.
He started walking toward you.
You moved back again, faster this time, your shoulders hitting something solid behind you before you even realized how far you had gone.
It was the crates.
Stacked unevenly against the side of the deck, where you had no more space.
Your hand brushed against the wood as you steadied yourself, your gaze flicking quickly to the side, searching, thinking...
And then you saw the sword you had been using to train, lying forgotten where it had been left after the last practice.
For a second, you hesitated, then you grabbed it.
The weight settled into your hand instantly, familiar. Your fingers tightened around the hilt, your stance shifting almost without thought, muscle memory taking over.
The man was closer now. And when he raised his weapon, you didn’t even think. You just moved.
You turned just as he reached you, your arm coming up fast in a sharp and instinctive motion. And the blade went through him.
There was resistance.
Then not.
The force of it jolted up your arm as the sword pierced through his body, the impact closer, more real than anything you had ever imagined.
Warmth followed. Blood splashed across your hand and the wood beneath your feet.
The man’s expression shifted, shock overtaking whatever intention had been there a second before. His body jerked once, then stilled, his weight faltering as the strength left him all at once.
You let go. Or maybe your grip loosened without you meaning to.
The sword slipped free as he collapsed, hitting the deck with a dull, heavy sound.
And the noise, the shouting and the chaos around you came rushing back at once.
Your breath caught sharply in your throat, your chest rising too fast now.
You stared at him for a moment, at what you had just done.
It had been self-defense, it had been necessary, he would have killed you otherwise.
Then, suddenly, you felt a gaze on you and you looked up.
Noah stood a short distance away, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his hair disheveled, strands sticking to his forehead, his shirt marked with sweat and blood that wasn’t his.
He had stopped, looking at you.
There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place all at once.
He looked surprised, and concerned, too, maybe about your safety and what was about to happen during that fight. But something in his expression, that ghost of a smirk behind his lips, almost made you think he was proud, too.
And that was when the next cannon fired.
The sound was deafening, closer this time, the impact almost immediate as something slammed hard into the side of the Specter with a violent crack that tore through wood and structure alike.
The entire ship lurched. And not like before, but worse. Far worse.
You lost your footing for a second, your shoulder slamming against one of the crates behind you as the deck tilted beneath your feet, a sharp, unnatural angle that sent loose objects sliding violently across the wood.
Water burst through the side of the ship.
Cold, relentless seawater pouring in through shattered planks, flooding the lower parts of the deck almost instantly, rushing around boots and bodies, dragging debris with it.
Shouts turned sharper.
“We’re taking water!”
“No shit!”
“Plug it!”
“We can’t—!”
Another cannon. Another impact.
The Specter groaned.
You felt it beneath your feet, through your bones, that deep, splintering sound of something too large, too solid, beginning to give in under pressure it couldn’t withstand.
The tilt worsened.
Your balance shifted with it, your body instinctively trying to compensate as the world angled sideways, the horizon no longer where it should have been.
Men were slipping now. Falling.
Grabbing onto ropes, onto each other, onto anything that would keep them from being thrown across the deck or dragged toward the flooding side.
“Get off the deck!”
“Abandon!”
“Captain?”
You turned instinctively at the sound of the word, your eyes searching through the chaos. He was still on his feet, though barely steady now, his gaze snapping toward the damage, toward the water flooding in, calculating.
Your eyes met again for half a second.
Another crack split through the air.
Louder. And then, everything gave.
The ship shifted.
A violent, impossible motion as the balance tipped past the point of recovery, the weight of water, of damage, of impact dragging it sideways.
The world dropped out from under you.
You didn’t even have time to react properly before your feet lost the deck entirely, your body thrown violently to the side as everything started to collapse.
The ocean hit you like a wall.
A cold and brutal wall.
It knocked the breath from your lungs instantly as you plunged beneath the surface, the impact disorienting, your body dragged deeper by the force of it, by the weight of everything collapsing around you.
For a second, you didn’t know which way was up. There was only water, and pessure and darkness shifting around you.
Something brushed past you, a piece of wood, maybe a rope, and you twisted instinctively, your limbs moving on reflex, fighting your way upward.
Your lungs burned. You pushed harder.
And then you broke the surface with a sharp gasp, coughing immediately as water filled your mouth, your chest heaving as you struggled to stay afloat.
Everything around you was chaos. You saw pieces of the Specter scattered across the water, broken planks, barrels, fragments of sails drifting and sinking, men shouting, some swimming. The other ship loomed nearby, still intact.
Your heart pounded as you turned, disoriented, searching for something, and then you saw land.
Not far.
A stretch of coastline, closer than you would have expected, close enough that hope hit you almost painfully.
You could make it. You all could...
“Hey!”
You turned sharply at the voice.
Noah.
He was pushing through the water toward you, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt soaked and clinging to him, his breathing heavy.
Relief hit you instantly.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough, urgent as he reached you.
“Yes,” you managed, still catching your breath. “Yes, I—”
Something creaked above you. Both of you looked up at the same time.
A large piece of debris, part of a mast, maybe, or a broken section of the deck, was falling.
“Noah—”
He didn’t hesitate.
His hand grabbed your arm, hard, pulling you closer before pushing you down with him, forcing both of you under the surface just as the debris crashed into the water above.
The impact sent a shockwave through the ocean, the force of it pushing you deeper again, disorienting and violent.
You barely had time to register it before something else hit.
But not you.
Him.
You felt it more than saw it, the sudden shift in his grip, the tension in his hand faltering for just a second.
Your eyes snapped toward him underwater, your vision blurred by movement and salt.
Something had struck him.
His body jerked slightly, the strength in his hold weakening, his expression tightening just before it went unfocused.
You grabbed him immediately, your hand catching onto his shirt, pulling him closer as you kicked upward, forcing both of you back toward the surface.
You broke through again, gasping, dragging him with you.
“Noah!”
He didn’t answer.
His head tilted slightly, his body heavier now, less responsive, his weight dragging against you as you tried to keep both of you afloat.
“Hey, hey, stay with me.”
There was another crack above. You didn’t even have time to look.
More was falling down.
Your grip tightened on him, your body trying to move, to react, to do something... but there was nowhere to go.
Nowhere fast enough.
The shadow hit the water.
And everything went black.
Consciousness didn’t return all at once.
You heard a dull, distant sound first, waves, maybe, breaking against the shore in a slow rhythm. Then the feeling of something rough beneath you, grains pressing into your skin, shifting slightly every time you moved without realizing it.
It was sand.
Your lungs burned. That was the first clear thing you registered.
And then you were coughing. A sharp, violent, uncontrollable cough shook your body as water forced its way up your throat, your chest tightening painfully with each breath you tried to take, each inhale shallow and unsteady.
You rolled slightly onto your side, one hand digging into the sand as you coughed again, your vision blurred, your head spinning.
You dragged air in greedily, even though it hurt, even though your throat felt raw and your chest ached like it had been crushed.
It took a few long moments before the coughing eased, before your breathing slowed enough for you to actually think.
You stayed there for a second longer, your body heavy, your limbs slow, before pushing yourself up slightly, your arms trembling under your weight.
Everything felt… wrong and distant.
You blinked, squinting against the light as your gaze finally lifted.
All you could see was an endless stretch of sand. Golden, uneven and disturbed only by the marks left behind by the tide.
Beyond that, further inland, you saw a line of dense greenery, trees, wild and untamed, their leaves shifting slightly in the breeze.
You looked down at yourself, your clothes damp but not soaked, your skin no longer dripping with seawater.
You had been here for a while.
Slowly, you started to remember everything, the attack, the cannon fire, the ship, the water, Noah.
Noah.
You pushed yourself up fully now, ignoring the way your body protested, your muscles weak and unsteady as you rose to your feet, your gaze snapping back toward the shoreline as if he might just be there, as if you had somehow missed him.
He had reached you. You remembered that.
He had found you in the water, asked if you were okay, his voice rough, his hand steady on your arm, and he had pulled you down.
Protected you.
He could have stayed where he was. He could have focused on himself, on surviving, on getting to shore or whatever he thought the best idea was.
But he hadn’t.
He had chosen you.
And the last thing you remembered was that he wasn’t moving.
You turned, scanning the shoreline again, more frantic this time, your heart beginning to pound harder with each passing second.
There had to be others.
You started walking.
Fast at first, then faster, your steps uneven in the sand as you moved along the beach, your eyes searching desperately, your breath still unsteady but pushing through it anyway.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice hoarse.
No answer.
“Anyone?!”
You heard only the sound of the waves as an answer.
You kept going, further down the shoreline, your pace quickening despite the way your body ached, your legs threatening to give out with every step.
And then you saw a shape.
Further ahead, partially turned toward the shore, unmoving against the sand.
You didn’t even think, you just ran.
Your feet stumbled slightly as you pushed forward, your heart pounding violently in your chest, louder than the ocean, louder than your own thoughts.
You recognized him immediately.
White shirt, dark hair, disheveled, now longer than months ago, falling messily around his head.
You dropped to your knees beside Noah as soon as you reached him, the impact barely registering as your hands immediately reached for him, turning him onto his back.
“Noah...”
His face was pale. His lips slightly parted, his expression slack.
There was a faint mark along the side of his head, just near his temple, where something must have hit him, the skin darkened and bruised.
His chest wasn't moving.
“No.”
Your hands immediately moved, one pressing lightly against his shoulder, shaking him.
“Noah—hey—hey, wake up.”
Nothing.
“Come on...”
You shook him again, harder this time, panic rising quickly now.
“Noah, c'mon....”
Nothing.
Not even a flinch.
Your hands trembled as they moved, pressing against his chest, as if you could feel something there, anything.
Bit everything was too still.
Your vision blurred.
“No, no, no—”
He couldn’t be.
He couldn’t.
Not like this.
Not after everything.
Not after...
Your thoughts spiraled. You moved without thinking.
Your hands pressed against his chest.
“Come on—”
You pushed. Hard.
His body shifted slightly under the force, but nothing else happened.
“Breathe,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”
You pushed again.
And again.
Your hands pressed down repeatedly.
“You don’t get to—”
Another push.
“You don’t get to die—”
Again.
“Do you hear me?!”
Again.
Your hands didn’t stop. They couldn’t.
Not when everything inside you was screaming that if you did, if you even hesitated for a second, you would lose him.
“Come on.” you choked out, your voice breaking under the strain, your arms already aching from the force of each push. “Please.”
Another press.
Another.
And then, finally, he jerked.
It was small. Barely anything. But you felt it.
Your hands froze for a split second, your heart lurching violently in your chest, and then he coughed.
A harsh, ragged sound that tore through the silence, his body convulsing slightly as water forced its way out of his lungs, his chest finally rising under your hands.
“Oh my God.” You breathed.
He coughed again, his head turning slightly to the side as he spat out water, his breathing uneven, strained, but there.
He was alive.
Relief crashed into you so hard it almost made you dizzy.
You moved immediately, your hands shifting from his chest to his shoulders, helping him turn slightly onto his side, supporting him as his body struggled to catch up, each breath rough, each cough shaking through him.
“It’s okay, hey... slow, slow.” you murmured, your voice still trembling, your hand instinctively coming up to steady him, to keep him from collapsing back into the sand.
He tried to push himself up, but his strength wasn’t there yet, his movements weak and uncoordinated.
“I’ve got you,” you said, sliding one arm behind his back, lifting him just enough to help him sit up, his weight heavier as he leaned into you without resistance.
He coughed again, water spilling from his lips and dripping down his chin, his breathing still uneven as he tried to steady it, his chest rising and falling too fast.
Your hand moved to his back, rubbing gently.
“Easy… just breathe.”
His own hand moved. Weakly at first, like he wasn’t entirely aware of it, like it was instinct more than anything else.
His fingers brushed against your side. Then slid further, around you, until his hand found the fabric of your shirt at your back, gripping it loosely, like he needed something solid to hold onto.
His arm wrapped around you in a half-formed, unsteady embrace. You didn’t even notice at first.
You were too focused on him breathing, on the fact that he was still here, still alive, still with you.
He leaned into you slightly, his forehead almost brushing your shoulder as another cough shook through him, weaker now, fading.
“It’s okay,” you repeated softly, your hand still moving along his back, slower now, calmer. “You’re okay.”
Gradually, his breathing began to even out.
The tension in his body eased little by little, the grip on your shirt loosening slightly as the immediate urgency passed, though his arm didn’t fully fall away.
He stayed close, leaning.
After a moment, his head dipped forward, his chin dropping slightly as exhaustion seemed to hit him all at once, his body finally giving in to it now that it didn’t have to fight just to breathe.
You shifted instinctively, your arms adjusting around him, pulling him just a little closer without thinking, your hand pressing lightly against his back as his forehead came to rest briefly against your chest.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something you thought about. It just… happened.
And for a second, you held him there.
Your heart still racing, your breath still uneven, but your grip sweet, protective.
After a moment, he stirred slightly, his breath deeper now, slower, before he lifted his head again, pulling back just enough to look at you.
His eyes were open.
Still a little unfocused and tired.
“…We alive.” he rasped finally, his voice rough from the water, barely above a whisper.
You let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We are.”
Another pause.
His grip on your shirt loosened a little more now, though his hand didn’t fully pull away, like some part of him still needed the contact.
“…Crew?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just woke up. I didn’t see anyone else yet.”
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“You?” he asked instead, more quietly this time, his voice losing what little edge it had left. “You okay?”
“…Yeah. I think so.”
He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to make sure and he didn’t entirely trust the answer.
Then he nodded, once.
“…Good. Let's go find the others.”
He moved. It was slow at first, his muscles stiff and unsteady as he tried to push himself up from where he had been leaning into you.
“Alright…” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.
You moved with him immediately, your hand coming to his arm, helping him up as he rose to his feet. He swayed slightly once he was upright, his balance not fully back yet, but he caught himself before it became anything more.
You both started waking. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, the sand uneven beneath your boots, marked by debris dragged in by the tide. You spotted pieces of wood, broken planks, fragments of rope, parts of crates split open with their contents scattered and ruined all around you.
The remains of the Specter were all around you.
You passed by a section of railing you both recognized, half-buried in the sand, and something in Noah’s expression shifted for just a second, his gaze lingering a fraction too long before he forced himself to look away.
“…Fuck,” he muttered quietly.
You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything to say. That was his home, and he had lost it.
You kept walking.
“Hey!”
The voice came from ahead, cutting through the sound of the waves.
You both turned immediately.
Two figures were moving toward you from further down the shoreline, one slightly ahead of the other.
And when you realized it was Jolly and Michael, relief hit instantly.
You quickened your pace, Noah doing the same despite the way his steps still weren’t entirely steady.
“Hey—!” you called back.
They reached you a moment later, both of them looking just as worn as you felt, clothes damp and dirty, hair disheveled, sand clinging to everything.
“You two okay?” Michael asked immediately, his gaze flicking between you and Noah.
“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “Yeah. You?”
Jolly let out a short breath, running a hand through his hair. “Still breathing.”
“That’s something,” Noah said.
Michael nodded, glancing briefly behind him. “We’ve been looking around. Haven’t found everyone yet other than you.”
“Same,” you said.
There was a brief pause. Jolly’s gaze shifted toward the shoreline, toward the scattered debris, then back to Noah.
“…The Specter’s gone,” he said.
It wasn’t said lightly, and there was obviously some weight behind it.
Noah didn’t respond immediately.
His gaze followed Jolly’s for a second, landing again on the broken remains scattered across the sand, what little was left of something that had carried all of them for so long.
“…Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I figured.”
Another pause.
Jolly shifted slightly. “I thought it could...”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Noah cut in. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “…She’s gone.”
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly before settling again.
“…Fuck,” he added under his breath, softer this time.
You glanced at him, but he was already looking away again, already moving past it the only way he knew how.
“We’ll deal with it later,” he said, more to all of you now. “First we find the others.”
Jolly nodded. “Yeah.”
So you moved again. The four of you walked along the shoreline, spreading out slightly, calling out names every so often.
And slowly, you started finding them. One by one.
A figure further ahead, sitting against a rock, injured but conscious. Another walking along the waterline, limping but alive. And each time, the same exchange.
“You okay?” “Yeah.” “Anyone else?” “Not yet.”
They weren’t all unharmed, some had cuts, bruises, a few deeper injuries, but they were alive.
At some point, without really noticing when it happened, the group had grown.
Five. Seven. Ten.
Familiar faces, exhausted but standing.
Until eventually, Noah slowed.
His gaze moved over the group, counting without saying it out loud.
“Nick is missing,” he said, “And Folio too.”
Before anyone could say anything else, you heard a voice.
“Hey!”
The voice came from further inland this time.
All of you turned.
Folio was running toward you.
Or… trying to. His pace was uneven, his breathing heavy, his hair a mess, his shirt partially torn and clinging to him, like he had been running for a while.
“Folio—” you started.
He reached you moments later, slowing abruptly, bending slightly forward with his hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
Folio nodded quickly, still breathing hard. “Yeah...yeah, I’m—”
He straightened, looking between all of you.
“There’s...something...” he started, his voice uneven.
Noah’s expression sharpened instantly. “What?”
Folio swallowed, running a hand through his hair again.
“I was with Nicholas,” he said. “When we got thrown off... we didn’t land here. We ended up… further down. Other side of the island.”
A few of you exchanged glances.
“There’s a port,” he continued quickly. “People, life. And guards.”
That made Noah’s posture shift completely.
“…Guards?” he repeated.
Folio nodded. “Yeah. We didn’t have weapons. We didn’t even have time to—”
“What happened?” Noah cut in, more urgently now.
Folio exhaled.
“They saw us,” he said. “We tried to keep moving, just get past them, but—” he shook his head. “They surrounded us. Asked questions. Who we were, where we came from.”
“And?” Noah pressed.
“I think they already knew who we were. They looked at us and understood we are pirates.”
“What about Nicholas?” someone asked from behind you.
“I managed to get out,” Folio said, “One of them got distracted, I ran.”
“And Nicholas?” Noah repeated.
Folio hesitated. “They took him. I'm so sorry.”
“Fuck.” Noah murmured.
“They had him on the ground,” Folio added, his gaze dropping briefly before lifting again. “He wasn’t fighting. We couldn’t. They were too many.”
Noah just stood there for a moment, thinking. His eyes moved past the shoreline, past the trees, lifting toward the higher ground further inland, and you followed his gaze.
There, beyond the stretch of green, the land rose slightly into hills. And on those hills, you could make out shapes of structures, rooftops, stone walls catching the light of the sun.
And above all of it, there was a building.
It was large, different from the rest, of pale stone, tall towers rising above everything else, unmistakable even from that distance.
Probably a court, or an important castle.
Noah went still for a second and his expression changed like he realized something.
He closed his eyes for just a second, then he exhaled quietly and opened them again.
“They were royal guards.” He said. “We’re in Erdling. And that“ he pointed to the large castle, “—is the king’s court.”
“So… they took Nicholas there?” Someone asked.
Noah nodded once. “To the dungeons,” he said. “They keep all the prisoners there.”
“What are the orders, captain?” Jolly asked.
“I’m going,” Noah said.
Jolly blinked. “Wait...what?”
“I’m going to get him,” Noah repeated, already stepping forward slightly like the decision had been made and nothing could have changed it.
Michael let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re not serious.”
Noah didn’t even look at him. “I absolutely am.”
“That’s not—” Michael ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the others. “That’s not possible.”
“You’re talking about breaking into a royal prison,” someone else added. “That’s not a raid, that’s suicide.”
Folio nodded quickly. “There were guards everywhere. And if those were just the ones at the port...”
“I know,” Noah snapped.
Silence followed.
“Noah… you know the code.” Jolly continued.
“Don’t,” Noah said quietly.
Jolly didn’t stop. “If one of us gets taken—”
“I said don’t.”
“—we leave them,” Jolly finished anyway. “That’s how it works. That’s how we survive.”
“Then I guess I’m a terrible pirate. Because I’m not leaving my brother there.”
Some of the crew shifted slightly. Others just went still.
Michael shook his head. “That doesn’t change the fact that we can’t just walk into a king’s prison and walk out.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Noah said.
Jolly frowned. “Then what are you—”
“I’m going alone.”
That made everything worse.
“Noah—” you started, but he didn’t look at you yet.
“You won’t make it,” Folio said, more quietly now.
“Maybe not.”
“You won’t,” Michael insisted. “That’s not a maybe.”
“I’m still going.”
“You’re the captain,” Jolly said, “You don’t get to just throw yourself away like that.”
Noah stepped closer.
“And you don’t get to tell me what I do. Because I'm the captain.”
For a second, it looked like neither of them would back down. Then Noah exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, forcing himself to pull it back under control.
“Listen to me. We don’t have a ship anymore,” he said, shifting the focus. “We don’t have supplies. We’re scattered and half-dead on a beach.”
No one argued that.
“So here’s what we do.”
Now his voice was fully captain again.
“You search the wreckage. Everything that washed up. Food, weapons and anything usable.”
He looked at each of them in turn.
“You rest a bit. You recover enough to move. Then you go to the port.”
Michael frowned. “Noah—”
“And you take a ship. You think you can do that?” Noah finished.
Jolly nodded, even if there was hesitation behind it. “…Alright.”
Noah continued. “You find a map. Any map. And you head west.”
“West?” Folio repeated.
“First land you can reach,” Noah said. “Doesn’t matter where. You wait there.”
“And you’re not coming with us.”
“No.”
“And if you don’t make it?” Michael asked bluntly.
Noah didn’t hesitate.
“Then you stop waiting.”
Silence.
“If I do,” he added, “I’ll come back with him. Wait as long as you deem appropriate, if I do not return, continue your journey to Saint Marlowe.”
Jolly exhaled slowly, nodding once, even if it was reluctant. “Alright.”
Noah’s gaze moved over all of them one last time.
“And until I’m back… you’re in charge,” he said, looking at Jolly.
Jolly blinked. “Me?”
“Yes.”
Jolly nodded slowly. “…Got it.”
And just like that, everything was set. Even if no one liked it. Even if no one believed it would work.
You could almost hear all their thoughts, mirroring yours.
Because how could he possibly do it?
Break into a king’s prison?
Get Nicholas out?
Make it back alive?
You had done something similar once. But that had been different, way smaller.
This felt like walking straight into death. Noah looked at all of you one last time.
Then he gave a small nod, and then he turned and without another word, he started walking away from the shore.
For a moment, no one moved. The wind shifted softly along the shoreline, and you stood there, watching Noah’s back as he walked away without looking back even once.
Jolly was the first to break.
“…Alright,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face before turning away. “You heard him. Move.”
And just like that, the crew scattered.
Some headed back toward the waterline, scanning for anything useful among the debris. Others moved inland slightly, searching for crates, supplies, anything that hadn’t been completely ruined by salt and impact.
You thought about what you had lost.
You didn't have much but the gold you kept in your jacket was gone now, (and now you only had a thin chain around your neck that you hoped would be useful), with the few clothes you had, the diary you kept and... the shell Noah had given you. It was almost weird that losing that shell made you more sad than losing the gold. It had been a stupid gift from Noah, and for some reason... it mattered more to you than it should have.
Your eyes were still fixed on him.
He was already further away now, his figure cutting a steady path across the sand toward the other side of the island.
You shook your head with a sigh. Because if Noah was stubborn... you were worse.
You moved.
“Hey...where are you going?” someone called behind you, but you didn’t answer.
Your pace quickened. “Noah!”
He didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t.
“Noah!”
That time, he slowed.
Just slightly.
You closed the distance quickly, your steps uneven but determined until you finally reached him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop.
He turned sharply.
“What are you doing?” he snapped immediately, “I told you to stay with—”
“You lost your mind.” The words came out before you could stop them.
He stared at you for a second, caught off guard by the interruption. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you shot back, “You’re insane.”
He sighed. “Go back.”
“No.”
“I’m not arguing with you—”
“Good, because I’m not asking for your permission or anything.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you, like he was reassessing the situation.
“…You can't come with me,” he said.
“And you can't walk into a king’s prison alone.”
“Go back,” he repeated.
“You’re going to break into a royal prison,” you said. “Alone. With no weapons, no plan, no idea what you’re walking into–”
“I have an idea.”
“You still can't do it alone. This is too dangerous.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t understand exactly what this is? I know it better than you. Than any of you.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because it’s him. I’m not leaving him there,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t care what the code says. I don’t care what the odds are.”
“I know,” you said.
And you did.
That was the problem.
You knew Noah was doing all of this, was planning this weird suicide mission in his head, because he had a heart, and it was telling him to try to save his friend.
You took a small step closer.
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be going alone.”
His expression shifted again, frustration flickering back in.
“You’re not coming.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, “This isn’t your fight.”
You stared at him.
“…You almost died.”
That wasn’t what he expected.
You saw it in the way he blinked, just slightly.
“You weren’t breathing. You weren’t moving. You were just—” you cut yourself off, “You almost died.”
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t look away.
“And I... I hated the feeling. When I thought you... were dead. So I wanna help. If I can. And I know I'm not completely useless so please, Noah, let me help.”
You were rambling at this point and you weren’t even sure what you were saying was making completely sense, but you hoped Noah would understand.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything and he just stood there, looking at you, like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t expected to hear.
The wind moved between you, lifting a few strands of his hair across his forehead.
“…You’re rambling,” he said finally.
It wasn’t harsh. If anything, it sounded quieter than before.
You let out a small, frustrated breath, dragging a hand through your own hair.
“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. “I just—” you shook your head slightly. “You get what I mean.”
“I do.”
There was another short pause and you weren’t even sure what you were actually talking about.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he said. “None of this was supposed to be your problem.”
You frowned slightly, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Well, I am in this. I have been in this since I decided to join you,” you said. “And right now ‘this’ includes you trying to get yourself killed.”
“I’m not trying to get killed.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He shot you a look. “This isn’t like before,” he continued. “What you did for me—” he shook his head slightly, “—that was different. Smaller. This is…” he exhaled through his nose. “This is a king’s prison.”
“I know.”
“You need to understand that–”
“You need to understand that I'm going with you and nothing will change my mind.”
You weren't even entirely sure why you were doing it, when you could just be safe with the others. But you were doing it. Because for some reason, the thought of letting Noah go was unbearable.
“…If you come,” he said, his voice measured now, “you do exactly what I say.”
You straightened slightly. “That depends—”
“It’s not a negotiation.”
You held his gaze for a second, then nodded once. “…Fine.”
“If I tell you to run, you run.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“You run,” he repeated, firmer now.
A pause. You didn’t like that. At all.
But you understood why he was saying it.
“…Fine,” you said again, quieter this time.
He watched you for a moment, like he was trying to decide if you actually meant it.
“You stay close.”
“I can do that.”
“You don’t try anything reckless.”
You raised an eyebrow slightly. “Define reckless.”
He gave you a look, “You.”
That almost made you smile. “Said the pirate.”
Another breath left him, like something in him was finally… giving in.
“…Alright,” he said.
You blinked, “What?”
He met your eyes again, “…Alright. You’re coming.”
For a second, you just stared at him. Like you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.
“Wait...really?”
“Don’t make me regret it,” he said immediately.
A small breath escaped you, with a little smile, even if nothing was actually funny at the moment.
“I won’t.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “we’ll see about that.”
But he didn’t take it back.
He turned slightly again, adjusting his direction toward the trees.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could hear the sound of your footsteps shifting through the sand, then onto firmer ground as you reached the edge of the trees.
The shade swallowed you both almost immediately, the light dimming, the air cooler beneath the canopy.
Your thoughts refused to stay quiet.
Your words, your rambling, echoed back at you. Because you felt like you had said too much, admitted something you didn't even want to admit to yourself yet.
You wondered if he had noticed, if he had understood, if he thought anything of it at all.
You glanced at him briefly.
He was walking beside you, focused, like nothing had changed, like your words hadn’t lingered.
Maybe they hadn’t.
Or maybe he just wasn’t saying anything.
You looked away again, exhaling quietly.
The path narrowed, forcing you a little closer together. Your shoulders brushed, but neither of you moved away.
Ahead, through the thinning trees, the city began to take shape. You could see, still far away but noticeable now, pale stone and tall walls.
“…I don’t know which one of us is more insane.”
His voice broke the silence, quiet.
You glanced at him, but didn’t answer, because honestly, you had no idea what to say anymore. Everything you were feeling and doing felt insane.
So you just kept walking beside him, step by step, toward the city.
Really having the biggest fomo of my live rn watching rock am ring especially with linkin park yesterday and the clips i already saw from bomens at rock im park
sum friends of mine are there if they are not going to watch the bois and provide me with content we gonna have a real personal problem
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cw: 18 + 𝖒𝖉𝖓𝖎. ruffilo’s sister!reader, slow burn, first kiss, fluff, a little hurt/comfort, kissing, yearning, mention of cheating, light grinding.
wc: 4.2k
an: this has been in my drafts for so long that i just needed to get it out 🫣 inspired by an anon who suggested a ruffilo sister!reader, who always hooks up with noah whenever they’re in town, and this is essentially the ‘start’ to that idea. may expand on said hookups in the future for now pls enjoy a little slow burn thing <3
You’ll always remember the first time you saw Noah. When your eyes landed on this lanky, scrappy looking guy with the cutest face and a smile to match, overbite prominent, even when he talked.
He’s hanging out with your brother, Nicholas, the first time you meet him. The two of them are playing their guitars when you poke your head into Nick’s room, ignoring the big ‘knock before entering’ sign. That’s for your parents, not annoying younger siblings, though the two of you barely fight. The moment you peek inside, the playing stops. Noah is the one who looks up first, his expression somewhere between curiosity and amusement before the corner of his mouth quirks upward.
You ignore the fact that Nick has already called over to you, distracted by the obvious—a cute boy in your house.
“Hey! Was there something you needed?” Nick asks. He doesn’t sound mad, maybe just a little irritated you’ve ignored him, but at least he hasn’t thrown a pillow at you this time.
You shake your head, snapping out of your daydream, certain there’d be cartoon birds and hearts around your head if you dared to stare any longer.
“Oh, yeah. Mom says dinner’s ready, and there’s even some for your little friend.”
“Noah,” he cuts in, introducing himself. You lift your hand from where it clings to the doorframe and give him a small wave.
“Meet my pain in the ass sister,” Nick says.
You stick your tongue out in defiance. “I’m not a pain in the ass,” you huff.
Nick chuckles, but it’s Noah who pipes up, setting his guitar down.
“That’s what a pain in the ass would say.”
“Whatever.” You roll your eyes and push away from the door, heading off toward the bathroom to wash up for dinner, and admittedly to change into a shirt that feels less teenager and more desirable, not that it’s going to make any difference.
At dinner, you learn Noah is the same age as you, and that he’s into music just as much as Nick is—if not more, by mentioning that he’s in a band. You ooh and ahh, twirling your hair around your finger in a way that, when you look back years later, will make you cringe, but Noah just laughs and smiles at you.
During the meal, you notice him fidgeting like he’s nervous, and you briefly consider offering a comforting hand. Friendly, sure, but maybe too forward for someone you’ve just met. Instead, you give him an encouraging smile before leaning forward to look past him at Nick.
“Nicky, can we play Smash Bros after this?”
“You have Smash Bros?” Noah asks, eyebrows raised.
“Oh yeah! We can all play after dinner.”
“As long as you both clean up,” your mom cuts in. You and Nick agree with reluctant grumbles.
After dinner, the two of you help clear the table, Noah offering to help, too, before all three of you run upstairs to Nick’s room, where he sets up the game. You lose every round, spending most of the time button mashing, but you’re highly entertained watching the two of them play, especially Noah. You quietly admire him, your heart fluttering each time he glances your way and invites you to play another round.
It becomes routine, something the three of you fall into almost every time Noah comes over, which is nearly every day after school. Until one day, you just stop showing up.
“Where’s your sister?” Noah asks, glancing at the empty spot in Nick’s room where you usually sit waiting for your turn, sneaking looks at him when you think he’s not paying attention.
It’s been a few weeks now since Noah’s seen you at home, not that he’s been counting—almost five.
“I dunno.” Nick shrugs, eyes locked on the screen, fingers tapping over the buttons as he follows his character. “Out with that Jake guy, I think.”
Noah tries not to react, but there’s a faint grind of teeth, a flicker of indignation. He knows about you dating some preppy guy from school—blonde, muscular, on the football team. The complete opposite of him. Not someone he would’ve ever pictured you with.
He couldn’t help the pang of jealousy the first time he saw you talking to Jake. At first, he assumed it was just a quick conversation, maybe you were sending him on his way, only to now find out you’ve been spending nearly all your free time with Jake instead of here, with him and Nick.
That pang only sharpens later that night when he logs onto MySpace. Clicking over to your profile, he finds he’s been bumped from his spot in your top four, relegated to the second row, replaced.
The weeks you spend dating Jake feel long and agonizing. Noah sees you less and less outside of school, and even inside, it’s usually only in passing—in the hallways, or occasionally at lunch. His own habit of ditching to hang out with Nick at the tattoo shop downtown doesn’t help.
There are still the occasional texts exchanged, but nothing more, and all the while, Noah feels like he’s watching you from a distance, pining for something he’s starting to believe will never be his.
“You should come,” Nick insists, glancing over from his little work station while Noah flips through the latest Kerrang! magazine.
“What? To your sister’s party? You really think she’s gonna want either of us there?”
“Technically she only wants me because I can buy the alcohol. And she’d want you there because, well—you’re her friend.”
Something about that word doesn’t sit right with Noah. It never felt like you and he were just friends. Maybe briefly, but now it feels less like that and more like he’s just some guy nursing an unrequited crush. Being around you only opens the door for heartbreak.
If Nick has ever suspected anything, he’s never said so, never tried to warn him off when it came to you. Honestly, Noah doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Is she still with that dude?” he asks, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.
“Jake?” Nick glances up before continuing. “I think so. I know he’s coming.”
There’s a pause. Noah weighs the idea of going, eyes narrowing at the magazine in his hands. His brows are drawn together in a distinct furrow, but Nick only casts him a quick look before turning back to his work.
“C’mon, dude. It’s her nineteenth. It’s only gonna happen once.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Noah rubs the back of his neck with a slight huff, then nods. “Fine. But if it gets too dull, I’m going home.”
“Whatever you say.” Nick lifts his hands in mock surrender, but Noah swears he sees the unmistakable twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth.
The party is exactly as expected: most of your friends, a couple of Nick’s friends who you know by extension, and then there’s Noah.
The sight of him both surprises and pleases you the moment you step off the bottom stair just as he’s coming through the door, the height difference between you more noticeable than ever.
“Hi…” Your features soften, and Noah greets you with a warm smile and an open arm for a hug. You step into it without thinking, wrapping your arms around his lean frame, tucking yourself close. It’s been far too long since you last saw him, and you can’t help nuzzling into his chest, especially when his chin dips against the top of your head and he murmurs, low and fond, “There she is. The birthday girl.”
The words make your stomach flutter with butterflies, and there’s a twinge of guilt, because in all the time you’ve been with Jake, you’ve never felt that. In fact, you’d only agreed to a date with Jake all those months ago in hopes of forgetting Noah, but instead, you’ve only found yourself longing for him more. No matter how much distance you’ve tried to put between you, he’s still there in your mind.
“It’s been too long,” he says, pulling back to look down at you. “I’d accuse you of purposely hiding from me if I didn’t know any better.”
You laugh, but there’s a faint quiver in it, nerves maybe, because his words are too close to the truth.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“So I hear. A boyfriend, huh?”
If he’s hurt, nothing in his face gives it away. Maybe, deep down, you’d been hoping he would be, hoping for some sign that he likes you as much as you like him.
“Yeah…”
“How’s it going?”
“Good.” You nod, though not convincingly. It’s not easy dating the guy who’s considered to be pretty and popular, especially with the kind of attention he gets from other girls.
Suddenly there’s a loud crash from somewhere behind you, followed by cheers. You roll your eyes with a huff.
“Will you excuse me?”
You brush past him, quietly thankful for the excuse to escape the guaranteed awkwardness of this conversation, and silently praying that nothing important just got broken.
“How’d that go?” Nick’s voice comes from behind him, and Noah turns with a shrug.
“Good. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because it’s felt like you’ve both been avoiding each other for months now.” Nick raises a brow, almost conspiratorially, and whatever idea he’s got in his head, he might not be entirely wrong.
“It’s nothing.” Noah shakes his head. Nick just sighs before offering him a beer.
“If anyone asks—”
“No idea where these came from.”
They share a brief, amused grin before Noah takes a swig and slips off into the small crowd, finding somewhere to settle and falls into conversation with some of Nick’s other friends who came over for the festivities.
“What are you doing out here all on your own?” Noah asks when he spots you sitting on the bench swing at the back of the empty garden.
He’s stepped out for some fresh air, the music from inside the house still booming but growing distant as he approaches. He catches the quick brush of your hand against your cheek before taking a seat beside you with a quiet sigh.
“Let me guess—‘It’s your party and you’ll cry if you want to’?” His tone is teasing, earning a halfhearted laugh from you.
“Idiot,” you mumble under your breath.
He leans in, giving you a light nudge. “Why are you out here alone and crying?”
You freeze at the last word, exhaling slowly before answering. “Because this is the worst possible birthday.”
“Why?” It comes out quicker than he means, but he’s not trying to pry, he just cares.
Through muffled sobs, he catches the words Jake and some girl up in your room. Noah’s jaw tightens, teeth grinding, blood boiling at the thought of what he could, and would happily, do if he got his hands on him. His arm slips around you, pulling you against him in comfort. You fall into him easily, hiding your face against his shirt as the emotion rolls over you, another wave of tears following.
You never expected things with Jake to be serious, not really, but it still hurts to find him kissing another girl. In your room of all places.
“He never deserved you.” Noah’s voice is soft, but there’s no hiding the truth in it. You’ve always deserved better than some preppy asshole.
You don’t disagree or argue; you just nuzzle closer, his arm tightening as he holds you.
“It’s not midnight yet,” he murmurs. “Your birthday still isn’t over. We can still turn it around.”
“Oh yeah?” You sniffle, lifting your head slightly to look at him as you wipe your eyes. “And how do you plan to do that?”
Instead of answering, Noah reaches out, taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, and tilting your head back just enough to lean down and kiss you. It’s soft and tentative at first, barely a brush, before you slowly melt into it, returning it just as delicately, your hand coming up to cup his cheek.
Your chest bursts with emotion, tears welling again, but this time, they’re not from sadness. They’re from happiness. From relief. From finally having an answer to the question you’ve always carried.
Noah more than likes you back.
Nothing more happens that night between you and Noah. In fact, nothing more has happened since. Still, you’ve been spending more time together, hanging out with him and especially his bandmates now that he and Nick have fully formed something solid.
It’s nice, getting to watch them practice in the backroom of some venue that lets them rehearse as long as they clean up afterward. Right now, they’re preparing for an upcoming tour. They’re only the opening act, and it’s a Warped Tour style setup, but you couldn’t be prouder—not just of Nick, but of Noah, remembering that first night, dinner with your family, when he talked about his dreams. Now you’re watching him live them.
While everyone else is clearing up, Noah approaches where you’re sitting at the side of the room. “So, are you going to come watch us play?” Noah asks, leaning back against one of the large equipment cases.
“Didn’t I just?” you tease.
He leans in, nudging you playfully. “You know what I mean.”
Nothing might have happened between you that night, but it doesn’t change the flirting that has started, subtle but undeniable. There’s a whole new undertone to your friendship.
“I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you can’t come. But why not just one show?” He gives you the most hopeful look, puppy eyes and all, rocking side to side. He’s been trying for weeks to convince you to join them on the tour. Even Nick has agreed, and your parents have no issue, yet you’re still digging your heels in. Maybe because you know what’ll happen if you go, and the last thing you want is to feel like some unintentional groupie.
“Maybe if you did a show here. Besides, you’ll meet some hot girl on the road and forget all about me.” You brush it off lightly, but his expression shifts, a flicker of genuine hurt crossing his face.
“You really think I’d forget about you like that?” he asks.
He doesn’t deny the pretty girl part, but the way he says those words makes you believe him.
Before either of you can get too caught up in the conversation, Folio—their new official drummer, calls Noah over. Having him around is like having a puppy twenty four seven: younger than all of you, full of relentless energy, but when that energy transfers to the drums, it’s incredible.
Watching Noah fills you with pride, it’s like seeing someone find not only their passion, but their people. Finding a place where he finally belongs.
In Noah’s room, you fall back onto the bed with a soft thud, sprawled across it as Noah drops down beside you. His head turns toward you, and his leg stretches out to gently nudge your side.
“Don’t even try it,” you murmur from beneath the arm draped over your face.
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” he teases, reaching a hand toward you. You can hear the grin in his voice without even looking at him.
“Mhm.” You hum before moving your arm behind your head, glancing over at him. “You’re not going to try and convince me one more time to join you in the back of a minivan with, what, four other dudes?”
“Five,” he corrects.
You roll your eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking with a small grin. “I think I’ll be better at home.”
“Well, I’ll miss you then.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“Barely.” He scoffs and shuffles closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looks at you. For a moment, you linger in silence, gazes locked. You feel the faint brush of his fingers along your side, dipping where the fabric of your shirt rides up.
“Do you ever think about it?” Noah asks at last.
Somehow, you don’t need him to clarify. You have. You do. You find yourself coming back to it more often than you’d like to admit.
You bite down on the corner of your lip and turn your head away, gaze dropping. “Sometimes…” you confess softly.
“All the time,” he breathes.
You turn back, meeting his eyes again just as he leans in. His lips brush yours, soft, just as they had been the first time but when your hand grips the front of his shirt, you’re the one who deepens it, pressing yourself closer. His hand slides down to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs between kisses.
“I don’t,” you breathe, chasing his lips once more.
You roll fully onto your back, pulling him with you. The bed creaks beneath you both, his knee sliding up between your thighs, first to part them, then pressing firmly against your jeans. The kiss turns more heated, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and your hips grind down against his thigh. Your hands tangle in his shoulder length hair, grazing his scalp, tugging, a moan spilling out with your desperate rutting.
It’s been years. You’ve had another boyfriend since that first kiss, but nothing sets you alight the way Noah does. He’s been all you’ve thought about, all you’ve craved.
Little do you know, he’s wanted the same, finding you in his thoughts far more often than he’d ever admit.
From downstairs comes the slam of the front door, echoing through the quiet house, followed by the call of, “Noah!”
You’re no longer alone in the sanctuary of his home. Your brother has returned, his sudden arrival causing you and Noah to quickly part, scattering like teenagers expecting to be caught by their parents.
From beyond the bedroom walls, you hear the creak of the stairs and heavy footsteps as Nick takes them two at a time, jogging his way upstairs. By the time he reaches Noah’s room and swings the bedroom door open, you and Noah have put at least a few feet between yourselves. Noah is across the room in the computer chair, spinning idly, while you sit with your back against the wall, facing the TV and flicking through channels in search of something to watch.
“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you were here.” Nick doesn’t bother hiding his surprise, though if he has any suspicions about you hanging out in Noah’s room, he doesn’t let them show.
“I was waiting for you!” Shuffling to the edge of the bed, you stretch before offering Noah the remote and hopping to your feet. “Since you only have a couple more days before you leave me forever—”
“For, like, a few weeks…” Noah interrupts, correcting you.
You continue anyway, pressing a hand dramatically to your chest. “And I’ll be all alone—”
“With our parents,” Nick adds.
“I felt it was only right to have at least one more hangout night.”
Nick's brows knit together as he studies you for a moment, as though internally debating your motives for being here. Eventually, he lets out a long sigh. “I suppose.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, and you scoff, reaching out to smack the front of his shoulder. “Hey! You’ll miss me while you’re gone.”
“More like I’ll miss the peace and quiet while dealing with him and the other guys.” Nick jerks his head toward Noah, who’s stopped spinning and is now staring at the two of you, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“What did I do?!”
The guilty look that flashes across Noah’s face sends your own pulse racing before Nick suddenly bursts into laughter. You quickly follow suit, the two of you shaking your heads at Noah while he remains thoroughly confused.
“Come on,” Nick says, pulling the door open. “We’ll go downstairs, order some food, and watch a movie.”
You follow him into the hallway, hearing Noah shuffle after you.
“Fine, but it better not be Lord of the Rings again.”
It is.
At this point, you’ve lost count of the number of times he’s rewatched it alone, let alone with Noah. While your brother sits curled up at one end of the L-shaped couch, you and Noah sit on the same side, close enough that the fingers of your hands resting on the same cushion brush against each other beneath the blanket you’re sharing.
It’s barely a graze, and yet his touch has a way of igniting the same spark in you that it has since that first kiss you shared on your birthday—the same kiss you’ve often fantasized about, daring to wonder what might have become of things back then had you pursued it further.
You’re distracted, enough so that when Nick begins to speak, quoting the movie as he always does, you visibly jump. Your hand pulls away from Noah’s reach, a flash of panic rushing through you at the thought of being caught.
It takes a moment to register that you haven’t been, but instead of sliding your hand back into place, Noah grows bolder. His arm extends until his hand finds the inside of your thigh, the touch no more than a brief stroke before it settles there comfortably, giving a gentle squeeze.
Before he can move any further, you press your thighs together, trapping his hand between them as though holding it hostage. Yet it seems to be exactly where he wants to be, evident in the way his fingers curl slightly against you.
Every movement Nick makes has you holding your breath and squeezing your thighs tighter, though it does little to deter Noah. The constant awareness of his touch is enough to keep your attention fixed anywhere but the movie, your thoughts drifting despite your best efforts to focus on what plays across the screen.
Instead of relaxing, your entire body stiffens. You fear being caught, but you don’t want Noah to stop. If anything, you long to feel his touch against your skin, without the barrier between the heat of his fingers and the puddle he’s turning you into with such a simple act.
The movie feels twice as long, your patience wearing thin, all while knowing there’s no chance of dragging Noah upstairs to his room or finding an opportunity to slip away and continue what had begun between you. Instead, you’re forced to sit with the tension he leaves coiled tight in your stomach, a feeling that only grows as the minutes crawl by.
When the movie finally ends, you drag yourself up from the couch, trailing behind as they both head upstairs. Noah leads closely ahead of you, one hand tucked behind his back, his fingers catching the tips of yours and holding on until you reach the top of the stairs, where you’re forced to split off in opposite directions.
Nick has already disappeared down the hall toward his room. You turn toward the guest room, shoulders slumped, not daring to look back at Noah, only to nearly jump when a hand suddenly catches yours.
Spinning on the spot, you almost collide with Noah. He’s standing close, gazing down at you. His already dark eyes are nearly swallowed by the shadows, illuminated only by the faint glow spilling from the bathroom light farther down the hall.
“Noa—” you breathe, but he gently hushes you, guiding you backward toward the guest room. His free hand reaches behind you to ease the door open as he ushers you over the threshold.
For a second, you simply stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. Your fingers remain encased in his larger hand, his grip tightening briefly before he lets go. He lifts that same hand to your face, his thumb tracing softly along your lower lip as he leans closer.
“I meant what I said earlier.”
Your breath catches.
His lips brush yours as he continues, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I think about that kiss all the time.”
Noah seals his confession with a kiss that leaves your knees weak and sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head goes pleasantly fuzzy, and for a moment you’re too caught up in him to fully process what’s happening. The gentle pressure of his thumb and forefinger against your chin, the way he tilts your head just enough to keep you close, determined to savour every second.
His touch feels almost searing, surrounded by the scent of him, familiar and comforting all at once, until he’s pulling away.
Silence settles between you in the darkness. Noah’s forehead rests against yours, as though he’s fighting a battle with himself not to stay. The words ‘don’t go’ rise in your throat, only to die there before they can ever reach your lips.
“Goodnight…” he finally says, breaking the silence.
In the same breath, you echo the word back in a whisper.
The reluctance in his departure lingers long after he steps away. The warmth of his touch feels imprinted on your skin, and the scent of him clings to you as he retreats to his own room.
Across the hall, after Noah climbs into bed, he spends the next several minutes tossing and turning before finally going still. Staring up at the ceiling, he eventually drifts off with one simple thought: that wishes he was lying next to you.
Noah Sebastian x ofc
rating: explicit | warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, dirty talk, light degradation, safe sex (we love a responsible king), fluff at the end because i'm soft
part one & two
GUYS. sixty notes on part one?? i genuinely was not expecting that and i'm so grateful, thank you to every single person who read, liked, reblogged, commented, you have no idea what it means to me. 🥹
so here we are. Part three and four. The slow burn pays off (finally) and noah gets to redeem himself from the green room incident. as always this was a gift for the lovely @choillly who started this whole thing by writing the best fic of the year and inspiring me to try. Love you babe, hope this one lives up. 💕
Also, yes, I made the graphics in Canva. The images came from Pinterest, and I genuinely have no idea who the original creators are, otherwise I would have credited them. And one last thing: English isn't my first language, so if you spot any mistakes, no you didn't 😭
Reminder that this is a work of fiction. I have absolutely no idea what noah sebastian is like in real life and i don't know if he's anything like this. Please don't take this as a representation of him as a person.
If you read this whole thing thank you, truly. Reblogs and comments feed my broke ficwriter soul more than you'll ever know, tell me your favorite line, scream at me in the tags, send me asks, i live for it.
You can find all my fics on ao3 too → LittleMalkavian
tag list: @choillysblog, lowergroundfloor, gayfiretruck
Part three: the problem of living with your hot mistake
Three weeks before the venue incident, you had arrived in Los Angeles with a suitcase, a cardboard box, and the specific energy of someone who is starting from zero and prefers not to think too much about it.
The ad had appeared in a Facebook group for students in LA that you followed more out of paranoia than actual use. Room available, shared apartment, two other residents, no pets, no smoking inside, questions in the direct messages. The price was the only one in the city that hadn't made you laugh with that sad laugh of someone being charged for oxygen.
You had messaged in ten minutes.
Rania was a woman in her fifties with short gray hair and the energy of a person who has already seen everything and is no longer impressed by anything, which you had found comforting. She had shown you the apartment with the efficiency of someone who had done this tour many times: room, shared bathroom, kitchen, living room that no one uses but exists.
— There are two other residents — she had said, consulting her notebook — A girl, works at night, you'll barely see her. And a guy, musician, travels a lot. Disappears for weeks.
— Cool — you had said, because it was. You weren't there to make friends. You were there to work, save money, and eventually have a life that didn't look like it was about to collapse.
You had unpacked your box, organized the shelf, and slept the heavy sleep of someone too exhausted to feel homesickness yet.
In the following days you had learned the anatomy of the apartment through traces. The coffee mug on the drying rack that wasn't yours, a pair of huge sneakers near the door that definitely weren't yours, the muffled sound of something that sounded like guitar coming through the hallway late at night. The ghost of the back bedroom existed in evidence without ever materializing.
Until the note.
You had opened the fridge on a Tuesday morning and your strawberry yogurt had disappeared. In its place there was a post-it stuck on the shelf with large and slightly crooked handwriting:
Took your yogurt by accident. I owe you one. — N
You had stared at the note for a second with an expression that had no name.
You had taken the post-it, turned it over, and written on the back:
You owe me two. It was strawberry which is the best flavor.
You had stuck it back on the shelf and gone to work.
When you came back at night there was another post-it next to two yogurts.
Valid argument. Two strawberry yogurts. — N
You had smiled at the post-it alone in the kitchen at eleven at night like a completely normal person.
And it had been like that for weeks. Post-its in the kitchen. Traces of a person who existed in parallel to your life without ever really crossing. Once you had come home and the stove was slightly warm and smelled of something that had been cooked recently, and you had stayed in the kitchen for an irrational second as if the presence were still there.
It wasn't.
It's better this way, you had thought. You didn't come to LA to get distracted.
You had made your dinner and gone to your room and not thought about it anymore.
You had tried not to think about it anymore.
The day off fell on a Thursday like an unsolicited but very welcome gift.
Five weeks. You had counted. Thirty-six consecutive days of work between the regular job and the weekend freelance gigs, and your body was at that point of tiredness that goes beyond physical and starts to look philosophical.
But it was Thursday. You had woken up at ten — at ten, a luxury that bordered on obscene — and stayed lying down for another twenty minutes just because you could, looking at your bedroom ceiling with your brain wonderfully empty.
Then you had gone to the kitchen in shorts and a faded band t-shirt, hair in a bun that was more intention than execution, and put water on to boil with the placidity of someone who owes nothing to anyone on this day.
You were with your back to the hallway, waiting for the water, when you heard footsteps.
You had forgotten, momentarily, that other people lived there.
— Hi.
The voice arrived before you turned. Deep, a little hoarse, with that specific kind of someone who had just woken up and hadn't made peace with the world yet.
You turned.
The world did that annoying thing it sometimes does, a small leap out of place for half a second before reorganizing.
He was standing at the entrance to the kitchen with a wrinkled white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair in the way hair gets when a person has slept and hasn't yet made any decision about it. Tall, very tall. With that long body you knew, hat had been kept in a specific place in memory you had made considerable effort not to visit.
He had the expression of someone who came to get coffee and found a situation that was going to require processing.
You too.
The two of you stood frozen for exactly two seconds that seemed considerably longer.
You knew that face. You knew that face in a very specific and very detailed way that had absolutely nothing to do with a shared kitchen at ten in the morning on a Thursday.
— Hi — you said, with a perfectly normal voice of a person who had never seen this man before in her life.
— Hi — he said, equally normal.
A half-second pause in which the two of you made a silent and simultaneous choice.
— You must be the new resident.
— You must be the musician roommate.
— That's right.
— That's right.
He crossed the kitchen toward his cabinet with the naturalness of someone who does this every day, which, technically, he did, and you turned back to the stove because the water was almost boiling and you needed something to do with your hands and with your eyes and with the rest of your nervous system.
You heard the cabinet open, close. The chair being pulled out. The comfortable silence of an early morning kitchen that shouldn't have been as deafening as it was.
— How do you take your coffee? — he asked.
— Black and strong.
— Same as me.
You didn't turn. But the smile appeared before you could do anything about it.
— Must be the only thing we have in common — you said.
— It might not be the only thing — he said, and there was something in the tone that was too casual to be innocent.
You finally turned with the two prepared mugs and put one in front of him before sitting on the opposite side of the small table. He was looking at you with an expression you recognized, that corner of a smile that didn't reveal anything but made everything understood.
You held the gaze.
— What's your name? — you asked, because it was the natural thing to ask a roommate.
— Noah — he said. — And yours?
You said your name.
He repeated it slowly, testing the weight of the word.
— Pretty — he said.
— Thank you.
Silence, coffee, the morning sun came through the kitchen window making everything look slower than it was.
— What do you do? — he asked.
— Freelance mostly, but I have a regular job too. Trips. I work at an agency, actually — You wrapped your hands around the mug — You're a musician, Rania told me.
— I have a band.
— What kind of music?
He looked at you for a second with an expression hard to decipher.
— Metalcore. We scream childhood and religious traumas.
— Cool — you said, with the neutrality of someone who had never been at a rock show at a venue that changed the course of her adult life.
— You into that style?
— Sometimes — you said. — When the sound isn't blown out.
He let out a low sound that could be agreement or contained laughter, and you drank your coffee looking to the side. The two of you knew, neither one of you was going to say it.
— You have the day off today? — he asked.
— First in five weeks.
He raised his eyebrows.
— Me too. First in three.
The two of you sat with that for a second.
— We work too much — you said.
— We work too much — he agreed.
His mug was almost empty. So was yours. Neither one of you stood up.
Inside the small kitchen of Rania's apartment, two financially fucked people with a rare day off and a story neither one of them had named yet sat at the table drinking coffee as if the whole day were exactly that.
Part four: the day that explodes everything
Life had returned to the impossible rhythm of the two of you. Him disappearing for days when he had a show out of town, you spending weeks leaving before eight and coming back after ten, and every time the schedules coincided it was a small window that ended too quickly.
But in the following days the traces changed quality. It wasn't just the mug on the drying rack and the sneaker at the door anymore, it was a message on the board that had stopped being about yogurt and become just conversation, it was him leaving a yogurt for you in the fridge, it was you leaving coffee made when you heard him come home late because it had become automatic without you having decided that it would.
Until that fateful Thursday. The day everything exploded. And which was also the day off.
Breakfast had turned into lunch without either of you making a conscious decision about it. It had started with eggs. His idea, executed with a concentration you had found disproportionate for the activity.
— Why do you make that face? — you asked.
— What face?
— Neurosurgeon.
— Scrambled eggs have to have respect.
— Scrambled eggs are scrambled eggs.
— That's a crime and I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it.
The two of you had eaten at the kitchen table with Thursday sun in everything, and the conversation had continued and unfolded and ended up in places that kitchen conversations don't normally go. Work, choices, the things you give up when you decide that something matters more than the comfort of not taking risks.
He had talked about the band with the kind of honesty people normally save for when they've known you for longer. You had talked with anger about the airlines that took away your peace with more sincerity than usual, including the parts that weren't glorious.
At some point you had migrated to the living room. At some point you had ended up facing each other on the couch. At some point the distance between you had decreased in a way that neither of you had consciously initiated but both of you had allowed.
Noah had his elbow propped on the back of the couch and his head in his hand, looking at you with that look, and you had reached a point where sustaining the fiction seemed more exhausting than simply stopping.
— Why didn't you say anything? — you asked.
He tilted his head slightly.
— Because you didn't say anything. And it seemed like you had a reason for it.
— My reason was that it was easier to pretend it hadn't happened.
— And now?
You looked at him for a full second.
— Now it's being very hard to keep pretending.
He didn't say anything. He just moved, slowly, without hurry, without any performative urgency, and put his hand on your face in a way that was simple and completely devastating at the same time.
— Then don't pretend — he said, very low.
The kiss was different from the first one.
The first one had been urgent, full of the energy of a night with an expiration date. This one was slow, the kind that builds before delivering. His hand on your face moving to your hair, you getting closer without conscious decision, the two finding a rhythm that seemed familiar in a way that shouldn't be possible in two people who had spent months pretending not to know each other.
You put your hand on his chest and felt his breathing faster than his calm voice suggested, and that made you want to smile in the middle of the kiss, he noticed and pulled back a millimeter to look at you.
He was looking at you in that way. The one you had learned to recognize over a few days and post-its and shared coffees and almost-moments in the hallway, firm and unhurried, like someone who has already made a decision and is simply waiting for the right moment to say it out loud.
You hadn't seen him without clothes yet. That was the first thought — clear and completely inconvenient — when he pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it aside with no ceremony at all, like someone who has no awareness of the effect he's causing.
You stared.
He was thin in the way musicians sometimes are, not careless, just natural, the kind that carries its own weight well without needing to announce it. But the tattoos. You weren't prepared for the tattoos. Spread across his chest, his arms, going down his forearm with that quality of a collection built over time, each one with its story, and the sum of everything was anything but discreet.
— What is it? — he asked, with that tone.
— Nothing — you said, with the voice of someone who is clearly lying.
— You're looking at me in a very weird way.
— I'm processing.
— Again?
— You have a lot of tattoos.
— I do — he agreed, without any remorse.
— That's a problem.
— Why is it a problem?
— Because I already had enough of a problem with you clothed.
He let out that low laugh, and then he was kissing you again and the processing went to the same place all the other useful thoughts had gone that night.
You couldn't piece together a timeline between the living room couch and his bedroom. But when you noticed, the rest of the clothes were gone too. His, yours, without hurry but without hesitation, and when you finally ended up with nothing between you he stood looking at you for a second with that whole attention, from top to bottom and back to your eyes, lingering enough not to be discreet.
— Holy shit… — he started — You're definitely the prettiest girl I've ever had…
— Liar… — you said, feeling your cheeks burn.
You laughed, and he took the moment to pull you back to him, and the laughter went away immediately because the contact without clothes was new and overwhelming information to process all at once.
You already knew. You knew since the green room, knew since the lap on that old couch, but without clothes and with enough light to see there was a considerable difference between knowing and confirming and you confirmed, with your hand and then with your eyes, that the problem was exactly as big as your memory had registered.
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half something else, and pressed his forehead to yours for a second.
— You have no idea — he said, low — How much I wanted to do this the right way.
— Do what?
— This. — His mouth went to your jaw, your throat, the place just below your ear that made your breath catch — All of it. The first time, at the venue.
— You did plenty.
— Not what I wanted.
You felt the smile against your skin before you saw it.
— I wanted to eat you out — he said, simply, like it was a confession he had been holding for too long — That night. I thought about it the whole way back to home. About how I didn't get to taste you.
Your hand stopped on his shoulder.
— You're telling me this now?
— I'm telling you this now.
— Noah...
— What?
— That's information that could've been useful weeks ago.
He laughed against your collarbone, low and a little dark, and the laugh turned into teeth on your skin.
— The first day I saw you in the kitchen — he said, his mouth moving down your sternum — Fuck the coffee. I would've bent you over that counter and fucked you right there, with the water still boiling.
— Jesus...
— I thought about it for weeks. Every time you walked into the kitchen. Every time you left one of those fucking post-its. Every time I heard the shower running and knew you were in there.
— You can't say things like that...
— Why not?
— Because...
— Bad answer.
He kept going down, his hands warm on your hips, on your thighs, mapping you with the same patient attention he had brought to everything else except patient was starting to look like a different word now, something with more teeth in it. He paused at the inside of your knee, at the soft place above it, at your thigh, and looked up at you from there with an expression that wasn't shy at all anymore. It was hungry, and it was unapologetic about being hungry.
— Look at this fucking pussy — he said, almost to himself — I've been thinking about this for weeks.
You made a sound that wasn't a word.
— Is this okay?
You nodded because words were currently a complicated technology.
— I need to hear it, baby.
— Yes.
— Yeah?
— Yes, please...
The please did something to his face, you saw it happen.
— That's it — he said, low — That's what I wanted.
And he lowered his mouth to you.
The sound that left you was not a sound you had given permission for.
He was not careful in the way that means tentative. He was careful in the way that means he had been planning this for a long time and was going to take what he wanted. His hands stayed on your thighs holding you open with a firmness that left no room for negotiation, and the noises he was making against you — low, hungry, the occasional muffled fuck into the inside of your thigh when he came up for breath — were almost worse than what his mouth was doing, except nothing was worse than what his mouth was doing, because what his mouth was doing was the best thing that had happened to your life.
He paused once. Just long enough to look up at you, your hand half-buried in his hair, your other hand in the sheet, your whole body asking for something it couldn't name.
— You taste so fucking good — he said, with the seriousness of a man reporting a fact — I'm going to be eating this pussy for hours. You know that, right?
— Noah...
— Say it.
— I...
— Tell me you know.
— I know — you managed.
— Good girl.
You felt that in your spine.
He went back to what he was doing with renewed commitment, and now there was nothing patient about it. Now it was a man who had decided what he was going to do and was simply doing it, the rhythm relentless, his tongue exactly where you needed it, his hands holding you in place when your hips tried to move away from the intensity of it.
— Stay still — he said, against you, and it wasn't a request — Take it.
You tried to say his name and it came out as something else entirely. The ceiling of his bedroom became a fixed point you stared at without seeing because seeing required processing power you no longer had available.
When he hummed against you — low, satisfied, like he had found exactly what he was looking for — you felt it all the way through.
— Come on — he said, the words rough against you — Cum in my tongue, baby. I want to feel it.
That was all it took.
You came with your hand fisted in his hair and his name in your mouth for the second time, and he didn't stop, he stayed with you through every wave of it, pulling every last sound out of you with the focus of someone who had no intention of being done anytime soon. Only when your hips stopped trying to escape him, when your breathing started to remember what it was for, only then did he climb back up your body with a slowness that felt almost cruel after everything else.
He kissed you on the mouth before you could think about whether you wanted that and you tasted yourself on him, and he made sure you did, his tongue in your mouth with the same intention he had brought to everything else.
— I told you — he said, low, his face inches from yours — Worth the wait.
— I'm going to kill you.
— Later. — He smiled, that quiet certain smile, the one that meant he had already made his decision about what came next — I'm not done with you.
He reached over to the nightstand without taking his eyes off you, and the drawer opened with the familiar sound of someone who knew exactly where things were. The foil packet appeared between his fingers a second later.
— Responsible adult — you said, your voice still wrecked.
— Told you.
You watched him roll it on with the kind of attention you would deny later if asked. He noticed.
— Like what you see?
— Shut up.
— Make me.
You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him to do exactly that, and he laughed into your mouth, and then he wasn't laughing anymore.
He started on top, and this time there was no green room, there were no clothes in the way, there was no lamp flickering creating artificial urgency. There were just the two of you with enough time and no reason to be in a hurry, and the difference was considerable.
He entered you slowly, slow enough that you felt every inch of it, slow enough that your hands closed on his back before you remembered making the decision to put them there. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath uneven against your mouth, and when he was finally as deep as he was going to get he stayed there for a second, not moving, just letting you both feel it.
— Fuck — he said, very quietly — You feel even better than I remembered.
— Noah...
— Yeah?
— Move.
— Yeah?
— Please.
He made a sound at that, low, a little broken, and started to move.
The rhythm built itself, deep and constant, the kind that doesn't let you think about anything else besides what's happening now. His mouth went to your neck, your shoulder, your mouth, and you felt when he stopped measuring and started simply moving, his weight on you exactly right, the tattoos under your fingers while you explored his back without hurry.
— Look at you — he said, his voice doing something to the skin behind your ear — Taking it so well.
You couldn't answer. He didn't seem to need you to.
— You have any idea — he said, between deep, deliberate thrusts that were making it actively harder to remember language — How many times I jerked off thinking about this exact moment? How many fucking times?
— Noah, oh my God...
— Every time. Every time you walked past my bedroom door. Every time I heard the shower.
— You can't...
— I can.
He punctuated it with a thrust that pushed every remaining thought out of your head, and you made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and something else entirely, and he caught it with his mouth.
— You okay? — he asked, low, his mouth in your ear.
— Very — you said, which continued being the most honest answer available.
At some point he rolled onto his back and took you with him, his hands on your hips anchoring you, and you settled on top of him with a deliberate slowness that made a sound come out of his chest before it could be held back.
— Jesus, fuck — he said, looking up at you with something close to reverence — Look at you.
— Stop looking at me like that.
— Like what?
— Like that.
— Get used to it.
His hands stayed on your hips accompanying without directing, letting you take what you wanted at the pace you wanted it. And you took. The rhythm you chose was slow at first, deliberate, watching him watch you, watching his jaw work when you came down on him in a particular way, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten when you held still and made him wait.
— You're killing me — he said, voice wrecked.
— You'll live.
— Baby...
— What?
— Faster.
— Ask nicely.
His hands tightened on your hips. Something flashed in his face that was new, not impatient, not exactly, but close to it.
— Please.
You gave him what he wanted because you wanted it too, and the sounds he started making then were not sounds he was trying to make, low and stuttered and entirely involuntary, his head falling back against the pillow, his hands moving up to your waist, your ribs, finding your breasts and staying there like he had been waiting for permission to.
— That's it — he was saying, half to you, half to nothing — That's it, just like that, fuck, you're so fucking pretty when you ride me...
Your climax arrived with you on top of him, your fingers pressed on his tattooed chest and his name in your mouth, and he stayed with you, his hands squeezing, until your hips slowed and your breathing started to come back.
You stayed quiet for a moment, collapsed forward onto his chest, his hand stroking down your back.
Then he flipped you onto your stomach, with his hands on your hip and a care that was anything but shy, and you barely had time to register the change of position before he was inside you again, deeper in this angle, his mouth on your back, your shoulder, the nape of your neck.
— Okay? — he said, against your skin.
— Yes.
— You sure?
— Noah, please...
He laughed, low and a little dark, and gave you what you were asking for. In this position there was nothing leisurely left in him. His hand went into your hair, not pulling, just holding, just keeping you exactly where he wanted you, and the other stayed on your hip with a grip you were going to find bruises from in the morning and not mind even a little. You buried your face in the pillow and let it happen, the sounds coming out without control because the bedroom was his and you didn't have to worry about anything else besides what was happening now.
— This pussy — he was saying, more to himself than to you — Fucking Christ. I knew it was going to be like this. I knew.
You made a sound into the pillow.
— What was that, baby? I can't hear you.
You turned your head sideways enough to breathe.
— Don't stop...
— Wasn't planning to.
The last time was with your leg on his shoulder, and in that position there was something different. More intense, more deep, more everything, and he went slowly at the beginning with his eyes on you, checking, watching your face for anything that wasn't yes and when you said keep going with a conviction that left no doubt he continued and stopped measuring completely.
— Look at me — he said, somewhere in the middle of it.
You opened your eyes.
— Stay with me.
— I'm here.
— Yeah you are.
He kissed you then, deep and a little desperate, and when he pulled back his face was inches from yours and he was watching you like you were the only thing in the room.
— You gonna come for me one more time?
— I can't...
— Yes you can.
— Noah...
— One more, baby. One more. I want to feel it.
His hand went down between you and you broke open under it the way you always did, the way he had figured out within minutes of touching you the first time and had been using against you ever since.
You came for the last time with him deep and your eyes closed and a specific clarity of someone who is exactly where she needs to be, and he came right after, his face going to your neck, a sound leaving him that was almost a word and almost wasn't, his hands on you as always as if he needed to hold onto something, as if you were the most solid thing available in the room.
He stayed next to you, his breathing coming back slowly, and you stayed looking at the ceiling of his room that had become familiar in a way you hadn't planned and no longer minded having planned.
The silence that came after was the good kind, the kind that doesn't need anything.
He rolled onto his side at some point, his head on the pillow next to yours, and stayed there just looking at you, not saying anything, just looking, with that quiet attention that had been the problem from the very beginning and was clearly going to continue being the problem.
— What? — you said, finally.
— Nothing.
— You're staring.
— I am.
— Why?
He took a moment before he answered. His finger traced the line of your collarbone, slow, like he was learning it.
— I kept thinking about you — he said, low — Many times. Since we met here at home.
You stayed quiet, waiting.
— No — he corrected himself — Before that. Since the venue. I kept thinking about you since the venue.
— Yeah?
— Yeah.
His finger stopped at the dip of your throat.
— That night was insane, by the way — he said, with a small laugh that didn't have a lot of humor in it — I wanted to fuck you so bad. From the moment you said the show was shit, honestly. But when you suggested… that. — He shook his head, still half in disbelief — I was not expecting it.
— You weren't?
— No. — His mouth pulled into a half-smile — I mean, I wanted you. Obviously. But I figured we'd just, I don't know, exchange numbers and try again another time. The fact that you just… offered an alternative.
— I was determined.
— You were terrifying.
You laughed.
— I went home that night and I genuinely couldn't process it — he said — I kept thinking, who was that? Who does that? Who looks a guy in the eye and says fuck me anyway?
— Apparently me.
He shook his head again, smiling now for real.
— I thought I was never going to see you again — he continued, with that defenseless honesty that was completely him — I left the bathroom, came back, and you were gone, and I was like…
He paused and started again.
— I was nervous for weeks.
— Nervous why?
He looked at you in a way that was too serious to be casual.
— Because I was afraid I had done something wrong to you. That I hadn't been careful enough, that you had left feeling bad and I would never know. I really hated not knowing.
Something in your chest did something complicated.
— You were perfect — you said — It was the most careful thing anyone has ever done with me.
You watched something in his face loosen, slowly, like a knot that had been held for a long time and was finally letting go.
— Yeah?
— Yeah.
He let out a breath he had clearly been holding for weeks.
— I kept thinking about you since that day at the venue too — you said, after a moment — Much more than I should have.
— How much more?
— A concerning amount.
— Tell me.
— No.
— Please?
— You're not getting that information out of me today.
He smiled at that, slow and pleased, and pulled you a little closer.
— Fine — he said — I'll get it out of you later.
— Confident.
— Realistic.
You laughed against his shoulder, and he laughed too, the sound low in his chest where your ear was pressed.
— It was the craziest experience of my life — he said, after a moment — An old couch, a flickering lamp, a stranger who had just told me my show was shit, and then proceeded to be the most unforgettable person I've ever met.
— That's a lot of weight on one sentence.
— I meant every word.
You went quiet, your fingers absent on his chest, tracing one of the tattoos there without really looking.
— The sound was shit, by the way — you said — The band is good. Important distinction. You said it yourself.
— You remember that?
— I remember everything.
He went quiet for a second. When he spoke again his voice was different, softer, with something underneath it.
— Me too.
The distance that remained between you was just formality now. You felt it close before either of you moved.
— You're gonna want to do that again — he said.
You raised your gaze.
— That a question?
— A statement.
— Confident.
— Realistic.
You laughed.
— You're not wrong.
— I know.
— But not today.
— No?
— No. I literally cannot move.
He let out a small laugh against your hair.
— Fair.
— Tomorrow, maybe.
— Tomorrow's good.
— Day after, definitely.
— Even better.
He went quiet for a second, his hand sliding down your back, slow.
— For tonight — he said, low — I just want to eat you out again.
You stopped breathing for a second.
— Noah.
— What?
— You can't just say things like that.
— Why not?
— Because I just told you I can't move.
— You don't have to move. That's the whole point.
You closed your eyes and his mouth went to your temple, to your hair, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Which, you were starting to realize, he kind of did.
— Later — he said, against your hair — When you can move again. I'll do it right.
— You did it right the first time.
— I'll do it better.
You made a small sound that you would deny later if asked, he pulled you closer without ceremony, his arm settling around you with that naturalness that still caught you off guard. You let him. Your head on his chest, his hand stroking slow up and down your back, the breathing of the two of you finding the same rhythm and staying there.
Outside, Los Angeles crossed its own existence without paying attention to you.
A/N: Hi everyone! Turns out, I can't really keep things contained, so that original idea expanded a bit too much and... here we are 😅. A multi - parts series. Hope you enjoy it ✨
PS. If I forgot to add someone to the taglist, or you'd like to be added for the first time, please let me know in the comments!
@runningincircl3s just published her fantastic first chapter for a similar fic "summerboy" so does @choillysblog with her oneshot "booked together" 💜
Disclaimer: These are fictionalized versions of the band members. Their actions and personalities in this story are entirely products of my imagination and are not intended to represent the real people in any way.
The persistent ringing of your phone felt like ice running through your veins, freezing the warm intimacy that was developing.
Noah moved quickly, way too fast for your liking. The vulnerable, soft boy who you just met a few minutes prior vanished into a thick stone wall leaving you to fend for yourself.
He lightly pushed you aside, hoisting himself up, pulling his shorts up hastily turning his back to you. Shame rushed into you, your shoulders slumping forward, now terrified that someone could actually walk in on you two: Noah standing tall tying his drawstrings, while you were still on the floor, bare, shock written all over your face.
"Answer it” Noah stated coldly. He didn’t even look at you while looking for his shirt pulling it over his head.
Suddenly you were invisible to him.
Your shaky hand reached for the bag, taking out your phone. Its flashing light felt too bright, a vicious attack on your corneas. Your thumb hovered on the green button, but your eyes were peeled on him.
Finally, he turned around, sunglasses already on, a shield, a barrier between you two.
“Noah..” you whispered, your voice trembling with helplessness. You felt exposed in every sense of the word: now sat on the armchair, your bikini bottom still dangled from your foot. It could’ve been manageable if you didn’t feel like something had been ripped from you. Your throat burned with words unspoken that lingered in that empty space, crushing your limbs, making you unable to move.
“Don’t” his voice cut through your thoughts. It was hoarse, devoid of any emotion. He stepped closer, careful that his next words didn’t echo through the room “we don’t talk about this, not to your friends, nor with the boys. This” his fingers pointing between your two frames “this didn’t happen, understood?”
Once the words did sink in, he was already out of sight. He really was an asshole.
Anger came back like a tidal wave crashing over you. Your stomach now burning, almost making you sick.
He used you. He fucking used you just to get off. What a fucking prick.
Your internal dialogue was in shambles. Could you really be this upset over something that both of you wanted? In a way, he used you just as much you used him, he just got an orgasm out of it.
What stung the most, you thought, was his ability to completely switch off once the bubble had burst. He just left you there, completely bare, defenseless, without even looking at you.
Not only that, but explicitly telling you that you couldn’t talk about it.
Who does he think he is?
Your screen lit up for a third time, the profile picture of the group you had bright against the dark colour of the chair.
Quickly, you attempted to gather yourself, you slipped back your bikini bottom then moved your hair around your neck covering the bruises starting to form.
“Hi hun” Emma shouted waving at you.
“Hi Em” you croaked out.
“Just calling to check in. How are you feeling?” you couldn’t help but notice the slight tan Em sported. Although her worried tone, her eyes were sparkling, revealing how much fun she was having.
“I’m alright babe, you shouldn’t have to call just to check on me” you huffed. “How is it going with the “inked-up” crew?” you asked, an unnatural chirpy tone in your voice.
Instead of answering, Emma flipped her camera, capturing a huge table where everyone was having their lunch. They all looked spectacular, having a great time together. Hats and bandanas adorned everyone’s head, fresh fruit and vegetables crowded the table, giving vibrancy to the white colour of the furniture.
“Everyone say hi to y/n”. A chorus of voices blared through your speakers.
“We miss you” you made out Sarah’s voice. “Yeah,” added Folio, pouting “I wanted to learn more about bones and murders.” You could hear Chloe snicker. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for it during dinner,” she concluded.
Refocusing the camera on herself Emma simply stated “Yeah hun, just be ready because tonight we’re having dinner with the boys because Nick and Davis promised us to have Noah apologise to you.”
“WE’D TAKE HIM BY THE HAIR IF THAT’S WHAT IT TAKES” Davis’ voice shouted off camera.
A tight smile formed on your lips “I guess I should...” Your words were cut off by Chloe “Are you sure you’re alright Y/N? You’re flushed, aren’t you coming down with a fever perhaps?”
Taken aback by how observant Chloe could be, even behind a screen, you went along with it. Everything but admitting that that redness was just shame painting itself on your body. “Yes, I think you’re right. I think the sun got to me. I feel a bit dizzy actually” you laughed it off, the lie leaving a sour taste in your mouth.
“Oh, sweetie, go and lie down” Emma’s face reappeared on the screen, her maternal instinct kicking in “do you want me to come back?”
“OH NO” you shouted a bit too quickly. “Please, don’t, I’m sure it’s just stress catching up to me” you added “I’m going to sweat it off before dinner, so I’ll be ready. Enjoy your lunch. Love you”
Before they could press further, you pressed the red button. The screen went black mirroring your wide eyes and disheveled hair, a few strands sticking out in different directions. The lounge room felt huge, cold, a sudden chill ran through you. You needed to get out of there.
Now.
You stood up, maybe a bit too quickly, because your shaky legs almost gave in. You numbly collected your items, finding your way to your room on autopilot. For some reason, the brief itinerary felt like a walk of shame: you weren’t a cruise passenger who, with her bikini, went and chilled a bit on a shared space, but you were coming back from a one night stand with a complete stranger.
The dull thud of the lock clicking shut confirmed that the protective shield of your room had finally sealed you away. Hot and angry tears started to spill down your cheeks while you were sorting your bag out, putting every item in its designated space.
You were too aware of how your bikini bottoms clung to your skin, especially the damp patch that naturally formed once you put it back on, from the remains of your arousal. Not only that, but the faint ghost of Noah’s lips and hands lingered as a phantom sensation running through your body.
The urge to wash them off, to wash him off, was both very sudden and overpowering.
Turning on the shower with the hottest water you could tolerate, you started to scrub in hopes to erase what happened and the memories that came with it.
This didn’t happen, understood?
Unfortunately, that hope shattered once you took a look in the mirror: your collarbone was dotted with a few hickeys following the shape of your body. Gently, you brushed your fingers on them, hissing at the soreness.
Well, there was another hassle to add to your two weeks of vacation: becoming a fucking makeup artist just to cover up hickeys.
Just as you were about to brush your hair, your eye caught sight of a deep forest green piece of fabric picking out from your half - closed closet. A sly smile formed on your lips just as quickly as the idea in your head.
Noah did say that nothing happened between you two, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t tease him. Besides, he was going to apologise to you tonight.
It goes without saying, you needed to be perfect for that moment, you needed to be able to hold his gaze while he was delivering his apology while looking your best.
That dress. The choice had already been made before you could even put it into words. That night, that was the dress you would wear.
Was it the dress you brought for “formal night”? Yes.
Would that mean that you’d wear the same dress for two separate occasions? Yes.
Did that bother you? Absolutely not.
You needed that extra edge in your outfit tonight because Noah was getting a lesson in humility.
A sharp knock on the door put a stop to you getting ready. Taking one last look in the mirror, you were quite satisfied with the result.
Firstly, and most importantly, you did a great job covering up your hickeys. Thankfully, though, your collarbones were covered up by the forest green dress you chose earlier. It was a beautiful silky halter dress with an open back that plunged all the way down your spine.
Smoothing out the fabric, you opened the door. Emma was in front with a bottle of water and some pills, while Chloe and Sarah were leaning against the corridor walls.
The chatter died down, all three of them taking you in.
“Well, if that’s not one hell of a recovery from heatstroke” Sarah blurted out, pushing past Emma just to reach for your hands making you twirl.
“You look gorgeous babe” Chloe added “is there something you want to share with the class perhaps?” You laughed, partly because of their reactions, partly out of nervousness.
If only they knew.
“You look really good hun, like a very sexy wood nymph” Emma said sweetly. But, being the voice of reason she wondered “aren’t you a bit overdressed for” she reached for the program, reading “a casual patio dinner?”.
“Maybe, but, you told me, Noah’s apologising to me, right?" you looked in the mirror touching up your lipstick “If a man is asking for my forgiveness, I better look impeccable while he does it” your smug look provoked a very loud laugh from your friends. You laughed along with them.
This little game you had going on was getting more and more fun.
You felt confident and in control. Your chest puffed out as a sign of clear victory as you made your way to the restaurant patio.
The moment you entered the room, your friends and you immediately spotted them. You were sure that almost everybody made a comment about your looks tonight, but you were attuned to one person and that was Noah.
He was wearing a black, long sleeve button up that strategically covered part of his neck. His hair was still damp from the shower. Although focused on a conversation with Folio, his shoulders were square, his posture rigid, you could really say, an arrogant poise.
So that high self - assurance wasn’t part of the rockstar lore then, he really was a primadonna.
His hand was holding a glass, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against it.
The moment he spotted you, you saw him freezing for a split second, words dying in his mouth, fingers temporarily clinging to the glass, knuckles becoming white.
He hungrily raked through your body, focusing on that halter neckline looking for that purple colour which, on the other hand, you could see slightly poking out his collar.
Your stare off was interrupted by Nick, casually snaking his arm behind your waist guiding you to your seat which was between him and Davis.
“So” called out Davis gathering everyone’s attention “let’s put a stop to what started yesterday so that we can finally enjoy not only the cruise but the new company we have” hums of approval filled the table.
Now the attention was all on Noah. “A promise is a promise” Nick opened the dance just to get his friend more comfortable “You have something to make up for, right?”
An expectant silence settled over the group, eight pairs of eyes peeled to him. Meanwhile, Noah’s gaze was fixated on his glass, now on the table, his fingers playing with its rim. The silence stretched and stretched. Eventually gazes were lost, now focused on a particular object on the table, throats were cleared as a sign of uneasiness, shoulders slumped on the chairs.
Everyone was losing interest, except for you.
Now was the time to push the blade all the way into the wound.
Sipping on your glass of wine, you declared “I got pretty just for you” you winked, a wicked smile forming on your lips. “They said you needed to say something important to me, well, important things need serious looks.”
His head whipped up locking in. His jaw clenched, brows now furrowed in a very stern expression, nostrils flared as if letting out the frustration that was building.
Your eyes stayed locked onto his over the rim of the glass, daring him to speak, daring him to confess in front of everyone what had actually happened, not only what they did see, but especially what they didn’t.
Somehow, your exchanges were completely lost on the group that cracked up to what they identified as playful teasing.
——————————————————————————————————
When dessert came, the very large table broke into smaller groups. Chloe, Nick and Davis were arguing about the best manga ever read while Sarah and Emma instructed a very interested Folio on the proper wedding etiquette for guests, including not smelling like weed because of your prior activities.
Noah and Jolly were engrossed in a conversation, you thought, probably about music stuff.
The lull created, gave you the perfect opportunity to sneak out to have a cigarette. Looking for the best spot, you found yourself moving towards the highest deck, yet again, but this time assured that literally nobody was going to be there.
Leaning your elbows on the deck's railing, you took a long drag out of your cigarette, humming in appreciation.
A very soft breeze combed through your hair, making your exposed skin prickle.
Is that what peace of mind feels like?
Then you heard them… quiet footsteps coming your way. You didn’t move, just waited for him to mimic your position. Your shoulders brushed slightly, making you shiver.
He didn't say anything, just stood there, his gaze lost in the darkness.
“Your apology didn’t sound convincing Noah” you broke the silence cackling at the thought of him gritting through his teeth a very soft “I’m sorry”.
He went rigid, a guttural sound escaping from his lips.
“What my darling?” Your voice dropped “don’t you like it when your friends watch you beg for something?”
Slowly you turned your head towards him. His features were only half lit by the lights of the ship. He was swallowing hard, his hands now gripping tightly the railing.
He was cracking.
“Aw poor baby, look at you, trying to be all broody and mysterious in front of your friends while you just want to be taken care of, do you?” Your hand deliberately reached for his cheek tracing the outline of his jaw. A barely perceptible whimper escaped his lips.
He leaned into your touch a bit too eagerly “Is that why you looked for me?” He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed on an undefined point. “Do you want me to make you feel good, huh, sweet boy?”
Your hand trailed down, caressing the hair at the nape of his neck. “Out of curiosity, how am I supposed to do that if I have to forget what happened this morning, huh?”
You could see his chest moving irregularly, cheeks colouring with the slightest hue of pink.
Suddenly, his hand flew to yours grasping it, wrenching it away from his neck. He brought you close to him, your noses almost touching.
“I meant what I said; we don’t talk about it, it never happened” he growled. You could feel his warm breath on your face, traces of whisky still lingering.
The change in attitude gave you whiplash.
Who does he think he is?
Aggressively, you tore your hand out of his grip. “Then why the fuck are you here?” Confusion swam between his eyes as he scrambled to find an answer.
Your patience was wearing thin. “You need to get a grip Noah, that’s not how this works. If you want to just get off, you have a hand, USE IT. I’m not your personal sex toy. IS THAT CLEAR?”
Shock ran through his face. He gave a tight, reluctant, nod.
With that you turned around, heart thrumming in your chest, focused on getting back to the table, having a few drinks, trying to enjoy the rest of your evening.
That was it. You thought. Better to rip the band-aid off earlier so that nothing gets too attached. It could burn there and then but nothing too deep that could cause bruising.
The more you walked to the patio the more you were convinced that that was the best choice.
It’s for the best of both of you. He clearly didn’t want you to see him in that light, and for you, well, continuing to sleep with him while he remained completely clueless that you knew his real identity was just playing with fire.
Moving swiftly through the tables with your dress swishing around you, you straightened your posture, shoulders square, head held high. What happened in the first 48 hours of this holiday could be considered a closed case. Now it was time to have fun.
Over the next three days, your shield, your armor didn’t just work, it thrived. You mastered the art of being blissfully unbothered.
“I’m just saying that whatever you’re doing in order to feel like this, keep doing it” Chloe giggled while sipping on her mimosa.
“Yeah hun, I definitely like this version of you” Sarah added, her voice muffled by the face cradle of the massage table.
Today’s planned activity was a spa day. You were currently propped up on a lounge chair, snuggled in a fluffy white robe, with a face mask on and your eyes covered with two slices of cucumber. Beside you were Chloe and Emma while Sarah was finishing her massage.
“This could easily be the opening scene from a movie. The clichés are all here” Emma chuckled.
“That’s exactly what we’re going for” answered Sarah, now fastening her robe belt around her waist.
You chuckled at their exchange, adjusting yourself on the chair just to hum contentedly in relaxation.
“Nuh uh missy, you don’t get to check out from us this easily” Chloe quipped sensing you drifting off.
“Seriously y/n what happened?” continued Emma “No offense, but the first 48 hours with you have been a bit of a nightmare. You looked like a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation.”
“Now you have this… glow?” Sarah added, still unsure of how to describe this new version of you. “You look like you’ve figured out the secret of life or something.”
You bit the inside of your cheek trying not to smirk. You just took your flute sipping on your drink.
It wasn’t unlocking some sort of secret, but the reinvigorating force of power and how good it felt to put in place a clear boundary. Noah could have been the most fantastic sex you could’ve gotten, but if that meant being treated like some sort of guilty pleasure, that wasn’t worth it at all.
The dynamic of the cruise had naturally settled into a steady, divided rhythm. During the day, the girls were yours. You laid by the adults-only pool, got lost in the books you were reading, and let the ocean air and the sunshine do the heavy lifting.
But the evenings belonged to the whole crew. And that was where the real fun began.
This particular night the group decided to ditch the planned activity and move into Nick and Davis’ room; the plan? Trivia night.
What you didn’t expect was that, behind the exact same door of your rooms, was a literal flat, not the cramped rooms you had.
“Welcome to our crib ladies” you heard Davis said, keeping the door open for you.
You froze in the entryway, Chloe, Sarah and Emma bumping into you.
In front of you stood a large living room, two sofas mirrored one another divided by a plush carpet with a coffee table on top. The room even welcomed a private bar, and large glass windows that allowed you to spot quite a huge balcony with a private pool.
What the fuck was going on?
The four of you were like children in a candy shop. Silence fell over your group, mouths agape while you took in all this luxury.
“Are you kidding me?” Chloe muttered in disbelief. “Is there an upstairs? You have STAIRS?”
“You know, just a little loft,” Jolly chuckled.
Sarah leaned in whispering to you “This is definitely not an independent band y/n, who are they?” you nervously laughed. “These rooms cost more than my entire wedding.” she concluded, speaking more so to herself.
Looking around the room, you spotted Noah: he was sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with a silver ring he wore on his index finger. He didn’t even look at you. Unfortunately for him, his body gave him away. You saw his jaw clench, his grip on his accessory tightening, his posture shifting into a more rigid one.
“Enough staring ladies, let’s get you comfortable and let’s get started” Folio screamed while Davis was already pouring shots into their tiny glasses.
Trivia lasted for a good twenty minutes before alcohol took over, blending the edges of the room and lifting everyone’s filters. What was supposed to be a competition on knowledge, just turned into booming, teary laughter.
“That’s not fun! I’m bored” huffed Sarah still sat cross legged on the floor. Her cheeks definitively a darker shade of pink.
“We could play Never Have I Ever” she smirked “I wanna know your skeletons in the closet boys and girls” and with that she took another shot.
Groans mixed with cheers echoed through the room. Now tired from sitting on the floor, you changed your place, propping yourself onto the opposite armchair from the sofa in which Noah was still sitting.
“Put your fingers up guys” Sarah concluded, now satisfied with everyone complying.
“I’ll start so that we can set the tone: like a gentleman” Nicholas started “Never have I ever cried at a Disney movie”
Laughs erupted from everyone shaking the room. Folio slammed his finger down “The Lion King dude, it gets me everytime” he pouted.
Simultaneously Nick put his finger down “Coco” he chipped in “the grandma scene. It’s heartwrenching."
You nodded along, looking around the room. Even Emma and Chloe had dropped a finger. Your eyes drifted to Noah. He looked lost in thought, staring blankly ahead, but his thumb slowly folded down. You raised an eyebrow. So the rockstar cries at cartoons. A tiny, genuine smile tugged at your lips before you caught yourself.
Here it was the soft boy you were looking for.
“My turn!” Chloe chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Never have I ever accidentally liked a years old photo while deep in a stalking session over someone on social media.” Grunts out of second hand embarrassment lifted from the room.
Jolly slammed his finger down, covering his face with his hands in tragic defeat. “Dude, I did that on a girl’s profile at three in the morning once. I unliked it within 0.5 seconds, but the notification still went through. I had to throw my phone across the room and seriously considered moving back to Sweden, just to avoid the remote chance of meeting her.”
“Did you delete your account?” Davis mocked, though he slowly dropped a finger too. “I did it to a rival band's guitarist once. It was a picture of him at a waterpark from 2017. I didn't even unlike it. I just left it there to assert dominance.” “That’s not dominance, Davis, that’s just creepy,” Nicholas groaned, shaking his head as he dropped a finger as well.
You were so lost in hearing their stories that took Emma nudging your elbow to take a finger down. Your eyes accidentally met Noah’s in that exact moment. You noticed a subtle twitch on the corner of his mouth, a sort of half smirk. You rolled your eyes at him before paying attention to the game.
Unfortunately, as the alcohol kept flowing, the easy, light questions slowly led you into dangerous waters. Nicholas was the one who initiated “okay, let’s spice it up, shall we?”
That got a big cheer from Sarah “Let’s fucking gooooo” she screamed.
“So” Nick started “Never have I ever hooked up with someone on this cruise.” The room went quiet before a chorus of “oooohs” slithered among you. Cold shivers ran through your spine.
You’re fine y/n, everyone’s drunk, nobody would remember this in the morning. You know very well how to dissimulate, c’mon, brave face on and let’s go.
Davis put immediately one finger down, so did Jolly.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Noah keeping his gaze pinned to you. The playful atmosphere of the room suddenly vanished between you two, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension. You crumbled, now your eyes locked into his. Painfully slow and deliberately, he folded his finger.
Despite your heart wanting to burst out of your chest, you kept your cool, you’re in control y/n remember that. Your face remained expressionless, so, without hesitation, you put your finger down.
“Y/N” Chloe gasped putting her hand on her chest “YOU GOT LAID AND DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO TELL US?” she sounded truthfully offended.
Emma and Sarah looked at each other “Who? When? How did that happen?” The barrage of questions did nothing if not fortify the smug mask you had on.
Thank God that they were too drunk to register that the plethora from which you could’ve chosen was sitting right in front of you.
“A lady never tells” you muttered bringing your glass to your lips, watching Noah from the rim. He looked like he wanted to either tear your clothes off or strangle you. Or both. Not that you would complain.
And that was when the light bulb in your head went off.
“My turn” you offered cheerfully. “Never have I ever” you thought for a moment on how to formulate the phrase “begged for something I claimed I didn’t want”
“That’s oddly specific” laughed Folio. “I like it though,” added Jolly, “straight for the throat.”
In her innocence Emma asked “But what do you mean, like begging for a piece of cake? Or…”
“I think we all know she’s not talking about baked goods, Emma” Nick laughed, though his eyes drifted curiously between you and the couch.
Oh fuck, is he suspecting something? Why is he looking?
Even with these thoughts in your head, Noah’s presence was like a magnet and you couldn’t allow yourself not to gauge every drop of his reaction to the question. And boy did he deliver.
As soon as your words left your mouth, you saw him hit by the realization. His nostrils flared, redness adorned his ears while his hands closed into tight fists.
Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his hand, folding his finger. Your not - so - subtle smirk spread across your face.
“No fucking way” Sarah pointed his finger to Noah.
“Who would’ve thought!” exclaimed Emma amused by that confession.
“We thought you were just a pretty standoffish, kind of rough around the edges man” added Chloe, her filters now completely gone “didn’t we girls?” she tried to lore you in.
“We need a name, a date, and every detail possible” Sarah quipped.
What surprised you the most, was the reaction from the boys. They didn’t look as fazed as the girls were when the words Noah and begging were juxtaposed. Did they know something more?
“Don’t get too excited ladies” Noah chimed in, his tone controlled, cold. “That was a long time ago and an error in judgment” he simply stated, now averting his eyes from you, settling them onto the glass that was put on the rug beside the sofa.
An error in judgment. The words stung, but you didn't let your smile falter. You just raised your glass to him in a silent, mocking toast.
Jolly clapped his hands, regaining the attention to everybody “Now it’s me. So: never have I ever been caught in a compromising position by someone I know”
Your heart skipped a bit. Without hesitation, your mind brought you back forty eight hours ago. Your phone erratically lighting up, you bare on the armchair while Noah was shakingly tying his drawstrings before bolting out of the room.
Automatically your finger dropped.
Chloe and Emma giggled between the two of them reminiscing about a college mishap. On your part, shock and fear must’ve appeared on the surface of your face because Noah was looking at you with a smug expression all over his face. As if he was able to read your mind, his finger went down smoothly.
“Oh, come on, Y/N, you too?” Nick chuckled from across the room. He was leaning back, his eyes narrowed slightly as he analyzed your expression. “You’re full of secrets tonight. First a hidden cruise hookup, now this? Beginning to think we don't know you at all.”
“You know what? You’re right Nick” added Folio “I’m still waiting for that lesson on bones and murders” his drunken state made him look like a child asking for something from a parent.
You chuckled lightly at the comment from Folio “we’ll get there, don’t you worry.” Your gaze now focused on Nick. “You know, Nick” you said, particularly enunciating the final “c” sound “the ship has quite some space for secrets.”
“Clearly” he shot back. However his eyes, intentionally slowly moved from your frame to Noah’s who, currently, was shamelessly looking at you. Noah didn't flinch, but he didn't look at Nick either.
He was there just to let you know that, no matter how sure, no matter how tall your walls were becoming, you couldn’t escape the memory he had of you just as afraid he was that morning on the upper deck.
“Alright, I need a refill,” Emma declared, standing up with a slight wobble. “This game is turning into an interrogation.”
As time passed, the night turned into an early morning, the atmosphere in the suite changed from the loud, rowdy, drunken noises from the group to a quieter, sloppier, careless one.
Everyone had found something or someone to hold on to because of the amount of alcohol consumed. Somehow Folio ended up conversing with Sarah wearing her sun hat, while Davis and Chloe were discussing, more like slurring, about something to do with unexpected events on the cruise and how to tackle them while holding onto each other's shoulders.
Nick, Jolly and Emma? Fast asleep on the sofa right in front of you. You had to admit that the image was quite cute.
Jolly had conquered the far left side of the couch, curled into a tight semi-circle. His tall frame cramped in that tiny space, had his feet dangling awkwardly over the edge of the couch.
On the far right side stood Emma, completely curled on herself, knees to her chest, arms crossed as if to claim her little spot amongst the two large men.
Squished between them was Nicholas. He had one arm spread on his chest while the other was circling his head. His legs were stretched on the carpet. Because of his position, his midsection was completely covered by the mountain of throw pillows.
Tiredness washed heavily over you. Your mask was starting to slip away. That night had been a psychological warfare where, essentially, no one was the winner, just a slow descent into a war of attrition.
Your brain had had enough for the day, you thought, it’s time to call it for the night.
Setting your empty glass on the counter, you slipped unnoticed towards the door of the room.
You reached in your pocket for your cigarette, one last before bed. The deck you chose randomly was relatively small. The humid air immediately hit your burning cheeks; a black canvas presented in front of you. The difference between the sea and the sky was highlighted only for the white foam that formed when the ship cut through the waves.
It was at this point that you allowed yourself to let out a long, dragged, deep breath as if you hadn’t breathed for the whole entire night.
You lit up your lighter but the wind must’ve been too strong because the flame kept blowing out.
“Fuck” you snapped.
“Need a hand?” an amused voice cut through.
“I’m fine,” you answered drily.
Noah stepped into the shadows of the balcony. He stopped just a few feet away from you, leaning his back against the stone wall of the deck, his arms crossed over his chest. In the dim moonlight, his eyes looked like two pools of liquid tar.
“You think you’re so fucking clever, don't you?” he started in a grovel tone. You could sense the suppressed irritation bubbling up to the surface.
Here we go. Time to put the mask back on.
You turned around to face him, casually putting your elbows behind you, onto the railing. Your expression now formed into a mocking smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Noah” you started “I was just playing the game. Isn’t that all that we were doing?” you tilted your head.
Dropping his head, Noah let out a humorless laugh, closing the distance between the two of you in just two swift strides effectively caging you between him and the railing. He didn’t touch you yet, but his presence was menacingly hovering over you.
The smell of alcohol on him took you back, as a dejà-vu, to that night where he snapped.
Internally you rolled your eyes.
Another row.
Another discussion.
Just to end up with nothing more than two frustrated people.
“Don’t play dumb with me y/n” he hissed. His eyes were now just two black pools, you could see your reflection on. Deliberately he leaned down, his lips mere inches from your ear. Yet, with him so close, you could feel his erratic, irregular breathing against your neck.
“Begged for something I claimed I didn’t want?” he huffed “you did that on purpose. You sat there, as some sort of sovereign, laughing with my friends, smugness written all over your face.” His voice was getting louder and louder, too caught up on his feelings.
“You looked at me like…. like you own me, and you threw that to my face” his wild eyes focused on yours, his voice was frantic, on the verge of panic.
You sensed the internal struggle: the primal, dominant version of Noah trying to claw its way out so that it could break you under his weight. But the way the last sentence hit you, made you feel that the soft, vulnerable part of him that you met two days ago was still there, still afraid though.
Your heart was hammering violently against your chest, the adrenaline rushing through your veins made the sleepiness go away, leaving you short of breath, tingling feeling in your limbs and spine.
You leaned into him confidently whispering “and what if I did?” your voice turning into the mellifluous tone you had the prior night. “Did I hit too close to home, sweet boy? Did I make you remember how good it felt to cede control for once?” Noah’s breath hitched, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. Then you felt it, the immediate shift, the whiplash, the dominant part of him finally reached the top.
He flew his hands to the railing putting it in a deathly grip. “You don’t fucking know anything about me” he seethed through his teeth. His jaw was so clenched that you could clearly see the muscles contracting underneath his stubble.
“What happened the other morning on the deck was a fluke. It was stress, I needed some instant relief and you were there, available.”
He was so close to you, that your chests could almost touch. There was something so tragically tender observing Noah dramatically trying to regain his footing.
“I’m the one who calls the shots here y/n. Not you. You’re just a fucking side character to whatever my friends decided to do with you girls. You’re not the one in charge, you’re just..”
“An error in judgment” you cut through to him.
As if you caught him off guard, Noah froze, his words dying on his lips.
You doubled down, merciless, cold. “That was what you called it. Wasn't it? In front of everyone, including your beloved friends. An error. A mistake.”
Then you decided to put the final nail in the coffin. If that was the very last time you two talked about this, then you needed to exit with a killer move.
Slowly, you lifted your hand. You saw him tracking every single movement. His shoulders now rounding, his expression softening, vulnerability starting to paint his face.
There he is, your soft boy.
You left your fingers hovering just millimeters from his shirt collar, where you knew that the hickeys were slowly but surely healing. You didn’t touch him, you didn't need to. You just left him in that limbo, in that space where he could imagine what could happen if he just let go for a moment.
Then, with a feather-like touch, you traced the outline of his shirt, starting with his collarbone, dragging your fingers all the way out to his shoulder.
“If it was such a terrible mistake, Noah,” you purred, your voice dropping into a commanding whisper, “then you shouldn't be out here right now. You shouldn't be cornering me in the dark, begging for my attention with your chest puffed out.”
“I’m not begging,” he choked out, but his voice lacked any real venom. His eyes were glued to your lips now, his chest rising and falling in shallow pants.
“You are” you corrected softly. You followed your fingers tracing his outline, never actually making eye contact with him. “You’re begging me to play with you, again. But you need to make up your mind, angel” you said in a sultry voice. “I don’t want to play all by myself waiting for you.” Your fingers, now found his throat, you got closer so that your nose brushed against his cheeks. Noah’s eyes fluttered shut, his head tilting back just a fraction, a quiet, involuntary whimper caught in the back of his throat. He was ready.
You knew there and then that if you put your hand on his throat right now and pushed him down, he would drop to his knees on the wooden deck without a single complaint.
Instead, you pulled back.
Noah’s eyes snapped open, a look of pure, unadulterated panic flashing through them as the warmth vanished.
You dropped your hand back to your side, your expression turning completely passive, almost bored. “But like you said... it was an error in judgment. And I’m a quick learner, Noah. I don't make the same mistake twice.”
Before he could process the rejection, you gracefully sidestepped him, ducking under his arm.
Noah was still standing by the railing, frozen in the dark, looking completely wrecked, his fists clenched so hard they were shaking.
“Enjoy the rest of your night, Noah” you said smoothly.
You slid the door open, stepping back into the cold, bright light of the corridor, leaving him entirely alone with the cold ocean wind.
Once you felt like you made enough distance between you and Noah, you let your head fall back against the cold surface of a wall, closing your eyes as a sudden wave of nausea hit the back of your throat.
It had nothing to do with the sea but with the sickly feeling of familiarity, of a script already written.
It was the exact same dance you had done on the upper deck after your phone rang. The exact same dance you played at the dinner table over glasses of wine. Wash, rinse, repeat. How many times were you going to replay this scenario before the edge wore off entirely?
To you, the script now felt like the four acts of a Greek tragedy:
Act I: He builds an arrogant, distant wall between him and the rest of the world;
Act II: You meticulously find the crack, just to push the blade in;
Act III: He cracks, unsure whether trusting you completely or picking himself back up again;
Act IV: You push him just enough so that you can safely pull back at the last second, reclaiming your power over him.
Here’s the difference: in the traditional tragedy, someone dies. Here, in this cramped ship, with a set time and set places, you felt like that the only death available was waiting for the bubbles of excitement to fizzle away. The only end to this play was a slow, agonizing descent into boredom and hurt until you just kept on going as two strangers would.
Every interaction with Noah felt like a vicious, secret loop that, as much fun as it had been teasing him, you started to feel the invisible cage that formed around you.
You were the only one actually playing, he was just dipping his toes. You were the one carrying on the play, but that’s not what you wanted.
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since the first chapter of hedonist was posted i’ve had countless requests for car sex with mechanic!noah and i was thinking last night about how much i miss their dynamic in the beginning of the story so i’ve just decided to write this, which takes place around the time reader asks noah to stop sleeping with other girls 🤭 it’s not proof read and since it came to me like a vision and i just need to write it and get it out there!!
warnings: NSFW and it’s kinda short :/
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“You getting in?” Noah asked, rolling down his window as he pulled up beside you.
“No.” You answered, not even looking up.
“Cool.” He said as he lifted the handbrake with a grunt, parking the car before getting out. He then walked around and opened the passenger door for you. “Get in.” He said, looking down at where you were sitting on the curb.
You glared at him, but he stared back just as stubbornly, and after the longest five seconds of your life passed you let out a huff and finally got up. You got in his car and slammed the door shut hard enough to earn a look from Noah as he got back in.
“You wanna tell me why I had to leave my place at 1:30 in the morning to come pick you up? Why I got a call saying you’ve been kicked out of a party?”
“Some girl was talking shit.” You huffed, looking out the window.
“About you?” He asked, sounding almost amused as he watched the road in front of him.
“About you.”
That made him glance over, now intrigued. He had been told you got into a fight with a girl, but he hadn’t been told what it was about.
“I overheard her talking about you. She was saying if she didn’t find anyone at the party to take home, she’d call you. Because apparently you’re the community dick, and every girl at the party has had a turn on you. Called you the town bicycle.”
Noah couldn’t hold back his laugh, one hand on the wheel, the other now resting on your thigh.
“Community dick, huh?” He smirked, “That’s a new one. I like it.”
You shot him a glare.
“You think it’s funny?”
“Oh, babe, I think it’s hilarious,” he said, still smirking, “Especially since you got in a fight over it. Sounds like you got jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous.” You snapped, “I was just pissed off. She was talking like you’re some kind of free use whore for the whole city. It wouldn’t have annoyed me so much if she wasn’t making fun of you for it.”
Noah’s smirk only grew wider as he gave your thigh a squeeze, before sliding his hand up a little higher under your dress.
“Mm, it’s whatever,” he said, “I just think it’s so cute you were out there defending my honour.”
You smacked his hand away, but he just put it right back.
“You’re such an asshole.” You hissed.
“Yeah?” He glanced sideways at you, “But I’m your asshole now, aren’t I?”
You rolled your eyes, but as Noah’s hand slid a little higher you couldn’t help but press your thighs together out of instinct.
“Aw, don’t get shy now, baby,” he teased, his voice dripping with arrogance, “You went and got in a fight with a girl because she thought she could have me whenever she wanted… when we both know this dick only belongs to one girl these days...”
His fingers brushed over your panties, teasing you through the thin fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You tried not to react, you tried to stay still, but you couldn’t help but rock your hips slightly into his touch.
“Noah… we can’t, stop.” You breathed, your voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear you.
Noah smirked, his eyes still on the road.
“Make me.”
You hated how quickly your body gave in, and your legs parted a little for him. His fingers then slid under the edge of your panties, finding you soaked already.
He let out a cocky chuckle.
“Shit, all that fighting over my dick got you this wet?”
“Shut the fuck up.” You hissed, but your voice broke into a small whimper as he easily slid one finger inside you without warning. Noah groaned softly, curling his finger as he drove.
“Always so fucking tight, baby… so wet for someone who claims to hate me.”
A second finger joined his first, stretching you open while his thumb rubbed your clit. You reached over, palming his cock over his sweatpants. He was half hard already, and you gave him a squeeze before stroking him through the fabric, trying to regain some control.
Noah’s breath suddenly hitched, but he kept driving, and kept pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy.
“Careful baby, I’m driving,” he warned, though his voice was still smug. “You really wanna make me crash just because you’re horny?”
You kept stroking him anyway, and the car was now filled with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you and your shaky breathing as you tried not to show just what he was doing to you.
“Fuck-” You moaned quietly, your hips rolling against his hand as you gave his cock another squeeze.
Noah glanced around, there were no cars or people anywhere, so he pulled onto the side of the road and slammed the brakes on.
“Backseat. Now.”
You didn’t argue.
You both got out and climbed into the back, and the second the doors shut, Noah grabbed you roughly, pulling you onto his lap. He pushed your dress up to your waist and tugged your panties to the side roughly.
“C’mon, baby,” he said as he pushed his own pants down, his dick springing out hard and flushed, “Ride it. Show me why you own this dick.”
You glared at him even as you reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his thick cock and slowly sank down on him in one go, taking every inch until your ass met his thighs.
A soft moan left your lips as you felt him twitch inside you, and Noah groaned, his hands gripping your ass hard. You started moving, fucking yourself on him in agressive bounces- and Noah smirked up at you, clearly loving it.
“Uh huh… just like that. Show me how much you hate the idea of anyone else getting this cock.” He said with a hard slap on your ass.
You let out a surprised noise at that, and changed your pace, grinding slow and hard, your lips finding his neck as you his hands reached for the zip on the back of your dress, slowly tugging it down.
You pulled away slightly when you felt his calloused fingertips slide the straps slowly down your shoulders and pulling the dress down, leaving your tits exposed. He let out a groan, immediately reaching for your breasts before leaning in and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, biting down lightly, just enough to make you whimper and grab at his hair.
“Fuck… keep grinding on me just like that,” he said around your tit, his voice muffled and his eyes fluttered shut, “No other girls getting this dick, baby. Not tonight… not ever. It’s all yours…”
Summary: You and Noah discover a new kink that he’s really into..
Content Warning: Established relationship, smut (unprotected p in v), heavy on the breeding kink/creampie, talk about birth control, teasing, light joking/spanking, Noah trying to keep it dom but he’s kinda pussy whipped hehe
Masterlist Taglist
18+ MDNI
Noah sat across from you at the dinner table in your apartment. Cleared plates sat between the two of you. A comfortable silence filled the air as you finished eating. He had barely been available the last few weeks, spending most of his time post-tour and pre-festival season in the studio. A relaxing night in was much overdue. Noah picked up the plates and walked them into the kitchen, scraping the remnants of dinner into the garbage before moving to the sink. Your phone lit up on the counter, buzzing as an alarm filled the screen. Noah turned off the water and picked up your phone, studying it with a furrowed brow.
“What’s ‘bc’?” he asked, confused.
“Oh, it's my alarm to take my birth control” you said, shuffling over to take your phone. You walked to your bag and pulled out the small blister packet. “I have to take it at the same time every day.”
“Oh, okay” he responded softly. He thought for a second. “Since when have you been on that?”
“Only 3 or 4 weeks” you replied, popping the pill in your mouth and washing it down, “I thought because, you know, things are getting a lot more serious between us, and with my new job and your music career exploding it might be good to be extra careful I guess”
Noah nodded quietly. “It doesn’t make you sick or anything does it? I know there can be a lot of side effe-” You cut his concerned rambling off, a soft smile on your lips.
“Noah, I'm fine. I did a lot of research and I feel great, if anything there's just added benefits.” you said, shrugging your shoulders alluringly.
“What do you mean?” he questioned. The concerned look had left his face and he spoke carefully, stepping towards you and placing his hands on your hips.
“Well, a more regular cycle, clearer skin,” you took a step closer to him and eyed him up and down with a sultry look, “...no condoms…. You can finish inside me.” You teasingly dragged a finger down his chest to the buckle of his belt, looking up into his deep brown eyes. “Have you ever done that before?”
“No.” he answered flatly. Noah’s eyes darkened and his expression was unreadable. He didn’t say a word, just picked you up over his shoulder, tattooed hand resting on your ass. You giggled as he walked to the bedroom and plopped you onto the bed with a light thud. He wasted no time, his hands roamed up and down your body toying at your breasts through your shirt. He kissed you feverishly and heat pooled low in your core. You shifted further onto the bed and he followed you. He reached behind his head and tugged his shirt off, leaving wisps of hair falling over his face. Your eyes raked down his tattooed body and you followed suit, slipping your shirt over your head. Noah cupped your face with one hand and pulled you towards him gently, planting a soft kiss to your lips.
“When were you gonna tell me, huh?” he asked, thumb gently brushing your bottom lip.
“I don’t know, I didn’t even think about it I guess. I-”
“Mhmm” his hand slipped down to your throat, gripping gently and cutting off your rambling. “I could have been fucking you raw, feeling your warm wet pussy around my cock, and filling you up with my cum this whole time…and you didn’t think you should tell me?” His grip tightened slightly. Wetness pooled in your panties at his words and you let out a soft whimper. The anxious boy, always so vigilant and careful, was gone. You took back the upper hand, deciding to take a bold step.
“You wanna breed me, Noah?” You asked, fluttering your lashes innocently. He threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut, letting out a deep groan as his grip on your throat loosened. “Is that a yes baby?” you asked, raising your brows expectantly. He pressed his forehead to yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He breathed out a quiet yes.
“Then take me.”
He gently pushed you down to the bed and your head rested against the pillows. He desperately tugged at his belt, removing the rest of his clothes like you could have disappeared at any moment. You hooked your thumbs into your panties and stripped them off before Noah positioned himself over you. His hand cupped your heat and his fingertips gently dipped into your core.
“So wet” he praised, “You like the thought of that? You want to be filled by me so badly, don’t you?”
You ground your clip against his palm to find some relief, whimpering out a soft yes in reply. He lined himself up at your entrance and a hint of hesitation shone in his eyes as he met yours.
“.. you sure?” He asked.
“Yes. It's okay, I promise” You reassured him with a soft smile and brushed the strands of hair from his eyes. At that he thrusted into your dripping pussy, immediately cursing at the feeling of you around him. He had never felt you, or anyone, bare like this before. He settled into a euphoric pace, rolling his hips into yours, leaving you a moaning mess. You could feel every ridge, every vein heightening the sensations.
“Goddamnit you feel so fuckin good” he huffed through heavy pants “So wet and warm and tight.” Feeling him fully like this sent tingles up your spine. He pulled out and rolled you over, dragging your hips up so your ass met his hard length and your face laid flat on the mattress. He thrusted into you and gripped your hips hard. You rocked forward as his hips snapped into you repeatedly and you peered over your shoulder at Noah. His muscles flexed and sweat was beginning to bead across his forehead. Pleasure rippled across his face and every so often he stilled, gritting his teeth and wincing.
“You good back there?” you asked teasingly.
He replied, voice strained and gravely, “Yup, just don’t want this to be over too soon.”
You laughed at his restraint, cut off with a loud yelp as his palmed smacked against your ass.
“Laugh again and you’re not getting a single fucking drop.” He said firmly. Your pussy clenched around him at his demeanor and he gripped your hips in response. “Now get on your back and beg me to fill you.”
You were lost for words.You flipped around and settled into the mattress, spreading your thighs for him. The sight of him alone was devastating, his eyes were glazed over with lust, tattoos trailed over his toned chest, his rock hard length glistened with your wetness. A warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him taking you like this. The level of trust and intimacy, the submission of letting him claim you. Your heart raced with anticipation.
His forearms braced each side of your head as he held himself above you. You reached between your bodies and gripped his cock, teasing your entrance as you rubbed the tip up and down your folds. He pushed into you suddenly and stilled deep inside you. Your hands tangled in his hair.
“I said beg.” He growled through gritted teeth.
“Noah, fuck-” you sighed “Please I want it so bad”
“I’m not moving until you ask for it properly.”
“Noah, I want you to fill me with your cum.” You whined, sudden shyness overtaking you at the pure filth leaving your lips.
“Good girl, now ask me again.” He said with a conceited grin.
“Noah, please breed my pussy” you said coyly.
He captured your lips in an open mouth kiss as he finally fucked into you. Your body nearly shook with pleasure. Countless times with Noah and somehow this felt like the first, learning the feel of him inside you with no barrier and having him take you, desperately and passionately. He thrusted into you deep, knocking the breath from your lungs as you clung to him, thighs wrapped tightly around his waist.
“You take me so well baby. I’m gonna breed this pussy and you’ll take every last fuckin drop like a good girl, yeah?” He whispered against your lips. You moaned in response, grinding your hips for more friction. He bent one knee beside you to take you deeper and the feeling had you seeing stars. The pleasure was building rapidly in your core and you knew your release was close.
“You want me to put a fuckin baby in you?” he teased.
“Oh God, please” you mewled.
“God isn’t the one about to make you cum.” Noah spat as his pace quickened.
“Noah” you cried as you fell apart around him. Your walls tightened over and over and his thrusts became messier as he chased his release. He watched your face as you moaned and begged for him to fill you, the pleasure still wracking through your body. He stilled and began to spill inside you. Your breath was stolen by the new sensation. A warmth spread within you and made you feel impossibly full. You could feel him pulsing inside you as he groaned deeply and buried his head in your neck. His hips jerked sporadically as he dragged out his orgasm, the most fucked out you’d ever seen him. He panted and a thin layer of sweat made his inked skin shine. He pushed himself up and knelt before you, slowly pulling out. His lips parted and you studied his face, pupils blown and eyes dazed. He watched as his tip slipped out of you with a subtle pop from the wetness, and his release seeped out of you slowly. You let out a playful giggle and began to close your thighs, his hands reached out to spread them again and his gaze never left your leaking, spent pussy.
After a moment you carefully slid off the bed and stood up, his cum beginning to drip down your thighs. He watched you, enamored, as you grabbed your panties from the floor and slipped your shirt on, then walked towards the door to clean up. You looked over your shoulder to see him still gawking.
“You okay?” you asked
“I uh- um, yeah” he stammered, meeting your eyes, “That was just... really fucking hot.”
You walked back over to him and stood between his thighs where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“First of many” you quipped, pecking him quickly on the lips before walking to the bathroom to clean up.
Noah fell back on the bed and ran his hands through his sweat-dampened hair, exhaling sharply. Without a doubt his mind was consumed with thoughts of the next time he could take you like that.
A/N: I think this is the filthiest thing I’ve written and I await my punishment from the heavens, but I hope you guys eat it up HAHA I had to get these thoughts out of my head. I have so much shit to do the next couple days so I wanted to post something before I have no time to write. I am so grateful for the love you guys have shown for my writing. It literally has me giggling and kicking my feet. As always feel free to chat with me or send me requests/questions/whatever!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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