I don't even have that many followers so I feel kinda silly making an introduction post but fuck it here we goo✨
I'm Sunny, 21 and I love to share my current hyperfixations on here.
Right now it's mostly Bad Omens but if you scroll too far down my blog you might see some other fandoms.
I honestly like ANYTHING and I'm always open for new stuff so if you have something you love and wanna share I'm your girl!!!
I'm a really big anime and kpop fan too besides various metal and alternative bands and artists for example so feel free to yap about any of your interests in different types of media. I can assure you if I haven't watched it or listened to it I'm still definitely interested and I can get into almost about anything (I'm very easily impressed and satisfied lol).
English is not my first language but I think I manage quiet well but just so you are aware of the occasional grammar or whatever mistake.
I don't write or create anything of my own but I'm kinda planning on getting into a lil writing not sure if I'll actually do it tho but I have a LOT of thoughts I would love to share so maybe one day.
And last but not least:
I'm a proud part of the LGBTQ+ community myself and DO NOT support any type of hate or negativity surrounding that or any other literal HUMAN RIGHTS!
I'm AGAINST war AGAINST guns AGAINST TRUMP AND ANY OTHER FASCIST GOVERNMENT so don't even try to talk to me if u support or condone any of that I WILL block you if you even try!
“You’re always so good to me. I still don’t know how I got lucky enough to end up with you."
Or
Noah can't help the fact that he cries very easily when in his puppy headspace.
Based on this ask. This is just a rambling little thing that doesn't really make much sense, but I spent time on it, so I might as well post it 🫠
It’s the first time that the two of you have tried bringing pet play outside of the bedroom. Your boyfriend, Noah, has always been very puppy-coded, that much is true—but today, the two of you tried to especially lean into your respective roles.
Currently, you’re cuddling Noah on the couch. He’s pressed against your side, one of his legs draped over yours. He seems to be floating somewhere in between his puppy headspace, and sleep.
Noah has never quite felt like this. His head feels all foggy and full of mush—but he’s not quite sure why. The feeling is similar to how he usually feels after having been intimate with you—but the two of you haven’t done that today. All you did was pet him a little bit, feed him some treats, and spoil him with attention.
He shouldn’t be feeling like this.
And yet, he can’t stop tears from flooding his eyes.
He’s overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, embarrassment, and shame. The tips of his ears burn red. He wills his breathing to calm, tries to get his heartrate to slow—but he can't stop the tears from spilling over his waterline. It all feels like too much.
He muffles his face even further against you, hoping and praying that you won't notice. He sniffles—so, so, quietly—but of course you notice.
“You okay?”
Noah feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He nods, his face still pressed firmly against you.
“You sure?”
He nods wordlessly again.
You’re quiet for a moment, mulling over your thoughts, when the silence is broken by another sniffle.
“Noah, sweetheart…”
He can’t stand just how concerned you sound. It makes him feel so much more guilty. He shouldn’t be needlessly causing you to worry.
He stiffens against you, hoping that if he doesn’t move, you’ll forget about him.
“Noah, sweetheart, can you look at me?”
He feels stuck. He doesn’t know what to do. It all feels so overwhelming.
“Sweetheart?”
It takes all of his strength to push himself up a little bit, until his eyes meet yours.
“Oh, puppy…” you coo.
The next sob that leaves him makes his entire body tremble. He hates this. He hates how silly he feels for crying over seemingly nothing. He hates how vulnerable he feels. He hates how his skin crawls, how his throat burns, how his tears betray his true emotions. He hates everything about it.
You prop yourself up until you’re sitting with your back against the couch. You pull Noah onto your lap, until his side is pressed against your front. He practically buries his face against your chest, pressing flush against you as his hands grasp the fabric of your shirt and pull you impossibly closer to him.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
There’s a hand stroking the back of his head, gently smoothing his hair. Another hand begins to softly rub his back. He can’t help but feel like a cholicky baby. He doesn’t know why, but the sweet affection seems to make him cry even harder. His emotions are frayed at the ends today, it seems.
“There we go, sweetheart,” you coo. “Just let it all out.
You rock the two of you back and forth ever so slowly. You take Noah’s hand in yours, and place it over your chest. You take slow, exaggerated breaths, and slowly, Noah begins to copy you. His breathing begins to even out, as he follows your breathing pattern.
There’s a sudden coldness that settles into his limbs, clawing its way inside and ensuring that he’s left uncomfortable. It’s calmed by the blanket you wrap around his shoulders, tucking it in around his body.
“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
At some point, Noah seems to settle down. The tears no longer fall. His mind feels so blissfully empty—and he can’t even remember what it was that made him get so worked up. He feels so oddly calm. His limbs feel so heavy. He’s tired—but in that bone-deep, satisfying way.
He allows himself to float in this foggy haze of his. It all feels so nice—your hand in his hair, whispering sweet words as you spoil him with affection. He can’t help but fall asleep.
_ _ _ _ _
Noah looks so adorable as he blinks awake. His face scrunches up so cutely as he yawns.
“Hi sleepyhead,” you coo, petting his hair.
Noah is so visibly flustered by your words. The tips of his ears turn red as he realises that he seems to have drooled on your chest while sleeping. It’s adorable.
“Did you have a nice nap?”
Noah nods in response. It seems like he’s not quite up to talking, yet.
He nuzzles against you, affectionately bumping his head against your chest. You press a soft kiss to the top of his head in return. He hums in appreciation.
He settles back against you, his hand on your waist, his fingers dipping beneath your shirt. His hand rests against your hip, trailing over your soft skin.
“Comfortable?”
Noah nods, humming quietly.
Your fingers weave through Noah’s hair, softly scratching at his scalp. Noah lets out a steady stream of hums as a form of appreciation.
Noah likes to hum quite a bit when he’s in his puppy headspace. While he doesn’t tend to bark very often—he does often hum, or make some other soft little sounds. He once told you that he hums simply because it feels nice. It feels right. He likes how humming makes the back of his throat vibrate, and he likes the little rumbly feeling he gets in his chest. It feels right to make a soft noise like humming.
Noah pauses his little humming noises, and instead wordlessly slumps against you.
“Do you want to take your collar off?”
Noah clears his throat. “I—I'd like to keep it on for a little longer. I'd like to stay puppy for a little bit.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Let me know if that changes.”
Noah nods, lazily pressing a wet and clumsy kiss against your jaw.
“Do you want to tell me what happened earlier?”
“It’s so silly,” he mumbles.
“It doesn’t matter whether you think it’s silly or not—it was clearly something that mattered to you, what with how upset you seemed to be about it.”
Noah sighs. “You’re just—you’re so good to me. I got a little bit overwhelmed. Being your puppy—it just feels so nice.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo.
“I didn’t mean to get all emotional about it. I feel so silly.”
“Please don’t ever feel guilty for crying, okay? It’s okay if you feel a little bit more emotional than usual. It’s okay if you need to cry. I promise that I’ll always take care of you.”
“You’re always so good to me. I still don’t know how I got lucky enough to end up with you,” Noah sighs.
Some days, it almost feels surreal to him. For years, he’s yearned for someone like you—to the point where it was nothing but a hopeful wish. You treat him with such gentleness, such care, such tenderness—it’s still sometimes a little bit difficult for him to wrap his head around.
Some days, he feels that your dynamic is unfair. It feels like you’re always giving—and he’s just taking, and taking, and taking. You take such good care of your sweet puppy—yet Noah feels like he doesn’t reciprocate those actions in a way that feels significant enough. As much as he loves to bathe in your affection—he can’t help but feel guilty about it, too.
You cradle Noah’s face between your hands, your thumb gently stroking over the soft skin of his jawline. “I don’t know how I got lucky enough to end up with you. You’re so sweet, so gentle, so trusting. Your submission is the best thing that I could have ever received. I’m so proud to have a sub that’s as sweet and willing as you. I’m aware of just how much trust it must have taken for you to submit to me so wholeheartedly.”
Noah blushes a little bit at your praise, before he frowns. “It doesn’t feel like that, though. Some days, it just feels like I’m leeching off you. You always take such good care of me—and yet it feels like I don’t repay you in a way that feels sufficient.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo. ”I’ll say this as many times as you need to hear it—but you should never feel guilty about being my puppy. You’re my pet—and owners take good care of their pets, don’t they?”
Noah sighs. “It seems so simple when you put it like that.”
“Try to think of it that way, okay? I know just how all into your head you can get about things.
Noah sighs wistfully.“Ugh. I wish I could just actually be your pet. I love being your puppy so much.”
You weave your hand through the hair at the base of Noah’s skull, gently scratching at his scalp. “I know that things aren’t always easy for you. I’m happy that I can provide even an ounce of comfort for you.”
Noah sighs, slumping against you. He hums so sweetly beneath your ministrations. “I wish I could stay like this forever,” he mumbles.
“Cuddle up a little bit closer. We don’t have anything else that we need to take care of today. Let’s just stay in bed, and let me spoil you with attention, hmm? Let me show my sweet puppy just how loved and appreciated he is.”
Noah lets out a sweet little noise, before nuzzling against your chest.
tropes: childhood friends to lovers / boy next door, reckless summer nostalgia / summer romance, mutual pinning & idiots in love, breaking into abandoned-ish houses (lol), sex with feelings
warnings: smut, sex with feelings, slight talk about voyeurism, explicit language, nickname: princess, penetration, unprotected pnv, creampie, riding
note: Thank you all so so much for your patience, and thank you all for the lovely reblogs / comments. I am so flattered you liked this piece. It came from a very personal place, and in a very strange way was healing to write. I sure hope you enjoy this final part <3
You had been in Noah’s bedroom a hundred times before, though it never felt like this.
The door clicked shut behind you, his breath at your back as you looked around each of the walls. The taste of his lips was still tingling on your mouth, arms and legs vibrating with nerves.
The last time you had been here was a distant memory; a time you couldn’t even place. Though as you searched the corners, reminiscing of the times you and Noah were curled beneath his duvet to watch a movie, or remembering how he used to throw his dirty socks at your face from the floor whenever you touched his things- your mind spiralled around memories of him laughing there.
Yet this visit was different now.
In my bed. Where I can take my time with you.
Heat climbed onto your face as Noah’s fingers grazed your arms, the touch tingling down to your hands when he held you back against his chest.
He watched as you took in all the pieces of him that had changed while you were gone. The bed was bigger now, pushed against the opposite wall with dark sheets wrinkled beneath the glow of deep purple LEDs. What used to be a shelf of Bakugans now held Pop figures and vinyls, with clothes thrown, surprisingly, into the hamper instead of across the floor.
As Noah’s hands travelled down your arms, his nails traced lightly over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips met the curve of your shoulder, and you stared past the half-open curtains toward your own bedroom light across the strip of grass between your houses, softened by the leaves of the oak tree.
That stretch of yard had felt so far all those years ago, even when in reality he had just been a few steps away.
Noah noticed the way your throat tightened, and his mouth paused against your shoulder, thumbs resting gently against your skin. “What?” He whispered.
You shook your head, eyes remaining fixed on the curtains of your bedroom across the grass.
“Nothing.”
His breath moved hot against your neck as he drew you even closer, pushing his hips into the fabric of your lower back. “You’re such a liar.”
The laugh that slipped from you broke too quickly, unable to sound amused, and Noah lifted his head. He watched the side of your face quietly, and it almost seemed impossible that this was the same boy from next door who had spent his whole life trying to make you laugh.
Before he could ask again, you turned in his hands, pressing your chest to his.
“What?” he asked softer this time.
Your fingers found the bare skin at his waist, settling there as the truth rose close in your mouth.
“I used to look over here. When my room was dark, and yours wasn’t, I always hoped to see you on the other side,” you admitted, turning your head back toward the window, then back to him.
His throat moved, trying to hide the smug grin that fought its way onto his face. “Yeah? Did you?”
An embarrassed nod passed quickly. “It’s weird, and I don’t even know why I’m admitting to being such a creep I-”
His hand lifted to your jaw, thumb pressing to your mouth so he could cut you off. “Trees, I left it on because I wanted you to look.”
The catch of your breath made him drag his thumb across your bottom lip, watching the way they parted beneath the touch.
“And I knew you did…did you like it?” He murmured, leaning in until his breath warmed your cheek. “You were never as sneaky as you thought.”
You swallowed, feigning a scoff. “You're such a pest.”
“Yeah?” Noah leaned forward now, mouth brushing yours in almost a kiss. “That didn’t answer my question.”
He closed the space, lips against your own as he slid his hand around your back, cupping your ass with a free hand as the other held your jaw. By the time he pulled back, the breath that left you was faltering, his smile curling at the edge.
Then, he grazed your ear with the top of his mouth. “Did you like thinking about catching me naked?”
Your fingers squeezed his waist in protest, but you never denied it. He only laughed quietly, pleased by your response as he began walking you backwards toward his bed.
As his knees hit the edge, he sat slowly, hands on your hips as he pulled you with him until you stood between his knees. The purple hue softened the edges of his face, catching his cheekbones and chest every time he sucked in a breath.
Looking up at you then, he smiled, and a heat ran through you so quickly your fingers tightened at his shoulders, palms warming.
Noah let his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing the skin above your waistband. That earned a quiet huff that caught when he leaned forward to press his mouth along the soft place above your hip, just where your shirt lifted.
The kiss he left once then again, made your hand fly to his hair before you could help it, legs shaking.
For a few minutes there were no more words. The hum of the fan above his bed was quiet, covered by the tug of his mouth against your skin as he trailed up your torso, pulling your shirt up slowly with each inch he revealed. His palms moved up each side patiently, memorizing every curve and dip of your body and stomach as your fingers tightened in his hair, unsure of where else to go.
He did not rush as his breath fanned warm over your skin, the sensation curling low as every limb lit from the inside out until your shirt was at the base of your collarbone, and Noah looked up at you one last time, waiting.
The way his mouth was parted slightly, hair mussed from your hands almost made you moan, and he caught the working of your throat, tossing you a grin.
So you lifted your arms, his gaze flicking to your face first to confirm one more time, and when you nodded, his hands slid higher. He pulled the shirt slowly over your head, so slowly that the fabric brushed against your face longingly on the way that it left another trail of goosebumps behind.
Noah had gone quiet, looking at you with shallow breaths as his eyes traced your chest and stomach with such wonder that another flush coated your cheeks. You hadn’t worn a bra, and part of you wondered if maybe that was part of the problem; but as you reached to cover yourself, his fingers held your wrists in place.
“No,” he whispered.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the centre of your chest, then another just beneath. Each was slower than the first, before he began pressing his tongue flat along each curve. It was as though every good word and praise he could think of etched through each kiss, threaded into an intricate pattern of his lips that worked along your breasts.
Where I can take my time with you.
Fingers slipped back into his hair, a gentle sound leaving your body with his worship. His hands tightened around your wrist at the sound, and when he paused a moment, forehead pressed against your sternum, he guided you forward onto his lap.
Your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his body, and his hands instantly pressed into your lower back, leading you down against him. You kissed again, hungrier yet stripped of all the teasing.
Noah leaned back beneath you until his shoulders hit the bed, taking you with him.
The movement shifted your hips against his, and the friction stole the breath from both of you. A whimper broke into his mouth before you could stop it, and Noah echoed, helpless beneath you.
His hands tightened at your back as your hips moved again slowly, his head falling back against the bed, throat working around another groan that made heat rush between your thighs.
You bent over him, mouth finding his jaw then the line of his inked neck. His skin was warm beneath your lips, faintly salty from the bike ride back; though as you kissed the hollow beneath his ear, Noah’s fingers dug into your waist.
The sound of your name leaving him quietly made your eyes close, mouth pressing harder against his neck as you rolled your hips again. Noah sucked in a sharp breath, his hands guiding the rocking of your hips.
It was hard to ignore the growing thickness between you, and after one more thrust he suddenly moved. He rolled you beneath him quickly, your stomach dropping at the press of his forearm on the mattress beside your head until he kissed you again.
Noah was less patient this time, allowing himself to press his hips down into yours as your hands cupped the back of his neck. He pulled away just long enough to drag his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere beside the bed.
As you went quiet with an aching stare at the designs across his torsos, Noah’s smile returned slowly, smug; though the rise and fall of his chest was anything but controlled.
“What?” he whispered, leaning closer until his lips hovered. “Not what you were hoping to see through the window?”
Your cheeks warmed, but this time you did not look away. “You keep talking about me looking through your window,” you mumbled, fingers dragging over the ink on his chest. “What about all the times you might’ve looked back?”
Noah’s smile paused. He had looked far more times than he could count. But feigning ignorance was important here. “What times?”
You almost laughed at how badly he tried to sound innocent. “There was one night the summer before I left. Your light was off, but I thought maybe you were still awake.”
His breathing changed beneath your hands, and you swallowed, eyes flicking briefly toward the window before returning to him. “I changed in front of mine.”
Noah’s eyes moved across your face, fighting a smile even as they dropped to your mouth. Your fingers paused at his waistband, tugging gently at the fabric.
“I hoped you were looking. I knew you had before, but I really wanted you to that time.”
“You hoped I was looking?” he asked, voice rough.
Your face burned, but you held his stare. “Yes.”
“Fuck,” he whispered. His mouth brushed yours again. “You’re lucky I didn’t. I would’ve climbed over.”
“You say that like I wouldn’t have let you in.”
Noah’s smile disappeared completely, and he kissed you again, teeth tugging hungrily at your bottom lip. His hands ran across every inch of exposed skin with your bare chest pressed to his.
His hips rutted upward again with another sound, grip shifting to your thighs. The brunette's hold was hard enough to pull you down against him one more time, and although he had said he wanted to take his time, patience was wearing thin.
It was evident in the way his hands shook when they found the button of your shorts and the drag of his mouth down to your collarbone. The soft rasp of fabric made your breath hitch as he worked you open beneath trembling fingers, and your hips lifted before he could ask.
The press of his forehead to your shoulder as he worked your shorts down over your hips and down each of your legs made you ache for his touch. Noah became less and less careful as he stared at you now, exposed in a pretty thong.
He cursed between his teeth, especially when his hips pressed upward again, hard beneath his shorts and separated from you by almost nothing at all. His inked palms dragged upward over your hip towards the thin strap, tugging gently in question as his eyes sought approval. At your nod, his eyes almost rolled back with want.
With his mouth on yours, his finger slipped beneath the strap and pulled it down, kissing you through the shake of his hands as he tried to remain patient.
The last bit of lace slid lower, and your own fingers found his waistband, earning a hitch in his throat as you pulled at his shorts. He helped eagerly, kicking them away, and that was when you finally looked down, both of you bare and exposed and no longer hiding anything away.
His October eyes raked over every inch, like he could not believe he was allowed to see you like this; and it was the look on his face that made you ache worse than his hands had, because beneath all the heat and the wrecked breathing, there was still that softness.
Noah came back over you slowly, his forearm bracing beside your head while his other hand slid under your thigh. The first press of his arousal against yours stole every thought from your head, and his eyes shut hard, forehead dropping to yours.
As he pressed your back into the mattress, you lifted your hips, reaching slowly between your thighs. His breath broke at the sight, shoulders shuddering as you grabbed the line of him, adjusting until the edge was right there.
He watched every second. The purple light softened the tension in his face, catching part of his mouth as his breathing turned shallow. Then his eyes found yours again, certain.
You held his gaze as he moved. The feeling of him sinking closer made your eyes flutter shut, fingers digging heavily into his back. Noah’s body trembled as his restraint began to fray with every inch of him that sank further into your body.
It was impossible for you not to cry out his name, brows furrowed with need until he kissed you deeper, swallowing each moan. The world held the heat of him between your legs, his breath rough against your mouth as he groaned, almost in disbelief, that he finally knew what it was like to taste your body with his.
“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” Noah said, pulling back just enough before pressing his hips deeper. “Longer than I ever knew how to say.”
The confession broke against your mouth, rough and unsteady, and then he kissed you again because he could not stand to leave the words there alone.
Every thrust was a summer you had wasted, pressed through every window you had looked through in yearning. Your name left him again, broken, and as his rhythm grew faster with each thrust, the years continued to give way. It was an unbearably overwhelming feeling; to be wanted by someone who had never really stopped wanting.
He had known at sixteen that you were no longer just the girl next door.
It was that tell in the way his chest went tight whenever you fell asleep on his couch with your cheek pressed into one of his hoodies. In the way he had begun keeping cinnamon gum in his pocket because you always asked for a piece, even though he pretended it annoyed him. In the way his eyes found your window before bed without meaning to, searching for your curtains to see whether you had gone to bed or not; because he had always slept just a little bit easier knowing that you, too, were asleep.
He had known it at seventeen when your knee brushed his at the firepit, and he forgot for one terrible second how to speak.
At eighteen, he had known it with panic. You were leaving, and he was staying, and every touch between you begun to feel like time was running out. That summer, he could barely stand being in the same room as you, because being close reminded him that he still had to let you go.
Summer lost its colour then, too, because August had ended, and you went with it; and in the quiet of your window with all that was left behind, Noah understood the thing he had been too young, and dumb, and late to say:
He was in love with you.
Yet now at twenty-five, with your hands in his hair, mouth open on his, body holding him close as every thrust between your legs pulled another year of longing from his chest, he was lucky enough to know it like this, too.
He was in love with you.
Noah’s rhythm faltered once at his inner confession, allowing his body to accept the years of want. His mouth dragged from yours with a broken breath, hands sliding beneath your hips as he pulled you higher against him, deeper until the shift made your back arch from the mattress.
A sharp sound left your throat that was once again caught in his mouth, his tongue lapping every noise that you willingly gave each time he begged you for more.
Your fingers scraped down his back, and Noah groaned, wrecked. You could feel him everywhere, his arms trembling as he held himself above you, giving every inch you both deserved. Noah pressed every year he had spent wanting you back into your body until you could no longer tell where the ache of him ended and the pleasure surfaced, meeting your eyes once more.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Listen to you.”
Heat rushed through your neck, but before your eyes could drift down to where your bodies met, his hand slid to your jaw.
“No, don’t hide from me,” he whispered, holding you there.
Noah’s pace slowed, but every thrust stayed deep. Your eyes fought to close beneath the pleasure, but you obeyed, watching him through the haze as he moved above you. His mouth parted at the sight.
With each roll through your spine, his eyes darkened. His hand stayed firm at your jaw, thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he drove into you; and while he claimed you with such greed, he still looked at you with a longing softness, as you were the most precious thing he had ever been allowed to touch.
His hand shifted beneath your ass, keeping you open for him, until you slid your own hand between your bodies. His pace stalled the moment he watched your fingers trace light circles over your core. A pained sound left him, Noah’s shoulders locking above you as he greedily watched your fingers move against yourself, revelling in the way your lashes fluttered, mouth open beneath the feeling of him still buried deep inside.
“Jesus Christ,” His breathing was wrecked, watching as you squirmed beneath him. “You are so fucking pretty.”
Noah’s praise burned through you, and you slowed your fingers. His hips shifted once more, and you pressed a hand against his chest for a brief moment before pushing hard enough to beckon him backward.
He blinked down at you before understanding moved through his face, and when you pushed him firmer, he let you guide him back. He landed against the mattress with his chest rising hard. Hands found your hips immediately, gripping to put all the want that went silent in his throat.
You looked down at him, breath shaking. “Still think I’m pretty?”
Noah’s grip tightened hard, his eyes dragging over you. “That’s not even a fucking question. Look at you.”
With his head falling back into the pillows, he followed the roll of your hips with his hands, helping you move without taking over. The tips of his fingers dug into your skin, pulling with need as you pressed your palms to his chest for leverage.
For a while he let you have it. He let you ride his cock with need and famish, every slow movement tearing his name from your throat while he raked his hands over every inch of your body. Noah started at your legs, sliding from your knees to your thighs to the dip between your hips and pelvis, squeezing the skin there in worship. Then his hands travelled higher, up either side of your waist and over the curve of your ribs, until they reached your chest and held each breast through the next roll of your hips.
You moved harder, and Noah’s hips jerked up to meet you on instinct. His hands slid back down to your hips, watching where your body connected with his until he could no longer bear the pace you set.
Jaw flexing a moment, he shifted, planting each foot against the mattress beneath you.
“Noah-”
His hands tightened before you could finish, pulling you down hard against his chest as he thrust up with force. You groaned against his neck, arms locking around him as his own wrapped across your back, holding you flush to him while he pounded into you from below.
You barely had time to register anything beyond the pleasure, the heat of his body beneath yours with the broken scream of his name leaving your throat.
“Better?” he breathed beneath you.
Your nails dug into his shoulders in response, a quick ‘mhm’ vibrating against him as you hid your face in his neck.
“That’s what I thought.” The words were smug, but his hands were shaking, a laboured breath pressed against your cheek.
One hand stayed firm at your back while the other slipped between your bodies. His thumb pressed against your arousal, the sound ruining any control he had remaining.
Noah groaned when he felt you tighten around him, thrusting and pressing and drawing you closer and closer to the edge, until you could no longer hold on.
“Fuck, princess,” he praised at your ear. “Give it to me. Let me taste you.”
In an instant, his mouth found yours, the kiss devouring the string of broken moans you gave him. Noah’s lips parted against yours as your body finally gave in, pleasure rushing through you all at once.
He kissed you through every shudder of your hips as you came, swallowing your sounds because he had been waiting years to know them this way. His thumb kept moving in slow, tight circles, earning every last beat from your body while his hips drove up into you with a warmth that began to break.
The moment he lost himself, his arms tightened, rhythm faltering beneath you; and then he pleaded into your mouth, devastated, ruined.
“Noah,” you muttered against his lips, and he came beneath you with your name breaking apart on his tongue, holding you so tight in claim.
When the last shudder finally passed through him as he came, he did not loosen the hold across your back. He pulled you closer, breath shaking against your mouth as his body settled beneath yours. The room rang; ears, pulse, and air, the fan turning slowly above the bed.
Noah’s breath echoed through you as you hummed with contentment, hand trailing up and down your spine slowly. As you began to peel your chest from his, he brushed his lips against the corner of your own, unwilling to pull away just yet.
“Hey,” he whispered, giving you a moment for your eyes to flutter open.
When you met his stare, never had you been looked at with such ache, every pass of his eyes over your own sharing a thousand words of reverence through surrender. Noah had never looked at you with such helpless worship; so you sucked in a breath, fighting tears that welled in your eyes.
He caught them immediately, all the softness in his expression turning to concern as he sat up, still straddling you on his waist. You wrapped your legs around him, holding your naked bodies in place as each of his hands cupped the sides of your face.
His thumb moved beneath your eyes before anything could fall. “Hey,” he whispered even softer. “No, no. What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, but the motion only made another tear slip free. His face crumpled a little.
Letting out a helpless laugh, your fingers curled around his wrists as he held your face. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Noah did not look convinced as his eyes searched your own. “You’re crying. Did I do something wrong? Was it that bad?” He began, sucking in a nervous breath as his brows pulled together and he began to ramble. “Look, I-I’m sorry I don’t-”
Kissing him again, you laughed against his lips, “Relax. You did nothing wrong.”
He followed your pace, moving with you as you kissed him again and again and again, each one softer than the last until you pulled his hands down from your face.
“I’ve just waited years for you to look at me the way you are now.”
“Trees,” he whispered, and you squeezed his wrists gently. He then swallowed, gaze dropping briefly to where your hands held him before sliding back to your face.
“I’ve been looking at you like this forever.”
Your fingers loosened around his wrists, watching him as he turned his hands beneath yours until he could lace your fingers together, pressing them against his chest.
His heart was racing beneath his inked skin, wild with yearning that was yours; until he shared a vulnerable smile.
“I love you.”
The break in your breath felt like a reassuring realization that maybe you were not so crazy after all. Noah’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes still holding yours.
“I loved you then,” he smiled with years of everything unsaid. “And I love you now.”
You tried to blink back the tears again as your chest ached, but his confession touched every younger version of you that stood in your room, daydreaming of the boy next door. You ran your hands up his back, holding the nape of his neck as your fingers threaded through his brunette strands; remembering every goodbye you had swallowed because neither of you had known how to ask the other to stay.
His smile trembled as he watched you, until you sang the words back he had only dreamed of hearing himself one day.
“I love you.”
His entire face changed around the promise, muscles relaxing at the sound of the truth crawling off your lips; so you said it again.
“I love you.”
Noah laughed, taking your body with his as he fell to his side, a squeal flying from your mouth as he kissed you over and over, smiling eagerly into each one.
Laughing against his mouth, his name sounded weak.
“I can’t help it,” He murmured, kissing your lips, then your nose and cheeks and chin until he pressed a final one back toward the corner of your mouth. “You love me.”
You did; and somehow that appeared to be the thing Noah had been waiting his whole life to be smug about.
His grin stayed there for another second, boyish yet pleased. As the laughter faded between you, his hands softened against your body, mouth finding your forehead. His breath was quiet against your skin, and you hummed softly as your eyes drifted toward the window once more.
“It still looks far from here,” you said.
Noah followed your gaze to the narrow strip of yard, casting between the oak leaves. His thumb brushed over your arm.
“Not anymore,” he said, smiling.
You believed him, because summer had not come back the way it used to. Though it may no longer have been scraped knees and sticky hands, playground chalk dusting your ankles, or water from the garden hose cooling your tongue beneath a sky that lasted forever…it was shaggy brown hair and a laugh that made the world feel young.
It was purple lights and wrinkled sheets with the taste of Noah’s mouth. It was cinnamon gum and roadtrips with the windows down, calloused hands running across your thighs with the wind rushing through your hair.
So while yes, the older you got, summer still came and went- this time, with Noah’s heartbeat pressed into your skin, it no longer left without you.
This time, summer belonged to you again.
And, it had found a little bit of its colour too.
tags: (Join/leave my taglist here) (apologies if they are not updated!)
Summary: Hidden Stories is your goal in order to fulfill your lifelong dream of becoming a tattoo artist. What you didn't expect was to find a brother and a receptionist who both annoyed you and made you laugh in equal measure.
A/N: Hi everyone ! We're so excited to finally share with you the first chapter of our fic. Once again, @takeme1st and I wanted to say a massive thank you for the resonance our story got. We're very grateful 💓 We've decided to structure the story alternating between POVs. Reader's is written by Daisy, while Noah's is written by Em. Hope you'll enjoy it! Daisy & Em 💛🖤
Disclaimer: These are fictionalized versions of the band members. Their actions and personalities in this story are entirely products of our imagination and are not intended to represent the real people in any way.
Chapter 1
Sunday - 08:00 AM
The sound of the constant downpour that was cascading from the sky did nothing to muffle the groan that was leaving your lips. Your arm completely lost in your huge bag trying to fish out the keys to the tattoo parlor.
A strong gust of wind made your umbrella slip from your grip, tilting slightly exposing your freshly washed hair to the cold droplets.
“Be damned the day I chose to become a tattoo artist” you muttered under your breath, your mind catapulting to your warm, cozy bed you had to leave at an ungodly hour.
That sentence had been circulating your mind for 3 months, since you’ve been accepted as the apprentice at “Hidden Stories Tattoo Studio.”
The most gruelling 3 months of your life. Weekends, festivities and rest days ceased to exist the moment you signed your papers.
At the moment your main tasks were linked to the maintenance of the parlor: sweeping and scrubbing the floors, setting up and breaking down stations for resident or senior artists, answering phone calls and running errands for everyone.
That was all you did, 8 hours a day, 7 days a week. As tough as it sounded, you found your ways to have little happy moments in between the different chores. One of those was the fact that, most Sundays, artists came in very late, during the first afternoon hours, so that gave you a chance to have the shop to yourself, blast some music on the speakers and get started at your own pace.
The studio greeted you still in the shadows, dim light filtering through the big windows it had. A strong scent of disinfectant hit your nose, mixing with the taste of your hot coffee you just bought from the shop across the street.
“Well, first things first… music” you said to yourself.
The first notes from Arctic Monkeys’s third album Humbug started playing, filling the room. “That’s better” you hummed satisfied with your choice.
Too engrossed in your tasks, your perception of time slipped away from you. You were midway through setting up the very last station for the day when your stomach growled aggressively. Picking up your phone, you saw that it was almost 1 o’clock.
Lunch time.
Now, you’ve been so efficient today, that maybe you could take a few hours off just to go home, eat something warm and hearty, considering the weather, and then go back for the closing shift once the artists finished their work. Moreover, the very first appointment of the day was booked for 3:30, so that gave you plenty of time to just have some rest before picking your shift back up.
Once the last few things on your to do list were finished, you made your way towards the door.
Your hand was just getting to the handle, already tasting the warm soup you decided to prepare, when the heavy metal barged open.
A damp gust of wind sprayed in your face making you stumble, colliding straight into a slim frame.
Nick.
Your friend was soaking wet. His dark hoodie was plastered on his shoulders, his long raven hair stuck to his face, droplets falling onto the clean floor tiles you just spent hours cleaning.
Your expression turned into one that resembled a deer caught in the headlights. Nick’s icy gaze moved between your face, the duffle bag on one hand and the keys you were gripping on the other.
“Where do you think you’re going?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, dry, stern. His jaw clenched.
“I just finished prep” you stammered, your voice so little compared to his. “The first intake is at 3:30, I was going to grab some…”
Nick’s expression was, for a lack of better word, mocking. “Oh” he scoffed “Silly me, I must’ve written the shop's opening hours wrong then” he pointed at the little sign stuck on the door. “The shop opens at 1. Whether there are clients or not. Whether there are artists or not. You don’t leave the parlor unattended. You should know better, Y/N.”
Hot flushes crept up your neck, your cheeks burned turning into a crimson colour.
He was right, I should've known better. After all, he has been my sponsor for this very spot. I couldn’t let him down, at least not during the very first months and because of a futile reason.
Before you could say anything more, you caught movement behind Nick’s frame. A second boy stepped out of the rain. He was taller than Nick, sporting a beanie on his head. He promptly took it off, shaking his head, like a dog, to try and get rid of the excess water on his long hair.
Well, you thought, there they go, my long hours of work, out the window.
“C’mon, Nick,” the boy chimed in while taking off his black jean jacket “Cut her some slack… Don’t you see she’s about to cry?” His gaze locked in yours, a clear smirk on his face. He clearly had caught the tailend of your lecture from Nick.
The first few seconds were a bit confusing. That face looked familiar, he wasn’t a complete stranger.
It was his tattoos on his hands that gave him away. You rolled your eyes, annoyance starting to bubble into your stomach.
Your mind took you immediately back to that cramped, loud, sweaty living room. The heavy riffs of the guitar were shaking the tiny house, bouncing from wall to wall.
You were pushed up against the wall near one of the windows, a paper cup in your hand filled with a weird concoction Nick made.
You were listening to one of the girls slurring about how much she hated her boyfriend for a reason that you still couldn’t understand. You were there just to get a bit of fresh air since the air was getting heavier and thicker. It must’ve felt like an invitation to talk.
Scanning the room to get a valid excuse to escape, you found Nicholas’ eyes looking right at you.
Thank God! you thought.
“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you….” you screamed in that girl’s ear. She just nodded eagerly, lifting her cup as a sign of recognition.
You didn’t even wait for that interaction to finish before beelining straight to your friend.
“Didn’t you see I was in a very sticky situation?” you shouted hoping to be heard above the music.
Nick smiled amused by your annoyance. “I thought you were having fun” he teased, bringing his mouth near your ear just to communicate better. “Seeing that tortured expression made me realize that you still haven’t suffered through enough party meltdowns to have a sufficient exit strategy.”
You groaned
“And as the self - proclaimed almighty god of parties you should be the one to inflict punishments as you wish?” you shot back.
He laughed loudly, clutching his stomach.
“As your older friend it is my duty to make you experience the best AND the worst of parties” he said half paying attention to you. You saw his gaze flicking between your frame and something behind you. A grin spread on his face.
“There you are,” Nick said, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving you the input to turn around “Noah, this is Y/N.”
Noah had never been the party type. There was something about large crowds that made him feel a bit uneasy. He had a lot of friends, sure. And he was sociable enough. But that was in a context in which he was comfortable, rehearsing in someone’s garage, lounging in someone’s house. And not to mention - with people he knew. He couldn’t believe Nick had managed to drag him along to some random house party. He really wasn’t looking forward to being ”the weird guy” in the corner all evening. Noah didn’t know why, but he was no good with strangers. And with drunk strangers? Even worse.
Nick really owes me for this one, Noah thought to himself, standing in a corner of the overcrowded living room with a drink in his hand. He wasn’t too sure what it was, he only knew that it burned like hell going down. Which he took as a good sign, it probably has a high alcohol content.
He took another sip and scanned the room. No one he knew. There were a bunch of people that looked vaguely familiar but no one that he had actually talked to before. Where even was Nick? Noah huffed to himself, already in a bad mood.
Just as he was about to pull his phone out of his pocket he heard a familiar laugh. Following the sound, he ended up in the kitchen. Nick was talking to a girl he had never met before. So why was Nick talking to her like he’d known her forever?
Nick looked up as Noah approached, giving him that signature grin that usually meant that he was about to volunteer Noah for something.
”There you are,” Nick said. ”Noah, this is Y/N.”
You turned around to face him. Cute, he thought. Not in a dramatic, earth-shattering kind of way. But… definitely cute.
Noah extended a hand to you, which you took. He couldn’t avoid noticing how small your hand felt in his. He also noticed that you looked just as overwhelmed as he felt, like you too would like to be anywhere but in the middle of a house party. He got that.
Before Noah had time to say anything, Nick continued.
”She’s the new tattoo apprentice I was telling you about.”
The apprentice? Noah’s eyes flicked back over to you. He instinctively looked for tattoos.
He could find one… two… three? Huh. That was it, as far as he could tell.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before his brain had the chance to intervene. Later, he’d blame the alcohol.
“So…” he said. “You’re becoming a tattoo artist with, what, three tattoos?”
You raised an eyebrow at him.
”Damn, maybe I should be the apprentice instead!” he blurted out with a bark of a laugh.
And there it was. The exact moment he watched your smile falter. Fuck. That probably hadn’t come out the way he intended.
“...Dude.” Nick groaned.
“What?”
“You can’t say that.”
Noah frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m standing right here…?” you piped up.
“What? It was an observation!” Noah felt like he had to defend himself, even though he knew that he was more or less digging a deeper and deeper grave.
“That’s a terrible observation,” Nick said. He turned to face you. “Ignore him. Sometimes I think that he thinks that social skills are optional.”
“They’re overrated,” Noah shrugged.
That's when a familiar voice called his name. Noah looked up to see Folio waving to him from the living room, already holding two shot glasses and looking far too excited about whatever terrible idea that had just crossed his mind.
Noah turned back to face you.
“Hold that thought, sunshine…” he said before walking off.
“Who the fuck was that?” you exclaimed, whipping your head towards your friend.
To be fair, Nick looked pretty mortified; his shoulders were slumped, a hand nervously passing through his hair.
He looked at you quizzically for a moment before you clarified “I got that his name was Noah, Nick, I’m not that dumb” your friend snickered.
“Who is he in relation to you… you dumbass”
Without missing a beat he deadpanned “he’s the singer of the band I told you about.”
Oh.
“To be fair, he does give off that energy” you mumbled more to yourself.
“And that’d be?” Nick immediately asked.
“Prick… prick energy” you stated coldly while looking at Noah making his way towards a couple of already rowdy boys.
Noah made his way over to Folio, just to discover that he had brought Davis with him.
“Davis!” Noah exclaimed. “My dude!”
“I see Nick is talking to some girl.” Folio stated.
“So?” Davis asked.
Noah snorted. “So we’re leaving him the fuck alone,” he said.
Davis and Folio exchanged a look before shrugging. Folio then proceeded to grab Noah by the sleeve, pulling him through the living room.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Five minutes later they were sitting on the roof of the garage, legs dangling over the edge with two six-packs and a bottle of vodka between them. Unbeknownst to them they were stranded up there, since Folio had accidentally knocked the ladder down without noticing.
“Where did you find a ladder, anyway? Noah asked.
Folio grinned.
“Borrowed it.”
“This is incredibly stupid,” Noah muttered, taking another sip straight from the bottle.
“Yeah,” Davis agreed. “Pretty cool though.”
“And we're definitely gonna get caught,” added Noah.
“Only if we fall first,” Folio said, reaching for the bottle that Noah was holding.
Below them, house music spilled out through the open windows while people spilled in and out of the backyard. The evening air was warm around them as the sun dipped lower over an endless stretch of rooftops, painting the suburb in soft golden hues. For a while, none of them said anything.
“Do you ever think about it?” Folio asked eventually.
“About what?”
“The band.”
Noah looked out over the neighborhood.
“All the time.”
“You think we’re gonna make it?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Noah's mouth. He took a sip from the bottle that Davis held out to him.
“We have to.”
Davis laughed. “That’s not really an answer.”
“No,” Noah shrugged. “It isn’t”.
Another silence settled between them.
“Imagine…” Folio said, gesturing vaguely towards the horizon. “A couple of years from now…”
“We’re touring,” Noah stated matter-of-factly.
“We’re broke.”
“Yeah… but we’re broke in Europe.”
“You guys are just gonna leave me here to go to Europe?” Davis asked.
“No way!” Folio exclaimed. “We’re gonna need a merch guy.”
“I’d sleep on venue floors, if that’s what it takes. We have to make it. We just… we have to,” Noah said.
For a while, they just sat there. The bottle of vodka got passed around between beers. The music from the party was the only sound, apart from the occasional burst of laughter from the party below. None of them really felt a need to fill the silence as they watched the sun set. It wasn’t awkward. Just… comfortable.
Folio lay back against the warm shingles of the roof, tucking both hands behind his head. Davis absentmindedly peeled the label of the bottle of vodka. Noah was contemplating the neighborhood that stretched out beneath him, rows of quiet houses glowing in the last light of the day. He took a sip of his beer, and then another. You suddenly popped into his head, the way your smile had vanished after his stupid comment.
“I think I screwed that up,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Huh?”
“The girl Nick was talking to. The new tattoo apprentice.”
“How?” Davis asked.
“I said she didn’t have enough tattoos to go into tattooing…”
“Yikes.” Folio whistled.
“...And that maybe I should instead.”
Davis gave him a look.
“I wasn’t even trying to be a dick.”
Folio dunked Noah in the back. “You just come that way naturally.”
They all laughed at that.
“I should probably apologise."
“Yeah…” Davis sighed. “You probably won’t though.”
“I will! I totally will… after another drink.”
After a while, and many drinks later, they decided to climb down. Noah was set on giving you an apology. They all got up, albeit a bit clumsier than usual, and Folio peered over the edge.
“Uh…”
“What?”
“The ladder”.
“What about it?” Davis asked.
“It’s not there anymore,” Folio stated.
There was a silence before all three of them leaned forward. Sure enough… no ladder. There was another silence before they burst out laughing. They stood hunched over, hands over their stomachs, tears streaming down their faces from laughing so hard.
“Oh we’re so screwed,” Davis chuckled.
Noah walked to the edge, looked down, and shrugged.
“I can make that,” he stated.
Folio blinked. “...No.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re also drunk.”
“I’m tall.”
“Two completely unrelated facts.”
“Hm… no,” Noah said. “They’re very much working together.”
Before either Folio or Davis could stop him, Noah had lowered himself over the edge of the rooftop, hanging with straight arms for a second before letting go. To his own surprise, he landed on both feet. For approximately half a second. Then his feet slipped out from under him.
“Shit—”
Noah hit the ground on his ass with a thud. There was a moment of silence before an explosion of laughter erupted above him. Folio was doubled over, clutching his knees for support. Davis had one hand over his face, laughing so hard he almost followed Noah down the roof. Noah looked up at them, still sitting on the ground.
“You guys suck, you know that?”
Neither of them could get a word out. Noah got up and brushed the dirt off his jeans and looked around. He spotted the ladder laying halfway over a bush.
“You know what?” Noah said. “Figure it out yourselves.”
“Noah!” Folio called out between hits of laughter. “Please!”
Noah took a few steps over to the ladder. He picked it up and walked away, leaving Folio and Davis stranded.
“Asshole!” Davis yelled.
Noah didn't even look back, he just raised a hand over his shoulder and gave both of them the finger before disappearing around the corner.
The kitchen had somehow gotten even louder.
People squeezed past each other with half-empty cups in their hands, someone was arguing over the music, another guy was trying, and failing, to flip a bottle onto the counter.
Noah spotted you leaning against the kitchen counter, still holding a bottle of cider. Nick must’ve disappeared somewhere because he was nowhere to be seen.
There she is. Okay. Just apologize. You’ve done it before, Noah. It’s not that hard.
He took a breath and walked over.
“Hey.”
You looked up. You looked at him with an expression somewhere between confusion and mild disappointment.
“Oh.”
Not exactly an enthusiastic response. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“So…”
There was an awkward silence.
“I’m pretty sure I got off on the wrong foot earlier.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You think?”
“…Yeah.”
There was another awkward silence. You looked anywhere but at him. Noah swayed a little on the spot. Shit, he might actually be too drunk. Now say you’re sorry Noah. He opened his mouth and… his eyes drifted to the bottle in your hand.
“…You’re still drinking cider?”
You glanced down at the bottle in your hand.
“I got another one.”
“…Right.”
Another awkward silence. His brain was screaming at him to apologize. Alas, Noah’s mouth had other plans.
“You know…”
He held up the shot glass in his hand.
“I could fix that.”
“…Fix what?”
“The cider situation.”
“There isn’t a cider situation.”
“There is very much a cider situation.”
You raised an eyebrow, staring at him for a long second. Not necessarily annoyed, not amused. Just… unimpressed.
“…Are you asking me to take a shot?” you asked.
“I think I am.”
You stared at him for a second.
“I thought you were about to apologize.”
Noah didn’t quite know what to say.
“I was.”
“And then?”
“…I got distracted.”
“…By my cider?”
“…Maybe.”
There was another silence in which you just looked at him and he looked at you. Noah smiled at you, really trying to convey some kind of apology with his eyes. Because of the ridiculous amount of alcohol in his system however, this wasn’t a success.
“You really don’t want one?” Noah asked, holding up the shot glass.
You shook your head, amused despite yourself.
“I’m good.”
“C’mon.”
“No.”
“Just one.”
“I said no.”
He let out the most dramatic sigh before throwing an arm loosely around your shoulders.
“Pleeeeease.”
You looked up at him. His bottom lip protruded a bit, his brown eyes pleading.
“…Are you pouting?”
“I’m negotiating.”
“This is not negotiating.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Noah.”
“What?”
“You’ve known me for, like, twenty minutes.”
“So?”
“So why are you acting like we’re best friends?”
He blinked.
“…Because I want you to take a shot with me?”
“You are unbelievable,” you said as you rolled your eyes.
“I’ve been told,” Noah said, pouring both of you a shot. ”So now darling, please.” He handed you one of the glasses. ”Take a shot with me.”
From somewhere across the room Nick looked over, immediately spotting Noah with his arm around you.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Folio, who had managed to get down from the roof with Nick’s help, followed his gaze.
“…Is he cuddling the apprentice?”
“I think he’s trying to apologize.”
“By annoying her?”
Nick sighed.
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
“Did they ever tell you that you’re a horrible listener, also?” You could smell alcohol reeking through his breath.
“Actually darling” he gripped your shoulder even more “they said that I am a fucking good listener.” Using you as a sort of support, he swished his arm as indicating the whole room, resulting in dropping every last ounce of the liquid on the floor.
Annoyance was too bland of a word to describe what was boiling in your stomach. Anger shot up through your stomach invading your senses. You quite literally were seeing red.
“I think that’s enough socializing for the night” you yelled, abruptly shaking off his arm, causing Noah to slightly lose his balance.
Without staying there a second more, you took off towards the exit, not even bothering saying goodbye to Nick.
Your first impression was right. He was an absolute prick.
Everyone came back to the forest pretending it was just another evening at the river; though Noah knew better, and by the time the house appeared through the trees, so did you.
tropes: childhood friends to lovers / boy next door, reckless summer nostalgia / summer romance, mutual pinning & idiots in love, breaking into abandoned-ish houses (lol), sex with feelings
The days after that kitchen conversation settle into a careful, tender rhythm; the kind you’ve come to cherish in the two years since everything changed. Mornings begin the same way they have since you moved into this house: Kara’s small feet pattering down the hallway before the sun is fully up, her voice a sleepy but insistent demand for “Daddy pancakes with extra smiley faces and chocolate chip eyes that actually smile, not the weird ones from last time.”
Noah is always the first one out of bed, hair tousled and eyes still heavy with the remnants of whatever late-night melody kept him in the studio, but he moves with that quiet, unwavering devotion that never fails to make your chest ache in the best possible way. You watch from the doorway, still in one of his old hoodies that smells like him and the faint chlorine from the backyard pool, as he lifts her onto the counter with effortless strength. Her curls are a wild halo from sleep, Bee tucked securely under one arm like a loyal knight, while she “helps” stir the batter with a wooden spoon that’s twice the size of her hand, sending flour dusting across the granite like fresh snow.
Today is no different on the surface, except for the undercurrent of everything unsaid still humming softly between you and Noah. The conversation about another baby lingers like a gentle shadow in the corners of the room; beautiful in its possibility, terrifying in its weight, not resolved but not ignored.
You want it.
God, you want it.
The image of Kara as a big sister, protective and bossy and overflowing with love, fills you with a warmth that makes your eyes sting. But the fear still whispers in the quiet moments between pancake flips and giggles, reminding you of those lonely early years when you wondered if you were enough, if you could ever trust someone enough to share the weight again.
Kara chatters through breakfast at the kitchen table, her little legs swinging under the chair, maple syrup already smudged across one cheek like war paint. She talks a mile a minute about her plans for the day: showing her teacher the new drawing she made of “Daddy singing with bees on stage and a big guitar that shoots sparkles,” trading her special rainbow stickers at recess with her best friend Mia, and demanding you pick her up early so she can swim in the backyard pool before dinner and practice her “super loud princess voice” for the next time Uncle Jolly, Uncle Nick and Uncle Folio visits. Noah listens like every word is the most important thing he’ll hear all day, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, asking thoughtful questions about her friends and promising to practice her princess voice with dramatic flair during his next studio session. “We’ll make it so loud the neighbors will think there’s a concert in the backyard,” he says solemnly, earning a delighted giggle that lights up her whole face.
You watch them both across the table, gratitude swelling so fiercely in your chest it almost hurts.
This is your routine now.
This is your life.
The one you built together after years of fear and distance. Mornings like this, with syrup-sticky fingers and laughter echoing off the walls, feel like the reward for every hard choice and every leap of faith and it’s more than you ever let yourself dream of during those lonely early years when it was just you and a tiny baby who looked so much like the man you’d convinced yourself you’d never see again.
After breakfast, the three of you move through the familiar, comforting dance of getting ready for the day. Kara insists on wearing her sparkly rain boots even though the sky is a clear, brilliant blue, stamping her feet proudly on the tile until the lights flash. Noah kneels down without hesitation, helping her zip her favorite jacket, the one with the bee patches you sewed on together last month, while she tells him a very serious story about how Bun-Bun had a nightmare about dragons last night and needed extra cuddles. You pack her lunch with the care of someone who knows every preference by heart: apple slices cut into stars because that’s how she likes them now (no circles, “they’re boring, Mommy”), a cheese stick, carrot sticks with ranch in the little dipper container, and the special note you always slip in with a doodle of a bee wearing sunglasses. Noah kisses the top of her head, breathing her in for a second longer than usual, before you all pile into the car for the short drive to school. Kara sings along to one of his songs from the backseat, off-key and proud, her voice filling the car with pure joy. You catch Noah’s hand on the gear shift, squeezing once. He squeezes back, thumb brushing your knuckles in that silent I’m here, we’re okay gesture that has become your language.
The school drop-off is quick and sweet, the kind of moment you treasure because it feels so wonderfully normal. Kara hugs you both tightly at the curb, her small arms surprisingly strong, then bounds toward her classroom with her backpack bouncing against her back, turning once at the door to wave with both hands like she’s sending you off on a grand adventure across the ocean. You and Noah linger in the parking lot for a moment longer than usual, watching until she disappears inside the colorful doors. He pulls you close right there beside the car, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.
“She’s going to be the best big sister,” he murmurs against your hair, the words carrying both quiet hope and that familiar ache you’ve come to recognize in his voice; the one that surfaces when he thinks about all the firsts he missed with Kara. You don’t answer right away, just lean into him, letting the solid warmth of his body chase away the morning chill and the lingering whispers of fear from last night.
The rest of the morning passes in comfortable domesticity, the kind of steady routine that feels like healing. You work from home on merch orders at the dining table, finalizing designs for the next drop, simple, elegant tees with subtle bee motifs that fans have been requesting since Kara’s influence started showing up in Bad Omens’ social media posts. Noah disappears into his home studio for a few hours of writing, the faint strum of his guitar drifting down the hall like a lullaby. He emerges around lunchtime with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new melody on his phone he wants your opinion on, humming it softly while you eat together at the kitchen island.
You talk about everything and nothing: Kara’s latest obsession with drawing dragons that look suspiciously like Jolly with extra “fluffy hair,” the upcoming band meeting where they’ll discuss the next album cycle, how the pool filter needs cleaning before summer really hits and the backyard becomes her kingdom again. The conversation about the baby hovers unspoken but present between you, a gentle tension that neither of you pushes today. There’s time. For now, there’s just this; your life, steady and full and yours.
Until your phone rings mid-afternoon, sharp and insistent against the quiet hum of the house.
The school’s number flashes on the screen, and your stomach drops like a stone. Noah looks up from his laptop across the room, brow furrowing instantly as you answer, his body already tensing like he senses the shift in the air.
“Mrs. Davis? This is the front office at Oakridge Elementary. Kara’s complaining of a stomachache and she’s running a bit of a fever, nothing alarming on our end, but we think it’s best if someone picks her up. She’s resting comfortably in the nurse’s office with her stuffed animal.”
You’re already standing, heart hammering against your ribs. “We’re on our way. Thank you so much, tell her Mommy and Daddy are coming.”
Noah is moving before you even hang up, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door and shrugging on his hoodie in one fluid, worried motion. Deep lines of concern etch across his forehead, the same protective fear you’ve seen flash in his eyes since that terrifying night in Oregon when Kara spiked a fever and he was half a world away on a bus. “Let’s go. I’ll drive, I know the fastest route.”
You nod, gratitude and love swelling so fiercely in your chest it almost hurts as you follow him out to the car. He’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you slide into the passenger side, the engine roaring to life with a low growl. His hands grip the wheel tightly, knuckles pale under the tattoos, jaw set in that determined line you’ve come to love and rely on. The drive to the school is short, barely ten minutes on a normal day, but it feels endless today, the usual streets stretching longer under the weight of worry. Noah’s knee bounces slightly beneath the wheel, a restless rhythm he can’t quite control, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds like he’s already imagining Kara curled up small and miserable in the backseat.
“She was fine this morning,” he says, voice tight with that raw, paternal worry that always tugs at something deep inside you. “Running around the backyard, laughing, demanding extra syrup on her pancakes. What if it’s something more than a little bug? What if we should have kept her home today? I should have noticed if she wasn’t feeling right at breakfast, maybe she was quieter than usual, or-”
You reach over and rest your hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, your thumb tracing soothing circles over the worn fabric of his sweatpants. “Hey. Breathe, babe. Kids get sick. It happens fast sometimes. We caught it as soon as the school called and you’re here now. That’s what matters most.” Your voice stays steady for him, even as your own heart races with that familiar maternal panic. Admiration fills you as you watch him navigate the turns; this man who once commanded stages in front of thousands of screaming fans, now white-knuckling the wheel and muttering under his breath because his little girl has a stomachache. He chose this life. He chooses it every single day, without hesitation.
He exhales sharply, covering your hand with his own for a brief, grounding moment at a red light. His palm is warm, calloused from years of guitar strings, and it steadies you both. “I know. I just… I hate when she’s hurting. I hate not being able to fix it instantly with a hug or a song or one of those ridiculous voices she loves. After missing so much of her early years, it feels bigger now. Like I’m still catching up, like every little thing is a reminder that I wasn’t there when she needed me most.”
You squeeze his thigh again, heart so full it feels like it might overflow. “You’re not catching up anymore, Noah. You’re here. You’re her dad in every single way that counts, the one who makes the magic soup and does the dragon voices and shows up the second the phone rings. And you’re incredible at it. I see it every day. I’m so grateful for you.”
He glances over at you briefly, the worry softening just a fraction into something warmer, more vulnerable, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that still makes your stomach flutter after all this time. “Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it today. More than you know.”
The school comes into view around the next bend, the familiar brick building with its colorful playground flags waving in the breeze. Noah parks quickly but carefully in the visitor spot, both of you hurrying inside hand-in-hand. The nurse’s office is bright and cheerful, walls covered in posters of smiling cartoon characters and encouraging messages about handwashing. Kara is sitting on the edge of the small cot, looking small and miserable with flushed cheeks and a downturned mouth, Bee clutched tightly in her lap like a shield against the yucky feelings. The second she sees you both in the doorway, her face crumples completely, big tears welling up in her eyes.
“Daddy… Mommy… my tummy hurts and it’s all yucky inside. I want to go home.”
Noah crosses the room in two long strides and scoops her up without hesitation, holding her close against his chest like she’s the most precious thing in the universe. “I’ve got you, bug. Daddy’s here. We’re taking you home right now, okay? Medicine, cuddles on the couch, magic soup, whatever you need. No more yucky tummy today.”
Kara buries her face in his neck, her small arms wrapping around him tightly as another wave of discomfort makes her whimper softly. You sign her out at the front desk quickly, exchanging polite thanks with the nurse while your eyes stay fixed on them; gratitude swelling again in your chest as you watch Noah rub soothing circles on her back, murmuring nonsense about brave bees flying to find special healing flowers and magic soup that will make everything better in no time. He carries her to the car like she weighs nothing at all, buckling her carefully into her booster seat with gentle, practiced hands while you slide into the passenger side.
The drive home is quieter, the tension easing slightly now that she’s safe in the car with you both. Kara dozes fitfully in the back, one hand still loosely holding Bee, her breathing a little shallow but steadier than before. Noah’s hand finds yours across the console almost immediately, lacing your fingers together tightly. You watch him drive, focused and worried, jaw set, but so undeniably present, and feel a rush of love so strong it steals your breath for a moment. This is the man who once stood on massive stages under blinding lights, commanding crowds with his voice. Now he’s white-knuckling the wheel on a suburban street because his daughter has a stomachache, murmuring quiet reassurances even though she’s half-asleep. He chose this. He chooses it every single day, without hesitation or regret.
“You’re a good dad,” you whisper when you’re almost home, the words slipping out unbidden from that deep well of gratitude inside you. “The best one. I see it every day, in the routines, in the way you worry this much, in how you show up the second anything happens. I’m so grateful, Noah. For all of it. For you.”
He squeezes your hand, his eyes soft despite the worry lines etched around them. “I’m grateful for you. For trusting me enough to build this life together. Even when it’s scary. Even when the fear creeps back in.”
Back at the house, you settle Kara on the big sectional couch with a mountain of her favorite blankets and pillows, her head eventually finding its way into your lap as you rub slow circles on her back. Noah disappears into the kitchen to make the promised magic soup, chicken noodle with extra star-shaped pasta because that’s what makes it “extra magic”, and you hear him humming one of her favorite lullabies under his breath while the pot simmers. The fear from last night still lingers in the back of your mind, the what-ifs about another baby swirling like quiet storm clouds, but watching him now, so steady and loving even in these small, ordinary moments, it feels a little less overwhelming. A little more possible. A little more like something you could face together, the way you’ve faced everything else these past two years.
Kara drifts off again between spoonfuls of soup, her flushed cheek warm against your thigh, one small hand loosely fisted in your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Noah sits on the floor beside the couch, long legs stretched out, one hand resting protectively on her leg while the other reaches for yours across the cushions. The afternoon stretches quiet and warm around your little family, the soft glow of the TV playing her favorite show on low volume, the angst of unspoken futures mixing gently with the simple, profound gratitude of right now.
Boyfriend Noah who sees the “say all your partner’s favorite words on the phone to see their reaction” videos and wants to try that with you except he’s a little shit, so he ragebaits you instead.
You’re sitting together on the couch, legs intertwined, and he says “oh Jolly’s calling, one sec.” You think nothing of it, picking back up in the paragraph of the book you’re reading.
“Hey man, what’s up? Oh shit yeah, I meant to tell you, I was thinking of making some setlist changes. Glass Houses might be getting a little tired, don’t you think? Or maybe Nowhere to Go?”
Noah can barely keep a giggle from coming out when he sees your face scrunch into a displeased little pout, but there’s no verbal reaction, so he keeps pushing. He knows exactly which ones are your favorites, which ones you’d probably threaten his life over cutting from the set.
“We do What Do You Want From Me all the time now, that one could go. Or Anything More than Human.”
You raise one singular eyebrow and shoot him a Look™️ over the top of your book, but your attention flicks back to reading in a split second. Time to kick it up a notch.
“I know everyone loves Artificial Suicide, but it’s a lot, cutting that one might have to happen.”
That certainly gets your attention. He watches from the corner of his eye as you sit up, untangling your legs from his and looking him dead in the eyes before mouthing “absolutely fucking not” to him. You set your book to the side and look at him with an expression that says ‘you’re on thin ice’ loud and clear.
“We can always cut Limi-”
“Unless you wanna meet the business end of your sword collection, I’d suggest you don’t finish that sentence.”
A sly smirk melts across his face as he turns his phone to face you and you see a blank screen where Jolly’s contact picture should be. He watches your gears turn and bursts out laughing when your jaw drops open and you fling a couch pillow at him.
“You little shit!” You scream, launching yourself out of your blanket nest and into his lap to give him a noogie while you laugh, the sound of it bright and loud filling the living room.
“But baby, you look so good when you threaten to stab me to death!” He laughs, fluffy brown hair messy around his face while trying to fend you off from biting him.
He feels your teeth scrape his skin and tries to suppress a shiver, but judging by the evil glint in your eye he definitely failed.
“Hm,” you hum, “and here I was thinking that maybe once I finish a few chapters I could make out with my handsome boyfriend, but noooo-”
“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it sweetheart, baby please-”
Sooo... Since 2S got way, way more attention than either me or @copper-locks could've ever imagined... We decided to give you two teeny, tiny teasers. Thank you again for hyping us up! We're very nervous but also very exited. We so hope you'll like it. All readers POVs will be written by Daisy, all Noah POVs by me. See you Friday! :)
Being into metal and kpop at the same time can't be real wdym I'm dying over whatever new hairstyle my beautiful barbie princess jimin is presenting but also what new nerdy ass prop noah is gonna show us IM OVULATING EITHER WAY🫨🫨🫨
gracieabrams
germansingergirl
titsay
stormborns
