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@blairboo
Blair’s MASTERLIST
NOAH SEBASTIAN:
Stories
Haunted: Prologue- One- Two- Three- Four- Five- Six- Seven- Eight- Nine- Ten- Epilogue
Just Pretend: Coming Soon
One Shots
Forgive Me: One- Two
Bad Decisions: One- Two
IDWT$: One- Two
Happy Birthday: One
Do I Impose?: One
Requests are open, write for whole bad omens crew 😊
Blair🪽
the boyzzz🥹🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭
credit pic
okay so, i’m gonna say this once cuz it’s getting out of control and it’s making me want to leave this platform
if you don’t like my posts, if you don’t like how i write, if you don’t like my stories in general… skip the fucking post, block me, do whatever you want but don’t come to my blog to say shit, and things i’m not, you don’t know who’s behind the screen, or anything about that person, i never gave any right to assume anything about me.
thank you
do i impose? <one shot>
noah sebastian x fem! reader!
just because i love angst😈
credit pics to @inthedarkofmyroom
They had been live for almost forty minutes.
Outside, the weather was cloudy, cold, just like Noah.
And Noah was exhausted.
Not physically. Mentally.
His leg bounced nonstop, jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the chat every few seconds like it was suffocating him instead of entertaining him. The smile on his face was there—but forced, tight at the edges.
Y/n noticed.
She always did.
She was sitting beside him, close enough that their knees touched every time he shifted. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, a small grin playing on her lips.
“Relax,” she murmured, barely audible. “You look like you’re about to fight the chat.”
Someone in the comments must have said something annoying, because Noah let out a sharp breath.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”
Trying to lighten the mood, she leaned closer to the camera, putting on a playful voice. “Guys, should we vote? Does Noah need a nap or a snack?”
A few people laughed. The chat exploded with emojis.
Noah snapped his head toward her.
“Can you not?” he said, sharper than he meant to—but loud enough for everyone to hear.
Everyone went quiet.
Not dead silent—but close enough.
Y/n blinked.
“What?” she asked, confused, still half-smiling.
“I said can you not,” he repeated, irritation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit.”
The smile faded from her face.
“Oh,” she said softly. “I was just—”
“Well, don’t,” he cut in. “Not everything has to be about you trying to be funny.”
The words hung in the air.
Heavy. Ugly.
Immediate regret hit him in the chest like a punch.
Because he saw it then.
The way her shoulders stiffened.
The way her lips pressed together like she was holding something back.
The way her eyes glossed over—fast, but not fast enough.
Noah froze.
He hadn’t meant it like that.
He hadn’t meant any of it like that.
But damage didn’t wait for intention.
Someone in the group laughed awkwardly. “Uh… hey, can someone grab the charger from inside? The battery’s dying.”
“I’ll go,” Y/n said immediately.
Too immediately.
She stood up before anyone could stop her, walking toward the front door without looking back.
Noah’s chest tightened.
“I’ll—” he started.
“I got it,” someone else said, but Noah was already on his feet.
“I’ll go help.”
He followed her inside the house, away from the camera, away from the noise.
She was in the kitchen, back turned, hands gripping the edge of the counter.
“Y/n,” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t mean—”
She turned around.
And that’s when he saw the tears.
Not dramatic.
Not falling hard.
Just silently slipping down her cheeks, one after another, like she didn’t even have the energy to stop them anymore.
His heart dropped.
“Hey—” he said, panic creeping into his voice. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was stressed and I took it out on you and that wasn’t—”
She wiped her face quickly, shaking her head.
“Don’t,” she said. “Just… don’t.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he rushed. “I didn’t mean you. I never mean you.”
She let out a small, broken laugh. “You still said it.”
He swallowed hard.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I hate that I did.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything they’d never said out loud. She grabbed the charger from the counter and handed it to him without meeting his eyes.
“Go,” she said. “They’re waiting.”
“No,” he said immediately. “I’m not leaving like this.”
She finally looked at him.
Her eyes were red. Vulnerable. Hurt in a way that cut deeper than anger.
“I need space,” she said quietly. “Please.”
That please broke him.
“Y/n—”
“I’m going home,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to cry in front of everyone.”
He shook his head. “Let me walk you—”
“Noah,” she said firmly. “Just… go deliver the charger.”
She stepped past him, grabbing her jacket from the chair by the door.
He stood there, frozen, the charger heavy in his hand.
“Hey,” he said one last time. “You know I care about you, right?”
She paused.
Didn’t turn around.
“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why it hurt.”
And then she left.
Noah stood alone in the kitchen for a long moment, breathing unevenly.
When he finally walked back outside and handed over the charger, the live continued like nothing had happened.
But Noah barely spoke.
Because all he could see—
was her eyes, filled with tears,
and the realization that the person he trusted most
was the one he’d just hurt the deepest.
Noah — POV
Three weeks.
That’s how long it had been since I last heard her laugh in the same room as me.
Three weeks since I’d learned that silence could be louder than screaming.
At first, I told myself it was fine.
That she just needed space.
That I deserved the distance.
And maybe I did.
But space does something cruel when you don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent.
I tried to keep busy.
Rehearsals.
Interviews.
Lives that felt hollow without her sitting just out of frame, rolling her eyes at the chat.
Nights out with the guys where I laughed too hard at jokes that weren’t funny.
Nothing worked.
Every quiet moment dragged her name to the surface.
Every song I wrote bent in her direction without permission.
My phone stayed face-up on the table, always.
Like it might punish me if I turned it over.
No messages.
I typed her name more times than I sent it.
Noah: I miss you.
Delete.
Noah: Can we talk?
Delete.
Noah: I’m trying to be better.
Delete.
Because none of it sounded like enough.
Because apologies rot when they sit too long.
I hated myself for waiting.
But I was terrified that if I reached out and she didn’t answer, that would be it. Final. Confirmed.
The guys noticed.
“You good, man?” Jolly asked one night, watching me stare at my drink like it had personally offended me.
“Yeah,” I lied automatically.
But my chest felt heavy. Constantly. Like guilt had weight.
I kept replaying her face in my head.
The way her eyes filled with tears—not dramatic, not loud. Just… quiet hurt. The kind that doesn’t ask to be fixed because it doesn’t trust you anymore.
That look haunted me.
I stopped going to the places she might be.
Not because I didn’t want to see her.
Because I didn’t think I deserved to.
Until one night, around two in the morning, when the house was too quiet and my thoughts were too loud.
I sat on the edge of my bed, phone in my hands, shaking slightly.
Enough.
I couldn’t live like this.
Losing her slowly was worse than losing her all at once.
I typed before I could overthink it.
Noah: I know it’s late. I don’t expect anything. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you in my life. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll respect that. I just… needed you to know.
The message sent.
I stared at the screen like it might explode.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Typing bubbles.
They stopped.
Started again.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Y/n: I don’t know what to say.
That was enough.
“I’ll come to you,” I whispered to myself.
I grabbed my jacket and keys.
Her place looked the same.
The light in the window was on.
I stood outside longer than necessary, convincing myself this wasn’t selfish. That I wasn’t forcing anything.
I knocked.
Once.
Twice.
The door opened.
She stood there barefoot, hair messy, eyes tired—but real.
Not distant.
Not closed.
Just… cautious.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “For showing up. I just— I didn’t want to hide behind texts.”
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
Inside, everything felt familiar in a way that hurt.
“I gave you space,” I said quietly, standing near the door. “Because you asked for it. But I need you to know… every day without you felt wrong.”
She crossed her arms. “Then why did it take you weeks?”
The question wasn’t angry.
It was wounded.
“Because I was scared,” I admitted. “Scared that reaching out would push you further away. And scared that if I lost you completely, it’d be my fault.”
Her eyes softened, just a little.
“I didn’t stop caring,” she said. “I just needed to breathe without feeling like I was imposing.”
That word shattered something in me.
“You were never imposing anything ,” I said, voice low. “You were the one constant in my life. And I treated you like background noise.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I don’t need grand gestures,” she said quietly. “I need consistency. I need to know you won’t turn cold when things get hard.”
I nodded. “I’m not perfect. But I’m learning. And I want to learn with you, not without you.”
She looked at me for a long time.
Then sighed.
“I missed you,” she admitted. “That’s what made it worse.”
My chest tightened.
“I missed you every day,” I said. “And it scared me how much.”
She stepped closer.
Not touching.
But close enough to feel.
“This doesn’t fix everything,” she said.
“I know,” I replied. “But it’s a start right?.”
She nodded slowly.
And for the first time in weeks, the silence between us didn’t feel like punishment.
It felt like possibility.
And that was a start.
yayyy, my mind has been working so much, that i just grab my phone and write something in like, 30 minutes, i love it.
mwahh
blair🪽
IDWT$ <part two>
noah sebastian x fem! reader!
hii again friend, oh wow i say that more than i should but okay, so im finally finishing this one too cuz it’s been more that a year now that i get questions if im finishing this one and here we go (thank god), i thought about making this an actual history but guess i have so much on my mind now (ideas of fanfiction) that i decided to just do the shot ;) hope yall like this end.
prepare your hearts, this is a long journey
word count: 10k
PART ONE
She stared at me for a few seconds longer, her jaw tight, as if saying her name would cost her something.
“…Y/n,” she finally said, barely above a whisper.
“Y/n,” I repeated, quietly. I didn’t know why I said it like that, slower than necessary, but something about her made me cautious—like one wrong move could send her running.
She shifted on the bed and immediately winced, her hand flying to her ribs.
“Don’t move like that,” I said instinctively.
She shot me a look. “You sound like a doctor.”
“I’m not,” I replied. “But I’ve seen enough injuries to know when someone’s pushing it.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes scanned the room again—my room. The dark curtains, the minimal furniture, the faint smell of antiseptic mixed with something metallic that never quite left my skin after fights.
“Where am I?” she asked again, this time calmer, but guarded.
“My place,” I answered. “You blacked out. You were bleeding. I couldn’t just leave you there.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from more than just pain. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But you’re alive. And you’re safe.”
Her lips pressed together. “You don’t know that.”
I leaned against the doorframe, keeping distance. “You’re right. But I know I won’t hurt you.”
That made her look up.
Her eyes studied my face, as if searching for cracks, lies, anything that proved I was just like the rest of them.
“I don’t even know you,” she said.
“Noah,” I replied. “In case you were wondering.”
She nodded once. No smile. No comment.
“already know that” mutters
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
“wanna talk about it?” i ask, just trying to make the conversation less awkward
“My boyfriend…” she started, then stopped. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected herself. “He never let me go to his fights. Said it wasn’t safe.”
I stayed quiet.
“I thought it was because he cared,” she continued. “Turns out he just didn’t want me seeing who he really was.”
Her voice didn’t break—but her hands did. They trembled in her lap.
I clenched my jaw.
“He controlled everything,” she said. “Who I talked to. How I dressed. Where I went.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “And I let him.”
“You survived him,” I said. “That matters.”
She looked at me again, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re not exactly… safe,” she gestured vaguely. “You fight underground. You punch people for a living.”
“I do,” I agreed. “And I won’t pretend I’m clean. But I don’t cage people. And I don’t cheat.”
Her gaze softened just slightly. Not trust—just curiosity.
“I should go,” she said suddenly, trying to stand again.
Her legs gave out.
I caught her reflexively, my hands hovering at her waist, barely touching.
She froze.
“So much for leaving,” I murmured.
She didn’t pull away this time.
“Sit,” I said gently. “Please.”
After a moment, she nodded and eased back onto the bed.
“I’ll drive you to your car in the morning,” I added. “No strings. No expectations.”
She studied me again. “Why are you being so nice?”
I exhaled slowly. “Because tonight took enough from you.”
That did it.
Her shoulders sagged, exhaustion finally seeping through the cracks.
“Just for tonight,” she said quietly. “Then I’m gone.”
“Just for tonight,” I agreed.
I handed her a glass of water. Our fingers brushed—brief, accidental. Still, she noticed. I noticed.
Neither of us said anything.
As I turned off the light and headed toward the couch, I heard her voice behind me.
“Noah?”
I paused. “Yeah?”
“Thank you… for not asking me to be anything right now.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.
“Get some rest, Y/n.”
And for the first time that night, she actually did.
Morning came quietly.
Not softly—but quietly, the kind of quiet that only exists after chaos. The kind that presses against your chest and forces you to feel everything you avoided the night before.
Sunlight filtered through the small gap in the curtains, landing right on Y/n’s closed eyes.
She stirred.
Her body protested first—her ribs, her head, the dull ache spreading through her limbs. She inhaled sharply and froze, afraid to make it worse.
She wasn’t home.
That realization hit before she even opened her eyes.
The room was unfamiliar. Darker. Cleaner. Colder.
She sat up slowly, biting back a hiss as pain bloomed in her side. Her gaze drifted around the room again—this time more carefully. The walls were bare, almost aggressively minimal. No photos. No personal clutter. Just… space.
Like someone who didn’t expect anyone to stay long enough to leave traces.
She swung her legs off the bed, steadying herself with one hand on the mattress.
That’s when she smelled coffee.
Her brow furrowed.
Noah stood in the kitchen, shirtless, leaning against the counter while the coffee machine hummed softly. His knuckles were bruised, still swollen from the fight—and from everything that came after.
He hadn’t slept much.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her crumpling to the ground. Her blood on his hands. The way her body had gone completely slack.
He glanced toward the hallway the moment he heard movement.
She appeared slowly, framed by the doorway, wearing one of his oversized hoodies. It swallowed her whole. Her hair was messy, her face still marked with faint bruising.
She looked… real. Vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing.
“Hey,” he said, carefully neutral.
“Hey,” she replied, equally cautious.
Neither of them moved.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” Noah added after a beat.
She shrugged lightly. “I got tired of pretending I was asleep.”
That earned a small huff of a laugh from him—brief, gone almost instantly.
“There’s coffee,” he said, nodding toward the counter. “And toast. That’s… all I’ve got.”
She hesitated, then walked in slowly, sitting on one of the stools.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He poured her a cup without asking how she took it, sliding it toward her. Their fingers didn’t touch this time—but the space between them felt charged anyway.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, breathing in deeply.
Silence again.
Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
“I’ll drive you to your car whenever you’re ready,” Noah said eventually. “No rush.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Another pause.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“Enough,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the truth.
She glanced at his hands. “Your knuckles look worse.”
“So do your ribs,” he countered.
She smiled faintly. “Guess we’re even.”
Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary.
Something shifted.
She looked away first.
“I don’t think I ever properly said goodbye to… that part of my life,” she admitted suddenly. “I just walked out.”
“That’s usually how you survive things,” Noah said. “You don’t get closure. You get distance.”
She nodded slowly. “Still feels unfinished.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It always does.”
She studied him then, curiosity edging past caution.
“You don’t talk much about yourself,” she said.
He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”
“I don’t believe that.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You shouldn’t believe fighters.”
She smiled despite herself.
“I should go soon,” she said after a moment. “Before things get… complicated.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
She stood slowly, wincing again, and Noah was there instantly—hovering, not touching.
“I’m okay,” she said quickly.
“I know,” he replied. “Just… habit.”
She hesitated, then placed a hand lightly on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said again. “For last night. For not making it worse.”
His breath caught—not visibly, but enough.
“You didn’t deserve worse,” he said quietly.
They stood there like that for a second too long.
Then she stepped back.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He grabbed his keys.
The drive was quiet.
Not empty—but thoughtful.
Rain streaks traced patterns down the windshield, the city still waking up around them.
When they reached her car, she lingered.
“I don’t know what happens now,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” Noah said honestly.
She nodded, then surprised him by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
Not romantic.
Not desperate.
Just grateful.
“Take care of yourself, Noah.”
“You too, Y/n.”
She got out of the car.
He watched her until she drove away.
And for the first time in a long time, Noah realized something unsettling.
He didn’t want to forget her.
PART TWO
Days passed.
Not quickly. Not slowly either. Just… heavily.
Y/n tried to fall back into routine—work, errands, pretending she wasn’t still sore every time she moved. Her ribs healed slower than the bruises on her skin, but neither hurt as much as the constant echo of that night.
The arena.
The rain.
Noah’s hands pulling her away.
The quiet safety of his apartment.
She hated how often she thought about him.
She hated even more that it felt different from every other man she’d ever known—not louder, not charming, not demanding. Just present. Steady.
She hadn’t expected to see him again.
So when she walked into the small neighborhood café three blocks from her apartment and nearly collided with a broad chest, her breath left her lungs.
“Oh—sorry—”
She froze.
Noah looked down at her, surprise flashing across his face before he masked it.
“Y/n.”
Her name sounded different here. Softer. Real.
“Noah,” she breathed.
They stood there awkwardly, blocking the doorway, rain dripping from his jacket onto the floor.
Silence crept in again, familiar now.
“Well,” she said, stepping aside, “I should—”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked quickly. Then, quieter, “No pressure.”
She hesitated. Her instincts screamed run. Her chest whispered stay.
“…Okay,” she said finally.
They sat across from each other, steam rising between them like something fragile.
“You look better,” Noah said.
“Less unconscious,” she replied lightly. “You don’t.”
He smirked faintly. “Story of my life.”
They talked about nothing at first—coffee, weather, how terrible the city traffic was. It felt… easy. Too easy.
Then her phone buzzed.
Ryan.
Her jaw tightened instantly.
Noah noticed.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “But I should.”
She stepped outside.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ryan’s voice snapped through the phone. “You disappeared.”
“I left,” she said calmly. “There’s a difference.”
“You embarrassed me,” he scoffed. “Everyone saw you with that fighter.”
Her stomach turned.
“You cheated on me,” she said. “ you don’t get to be angry about the consequences.”
There was a pause.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “We can fix this.”
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “You don’t fix people. You respect them. You never did.”
She hung up before he could respond.
When she went back inside, Noah was watching her—not prying, just… aware.
“He wants you back,” Noah said, not a question.
“He wants to control me again,” she corrected.
Noah nodded once. “They usually do.”
She studied him. “You talk like you’ve been there.”
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the window.
“My dad,” he said slowly. “Wasn’t great. Taught me early that power looks like love if you don’t know better.”
Her chest tightened.
“That’s why you fight?” she asked gently.
“That’s why I don’t run,” he replied “you know, you should stick around, friends you know” he continued and she just nodded, trying to ignore the flying butterflies on her stomach
Something settled between them then—not attraction, not romance.
Understanding.
Weeks passed after that.
They kept running into each other. Never planned. Always quiet miracles.
Sometimes it was coffee.
Sometimes it was late-night drives with music low.
Sometimes it was just sitting on opposite ends of the couch, not touching, but never far.
Noah never pushed. Never assumed.
And that scared her more than if he had.
One night, after a particularly bad day, she showed up at his door unannounced.
He opened it without surprise.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She stepped inside and finally—finally—broke.
He didn’t rush her. Didn’t pull her close right away.
He just sat beside her on the floor, shoulders touching, breathing in sync.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “The healthy way.”
“I don’t either,” he admitted. “But we can learn.”
She looked at him then—really looked.
“You’re not afraid of me,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “I’m afraid for you. There’s a difference.”
That night, they fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.
Their hands didn’t touch.
But neither of them moved away.
And somewhere between shared silence and unspoken promises, something real began to grow—slowly, carefully, stubbornly.
Like healing.
PART THREE
Y/n had learned to recognize the feeling.
That quiet unease crawling up her spine.
The sense of being watched even when the street looked empty.
She ignored it at first.
It was late afternoon, the sky painted in dull shades of gray, the city louder than usual. She had just left work, her bag slung over one shoulder, phone in hand as she checked the time.
A message lit up the screen.
Ryan: We need to talk.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn’t reply.
She kept walking.
“Y/n.”
Her body went cold.
She turned slowly.
Ryan stood a few feet away, leaning against a parked car like he had every right to be there. His jaw was tight, eyes dark with something that wasn’t regret.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.
“You stopped answering,” he said simply. “So I came.”
“You don’t get to do that,” she snapped. “You don’t get to show up.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m trying to fix things.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” she said. “You broke it.”
His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“Don’t walk away from me.”
Pain flared instantly.
“Let go,” she warned.
“You think you’re better than me now?” he scoffed. “Running around with that fighter? You think he actually cares about you?”
She tried to pull away.
He shoved her back.
Her body hit the brick wall hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Pain exploded through her ribs—still healing, still fragile.
“Ryan—stop—”
His hand came up again.
And then—
“Get. Away. From her.”
The voice cut through the street like a blade.
Ryan froze.
Noah stood a few steps away, gym bag hanging from his shoulder, eyes locked on the scene in front of him. His entire body had gone still—the dangerous kind of still.
“What the hell is this?” Ryan snapped.
Noah dropped the bag.
“Last warning,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
Ryan laughed. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“She was,” Noah corrected. “And you’re hurting her.”
Ryan turned back to Y/n, grip tightening.
Big mistake.
Noah moved.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed Ryan by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the sound echoed down the street. Ryan’s grip broke instantly, and Y/n collapsed slightly, catching herself against the bricks, gasping.
Noah didn’t take his eyes off Ryan.
“You touch her again,” Noah said quietly, “and I will forget every reason not to fucking kill you.”
Ryan swung.
Noah dodged easily, returning the punch with brutal precision. Ryan went down hard, groaning.
Noah turned back to Y/n immediately.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft again, hands hovering. “Look at me.”
She was shaking.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “I’m okay—I think.”
He cupped her face gently, checking for injuries, his touch reverent, controlled—nothing like the violence seconds before.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Ryan scrambled to his feet, blood on his lip. “This isn’t over,” he spat.
Noah didn’t even look at him.
“It is,” he said. “Walk away.”
Ryan hesitated—then did.
Noah waited until he was gone before turning fully to her.
That’s when her knees gave out.
He caught her instantly, pulling her into his chest, one arm firm around her back, the other supporting her ribs carefully.
She cried then.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
She buried her face into his chest, fists clutching his shirt as sobs tore through her body.
“I was so scared,” she gasped. “I thought I was done with him.”
“You are,” Noah said fiercely, holding her tighter. “I swear to you—you are.”
He carried her to his car without a word, buckling her in with shaking hands.
Back at his place, the silence was heavy.
He sat her on the couch, grabbing ice, painkillers, water—moving like he needed to do something before he lost control.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But… not as much as it could’ve.”
His jaw clenched.
“I should’ve been there sooner.”
“You were there,” she said, reaching for his hand. “That’s what matters.”
Her fingers wrapped around his.
This time, neither of them pulled away.
“You don’t get to scare me like that,” he said quietly. “I can handle fights. I can’t handle losing you.”
The words hung between them.
She looked at him, eyes red, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to matter this much.”
“You didn’t choose it,” he replied. “Neither did I.”
Slowly, carefully, he pulled her into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. His heartbeat was fast, uneven.
They stayed like that for a long time.
No kissing.
No promises.
Just two broken people holding on because letting go felt impossible.
And for the first time, Y/n realized something terrifying and beautiful.
This wasn’t just safety anymore.
This was attachment.
And Noah already knew—
if Ryan came near her again,
there would be no warnings left.
PART FOUR
Fight Day.
Noah didn’t want her there.
He hadn’t said it like an order—he never would—but the tension in his shoulders when she mentioned the fight was enough to give him away.
“You don’t have to come,” he said for the third time, tying the wraps around his hands. “I’ll be fine.”
Y/n leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, ribs still sore beneath her jacket.
“That’s not what this is about,” she replied calmly. “I’m not coming because you need me. I’m coming because I need to be there.”
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
There was fear in his eyes—and not the kind he ever felt walking into a cage.
He nodded once. “Stay close to security.”
“I will.”
He didn’t argue again.
The arena was louder than she remembered.
Lights flashed, bass rattled through her bones, and the smell of sweat and adrenaline filled the air. The crowd roared when Noah’s name echoed through the speakers.
Her heart hammered.
She found her seat near the front, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Then she felt it.
That prickle at the back of her neck.
She turned.
Ryan stood across the arena, half-hidden in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes locked on her.
Her stomach dropped.
He smiled.
Not wide.
Not friendly.
Possessive.
She swallowed hard and looked back toward the cage.
Noah was pacing now, bouncing lightly on his feet.
And then—his eyes found hers.
Everything changed.
His body stilled.
He saw her face.
The tension.
The way her shoulders tightened.
He followed her gaze.
Ryan.
Noah’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
He turned back to his coach, anger bleeding into every movement.
“What’s wrong?” his coach asked.
“He’s here,” Noah muttered.
The bell rang.
The fight started violently.
Too violently.
Noah came out aggressive—uncontrolled. Every punch carried more than strategy. Every hit was fueled by something darker.
Y/n stood up without realizing it.
“Noah,” she whispered.
He took a hard hit to the ribs and barely flinched.
“Focus,” his coach shouted.
But Noah wasn’t focused.
He glanced at her again.
Ryan had moved closer.
Security hadn’t noticed.
Panic crawled up her spine.
She shook her head subtly, trying to signal Noah—I’m okay, look at me, not him.
But Noah saw the way Ryan leaned in, murmuring something to her from behind the barrier.
Something threatening.
Something that made her step back.
And Noah snapped.
He charged.
The crowd erupted as Noah unleashed a brutal combination, slamming his opponent into the cage. Blood splattered. The referee shouted warnings.
“Noah—!” his coach yelled.
He didn’t hear it.
All he could see was her face—fear mixed with determination.
He will not touch her again.
The final punch landed with a sickening crack.
The bell rang again.
Silence.
Then—explosion.
The referee pulled Noah back, declaring the win.
Noah didn’t celebrate.
He jumped out of the cage immediately.
Y/n barely had time to react before Noah was in front of her, hands gripping her arms gently but firmly.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
“No,” she breathed. “He didn’t touch me. I swear.”
His forehead dropped to hers, eyes closed, breathing ragged.
“I can’t do this,” he admitted quietly. “I can fight anyone. But not when he’s near you.”
She reached up, cupping his face.
“You don’t have to protect me by breaking yourself,” she said. “I’m still here.”
Ryan was being escorted out now, shouting something incoherent.
Noah didn’t look at him.
He only looked at her.
“I was scared,” he said.
“So was I,” she replied. “But i’m fine okay?” she comforted
For the first time, he pulled her into his arms in public.
Not tight.
Not desperate.
Protective.
And as the crowd cheered around them, Y/n realized something else.
This wasn’t about danger anymore.
This was about choosing each other—even when fear tried to take the lead.
PART FIVE
The adrenaline didn’t fade all at once
It lingered in Noah’s veins long after the crowd thinned, long after the locker room emptied, long after the noise became a distant memory. He sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, breathing slowly—trying to come back to himself.
Y/n waited outside.
Not because he asked her to.
Because she wanted to.
When he finally stepped out, hoodie pulled over his head, hair still damp, he stopped short when he saw her sitting there, legs crossed, staring at the floor like she was grounding herself.
“You stayed,” he said quietly.
She looked up and smiled—small, real. “I told you I would.”
They walked out together, side by side, the night air cool against their skin.
“Do you want to come over?” he asked after a moment. Not urgent. Not loaded. Just an option.
She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
His apartment felt different this time.
Less like a refuge.
More like a shared space.
She kicked off her shoes, settling onto the couch while Noah disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with two glasses of water, handing one to her before sitting across from her—not too close.
They studied each other quietly.
“I don’t think we’ve ever just… talked,” she said.
He huffed a breath. “Probably because everything around us keeps catching on fire.”
She smiled at that.
“Tell me something about you,” she said. “Not the fighter. Not the protector. You.”
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“I like early mornings,” he admitted. “When the city’s quiet. I train better then. Think clearer.”
She tilted her head. “That’s soft.”
He smirked. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“What else?”
He looked at her now. “I hate yelling. Makes my chest feel tight. I shut down.”
Her expression softened.
“I hum when I’m nervous,” she confessed. “I don’t even notice I’m doing it.”
He smiled—really smiled.
“I noticed.”
That made her blush.
They talked like that for hours.
About childhood. About fears. About the kind of love that feels safe versus the kind that feels loud. About mistakes they never planned to repeat.
At some point, she shifted closer.
Not touching yet.
Just… closer.
Noah noticed. His breathing slowed.
“You don’t have to rush,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “I don’t feel rushed.”
Silence fell again—but this time, it was warm.
Her fingers brushed his hand.
She didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
Slowly, carefully, he turned his hand palm-up, giving her the choice.
She laced her fingers with his.
Something settled.
He leaned in slightly—not enough to cross the line.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low.
Her heart thundered.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The kiss was soft.
Tentative.
Nothing like the chaos that had surrounded them for weeks.
His lips brushed hers once—twice—like he was memorizing the shape, the feeling. She sighed into it, her free hand curling into his hoodie.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together.
“That felt…” she started.
“Right,” he finished.
They smiled—slow, private.
He pulled her into his chest then, arms wrapping around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She fit there. Like she always had.
They didn’t rush beyond that.
No clothes discarded.
No urgency.
Just warmth, shared breath, quiet laughter.
“I’m falling for you,” she admitted softly, half-afraid.
He kissed her temple.
“I already did,” he said.
And for the first time, love didn’t hurt.
It healed.
They didn’t rush it.
That was the first thing Y/n noticed as the night deepened around them—how nothing felt urgent, how every moment seemed to ask permission before moving forward.
They sat on the couch, legs tangled loosely, her head resting against Noah’s shoulder. The city outside hummed softly, distant and irrelevant.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m just… here,” she replied. “I don’t feel like I need to be anywhere else.”
His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against her arm, careful around the healing bruises.
“I will never hurt you,” he said suddenly. Not as a promise—but as a truth.
She turned to look at him. “I know.”
That was everything.
When they stood, it wasn’t dramatic. Just natural. Hands found hands. Foreheads touched. Breaths aligned.
In his bedroom, the light was dim, warm. Noah paused at the doorway, eyes searching hers.
“We can stop anytime,” he said.
She stepped closer, resting her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat—steady now.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.
They moved slowly, like they were learning each other’s language. Every touch was gentle, every kiss unhurried. Noah paid attention to her breathing, the way she tensed, the way she relaxed when he kissed her temple instead of her lips.
She felt seen. Not wanted—chosen.
Later, wrapped in sheets and quiet, she lay against him, tracing the lines of his ribs with her fingertips.
“This feels different,” she said.
“It is,” he replied. “Because it’s not about filling something broken.”
She smiled softly, eyes heavy. “It feels like building something new.”
He kissed her hair, arms tightening just enough to make her feel held.
They fell asleep like that.
Not tangled.
Not desperate.
Just close.
And for the first time in a long time, neither of them woke up afraid.
FINAL PART
Six months later, the city felt smaller.
Not quieter—but kinder.
Y/n sat in the front row of the arena again, this time without fear curling in her chest. Noah stood in the cage, stretching, focused—but when his eyes found hers, he smiled.
Not the fighter’s smile.
The one meant only for her.
Ryan was gone from her life completely now—papers signed, boundaries drawn, silence reclaimed. Healing hadn’t been linear, but it had been real.
After another fight, Noah found her backstage, sweaty and breathless, pulling her into his arms like it was instinct.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Better now,” he said.
They learned each other slowly after that.
How Noah needed space when overwhelmed.
How Y/n needed reassurance without being smothered.
How love didn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Some nights were still hard.
Some scars still ached.
But now, when fear showed up, it didn’t sit alone.
They shared coffee in the mornings.
Late drives with music low.
Quiet laughs in the grocery store aisles
And sometimes, when the world got heavy, they held hands in silence—proof that peace didn’t need words.
One night, lying in bed, Y/n whispered, “Do you ever regret how we met?”
Noah kissed her knuckles.
“No,” he said. “Because if it hadn’t been messy, I wouldn’t have known how strong you are.”
She smiled into his chest.
Love didn’t save them.
But it taught them how to stay.
Together.
yayyy, me again finishing stories at 1am, but i loved this one so much, so far my favorite ❤️
hope yall like it
share, like and reblogue if you feel like it
mwahhh
blair🪽
TAGLIST: @itsfarbettertolearn @miamore0570 @malerieee @dominuslunae
happy birthday <one shot>
noah sebastian x fem!reader!
Noah’s birthday was in two days, and then your brilliant mind decided it was a good idea to leave Los Angeles and head to Manchester to surprise him at his biggest headline show. Your partner in crime this time was Bryan—he had bought you a flight and planned how the big surprise would go.
You were already at the airport when Bryan texted you.
mr photographer: I’ve got everything ready, I can’t wait to take photos of this moment 😈
me: 😂😂 love u bry
The flight was long—11 hours of boredom. Well, at least it was good time to listen to the band’s four new songs on repeat. When you arrived in Manchester, the weather was cold and gray—and it would’ve been strange if it wasn’t. You went straight to the hotel you had booked until the next day. October 31st. Noah’s birthday.
He had sent you a few messages about how big the arena was and how exciting it was to live that moment.
After unpacking, doing your skincare, and watching some random show that was on TV, you finally fell into a deep sleep, anxiously waiting for the next day.
The next morning came quickly. The show was only at night, so you still had plenty of time to rest—until your phone rang.
Shit.
The room… well… it looked like a hotel room—because it was a hotel room—but Noah didn’t know you were in the city to surprise him, so you had to think fast.
Bathroom.
You quickly sat down on the bathroom floor, just a white wall behind you, and answered the phone.
“Why did it take you so long to answer?” he asked, already frowning, and I gave a nervous smile.
“Sorry, my love, I was… drying my hair. I didn’t hear my phone ring.” Awful, but it was the quickest lie I could come up with—and, well, he seemed to believe it.
We talked for a while, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask why I was sitting on the floor or why I seemed so nervous. He was so excited, talking about the show as if nothing else mattered. His eyes sparkled, and the smile never left his face.
“I just wish you were here. It’s a really important night for the boys—for everyone, actually,” he said with a sad smile, and all I could do was apologize for not being able to be there.
Little did he know.
At 7 p.m., you started getting ready: a short black dress with sparkles—very different for a metal show, but that wasn’t what mattered at that moment.
At 8:30 p.m., you left the hotel and texted Bryan to let him know you were on your way so he could put the plan into action.
Arriving at the arena was emotional—so many fans, posters, smiles, laughter—everything Noah had always dreamed of for his shows.
“Be serious, you look stunning,” a familiar voice came from behind you. Bryan.
“Omggg hii lovieee” we met in a tight hug.
We talked about what had happened at the last few shows and how excited the band was about their first headline arena tour in Europe.
Bryan explained what his genius mind had come up with for the night: he had ordered a cake with a picture of the duck that represents Noah’s meme. I laughed—he hated being compared to that duck.
The show so far had been incredible. Noah’s voice impressed me every time I heard it. The passionate fans singing back to him—it was simply amazing.
And then the moment arrived. At the end of the song Just Pretend, Matt—who already knew about our plan—turned off Noah’s microphone. I was standing at the side of the stage, holding the cake in one hand and the microphone in the other, and it was the first time since our relationship began that you felt this nervous.
You climbed the three steps and finally spoke into the microphone.
“Alright, everyone, I’m going to need your help right now.”
You walked onto the stage—faces in shock. Noah froze in disbelief, staring at the scene as if it were something supernatural.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” the crowd started singing along with you, and it was overwhelming. You walked to the front of the stage with the cake in your hands and… duck socks on your feet. Noah let out a genuine laugh when he saw the scene.
When the song ended, you looked at Noah and asked him to blow out the candles and make a wish, which he did tenderly, and you just knew Bryan took pictures of every angle possible.
“Thank you so much, everyone,” you said to the crowd, who screamed back. “Sorry—I couldn’t find my shoes.” You showed the audience the duck socks you had bought just for that moment, and laughter erupted.
After the boys said their goodbyes, you all went back backstage, smiles on your faces.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Noah said, pulling you into a tight hug.
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss this moment for anything in the world,” you said, resting your face against his neck, breathing in the scent you had missed.
Noah looked at the cake with the duck’s face on it and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t look like that. Leave me the fuck alone.”
And with that, the night ended in the most pleasant and loving way possible—you both back at the hotel, sleeping in each other’s arms.
hii friends😂
this ideia has been on my mind for a while now, after that show where noah didn’t like being compared to the duck meme, i loved it, and this ideia just came up to my mind
hope yall like it
mwaaahhh
blair🪽
hii again friends, it’s been a minute since i received so many messages and sorry for not responding sooner, very very busy this end of the year so :/
so most of the messages are now asking for the part two of IDWT$, and let’s go it, why not right? 👀
thank you for giving your time to right something nice, ily yall🤍
second part coming soon
part one
for you lovie @itsfarbettertolearn
Haunted• NS
Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader
Horror Series x Romance
🌑Chapter Eight🌑
🌑 CHAPTER 8 — When It Finally Spoke 🌑
It didn’t arrive loudly.
That was the first mistake.
She was brushing her hair in front of the mirror, Noah sitting on the bed behind her, scrolling through his phone. The house was calm — the dangerous kind of calm that convinces you to lower your guard.
Then the reflection blinked.
She didn’t.
Her hand froze mid-movement.
“Noah,” she whispered, not turning around. “Don’t move.”
He looked up instantly.
“What is it?”
The reflection smiled.
Not her smile.
A careful imitation.
“You’ve been very difficult to reach,” the reflection said.
The voice didn’t come from the mirror.
It came from inside her head.
Her breath caught sharply.
“Noah,” she said louder now, panic creeping in, “it’s here.”
He was already on his feet.
“I’m right here,” he said, moving toward her. “Look at me. Don’t look at it.”
But she couldn’t.
The reflection leaned closer, as if the glass were water instead of solid.
“You stopped feeding me,” it continued, calmly. “You stopped being alone.”
Her hands began to shake violently.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
The thing tilted its head.
“To finish,” it replied. “You were almost quiet enough.”
The room shifted.
Not physically.
Perceptually.
The walls felt farther away. The ceiling too high. Sound dulled, like the house itself had stepped back to watch.
Noah reached her.
The moment his hand touched her shoulder, the reflection’s expression changed. Not anger.
Jealousy.
“You were never supposed to bring him,” it said.
That’s when she screamed.
It tore out of her chest, raw and desperate, echoing through the house again and again. Her knees buckled, and Noah caught her just before she hit the floor.
“I’M HERE!” he shouted, panic breaking through his voice. “LET HER GO— LET HER GO!”
The mirror cracked.
Not shattered.
Cracked — a thin, spreading line like something testing the surface.
The thing’s voice dropped lower.
“He doesn’t belong to you,” it said. “He was meant to watch.”
Her vision blurred with tears.
“No,” she sobbed. “He was meant to stay.”
The pressure intensified — not pain, but weight. Like something trying to press her back into herself, into silence.
Then she remembered the notebooks.
The cords.
The truth they had missed.
“It feeds on fear,” she gasped. “But it survives on secrecy.”
Noah looked at her, eyes wide.
“What do we do?”
She forced herself to look at the reflection.
“We name you,” she said, voice shaking but firm. “Out loud.”
The thing froze.
That was enough.
She inhaled sharply.
“You are what’s left when fear isn’t shared,” she said. “You are memory without love. You are silence pretending to be power.”
The room trembled.
The reflection screamed — not in rage, but in refusal.
“Noah!” she cried. “Hold me— don’t let go— no matter what it says!”
He wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her against his chest, even as the air grew heavy and wrong.
The thing lashed out with words.
He’ll leave.
You’ll be alone again.
You always are.
She sobbed — but didn’t stop.
“I am not alone,” she screamed back. “And I never will be again.”
The crack in the mirror spread.
Light flooded through it — not bright, not holy — just real.
The thing’s voice fractured.
“This place remembers you,” it hissed. “You belong to me.”
She shook her head, clinging to Noah.
“No,” she whispered. “I remember myself now.”
The mirror split completely.
Not breaking outward — collapsing inward.
The pressure vanished.
The room snapped back into place.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Breathless.
Alive.
Noah sank to the floor with her still in his arms, shaking uncontrollably.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh my God, I thought I lost you.”
She was crying too — but she was here.
“It’s not gone,” she said quietly. “But it’s undone.”
He looked at her.
“What do we have to do?”
She wiped her face, steadying herself.
“We have to finish what our families started,” she said. “Not by trapping it.”
“But by ending the silence completely. Telling the truth. Passing it on — not as fear, but as warning.”
Noah nodded, swallowing hard.
“And never letting one of us face it alone again.”
She pressed her forehead to his.
“That’s how it dies,” she whispered. “When there’s nothing left for it to hide in.”
Somewhere deep in the house, something old and empty finally understood:
It had been seen.
And it had been named.
And that is the beginning of the end.
🌑 The Last Night It Tries 🌑
They didn’t leave the room.
Not after the mirror.
Not after the silence learned how to breathe again.
Noah sat on the floor with his back against the bed, her legs drawn close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her like a barrier the house couldn’t cross.
Every sound felt suspicious.
A pipe settling.
The wind brushing the windows.
The floor shifting under its own weight.
None of it was harmless anymore.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.
“I won’t let you,” Noah replied immediately.
They stayed awake, counting seconds by breaths.
That’s when the house changed its tactic.
It grew familiar.
The hallway light flicked on by itself — the exact shade her mother used to leave on when she was a child. A distant sound echoed from the kitchen: a drawer closing softly.
“Do you hear that?” Noah asked.
She nodded, shaking.
“It’s trying to remind me,” she said. “Make me feel small.”
The air thickened.
Then the voice returned.
Not from the mirror.
Not from the walls.
From the space between them.
“You don’t have to do this,” it whispered. “Just let him sleep.”
Noah stiffened.
“Don’t answer it,” he breathed.
“You’re tired,” the voice continued. “You always break when you’re tired.”
Her vision swam.
Noah tightened his grip.
“She’s not alone,” he said through clenched teeth. “Say it to me instead.”
The voice hesitated.
That hesitation was everything.
“You can’t take her place,” it said coldly.
“No,” Noah replied. “But I can stay in it.”
The temperature dropped sharply.
The light flickered.
For a moment, the room felt full — crowded with memories that weren’t theirs.
She screamed again.
Not in fear.
In defiance.
“I CHOOSE TO STAY AWAKE!”
The pressure collapsed instantly.
The voice dissolved into something thin and unfinished.
Silence returned — this time weaker.
Breathing hard, Noah pressed his forehead to hers.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “It can’t stand being answered.”
They didn’t sleep.
But dawn came anyway.
And the house felt… lighter.
mwah
blair🪽
TAGLIST: @lunamoonbby @itsfarbettertolearn
FORGIVE ME <part two>
noah sebastian x fem!reader!
hiii, oh wow, wrote this last year and never really finished and i often get questions if im finally finishing this one cuz apparently you guys liked a lot (thank you), so after reading again, and having ideas again and writing all night, here we are! hope that this could be great end :)
Final Part — Choosing Each Other
After Noah told me he cancelled the show for me, for a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
The words “I canceled” hung in the air like something unreal, too heavy to touch. I stared at him, trying to understand the weight of what he had done — what it meant. Noah Sebastian, in the middle of a tour, had crossed the country because he was afraid of losing me.
He didn’t look like the man the crowd screamed for every night.
He looked like a boy who had run out of pride.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered, even though some selfish, aching part of me wanted to believe I was worth exactly that.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I wanted to.”
His hands were still on my waist, not gripping, not desperate — just steady. Like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
“I was terrified,” he continued. “Not when you left. I deserved that. I was terrified when I realized the apartment felt empty in a way it never had before. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t sleep. Every room felt like it was missing oxygen.”
I swallowed hard.
“I kept hearing your voice in my head,” he said, eyes glassy. “Not yelling. Not crying. Just… quiet. And that scared me more than anything.”
I rested my forehead against his shoulder, my fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.
“You broke something in me,” I admitted. “Not permanently. But enough that I was scared to let you back in.”
“I know,” he whispered. “And I don’t expect trust overnight. I just want the chance to earn it again. Slowly. Properly.”
That word — properly — settled deep in my chest.
I pulled back slightly, looking at him. Really looking. The dark circles, the tension in his jaw, the vulnerability he rarely showed anyone.
“Then we do this differently,” I said. “No disappearing. No letting weeks go by without saying what hurts. No using me as a place to drop your anger.”
He nodded immediately. “I’ll go to therapy if I need to. I’ll learn how to put the pressure somewhere that isn’t you.”
My breath hitched.
“And I’ll tell you when something hurts,” I added. “Instead of pretending I’m fine just to keep the peace.”
A small smile broke through his exhaustion. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I just forgot for a moment.”
That night, we didn’t rush into anything dramatic.
We ordered food we barely ate. Sat on the couch with our knees touching. Talked about nothing and everything — about the tour, about the fights, about the fear of becoming strangers in the middle of love.
At one point, Noah rested his head in my lap, eyes closed.
“I thought loving you meant I had to be perfect,” he said. “And when I couldn’t be, I pushed you away.”
I ran my fingers through his hair. “Loving me just means staying.”
He smiled faintly. “Then I can do that.”
The next morning, sunlight filled the apartment.
Noah stood behind me in the kitchen while I made coffee, his arms wrapped around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.
“This feels normal again,” he murmured.
“Normal doesn’t mean easy,” I replied.
“No,” he agreed. “But it means real.”
He kissed my temple, slow and intentional.
His phone buzzed on the counter — a message from the band, probably questions, probably chaos.
He didn’t reach for it immediately.
“You’re sure?” he asked, quietly. “About us.”
I turned in his arms, cupping his face.
“I’m sure because we’re choosing each other with our eyes open this time,” I said. “Not because it’s comfortable. But because it’s worth it.”
He kissed me then — soft, unhurried, full of promise instead of desperation.
And for the first time in weeks, my chest didn’t hurt.
Later, when he finally had to leave — because life still moved, and tours still existed — he stopped at the door.
“I’ll call,” he said. “Every day.”
“I’ll answer,” I smiled.
He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
I stepped closer, pressing my forehead to his.
“Just don’t give me a reason to,” I said gently.
He nodded. “Never again.”
As the door closed behind him, I didn’t feel abandoned.
I felt chosen.
And that made all the difference.
The first night after he left was strange.
Not painful — not anymore — just quiet in a new way. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my phone resting on my chest, half-expecting it to buzz even though we had already said goodnight. The ache that used to live there had softened, replaced by something steadier.
Trust didn’t come back all at once.
But it came back.
At exactly midnight, my phone lit up.
Noah: I made it to the hotel. I ate. I’m exhausted. I miss you already.
I smiled before I even realized I was smiling.
Me: I’m proud of you. Sleep.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Noah: Thank you for staying.
That was when I knew — not because he had canceled a show, not because he had crossed the country — but because he was still choosing me in the quiet moments, when no one was watching.
The days passed differently after that.
He called every morning, even if it was just five minutes before soundcheck. Sometimes his hair was still messy, voice low and sleepy.
Sometimes he looked tired — but never distant.
He started telling me when things were hard before they turned into anger. When the pressure got heavy. When he felt overwhelmed. And when he caught himself pulling away, he stopped and came back instead.
“I’m not mad,” he said one night. “I’m just scared I’ll mess up again.”
“You’re allowed to be scared,” I answered. “Just don’t disappear.”
“I won’t,” he promised. And this time, it wasn’t desperate — it was grounded.
When I went to the next show, it felt different.
I stood side-stage again, next to Matt, heart pounding as the lights dimmed. When Noah walked out, the crowd exploded — but his eyes searched immediately.
And when he found me?
He smiled.
Not the performer’s smile.
Not the practiced one.
The mine one.
He didn’t say anything on the mic. He didn’t have to. But every song felt like a conversation — like an apology, a promise, a reminder.
After the show, he didn’t let go of my hand once.
“Thank you for coming back,” he whispered into my hair.
“I never really left,” I replied. “You just found your way back to me.”
Months later, life settled into something softer.
There were still arguments — smaller now, handled with words instead of wounds. There were still long tours and early flights and nights spent missing each other.
But there was also laughter in kitchens. Shared playlists. Inside jokes no one else understood. Video calls where we fell asleep together without hanging up.
One quiet evening, sitting on the couch with my legs over his lap, Noah traced circles on my ankle.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I used to think love was supposed to hurt to be real.”
I looked at him. “And now?”
“And now I think it’s supposed to feel safe,” he said. “Like coming home without needing directions.”
I leaned down and kissed him — slow, certain.
“Then welcome home,” I whispered.
He pulled me closer, arms firm around me, like he had learned what mattered.
And maybe we would still make mistakes.
Maybe there would be hard days ahead.
But we weren’t running anymore.
We were staying.
Learning.
Choosing.
Together.
This time — for real.
yeyyyy, yea sorry guys, it’s short cuz didn’t have much to happen anymore so, but hope this could be a good and fun end :)
mwahhh
blair🪽
Would you write for the rest of Bad Omens or just Matt and Noah?
hiii
whole crew!🤍
Are we still getting a part 2 to Forgive me?
oh god, feels like been forever since i wrote that and honestly i don’t like that shot very much but i can probably finish now
so so sorry for the delay on this response, i didn’t check up on tumblr so much last year, really sorry :(
but i promise ill try
part one
just pretend
Noah Sebastian x fem!reader!
PROLOGUE — Before Everything
Some loves begin loudly.
This one didn’t.
It began in the spaces between things — between songs unfinished, words unsent, moments that lingered too long to be coincidence but never long enough to be confessed.
Years later, when people spoke about Noah Sebastian, they talked about intensity. About the voice that sounded like it had been torn from somewhere deep and painful. About the way he stood on stage like he was holding himself together with sound alone.
What they didn’t talk about was the quiet.
The empty rooms after the lights shut off.
The hotel hallways at 2 a.m.
The silence that pressed in when the adrenaline faded and no one was watching anymore.
That silence knew her name.
There was a night — long before everything broke, and even longer before it healed — when Noah sat alone on the floor of a rehearsal studio, back against the wall, staring at nothing. A single lamp was still on, casting shadows that stretched too far, making the room feel larger and lonelier than it was.
His phone buzzed once.
Then stopped.
He didn’t pick it up.
He already knew who it was.
Lily had a way of checking in without asking questions. Of existing in his orbit without demanding space or shrinking herself to fit inside it. She didn’t try to fix him. She didn’t romanticize the chaos.
She just stayed.
And somehow, that terrified him more than being alone ever had.
If you asked Noah when things started to change, he wouldn’t know how to answer.
There was no single moment. No dramatic shift.
Just the slow realization that her absence felt heavier than the pressure of the world watching him succeed.
Just the way his first instinct was always to tell her — about the lyrics, the doubts, the fear that one day the version of himself on stage would swallow the one she knew so well.
Just the way “home” stopped being a place and started being a person.
Lily, on the other hand, felt it in smaller ways.
In how she recognized his footsteps before he spoke.
In how silence between them never felt awkward — only full.
In how loving him felt like holding something fragile without knowing whether it was meant to be kept.
She never asked for more.
And that, too, would cost them everything.
They didn’t know yet that distance would teach them the shape of their love.
That silence would become louder than words.
That mistakes would carve space for honesty.
That losing each other would be the thing that finally made them choose each other on purpose.
For now, there was only this:
Two people standing at the edge of something unnamed.
Too close to step back.
Too afraid to step forward.
And neither of them realized that this was the beginning.
Not of a love story.
But of everything that would almost tear it apart and everything that would bring it back together again. 🖤
ughhh, probably the most beautiful and emotional thing i’ve ever written, hope yall enjoy it just as much i enjoyed writing this🥹🤍
mwahhh
let me know if you want to be add on the taglist, means a lot ❤️
blair🪽
JUST PRETEND
coming soon🥹
blair🪽
Haunted• NS
Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader!
Horror Series x Romance
🌑Chapter Seven🌑
🌑 CHAPTER 7— What Was Passed Down 🌑
It started with a smell.
Not smoke.
Not rot.
Dried herbs.
She noticed it first while helping her aunt sort through old boxes in the attic. The air up there was stale, untouched for years — and yet, beneath the dust, something sharp and familiar lingered.
“Do you smell that?” she asked.
Her aunt froze.
Slowly, she nodded.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” she said.
They found the box tucked behind a beam, wrapped in cloth that had once been white. Inside were bundles of dried plants, tied with string so old it cracked when touched. Small notebooks. Symbols drawn in fading ink — circles, lines, names crossed out and rewritten.
No pentagrams.
No dramatics.
Just intention.
“These aren’t spells,” She said later, flipping carefully through one of the notebooks. “They’re… instructions.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For protection,” her aunt replied quietly.
The handwriting changed from page to page.
Different generations.
Same patterns.
That night, they compared notes.
At Noah’s house, his mother brought out a tin she hadn’t opened in years. Inside: a braided cord, darkened with age, and a folded piece of paper.
“I always thought it was superstition,” she said. “Your grandmother insisted I keep it near you when you were a baby.”
The paper held a single sentence, written carefully:
He will know when to hold and when to stay.
Noah swallowed hard.
“It’s about us,” he said.
“No,” his mother replied gently. “It’s about timing.”. As they dug deeper, the shape of it emerged.
Not covens.
Not rituals under moonlight.
Women — mostly. Some men. People who listened to patterns. Who believed places remembered. Who learned how to close doors without locking them.
And sometimes…
They failed.
“Whatever this is,” Noah said, tracing a familiar symbol from his family’s papers to hers, “it wasn’t summoned.”
“It was noticed,” she replied.
They learned the truth slowly, carefully, like handling something that could shatter.
Generations ago, something had attached itself to fear during a time of loss. It didn’t belong to one family — but it recognized them. Their sensitivity. Their tendency to notice what others ignored.
And once, long ago, someone tried to contain it.
Not destroy it.
Containment never lasts forever.
“It wakes when someone is alone long enough,” her aunt said. “When fear has time to echo.”
“And it stops when connection returns,” Noah added.
That was the final piece.
The witchcraft wasn’t about power.
It was about binding.
About teaching people how to hold each other in ways fear couldn’t interrupt.
That night, she stood in her room holding one of the old cords. Noah stood behind her, hands steady on her shoulders.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
Noah didn’t hesitate.
“We don’t repeat their mistakes,” he said. “We don’t isolate. We don’t pretend we can handle it alone.”
She turned to face him.
“And the thing?”
He met her gaze.
“We don’t fight it,” he said softly. “We starve it.”
She smiled — small, certain.
Together, they tied the cord around the bedpost.
Not as a ward.
As a reminder.
That whatever had followed fear through generations had finally reached a place it didn’t understand:
Two people who knew the truth
and chose each other anyway.
And somewhere, deep in the memory of the house,
something ancient shifted — not in anger,
but in resignation.
Because some doors don’t close with force.
They close when no one is afraid to stand on both sides of them.
🌑Love🌑
The house was quiet in the best possible way.
Not alert.
Not waiting.
Just… resting.
Late afternoon light spilled through the window, soft and warm, turning dust into gold. They sat on the floor of her room, backs against the bed, legs tangled without thinking about it.
For the first time in a long while, nothing felt urgent.
Noah broke the silence first.
“I think I loved you before I knew what fear was,” he said, almost to himself.
She turned her head toward him.
“That’s not fair,” she smiled. “You can’t say something like that and not look at me.”
He did.
Really looked.
“I’ve always known where you were,” he continued. “Even when I didn’t know where I was going.”
Her chest tightened — not from fear, but from recognition.
“I used to think loving someone meant being loud about it,” she admitted. “Big words. Big gestures.”
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I think it’s this,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “Staying. Choosing. Holding on when it would be easier to run.”
He squeezed her hand gently.
“I love you,” he said. No hesitation. No drama. Just truth.
She didn’t rush the answer.
She leaned in, forehead to his, breathing him in like something familiar she’d missed without realizing.
“I love you too,” she said. “Not because you saved me. But because you stayed with me while I learned how to save myself.”
He smiled — soft, almost disbelieving.
“Then let’s keep choosing each other,” he said. “Even on the boring days.”
“Especially on the boring days,” she laughed.
He kissed her then.
Slow.
Warm.
Certain.
The kind of kiss that doesn’t promise perfection — only presence.
They stayed like that for a while, talking about small things. Favorite songs. Places they wanted to see. How strange it felt to imagine a future that didn’t revolve around fear.
When the sun dipped lower, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“You know,” she said, “for the first time, I’m not scared of falling asleep.”
He wrapped his arm around her.
“Good,” he murmured. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Outside, the world continued quietly.
Inside, two hearts settled into something steady and real.
And if there were still memories in the walls — if echoes lingered —
They didn’t matter.
Because love, when chosen gently and again and again,
is louder than fear.
And this time,
they meant it.
Chapter Eight
ughhh, only 4 moreee
blair🪽
TAGLIST: @lunamoonbby @itsfarbettertolearn
Haunted• NS
Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader!
Horror Series x Romance
🌑Chapter Six🌑
🌑 CHAPTER 6 — The Place That Remembers 🌑
They started with the house.
Not because they wanted to — but because it kept coming back in the notes. Every dream. Every mark. Every moment of silence pointed inward, not outward.
Like something had chosen this place long before it chose them.
Her aunt walked slowly through the rooms, not touching anything at first. Just observing. Listening. As if the walls might speak if given time.
“This house holds sound strangely,” she said at last. “Have you noticed?”
Noah nodded.
“Sometimes it feels like words don’t disappear here,” he replied. “Like they stay.”
Her aunt’s gaze lingered on the hallway.
“Places can learn patterns,” she said. “Especially places where people grow up. Where fear and safety overlap.”
That night, Noah stayed over again.
They didn’t even discuss it — it was simply understood now.
They lay on the floor of her room, blankets spread out, the notebook between them. A small lamp glowed beside the bed, casting long, gentle shadows.
“I don’t remember being scared here as a kid,” she said quietly. “But I remember feeling… watched. Even on good days.”
Noah turned his head toward her.
“Like you were never fully alone,” he said.
“Yea.”
The words settled between them.
Outside, the trees shifted softly in the wind. Not violently. Not threateningly. Just enough to make the shadows sway across the walls.
Noah reached for her hand.
“You know what scares me the most?” he asked.
She squeezed his fingers.
“What?”
“That whatever this is,” he said, “it didn’t start now. We just… fit.”
She swallowed.
“Like we woke it up,” she whispered.
Or like it had been waiting.
They fell quiet.
Minutes passed.
Then she spoke again, barely above a breath.
“In the dreams… it never chases,” she said. “It waits for us to notice it.”
Noah’s jaw tightened.
“That’s not a predator,” he said. “That’s a witness.”
The word sent a shiver through her.
Later, when the light was turned off and the room settled into shadow, she shifted closer to him. Their foreheads touched, breaths slow and shared.
“If it’s tied to the house,” she murmured, “does that mean it can’t follow us?”
“I don’t know,” Noah said honestly. “But I think it’s stronger here.”
That was when they heard it.
Not a sound.
A pause.
The kind where the night holds its breath.
The lamp flickered once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Noah sat up slightly, pulling her with him.
“Did you feel that?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“It knows we’re talking about it.”
They stayed still, hearts pounding, waiting for something — anything — to happen.
Nothing did.
Eventually, Noah let out a slow breath.
“It’s learning,” he said. “But so are we.”
She rested her head against his shoulder.
“And we’re not alone anymore,” she added.
In the notebook, before sleeping, she wrote one final line for the night:
It is tied to this place.
But we are tied to each other.
As they drifted toward sleep — not fully trusting it, but no longer afraid of it either — the house creaked softly around them.
Not in warning.
In memory.
Because places remember.
And so do the things
that hide inside them.
🌑 Somewhere Else 🌑
They didn’t announce the decision.
One morning, Noah simply packed a bag for her and said, “Stay with me for a few days.”
Not come over.
Stay.
She didn’t argue.
His house felt different the moment they stepped inside. Not lighter — just unfamiliar. Like a place that hadn’t learned her yet.
The air moved normally. Sounds behaved. Shadows stayed where they belonged.
For the first night, nothing happened.
No dreams.
No pressure.
No sense of being observed.
She woke up disoriented — and smiling.
Noah noticed immediately.
“You slept,” he said softly.
“I did,” she replied, almost disbelieving.
He reached out, brushing his thumb across her wrist.
No new marks.
They didn’t say it out loud, but the relief sat between them like a fragile gift.
The days passed quietly.
They studied together at the kitchen table. Watched old movies curled up on the couch. Shared meals with his parents, who noticed the way Noah stayed close — how his hand always found hers without looking.
At night, they slept side by side.
She dreamed, but the dreams were different. Fragmented. Dull. Empty of intent.
Like something trying — and failing — to follow.
On the third night, she woke suddenly.
Not screaming.
Listening.
Noah stirred beside her.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“I thought I heard my name,” she said.
They waited.
Nothing came.
Just the steady hum of the house, alive in a harmless way.
Noah exhaled.
“It doesn’t know this place,” he said.
That scared her.
“What do you mean?”
“I think it’s tied to where you became afraid,” he explained. “Not just the house. The years. The memories.”
She turned toward him.
“So if we leave long enough…”
“It loses the map,” he finished.
For the first time, hope didn’t feel reckless.
That afternoon, they sat on the back steps, sunlight warming their skin. Noah leaned his forehead against hers.
“I don’t feel like I’m fighting anymore,” he said. “I feel like I’m choosing something.”
She smiled.
“You.”
“Us,” he corrected.
She kissed him then — slow, certain, unafraid. The kind of kiss that says I’m here tomorrow too.
That night, she slept deeply.
But just before dawn, something shifted.
Not inside the room.
Inside her.
A distant sensation. Faint. Like remembering a name you haven’t said in years.
She opened her eyes.
The room was still.
Safe.
Noah slept beside her, breathing evenly.
She let herself relax again.
And somewhere far away — in a house that remembered her too well — something waited.
Not chasing.
Not reaching.
Just… holding the shape of her absence.
Because it had learned something important:
It didn’t need to follow them.
Sooner or later,
they would remember it.
Chapter Seven
blair🪽
TAGLIST: @lunamoonbby @itsfarbettertolearn
Haunted• NS
Noah Sebastian x Fem! Reader
Horror Series x Romance
🌑Chapter Five🌑
🌑 CHAPTER 5— What the Marks Remember 🌑
The marks didn’t hurt.
That was the first thing that terrified Noah.
They didn’t burn.
They didn’t ache.
They didn’t even itch.
They just existed.
Faint lines along her arms. A pale curve at her collarbone. Another near her ribs, half-hidden, as if whatever left it had been interrupted.
Noah noticed something else too.
They appeared only after nights when she dreamed.
And they faded when she stayed awake with him.
He didn’t tell her at first. He watched instead — counting, memorizing, noticing patterns like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
“They’re not random,” he finally said one afternoon, sitting beside her on the bed. “They show up where you’d be held.”
She looked down at her own skin, quiet.
“Like someone learning the shape of me,” she whispered.
The room felt colder.
That night, they didn’t sleep.
They lay side by side, lights on, fingers intertwined. Noah traced slow, grounding circles against her knuckles, careful not to touch the marks.
“I don’t think it wants to hurt you,” he said softly.
She turned her head toward him.
“Then what does it want?”
He swallowed.
“To remember you.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees — not violently, not unnaturally — just enough to make the shadows sway.
“I think it can’t stay,” Noah continued. “Not fully. Not here. But it can visit. And every time it does… it leaves a trace.”
She leaned closer to him, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
“And the dreams?” she asked.
“Practice,” he replied. “Rehearsal.”
That night, something changed.
She drifted — not into sleep, but into that fragile space right before it.
And Noah felt it.
The air shifted.
Not darker.
Heavier.
Her breathing slowed.
“Noah,” she murmured.
“I’m here.”
“It’s closer than before.”
He tightened his grip on her hand.
“You’re not alone.”
For a moment, the marks warmed beneath his fingers — not painfully, just… present. As if responding.
And then—
Nothing.
The pressure lifted. The air returned to normal.
She opened her eyes.
“It’s gone…” she said, surprised.
Noah stared at their hands.
“Because you weren’t alone,” he realized.
From that night on, they learned something vital:
The presence could touch dreams.
It could touch memory.
It could touch absence.
But it struggled with connection.
With closeness.
With two people choosing each other in the same moment.
The marks didn’t vanish completely.
But they stopped spreading.
And that scared the presence.
Because now it understood something it hadn’t before:
It could watch them.
It could wait.
It could learn their fear.
But as long as they stayed awake together,
as long as they reached for each other in the dark—
It couldn’t finish what it started.
And somewhere, just beyond the edge of the room,
something patient and unseen
adjusted its plans.
🌑 Holding On, Reaching Out 🌑
That morning, the house was quiet in a gentle way — sunlight spilling across the floor, dust floating lazily in the air. The kind of calm that feels borrowed.
They sat on her bed, knees touching.
Noah traced the inside of her wrist slowly, carefully, as if memorizing something fragile.
“I keep thinking,” he said softly, “about how easy it would be to pretend this is just stress. Bad dreams. Coincidence.”
She watched his hand move.
“And how dangerous that would be,” she replied.
He nodded.
She leaned into him then — not urgently, not desperately — just enough to rest her head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Real. Anchoring.
For a while, that was enough.
“I dreamed you were laughing,” he said quietly. “Not scared. Not running. Just… happy.”
She smiled faintly.
“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare.”
“It was,” he said. “Because I knew it wasn’t real. I knew something had allowed it.”
She pulled back to look at him.
“That’s what scares me too,” she admitted. “When things feel normal, it’s like it’s testing how much we trust it.”
Noah’s fingers tightened slightly around hers.
“I don’t want to fight this alone,” he said. “And I don’t want you to either.”
She exhaled, slow and shaky.
“Neither do I.”
They stayed there, foreheads touching, breathing in sync — a quiet promise forming between them without words.
Then she spoke.
“My aunt,” she said. “She used to work with trauma cases. Sleep disorders. People who see things they can’t explain.”
Noah listened carefully.
“She believes in patterns,” she continued. “In listening instead of dismissing.”
“Do you trust her?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said immediately. Then, softer, “And I trust us.”
That settled it.
Later that afternoon, they sat at the kitchen table, hands linked beneath it as her aunt spoke gently across from them. She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t rush to explain anything away.
She just listened.
“You’re not describing panic,” her aunt finally said. “Or imagination. You’re describing consistency.”
Noah felt her grip tighten at that word.
“Dreams repeating across two people,” her aunt continued. “Physical marks appearing alongside sleep disturbances. The fear intensifying when one of you is alone.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“That doesn’t mean something supernatural,” she added carefully. “But it does mean something unresolved is feeding on isolation.”
The word feeding made the room feel colder.
“What do we do?” she asked quietly.
Her aunt met their eyes.
“You stay connected,” she said. “You ground each other. You write everything down. And you don’t let this turn you against yourselves.”
Noah squeezed her hand.
“We won’t,” he said firmly.
That night, back in her room, they lay side by side, the notebook open between them. Dates. Dreams. Marks. Feelings. Patterns.
Noah paused, then wrote something else.
When we hold hands, it weakens.
She smiled.
“You’re really writing that?”
“It’s data,” he said, serious. Then softer, “And it’s true.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek — slow, deliberate, intimate in a way that felt stronger than fear.
For a moment, the room felt warm.
Safe.
And somewhere beyond the walls, something noticed the shift.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Something closer to frustration.
Because now it understood something it had tried to ignore:
They weren’t just surviving together.
They were choosing each other.
And whatever it was — whatever it wanted —
It would no longer be facing two frightened minds.
It would be facing a bond.
And bonds, once named,
are much harder
to break.
Chapter Six
releasing another one cuz why not
only 6 more to go🥹
mwah
blair🪽
love the new pics, heart is full
TAGLIST: @lunamoonbby @itsfarbettertolearn
Haunted• NS
Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader!
Horror Series x Romance
🌑Chapter Four🌑
🌑 CHAPTER 4— Cracks in the Quiet 🌑
The message from Noah stayed on my screen longer than it should have.
You okay?
I stared at it while the sun dipped lower, turning the houses gold, then orange, then gray. Everything looked peaceful — the kind of peace that feels rehearsed.
I locked the door behind me.
The sound echoed too long.
Inside, the house felt… patient.
I dropped my bag by the stairs and stood there, listening. The refrigerator hummed. A clock ticked. Ordinary sounds doing their best impression of safety.
“Hello?” I called.
My voice came back to me.
Exactly the same.
I moved through the house slowly, touching walls, grounding myself in texture and temperature. The couch was soft. The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent. My room looked untouched.
Normal.
I sat on the bed and let myself breathe.
That’s when my phone buzzed again.
Noah: I’m coming now.
Relief washed through me.
I stood to open the window — and froze.
My reflection in the glass was already standing.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Just waiting.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I lifted my hand.
The reflection followed — but a fraction of a second too late.
The air thickened.
“I see you,” I whispered, unsure who I was speaking to.
The reflection smiled.
Not wide.
Not wrong.
Just… knowing.
My phone slipped from my hand as the front door clicked.
“Noah?” I shouted, panic breaking through.
Footsteps.
Keys.
The lock turned.
The reflection vanished.
The room snapped back into place like nothing had happened.
The door opened downstairs.
And I screamed.
It tore out of me — raw, desperate, uncontrolled — the kind of sound that doesn’t ask for help, only proves it’s still alive.
“Hey! Hey!” Noah’s voice crashed up the stairs, frantic. “its me! i it’s me i promise”
He took the steps two at a time. The moment he reached me, he grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.
“What happened?” he demanded, breathless. “What did you see?”
I couldn’t speak. My body shook violently, adrenaline still flooding my veins.
He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly it bordered on painful — like he needed to make sure I was solid.
“I heard you scream from outside,” he said, voice breaking. “I thought—”
He didn’t finish.
“I wasn’t asleep,” I whispered into his chest. “I wasn’t dreaming.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “That’s what scares me.”
We stayed like that for a long time, the house silent around us.
Then, softly, he said:
“When I was at the door… I thought I heard you call my name.”
I stiffened.
“I didn’t,” I said.
He nodded.
“I know.”
We looked at the hallway together.
Nothing moved.
Nothing followed.
But the feeling lingered — the unmistakable sense that something had almost gotten what it wanted.
Not by force.
But by timing.
By choosing the exact second when he wasn’t there yet.
And understanding something new:
It didn’t need darkness anymore.
It didn’t need sleep.
It just needed one of us alone —
even for a moment.
🌑 When the Dream Belongs to Him 🌑
Noah woke up gasping.
Not screaming.
Not moving.
Just suddenly awake, lungs burning, heart racing — like his body had escaped something his mind was still trapped inside.
The room was dark. Quiet.
Too quiet.
He stayed still, afraid that if he moved, the dream would remember him.
In the dream, she had been there.
Alive at first.
Standing in the middle of the road, calling his name. The sound of her voice had been wrong — distant, stretched thin, like it had passed through something else before reaching him.
He ran.
No matter how fast he moved, she stayed just out of reach.
Then she stopped.
And smiled.
Not at him.
At something behind him.
“Noah,” she said softly. “Don’t turn around.”
He didn’t.
He watched helplessly as her expression changed — not to fear, not to pain — but to recognition. Like she finally understood what was happening.
“I think it chose me first,” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
Not taken.
Not pulled.
Just… erased.
No sound.
No struggle.
The dream ended with Noah alone, standing in the road, certain of one thing:
If he had turned around,
he would have seen it.
He didn’t sleep again after that.
When he came over in the morning, she looked tired but calm — too calm for someone who hadn’t slept well.
“You okay?” he asked immediately.
She nodded.
“Just didn’t rest much.”
He believed her.
Until she rolled up her sleeve.
The mark was faint. Almost easy to miss. A pale line against her skin, like pressure left behind by something that had held on too long.
Noah’s stomach dropped.
“What’s that?”
She looked down.
Her breath caught.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t there last night.”
There was another one near her wrist. And one at the edge of her collarbone.
Not bruises.
Not scratches.
Just… impressions.
As if something had rested there.
“You didn’t hurt yourself?” he asked carefully.
She shook her head.
“I would remember.”
That was the worst part.
Throughout the day, Noah couldn’t stop watching her. The way she flinched at sudden sounds. The way she sometimes pressed her fingers to her arm, like she felt something beneath the skin.
By afternoon, there were more marks.
Faint.
Unexplainable.
And symmetrical.
That night, Noah dreamed again.
This time, she was lying in bed — eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
“Stay awake,” she whispered. “It doesn’t like when I sleep.”
He tried to reach her, but his legs wouldn’t move.
The marks on her skin darkened slightly — not violently, not painfully — just enough to be noticed.
“You’re dreaming this,” he said desperately.
She turned her head toward him.
“I know,” she replied. “That’s why it’s working.”
He woke up with tears in his eyes and the certainty settling heavy in his chest:
Whatever it was doing…
It wasn’t hurting her to make her suffer.
It was marking time.
And it had decided that if it couldn’t take them both at once —
It would start by teaching him
exactly how it felt
to watch her disappear.
Chapter Five
hope yall like it :)
Blair🪽
TAGLIST: @lunamoonbby @itsfarbettertolearn