Random Noah thought that I can't title (3) bc his cheeks look SO kissable. Look at him.
You’ve always been affectionate with your friends. It wasn’t something you thought twice about, resting your head over Matt's shoulder for a moment when sitting backstage, ruffling Folio’s hair after a show and making him laugh as he tried to do the same thing to you and you ran away, or dropping a casual kiss on one of your friends' cheek when they did something nice for you.
With Noah, though?
With Noah it was different.
Not that you treated him differently, you really didn't.
You kissed his cheek too, just like you did with the others, like when he made you vegetable soup when you weren't feeling very well, when he bought you that necklace you'd been saying you wanted for your birthday, after a friendly outing with the band.
And every time, without fail, his ears turned bright red. A cute, nervous blush crept across his cheekbones.
You noticed, of course.
But you never said anything.
Neither did he.
He’d just duck his head a little, let out a small laugh, and try to act casual while internally short-circuiting and screaming and crying.
Because Noah had a secret that was not really a secret to anyone.
A big, stupid, inconvenient, wonderful secret.
He had a huge crush on you.
It wasn’t even subtle. Not to the rest of the band, anyway. Folio caught on the first time he watched Noah stare at you for a solid minute while you were talking to Jolly. Nick figured it out after Noah rewrote an entire verse in a song because the original one “didn’t feel right” after you'd given your opinion on it. And Jolly? Well, Jolly just knew. Like some sixth sense.
You didn’t seem to notice, or maybe you did, and just didn’t say anything. That was worse, in Noah’s mind.
Tonight, you were all hanging out at their house.
You came bringing your best friends, the one who had a crush on Folio but for some reason avoided him like the plague and the one who always forgot their band's name.
You were wearing a casual dress, nothing fancy, just right for a night like this, but Noah still had to take a deep breath every now and then and stop himself from looking at you for the hundredth time
You were sitting between Nick and Noah on the couch.
You laughed at something he said and turned your head toward Noah.
He stiffened, just slightly, as you leaned in.
"By the way," Your lips brushed the edge of his cheek, soft and familiar.
“Thanks for letting me hijack your playlist earlier,” you whispered against his skin.
Noah didn’t breathe.
You pulled back with that smile he liked too much. The one that made his chest feel too tight.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled, hoping his voice didn’t crack.
You turned back to the group, commenting on something Jolly was saying. Noah just sat there, ears flaming, willing himself to look normal.
Matt caught his eye from across the room and smirked.
Noah glared at him.
Later that night, after everyone found different spots to sit and chat, you found Noah sitting on the steps just outside the front door, tapping something into the notes app on his phone. Probably lyrics.
“Hey.” you said quietly, sitting beside him.
"Hey." He gave you a small smile.
You were silent for a beat. Then, quietly: “Your ears were red again.”
Noah froze.
You were watching him, expression unreadable. He just hoped you weren't going to make fun of him.
He laughed, kind of breathless. “Yeah. I, uh… that’s just… you know. When it's hot.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Noah.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“I like when you kiss me,” he said finally, voice low, words almost trembling. “Probably more than I should.”
You blinked.
“I mean...I know you do that with everyone, and it’s totally cool, I’m not trying to make it weird, I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears crimson again. “I have this… thing. For you. And I’m scared I look like a total idiot every time you’re near me.”
You stared at him.
Then smiled.
Slowly.
And leaned in.
Another kiss, still on his cheek. It was warm.
“You don’t look like an idiot,” you murmured. “You look like someone I really, really want to kiss properly.”
His heart fucking stopped.
Then—
“...like, not just cheek-level anymore.”
Noah turned to you, beautiful brown eyes so wide you could almost see your reflection in them.
And then you kissed him, really kissed him.
And his cheeks still burned, and his ears were still red.
It was sunday, and the sunlight seeped in through the curtains of Noah's bedroom like honey, warm and golden. If you paid close enough attention, you could hear music drifting from someone’s phone down the hall and the laugh coming from the kitchen where Jolly and Matt were arguing over who made the better eggs.
Noah sat at the edge of the bed, pulling on a hoodie you’d left on his desk chair—his hoodie, technically, but it’d long since stopped mattering whose clothes were whose. The scent of you still clung to the fabric. From behind him, there was the soft shuffle of blankets and then your arms winding lazily around his waist, your cheek pressing against his bare, warm back.
“You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still filled with sleep.
He chuckled. “It’s almost noon.”
“So?”
Noah twisted slightly so he could look at you over his shoulder. Hair messy, eyes still half-closed, wearing one of his old band tees—he swore, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You gonna get up?” he asked, brushing his fingers through your hair.
You groaned. “Not unless there’s coffee involved. Go tell the guys to stop arguing over avocados or whatever and make me some coffee."
That earned a real laugh from him, low and warm, the one you loved the most. He leaned back, pulling you fully into him and burying his face into your neck. You always smelled like home.
And that’s when it hit him. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, but today it landed different.
This was it.
He’d spent so many years trying to survive, trying to build something out of nothing. There were nights in his teenage years where he’d lie awake and wonder if he’d ever feel really, complefely safe anywhere. If he’d ever have a room that felt like his. A door he could close without fear. A bed that felt like it belonged to someone who was loved.
He knew he had people who loved him and cared about him even in the past but this was different.
And now, here he was—wrapped around the person he loved most, in a house full of noise and people and warmth. His friends were just down the hall, probably making a mess in the kitchen. Jolly would burn something. Jesse would forget to do the dishes. Matt would fall asleep on the couch again. It was chaotic but also felt so calm and peaceful, and it was imperfect, but God, it was good.
He looked down at you, your eyes closed again, your hand idly tracing circles on his side.
“What?” you asked without opening your eyes, sensing his stare.
“Just...” he started, then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “I think this is all I ever wanted.”
You blinked, eyebrows furrowed as you opened your eyes slowly. “Coffee?”
He huffed a laugh. “No, I mean this. You. The guys. This house. Waking up and you’re here, and they’re here. It’s dumb, but I used to dream about stuff like this when I was a kid. Not the exact details, but... y’know. A home.”
Your hand stilled on his arm, and you sat up just enough to meet his eyes. There was something soft and quiet in the way he looked at you, like he was still trying to believe this was real. That he was allowed to have this.
You reached up and cupped his cheek. “It’s not dumb, Noah.”
He leaned into your touch instinctively, “It feels like a dream sometimes.”
“Good thing it’s real,” you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
He nodded, swallowing hard. His arms circled around you again, tighter this time. “I just... love this. I love you. I love that I get to live with you, sleep next to you, make dumb pancakes at 2 a.m. with the guys. I love that you steal all the blankets and that Folio keeps leaving half-full energy drinks in the fridge like he’s saving them for science, and that Jolly watches the same movie every week like it’s new.”
You were smiling now, eyes crinkling. “You love the mess?”
“I love the mess,” he whispered. “It feels like mine. Like ours.”
You leaned your forehead against his for a moment before shifting and leaving a kiss on it. “I’m really glad you found us.”
He looked at you for a long moment, then pulled you in, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “I didn’t find you. You saved me.”
He didn’t say anything else about it. Didn’t need to.
Not even when you finally dragged yourselves out of bed, shared a shower full of kisses, and made something to eat while Boo whined at your feet until you handed him a piece of chicken. Not even when Noah grabbed his guitar and lazily strummed a few chords while sitting cross-legged on the couch, or when the whole crew piled into the living room, blankets and snacks everywhere, to half-watch a movie and talk through most of it.
But that night, as you curled into his side in bed, he whispered against your hair, “Thank you for being a part of this.”
And you whispered back, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
warnings: bruh. smut. smut, smut, smut. fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, petnames (pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, baby), risk of getting caught (mentioned), dirty talk, creampies.
summary: sometimes, there are days where noah’s in a mood and he decides that he’s going to see how long it takes to push you to your limit. today is one of those days.
an: this is my apology to y’all for taking so long to write the companion fic to quarantined. I promise it’s in the works, but while i’m still cobbling it together i hope you enjoy this. this is also my first time putting smut out into the world so pls be kind lmao.
I listened to rule #34 by fish in a birdcage on repeat if you want to set the ~vibes~.
additionally, i’m sorry because i don’t know how to not be a verbose bitch because whhhy is this so long. i also have no beta reader so if anything’s weird you can let me know.
word count: 4,260 (screams)
“Shh, pretty girl. You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”
Dark brown eyes stare down at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, the ends already beginning to curl as they dry from his earlier shower. There’s a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips that says he’s beyond satisfied with himself and the state he’s worked you into beneath him, and all you want to do is kiss that damned look off his face. Besides, who does he think he is, telling you to keep quiet? It’s not like you can make much noise—no matter how much you want to—with the hard currently covering your mouth. He knows this. You know he knows this.
And still Noah grins.
All of this had started when he came back into his room after taking a shower and finding you stretched out on his bed, dressed in an oversized shirt you’d stolen from his closet and a pair of athletic shorts you’d plucked out of his dresser. Sure, you had brought your own clothes with you for the weekend, but there was something about stealing his that was more satisfying than wearing your own. Something about stolen fruit being twice as sweet, you’d told yourself. His clothes were always comfier than your own.
He’d clocked it the minute he walked in, toweling at his hair as he stood in the doorway. There had been a moment where you looked up from scrolling on your phone, catching his stare and lifting your own eyebrow in a what’re you going to do about it kind of way. Noah had taken one step forward, letting the towel drop to rest around his shoulders.
“Those are mine,” he’d said, like the obvious needed to be stated.
“Yeah,” you replied evenly, sitting up just a bit straighter on the bed. “And?”
You’d watched the way he tilted his head to the side, dark eyes watching you with an intensity that had your pulse climbing. You knew that look: that look meant he was plotting. Noah’s gaze had lingered on you for a moment longer before a quick glance was given over his shoulder to the bedroom door—making sure it had closed behind him—and then he was grabbing the towel from his shoulders and tossing it into the clothes hamper near his closet. Bare feet carry him to the bed, a slow and lazy pace set as he saunters forward. One hand reaches up to run long fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face as he comes to a stop beside the bed, staring down at where you’re sitting near the wall.
“You like taking my things?” The words come from deeper in his chest than you’re used to, and it’s enough to have the hair on your arms standing on end.
“Your clothes are more comfortable,” you try to defend, but he’s already bending down and reaching out to grab at your ankles so he can tug you to the edge of the bed before you can protest.
“That wasn’t the question.”
Oh, fuck.
You don’t have much time to think before you’re being tugged across the bed, your legs pushed up and back as your ass settles near the edge, Noah already crowding into the space between your thighs with a firm grip still on your ankles. Your hands fist at the comforter beneath you, breathing coming faster as a rush of adrenaline floods through your veins.
“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, almost too quickly, feeling blood starting to rush up your neck and across your cheeks as a flush settles onto your skin.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks down at you. You swear that you can see the gears turning inside his head, watch as the plan goes from vague to something fully realized in the span of a few heartbeats. For a moment, Noah stays still, then you watch as that familiar smirk works across his face and settles like it was always meant to be there. The thumb of his right hand rubs against the jut of bone beneath it before Noah begins to trail his fingertips along the inside of your leg.
“And do you think I should just let you get away with that?”
It’s a hypothetical question. He isn’t looking for an answer.
So you stay quiet, swallowing nervously as his fingers brush the inside of your knees, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and causing Noah’s eyes to immediately snap up to your face. A soft tsk follows as his hand continues its upward climb, palm flattening against the smooth skin of your inside thigh as his hand starts to disappear under the material of the athletic shorts you’d pilfered from his wardrobe. “Makin’ noise already, sweetheart? I haven’t even gotten started.”
Your teeth find the inside of your cheek as you bite down in a bid to keep quiet, even though you know it’s going to be a futile effort in the long run. Noah knows exactly which buttons of yours to press to get the reaction he wants and he’s more than happy to do so. There’s warmth pooling low in your belly, wetness already gathering on the material at the crotch of your underwear, and he’s barely done anything beyond touching you. There’s something infuriating about that—about how little it takes for him to turn you on, to have you melting into a puddle beneath him.
Noah, however, relishes in it. It’s like a game for him to see just how quickly he can have you begging. Some nights you can’t help yourself and you give in easily, others you make him work for it.
You want tonight to be one of those nights where he has to work for it.
The hand on your thigh moves higher, fingertips brushing at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis, and Noah traces a finger along the edge of your underwear. “I think my favorite thing about you wearing my clothes,” Noah starts to say, hand tipping inward so he can press his index finger against the cotton already clinging to your folds with how wet you are, “is me getting to take them off you.”
A firmer press follows the words and Noah can’t bite back his own groan as he feels the cotton dampen even more against his finger. “Jesus fucking christ,” hisses out of him, body tilting forward to arch over you as his left hand abandons your ankle to press against the mattress beside your head to hold himself up. “You’re already so wet.” When he looks back up at you, that smirk he wore earlier has only grown wider. “This all for me?”
A shudder runs the length of your spine before it bows off the mattress beneath you, hips canting to follow the pressure of his finger even as he pulls it back.
“Don’t tease,” you manage to say, pupils blown as you stare up at him.
Bending his left arm to get closer to you, Noah gently brushes the tip of his nose against yours.
“But that’s my favorite part.”
Just when you’re about to fire back a retort, to let him know what you really think, he’s pulling his hand out from the pant leg of the shorts and pushing off the bed so that he can stand between your spread thighs. A quick, assessing gaze rakes over you, a furrow appearing momentarily between his brows before his hands reach up to hook his fingers into the waistband of the shorts.
“Good girls say what?” Noah asks, eyes half-lidded, low voice.
“Noah—” You start, and he shakes his head.
“Wrong.” He tugs the waistband back and pulls his fingers out so it snaps against your skin. “Try again.”
You’re more surprised than hurt by the sudden snap of elastic against the skin of your waist, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a hiss at the sting.
“Fuck,” is what comes first, and you see the way he watches, the way his eyes widen, and you’re quickly following it up with a soft, “Please.”
That’s enough to earn a pleased hum from the brunette’s chest as he reaches back up and hooks his fingers into the waistband once more, slowly starting to pull both shorts and underwear down along your legs; only moving to make enough room to get the material down your calves so they can be dropped onto the floor and forgotten about.
Now, half naked beneath him, you feel the familiar creep of modesty and shyness starting to settle in. You shift your legs in an attempt to close them and all that succeeds in doing is causing his hands to fall to your knees, pushing your thighs open once more as he lowers himself to the ground and settles in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. With the space now given, Noah crowds in eagerly, his shoulders brushing the insides of your legs..
“No hiding,” he whispers, right hand already moving between your legs so he can press his thumb gently against your clit. The bundle of nerves is already sensitive and swollen as he brushes his thumb back and forth against it, and you watch the way Noah’s attention locks fully onto your cunt. “That’s a good girl.” His thumb slips down to drag between your folds and collect some of the slickness already gathering there, dragging it back up and over your clit.
Your stomach tightens at the pleasure radiating between your hips, lips parting into a silent moan as your thighs twitch with the urge to tighten around the man between them. Looking down the length of your body, you see Noah staring up at you, dark brown eyes watching your face as he circles his middle finger against the entrance of your pussy before slowly pushing it in. The both of you make a sound in unison—you a soft gasp, him a groan—and Noah tips his head down to rest his forehead against your thigh just above your knee.
“Fuck. Fuck. You’re always so wet for me.” Only once he’s sunk his finger all the way to the last knuckle does Noah pull it back, curling it carefully to rub against your front wall before sinking back in. “So fuckin’ warm and tight.”
One of your hands leaves the bed in an attempt to reach down and grab at him, but all you succeed in doing is dragging your fingers against his shoulder and having your hand fall back to the bed. “Noah,” you whine, hips jerking as he pulls his finger back out only to add his ring finger and press into you once more. With two fingers working slowly and methodically inside of you, Noah lifts his head and tips it forward, mouth pressing a quick kiss to your clit before his lips part, tongue slipping out to sweep against the nub. Pleasure, electric and overwhelming, surges through you and has you jerking against his mouth—which only makes the brunette groan against you, left arm hooking under your knees and banding across the top; palm pressing flat against your hip to hold you in place.
Noah works your clit like a man possessed; quick flicks and slower circles given to the sensitive nerves until you can hear the sound of just how wet your pussy is as his fingers continue to pump in and out of you. You know what he’s aiming to do, that he isn’t going to stop until you come, and you know it isn’t going to be long with the pleasure that’s already starting to build. The hand that had tried to grab onto him earlier reaches down once more, and you succeed in threading your fingers through his hair, the strands still damp close to his scalp.
“N-Noah, fuck—” you try and warn him, legs starting to twitch on either side of his head. “Wait, I’m gonna—”
The word wait is enough to have him redoubling his efforts; a hungry groan given against your cunt before he’s withdrawing his fingers entirely and letting his tongue do the work. He lets himself dip his tongue down to your pussy to lick through the slick there before focusing his attention solely on your clit, alternating between gentle sucks and quick flicks against your clit, the rhythm consistent so you can find your release. Only once does Noah stop; head tipping back to look at you, chin slick and pupils blown wide.
“C’mon, baby. You gonna come for me? Lemme have it.” And then his mouth on you once more and that’s all it takes.
Your fingers tighten in his hair as your body arches off the mattress, thighs shaking on either side of Noah’s head as you come, your moan caught behind your teeth because you know that his roommates still exist on the other side of the door.
He keeps going, even as you shake, tongue and mouth greedy as he takes everything you have to give until overstimulation has you whining and shoving at his head. Even then, Noah still gives one last suck to your clit, pulling back and grinning as he stares up at you. The hand on your hip loosens its grip, rubbing back and forth in a soothing pet before he carefully nudges your thighs from the tops of his shoulders.
“Always so fuckin’ good for me.” He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to drag across his lips after. Pushing himself to his feet, there’s no hiding the effect that eating you out had on him: the front of his own basketball shorts are tented, and Noah reaches down to adjust himself through the material, exhaling heavily as the adjustment turns into him palming himself.
Dark eyes rake over the way you’re spread out before him, pussy wet with your own arousal and his spit. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
You’d blush if it wasn’t for the fact that your face was already flushed. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, you watch with your own eyes half-lidded, as Noah pushes down his shorts and boxer briefs and steps out of the puddle they make on the floor. Then he reaches down and grabs at the hem of his tank top to pull that off and toss it behind him, uncaring where it falls, attention snapping back to you as soon as it’s gone.
All you can do is stare at the sight of him; skin still slightly flushed from his earlier shower, the ends of his hair curling where it’s starting to dry, his cock thick and hard where it fights against gravity to strain up toward his belly button. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips the moment he reaches down and wraps his fingers around himself, stroking from base to tip like he’s trying to relieve some of the pressure.
Noah steps forward before you have a chance to say anything, already pushing your legs open and crowding between them, the hand not wrapped around his own cock bracing against the mattress beside you. “Scoot up for me, yeah?” he asks, and you oblige without needing to hear it twice. Scooting back to the center of the bed, you let yourself fall back, arms reaching up above your head as Noah follows after you.
There’s hunger in his eyes, yes—but there’s also something softer; adoration that rarely gets spoken. He may tease, he may push you to your limits, but he’ll always take care of you. You know that just like you know the sky is blue. His knees sink into the mattress as he positions himself between your thighs, holding himself near the base so he can smack the head of his cock against your clit; smirking at the gasp it draws from you.
With most of his weight braced on his knees, Noah takes the opportunity to reach up, his hand covering your mouth as he continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit.
“Shh, pretty girl. You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”
Whatever retort is poised on the tip of your tongue fades immediately as Noah angles his cock down, the flushed head now rubbing through your folds, collecting the wetness there and coating himself in it as he fights back a grunt. His hand has already abandoned your mouth to hold onto your thigh, fingers pressing into the skin just enough to have it dimple beneath his fingertips. That furrow is back between his brows as he stares down between the two of you, lips parted in a look akin to wonder as he watches the way his cock drags through your folds.
Your only warning that he’s going to push in is the gentle squeeze he gives to your leg before the hand falls back to the bed beside you once his hips begin to press forward.
“Oh, fuck—” The words leave you in a breathless exhale as you feel the sudden stretch, Noah pushing in slowly, making sure to take his time and let you adjust. Both his arms are pressed into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him as he works inch after inch into your cunt. Your legs come up and wrap around his waist automatically, adjusting the angle with the movement enough that you feel him drag against somewhere inside of you that has your eyes fluttering shut and you force yourself to swallow back your moan. When he’s finally buried to the hilt, you feel him shiver above you, head dipping down to bury his face into your neck.
“Holy shit, you feel so good, baby.” Warm air puffs against your neck as he speaks. Another shiver follows the words, and Noah gives an experimental roll of his hips that has the both of you moaning. Another breath hits your neck, this time a laugh, and you hear Noah murmur his next words directly against your skin. “S-sshh, I was serious. We gotta… gotta be quiet.”
Easier said than done when he’s stretching you like that and making these little sounds that have your pussy squeezing eagerly around him. The first squeeze is enough to drag a grunt from deep within his chest, and he braces himself on his forearms, reluctantly dragging himself away from you so he can look down at your face instead. That familiar pinch to his brows is back, the one that makes you want to reach up and smooth it away with your thumb, but your hands are already busy grabbing at the blankets beneath you.
“You’re the one making noise,” you whine, aiming for teasing and missing by a mile.
Noah’s only response is a slow drag back of his hips before he snaps them forward again hard enough to jostle you on the bed. Your mouth parts in a gasp, the shock running through you, and he turns his arm so he can clamp a hand back over your mouth before the sound has a chance to escape.
“Keep runnin’ that mouth and see where it gets you.” The dark brown of his eyes are almost completely swallowed by the blacks of his pupils, and though the words might seem harsh, you know Noah’s always more bark than he is bite.
Reaching up, you wrap your arms around his neck, one palm resting flat on the back while your other hand reaches up so you can sink your fingers back into his hair; nails dragging lightly across his scalp in a way that has the brunette making a pleased sound as he begins to set a rhythm. Your heels press into the small of Noah’s back and encourage him forward after he pulls back, the bedroom filling with the soft slap of skin against skin, and the wet noise of Noah’s cock working in and out of your pussy.
His right arm stays braced by your head while the other reaches down to hold onto your hip, thrusts precise and mean as he pulls out until only the head of his cock remains inside, then snapping forward again to sink himself to the root; bottoming out inside of you with the soft slap of his balls against you.
“Fuck, baby—”
His voice is strained above you, and he drops his head to press his forehead into the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. You can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you, and you meet every pulse with a clench of your own; walls tightening around him and dragging another moan from somewhere deep inside of him. This time, you feel his hips stutter, and Noah’s fingers flex before grabbing desperately at your thigh.
The next thrust has him dragging his teeth against the skin of your shoulder before he bites down—not enough to bruise, certainly not enough to break skin, but just enough to leave behind an impression of his teeth where he attempts to muffle his own sounds.
“M’close.” It’s both a warning and a question.
You hook your legs tighter around his waist in a silent answer.
That’s all the permission he needs before he’s moving his hand from your hip to grab at the blankets beside your head, knuckles turning white with how tight his grip is as he picks up the pace. He shifts, adjusts the angle, and now rubs somewhere inside of you that has your toes curling and your back arching off the bed as pleasure sparks out along your nerve endings. You gasp out a quiet oh god and Noah latches onto it like a man grabbing onto a life preserve, head pulling back so he can crush his mouth against yours.
The kiss is all teeth and tongue, hungry and demanding. His tongue finds yours, exploring every inch of your mouth that he can reach and only breaking apart when lungs demand oxygen. Even then his lips still drag against yours, stubble rasping against your cheek, and then Noah’s pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth; thrusts growing erratic and sloppy.
Working to get an arm between the two of you, Noah clumsily slides his hand down between your bodies, fingers working to find your clit once more. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he groans against the side of your mouth, and you can feel the grin trying to work across his lips. “Lemme feel you come on this cock.”
You’re already close, but there’s something about hearing him say those words, about him demanding it, that pours gasoline on the fire already scorching through your veins. The hand on the back of his neck drops to grab at his shoulder, your fingers curling there and digging crescents into the skin while your other hand tugs at his hair sharp enough to have Noah hissing. All it takes is one more thrust and nimble fingers for you to tip over the edge; climax causing you to tense beneath him, your hand dropping from his shoulder so you can bite down on your knuckles to try and stay quiet.
Noah’s already erratic pace detonates entirely the moment your cunt squeezes around his cock. His face drops once more to bury against your neck as he groans, giving one, two more thrusts before you feel the throb that signals his own end. There’s a string of curses that escapes the brunette, his entire body shaking, thrusts only stopping when it becomes too much for him to bear. Dragging his hand back up between the two of you, it lands on your waist to give a gentle squeeze as Noah forces himself to look up at you once more.
“You okay?” He asks, and you can’t help but find it funny; his face is flushed and there’s sweat dripping down from the hair at his temple across his cheeks, and he asks if you’re okay?
“Yeah,” comes automatically, your fingers smoothing carefully over the divots you’d left in his shoulder in what you can only hope comes across as an apology. “You okay?”
A lopsided grin settles onto his face as he leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.
“M’great, actually.”
“Good. Don’t crush me.”
Faux indignation etches onto his face as he stares down at you like you’ve insulted him. In retaliation, he lowers himself down onto you—not enough to crush you, but enough for you to feel some of his weight. You groan like you’ve truly been put out, yet your arms still wrap around his neck to keep him close.
“You’re a dick.”
“You like my dick.”
“Oh my god, that’s not what I said.”
He laughs at that, lips pressing against yours in a kiss that’s softer than any other he’s given you tonight.
“S’gonna be a mess when I pull out,” Noah warns, and you sigh because, yeah, you know.
“Then don’t pull out.”
Another laugh, softer this time, and he leans his forehead against yours.
“Yeah, you’re gonna hate that idea in thirty minutes.” Still, Noah’s lowering himself even more, then carefully trying his best to roll onto his back so that you’re on top without him pulling out. “But, alright. Let’s see how long this lasts.”
You give a content sound and let yourself melt into him, now taking your turn to bury your face into his neck, sleep already starting to creep in around the edges.
"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."
Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.
one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader
words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour
it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.
tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added.
- Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com
- Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋
years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists.
They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.
But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been.
And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.
The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach.
She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah.
Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words.
He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married.
She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.
He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.
She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.
Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.
As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.
The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side.
Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—
She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.
She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.
He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.
She’s in deep trouble.
God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks.
The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained.
Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself.
But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.
The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams.
He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things.
But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her.
He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.
As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently.
The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed.
And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking.
When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her.
And he finds her.
This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them.
She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate.
She blinks. A glance over her shoulder.
And then she’s gone.
Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s.
He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing.
She’s out of sight.
But he can smell her.
Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful.
He follows the scent.
The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden.
He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden.
Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night.
And somewhere ahead, she waits.
It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared.
Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.
Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building.
And collides with a solid chest.
The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place.
For a moment, neither of them moves.
She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts.
Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen.
Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.
It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass.
Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other.
A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his.
And he kisses her.
His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more.
She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.
By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly.
She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.
“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot.
He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires.
It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.
Her answer is effortless.
“Lead the way,” she says with a smile.
Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers.
Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes.
The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end.
He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined.
By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running.
A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices.
“Wait.”
Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place.
The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her.
Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips.
Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow.
She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.
Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward.
And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.
She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest.
She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.
He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt.
Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.
She inhales sharply.
A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.
He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.
Her breath catches.
The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.
He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.
She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.
And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply.
She doesn’t break eye contact.
And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.
She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life.
For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.
His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.
She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check.
“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”
The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction…
With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound.
He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet.
She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty.
Noah eats her up with his eyes.
Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench.
Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it.
When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.
“Let me.”
He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.
Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him.
She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger.
He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers.
“Where do you want me?” he murmurs.
“Anywhere you wish to be.”
He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound.
That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.
Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet.
When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on.
He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones.
He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.
Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles.
A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.
There it is.
His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.
She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another.
It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head.
“Beautiful,” he says.
She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket.
“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing.
Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things.
“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”
She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed.
She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer.
“Come here,” she demands softly.
And God help him, he does.
She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep.
A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him.
He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.
It’s better than he ever imagined.
It’s better than she ever imagined.
He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.
She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can.
Reality is nothing like she imagined.
It’s a thousand times better.
Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it.
His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her...
His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head.
Her breath stutters.
Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.
Take me.
A strangled cry tears from her throat.
Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy.
If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers.
“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate.
She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens.
Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.
Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.
As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged.
She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop.
His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his.
They feel...at home.
Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.
He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time.
She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.
“Are you okay?”
Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs.
“I’m fine,” he assures her.
Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.
Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it.
His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter.
Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room.
When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.
She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever.
He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”
She nods.
The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this.
Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating.
She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water.
“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”
She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods.
Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck.
Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.
They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too.
She falls asleep half on top of him.
Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he’s dreamed so many times.
When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed.
She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside.
Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful.
Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side.
The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.
LILIPUTH 👶🏼
"Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!
She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean.
“Mom says”?
Liliputh and a baby emoticon?
“Pick me up”?
He should’ve paid for flight tickets?
Her stomach twists.
The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in.
Fuck.
Is Noah married?
Divorced?
Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.
She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed.
And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied.
But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big.
Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out.
It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs.
She doesn’t want to leave.
She wants to stay.
To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.
“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.”
He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…
She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that.
It’s not a message.
It’s reality.
The rest was her fantasy. Her fault.
The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.
years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.
She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones.
Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow.
And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours.
In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…
But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen.
“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”
Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables.
She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that.
“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her.
The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes.
“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly.
“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in.
Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair.
“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes.
“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins.
“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses.
“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”
The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is.
“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”
Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.
She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately.
“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”
Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together.
“You slept with Noah.”
Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.
She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together.
“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”
She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”
“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”
“Nick,” Davis sighs.
“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”
She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn.
“Noah has a daughter?”
Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror.
“What?”
She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”
Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from.
“You know Noah is single.”
“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”
“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance.
Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”
Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”
Folio rolls his eyes.
“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”
She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”
“A message?”
“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies.
Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do.
Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.
“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”
She blinks.
Once.
Twice.
“Noah has a sister?”
Since when?
“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”
A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”
Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”
She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”
“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”
Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”
She sighs. “Yeah…”
“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”
“No.”
“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”
Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.
After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”
She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?
A knot tightens in her chest.
Terrible. Used. Heartbroken.
Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this.
“Will he… be mad?”
David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”
How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?
For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend.
Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her.
“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”
Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”
Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”
She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not.
And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said.
If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes.
An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch.
But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and—
She sees him before he sees her.
He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room.
That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her.
She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger?
But not this.
Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week.
“Hey,” he says.
Her stomach does that thing.
Hey?
She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses.
“Hi,” she greets.
Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun.
“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”
The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket.
“Here it is, sir.”
Noah turns to her.
“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”
“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”
Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm.
“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.
She frowns slightly.
“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”
She’s blushing, of course.
And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush.
“Prettiest?”
“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”
Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?
“Do you… regret it?” she blurts.
His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.”
She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.
After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”
Oh.
“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”
She draws in a slow breath.
“One thing, yeah,” she admits.
“Yeah?”
By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?
“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”
He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”
She scoffs. If only he knew…
“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”
She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”
Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.
“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”
She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—
“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby.
They both freeze.
Noah blinks.
“What?”
She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion.
“Is he drunk?” he asks.
A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.
“I thought you were a divorced dad.”
Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”
“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”
He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension.
“Thank God,” he says.
“Thank God?”
“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”
“You don’t snore,” she assures him.
He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”
“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”
“Stupidly adorable.”
“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said.
Adorable.
Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble.
She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?
Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Perfect timing.”
“Huh?”
“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”
Like he even needs to ask.
“I’d love to.”
“It’s a date, then.”
He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night.
They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers.
Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair.
They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him.
After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.
They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink.
She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.
Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter.
“Want to go for a swim?”
His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun.
“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over.
Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”
She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”
They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her.
He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down.
It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes.
They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.
She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.”
Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.
When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side.
Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound.
“Charming,” she says.
“I know,” he replies.
But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.
She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says.
An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him.
Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her.
The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.
She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.
The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.
The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again.
Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.
She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.
“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.
She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls.
“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.
Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”
He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”
She places a finger on his lips.
“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”
“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”
“You’re already doing that.”
Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.
Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens.
A breath. A pause.
She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.
However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.
She doesn’t step away.
Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming.
He understands.
His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.
Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.
His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it.
“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.
His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”
A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.
He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.
She frees his hair from the bun.
“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses.
She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.”
He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.
There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.
And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.
Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track.
They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning.
He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips.
She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now.
They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing.
When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself.
Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead.
From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.
“That’s adorable.”
Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”
“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”
“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back.
She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones.
She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump.
The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach.
She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head.
“Do you want to get dirty again?”
His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”
Her smile could stop wars.
She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel.
“The clip stays on,” she says.
Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed.
“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection.
She lifts a brow.
“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.”
They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty.
Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache.
He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever.
He knows.
She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.
And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep.
help i need android!noah x reader whose love language is physical touch. he’s your own personal teddy bear, resigned to his fate as yours to snuggle. ft. baby’s first time being the little spoon.
now playing: the craving (single version) // twenty one pilots
warnings: none!
pairing: android!noah x gn!reader
word count: 2.4k (like i said... definitely not mini.)
oh, isn't this so fucking cute?? help is on the way, dear! HELP IS ON THE WAAAY /ref
this was meant to be a mini fic but you inspired me so much that it is not even slightly "mini" and i gave it a LOT of extra-and-probably-unnecessary plot. WHOOPS! congrats for being my first ever request! i hope you love this, anon!
as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always so appreciated! please enjoy!
If there were a competition between who was most affectionate between you and Noah, the winner would surprisingly be you.
It wasn’t like you were clingy, per se. Nothing like Noah, who would sometimes follow you like a lost puppy around the house, refuse to sleep in the Sleep Mode pod you got installed just for him, or want to go everywhere you were going. No, what you were was more sweet, loving, and, well… affectionate.
Ever since Noah broke free from his programming, your relationship changed for the better. He wasn’t just your “companion android” anymore, he was your boyfriend. This didn’t quite flip your dynamic on its head, but it made you far more comfortable with displaying your love for him in the only way you knew how. Touch.
You’d woken up that morning feeling a little off, like you were sinking and needed some kind of lifeline. It wasn’t often you got like this, but you knew exactly what you needed. And if you had to guess, he was probably already hard at work. Despite the fact that it was 8 in the morning.
Rising from bed, you felt slower than usual. Sadder. Painfully lonely. You were certain that loving on your boyfriend would fix at least one of those problems.
Your feet padded against the wooden floors as you departed your bedroom, the automatic door opening and closing for you as you went. Up the little elevator, you stood before the room of the studio.
A neon sign glowed against your skin, reading “Recording In Progress”. It didn’t deter you, pressing your hand against the door until it recognized your hand print, the door sliding open for you without trouble. Just as you expected, there he was.
Noah didn’t notice you at first, his eyes fluttered shut as his lips hovered over the microphone. You couldn’t hear what he was singing since the booth was soundproof, but he was into it. His headphones were snug against his ears, one hand raised at shoulder level, making tapping motions in the air to keep his timing correct.
You smiled to yourself; another thing you adored about him now that he was free. His passion, his enthusiasm for what began as a forced career path. Now, he loved it, from writing the songs to recording them, to even playing them live. Noah had become a brand new android, no, person.
His eyes opened partly, half lidded as he poured his heart out, and only then did he see you from the corner of his eye. Noah was able to detect your presence in the room, but he’d been far too sucked in to notice. But you certainly looked gorgeous leaning against the wall, bed head and all, watching him like he was the only boy in the world.
Noah quickly exited the booth, arms tucked behind his back like they always were. He was dressed lazily for once, a white hoodie and black sweatpants. Somehow, to you, that made him look softer, huggable. You walked straight to him.
“Good morning,” Noah greeted with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You’re not usually up this early. I'm not seeing anything on your calendar for this time. Are you alright?”
Your response was you wrapping your arms around him. He brought a hand to your back immediately, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. For a moment, there was silence. Comfortable silence that neither of you quite minded.
Noah was used to how you showed him love. You liked to touch him, whether it was just leaning your knee against his, or snuggling up to him on the couch. He didn't feel the need to question you on why you often did this, and you didn't feel the need to explain. It was fine that way.
“Mhm, just need to love you.” After what felt like forever, you answered. Your words were slightly muffled from your face against his chest. You felt the way his body warmed up and softened for you.
“You can stay here with me, if you'd like. I don't mind you being here. I'm just working on a new song, I think you’ll like this one, it's... different.” Noah ran a hand through your hair, careful not to get his fingers caught in any of the tangles.
“Sounds like a plan.” Reluctantly, you pull away from him, your hand lingering on his chest a moment too long. Only then do you pull up one of the desk chairs, rolling it over beside his.
For the first 15 minutes, you both quietly enjoyed each other's company, leaning your knee against his. He stared straight ahead at a holographic screen in front of his face. His brown eyes had a glowing ring of blue just outside of his brown irises. Tattooed fingers touched and slid around parts of the production on the screen, and you tiredly watched.
20 minutes in, you had begun to feel that the knee touch wasn't enough. So you rolled your chair even closer, resting your head on his shoulder. The screen flickered as if surprised by the action. Noah simply hummed in acknowledgement, not at all bothered by the contact.
But when that turned into you wrapping your arms around his left arm about 45 minutes in, he realized he would not be getting much work done if this continued. Not like it annoyed him, of course; he could call you annoying all he wanted but still not mean it.
“Hey,” Noah spoke up, his voice low and a bit on the monotone side. “I need my arms to be accessible to work.”
You wrapped your arms around him tighter with a huff. You didn't want to let go, why would you? His skin is surprisingly soft for being synthetic, his bicep is a perfect pillow for your head. Your eyelids had begun to droop more and more as time passed.
“I can detect that you're tired. Why don't you go rest? Don't force yourself to stay up, that's not good for your health.”
“Come with me.”
The screen turned off. Noah turned his head as best he could to look down at you. His brows were furrowed in confusion, face twitching as he tried to process what you meant. You'd never suggested this before.
“Come… with you.” He echoed, speaking slowly. For an intelligent android, he sure did have his moments.
“To bed. Come on.” You tugged at his arm like a child pulling at their parent's sleeve.
“But— (name) I have to finish this. I put this in my schedule, I—”
“Noah, you know you don't even need a schedule, right? You're free now. You can work on this later, it's only 9AM.” You stood up, looking at him expectantly. He paused, likely questioning whether or not he wanted to argue with you about this.
“Fine.” He heaved a heavy sigh, the sound similar to an air conditioner. You didn't miss the way he rolled his eyes. Some things truly would never change, like the fact he's still a prick when he wants to be.
Your hand in his, you pulled him along with you back down the elevator and into your bedroom. The bed was still unmade, the comforter in the perfect position to climb right back into bed and pull it over no problem.
Noah stood in the doorway as you climbed into bed, taking one of your pillows and placing it beside the one you typically sleep on. He found himself fidgeting, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. Sure, you'd both been together a while, but he figured your bedroom was a private space he didn't need to be in often. You were a private person, and he didn't mind that.
“What, are you a vampire? You don't need me to invite you in. Get in here.” You beckon him with a ‘come here’ motion. Good lord, was he your boyfriend or a really timid black cat?
He did as he was told, sitting at the edge of your bed, hands on his lap. Noah's eyes met yours, and his head tilted. That question was meant to be a joke, why was he actually like a fucking cat?
“Dude. I’m not going to bite you.” You pointed at the spot beside you, and quite honestly you didn't think you could get any more obvious about what you wanted from him.
The gears were turning in Noah's mind, you could tell by the way his face twitched, eyes flickered, brows furrowing and relaxing back and forth. But then he simply crawled over to where you wanted him, slowly lowering his head on the pillow.
“That's my boy.” You laid your own head down, turning to face him. Strands of his hair fell in his face, hiding one of his eyes. You reached over to move it out of the way.
Noah looked so sweet like this. You could already feel that off feeling fading away. Maybe you just needed him here. This was new territory for you both, but you liked being this close to him. Perhaps he was onto something with being fussy about that Sleep Mode pod?
“Will you tell me what's wrong now?” Noah allowed you to push his hair away from his face. He closed his eyes as you did, savoring the feeling of your touch. He beat you to the punch with touch, grabbing one of your hands with careful consideration, like you were made of glass.
“Today just feels weird.” You sighed, interlocking your fingers with his. Both of you spoke in whispers, like telling secrets in quiet rooms. “I figured if I focused on how much I love you, I wouldn't be a bitch today.”
“You mean you're not usually a bitch?” Noah smirked at his own joke, but immediately faltered at the glare you gave him. “Sorry, that was rude. In all seriousness, I'm glad you sought me out. I don't mind you needing to touch me.”
His gaze fell on your joined hands, falling silent as he just stared. His gaze flickered over every detail, his own tattoos, the veins on your hands, the way you sometimes squeeze him like you're afraid his hand will up and vanish. He squeezes back just slightly.
He's not very good with words. You’ve never asked him to try harder, and he doesn't put the pressure on himself. And it's fine that way.
“Good, because I need you to turn over.” Ever the bossy one. Noah couldn't help but smile at that.
“Why do you need me to do that? Are you already tired of my face?” A half joke this time around, spoken with a chuckle but also with a hint of something like 'do you not like me right now?'
“Do you need to ask questions about everything? Turn over.”
Noah searched your face for an answer to his question anyway. Seeing none, he turned himself over, back facing you.
Then your arms were around his torso, your body pressed against his back. You were shorter than him, and it likely looked a little silly for you to be the big spoon. He certainly was confused.
“Spooning.” He stated the obvious, trying to look at you over his shoulder. “Aren't we doing this wrong?"
“We're not. This is exactly how it should be. You're a perfect teddy bear.” Your eyelids were already getting heavier by the moment, the warmth and softness of his form being enough to soothe you. How could you possibly go back to sending him to the pod at night?
You'd be calling M.I.N.D later that afternoon, requesting it be removed from your house as soon as possible. No need for it anymore, not when this is all you had ever wanted.
“Is this okay?” After a few beats of silence, you figured you’d ask. What if this made him uncomfortable? He could just be the type to hold others, and not like being held.
“You’re overthinking, I can feel it. Of course it’s okay. This is… nice. Do you want me to stay with you?” His body relaxed more into the mattress. One hand pushed down against the mattress, marveling at how soft it was. Comfortable. Squishy. He liked it.
“Please. Wanna hold you.” Your eyes fluttered closed despite your best efforts to keep them open. Noah was right; you were exhausted. Your words were beginning to slur, your breaths evening out.
“Love you. Thank you.” Was the last thing you had to say before you fell silent, falling victim to sleep as you held your boyfriend tight. Perfectly content in the way you were expressing how much you loved him.
Noah was silent for several minutes, listening to you breathe as you fell into a comfortable sleep. Reasonably, he could sneak out and get back on schedule, but your words rang in his head. You know you don't even need a schedule, right? You're free now.
You were right, but freedom was a tricky feeling. He’d grown used to his programming, the way he normally did things, and now that he was sentient he could truly do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He just… wasn’t quite ready for that yet. Was there truly any harm in staying the same?
But you’re here holding him, softly snoring as you dreamed about what he assumed was something as beautiful and brilliant as you. He could go do his task, but he couldn’t bring himself to detach from you. He was likely supposed to be the big spoon, but he also couldn’t bring himself to roll over. Could he still protect you in this position?
Should he have asked if he was allowed to go into sleep mode here? Noah hadn’t asked for your permission, and it was part of his programming to assume he should stay awake.
You’re free now. There it is again, those three words that nagged at him. They repeated over and over like a broken record, until he made up his mind. He was free now, he was in your bed, and if he wanted to sleep beside you, he could. He would.
“I love you too, (name).” Noah finally replied, knowing that you definitely didn’t hear him. It was intentional, another threshold he hadn’t quite crossed; the first “I love you”. But he felt more at ease knowing he was able to get the words out, even if he didn’t have the guts to say it to your face yet.
With that, he switched his system into sleep mode, his own eyes fluttering shut as he went into a dormant state. Perhaps he could get used to this, to holding you, sleeping beside you, being your teddy bear. Noah could get used to being yours.
He wasn’t capable of having dreams, but he thought of you before powering off. That had to count for something.
as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always so appreciated! please enjoy!
tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp
header by me, divider by @thecutestgrotto
There's a hammock in your backyard.
You never really were one to bitch and complain when someone wanted something for the house, but you hadn't really seen the use in a hammock. Why not one of those garden swings? Or lawn chairs? Literally anything else?
It had been your husband who wanted it. His smile at the idea of something to lounge in in the backyard. You'd protested, argued that you could easily do something else. If a hammock were to be bought, you immediately figured you'd be the one having to tie it and set it up, because he was already swamped with work.
Then he looked at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes and batted his pretty eyelashes and next thing you knew, you were buying a hammock.
You made a mental note not to fall for those eyes again, but it would probably go with all the other notes that say the same exact thing. By now, you know damn well you can't say no to him. There's a part of your heart that you swore died a long time ago that swells with life whenever he smiles at you.
So now there's a hammock in the backyard.
As expected, you spent an afternoon with your husband trying to plan out where it would go. Did the backyard even have room for a hammock? Ideally you had to tie it between two trees, so it would lay between them. And of course when you and him were picking out a forever home, you'd thought out the vision for the backyard meticulously. It had to be perfect; after all it was already decided you wanted to start a family someday. So of course you had to be able to imagine little ones playing in the grass in a nonexistent little Fisher Price playground set for them.
Noah, he'd shared your vision for a home. Somewhere quiet, a cottage, nothing big. His job meant he was always doing extravagant things, living an extravagant life. You lived a similar way; grew up in the city but always longed for the quiet. That's how you two ended up in a quiet cottage like this. Not too big, but it had space for important things like the home studio, and an extra bedroom or two should the surprise gift of children ever arrive.
So you tell your husband you got it covered because he has things to do, and you start trying to tie this fucking hammock to the tree, and when you look up he's still standing there. He leans against the frame of the glass sliding door, and he smirks at you. Arms crossed over his chest, looking like the love interest in your cheesy romance movie.
"How's it going?" He calls out, and you tell him to fuck off. He laughs, and suddenly there he is beside you. He knows you far too well; if you can barely tie your shoes, how are you going to tie this big ass fucking rope around a whole two trees?
The sun's hot and glaring down on exposed skin, so being the person you are, you go inside to get water and sunblock just in case. You come back, he's wiping sweat off his face with the bottom of his tank top. You sigh like a teenage girl at the captain of the football team. So high school.
You see a big smile stretch on his face. He makes a smartass remark of "take a picture babe, it'll last longer" and in retaliation you make it look like you're going to turn the hose on for the garden, but instead you spray him with it, drenching his white tank top with water. It sticks to his skin. He shouts at the cold water on his skin, then he's running towards you.
Suddenly a small task of setting up a dumbass hammock turns into a full on game of cat and mouse with the garden hose. Your pretty little sundress is soaked with water and clings to your body, and suddenly you're the one who gets to make the remark about taking a picture. He grins like a lovestruck idiot, so shamelessly.
There's a hammock in your backyard.
You still don't see the purpose of it until you can't find your husband one night in the middle of August. The sun is setting, the temperature is finally dropping as golden hour gleams through the windows. You know damn well neither of you are turning that oven on, so what better dinner to have than classic takeout? You trudge upstairs to the home studio once it arrives, knocking gently just in case he's recording something.
But all you get in response is silence. You don't hear anything. You open the door and poke your head in; he's not even in there. His laptop is shut, headphones lazily placed on top of it, lights off like he had abandoned it some hours ago.
Huh. That's a first.
So, you begin checking every room in the house. Calling out his name, calling out "Babe? Noah?" over and over, looking for him. But he isn't anywhere. Anxiety kicks in.
He wouldn't go somewhere without telling you, would he? Did something happen to him? Did he leave without telling you? Is he off doing something for work? Is he cheating? Did he think you wouldn't notice if he left?
In an instant you're panicking, thundering downstairs, opening the front door, looking out. His car is still parked out there. You look in the living room, the kitchen, the spare rooms, until you'd thoroughly searched every single room in the house. You're breathing heavy, half from running around the whole house and half from the panic attack you feel coming on until—
There's a glimpse of something outside. You move to the sliding glass door to the backyard, pull it open and step out. You shield your eyes with your arm from the sunlight, then your eyes finally fix on something.
Your husband is asleep in the hammock in your backyard.
Despite the sunlight, he is entirely unbothered. His hair is growing out just a little, enough to be in his eyes just a bit as he breathes deep. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, entirely peaceful and relaxed as the wind ever so slightly makes the hammock sway. Your panic diminishes in a second.
You're not sure how long he's been out here, but you don't worry too much about it. He doesn't look sunburned, not right now anyway. He's fast asleep, and as you get closer you can hear his little snores.
You can't suppress the giggle fast enough. He stirs, and opens an eye to look at you. The sun's rays gleam over his face, and his squinted eye looks so much more warm and bright under the sun's reflection. Brown eyes that look more like warm honey.
"Hey." He mumbles sleepily, giving you a tired smile as he sits up just a tad. You can tell there's no plan for him to get up anytime soon.
"Hey. I was wondering where you went." You respond gently, and he sighs, silently aware of where your mind likely went. You know that he knows. He's always read you like a book. "I didn't mean to wake you, sorry."
"It's okay, you're okay. C'mere, baby. There's room for both of us." His words slur together in his sleepiness, and you don't hesitate. You gently sit yourself, and then lay yourself on the hammock, right beside him.
And for a long moment, it's dead silent. The birds chirp, the crickets begin their song as they do every night. The wind blows softly, and your husband has his arm wrapped around you. You shift to rest your head on his chest. His heartbeat is slow, but it's like a song just for you. No amount of production, vocals, or instruments could match up to this. Just this.
Suddenly, it occurs to you why he wanted this hammock so badly. This is so... so peaceful. There's nothing to worry about; there's no sounds of air conditioners or soft mumbles of television screens. There's no glowing lights from phone screens. It's just nature, it's just basking in the beauty of what's around the both of you. It's just the gentle sway of the hammock, like rocking a cradle.
Part of you honestly forgot how much things like this meant to him. Peace, in its purest form.
You let out a little sigh of contentment, and a chuckle rumbles his chest as he brings his hand up to your head. First ruffling your hair, then running his fingers through it. He doesn't say a word, just dozes back off with one arm around you, the other cradling your head.
There's a hammock in your backyard. You're so glad you bought it.
D (dirty secret) | 🔞 Slight NSFW below! | Warning: cheating is mentioned during this fic! | Thank you for the request ❤️
Folio is kissing all over your neck, and your mind is so far gone that you barely remember that there are people in the living room, just down the hall from his bedroom, where you both find yourselves in right now.
"Fuck, baby", he quietly grunts in need. "Can't wait to have you tonight". His hands grip your waist tighter, and you're sure there'd be imprints tomorrow.
Imprints that you'd have to hide from your boyfriend.
Your boyfriend that's currently in the living room, chatting with the other boys.
"I know", you grip his face in your hands, halting his movements. "We gotta go back out there, though. I don't want Josh to come looking for us".
"Fuck Josh. I want him to come in and find us just like this", he goes back to pressing his lips to your neck, and you have to take a deep breath to try and be the voice of reason right now.
"Later, I'll sneak into your bedroom, and we'll have all the fun that you want, ok?", you reassure him, a little smirk decorating your own lips.
"Is that a promise?", he asks, moving his face closer, and you can feel his breath fanning over your face.
"Yes, it is".
"You sure? Because two weeks ago, you promised me you'd break up with Josh, and here we are", he's twirling a piece of your hair on his fingers.
You sigh out loud. You knew he'd call you out on this eventually.
You, Nick and everyone else knew that Josh was a complete prick from the moment you started dating. The looks on their faces when you both showed up together telling the whole story. And you also knew that he was probably hooking up with other girls while dating you.
It's partly why you didn't feel bad about this dirty little secret you and Nick shared.
"One day, he's gonna find out about this. You know that it's better to break up with him before then", Nick tells you, and you know it comes from a place of advice, rather than judgment.
"I'll do it before my birthday next month, ok?", you raise your pinky up for him to shake. Another promise.
He intertwines his pinky with yours, giving them a little kiss.
"I'll be waiting for you tonight", he says, before opening the door and leaving his bedroom.
[ finished a new illustration - inspired by Sleep Token's album Even in Arcadia and artist Franz von Bayros's illustrations for Dante's Inferno. mixed media: pencil, ink, digital illustration ]
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