note: all of these are cross posted onto ao3 unless stated otherwise. i work full-time, and i have a normal human life, so i won't update as often as i or you please. no rules right now, just don't be a dick. thank you !
Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson
all worked up (only on ao3)
7:15 / ao3
slow burn / ao3
still down for the ride (petals for armor song series)
Nicholas Ruffilo
shut me up (only on ao3)
all worked up (only on ao3)
safety net: part one & part two / ao3
slow down (nicholas ruffilo x reader x noah sebastian) / ao3
now our tongues are tied / ao3
seneca / ao3
not just the friction of our skin (petals for armor song series)
Noah Sebastian
sweet boy (only on ao3)
heaven sent / ao3
slow down (noah sebastian x reader x nicholas ruffilo) / ao3
just friends / ao3
pretty boy / ao3
you right / ao3
caught between black and white / ao3
everytime / ao3
too far to go back now (petals for armor song series)
coeur d'alene / ao3
i was in the free fall / ao3
stargazing / ao3
i'd walk through hell for you / ao3
my soul is useless without you / ao3
Nick Folio
fallingforyou / ao3
i think i'm in love / ao3
cause everyone knows i got a broken heart (petals for armor song series)
Noah Sebastian x OFC x Nicholas Ruffilo
to be in love and to be loved / masterlist & ao3
Headcanons
bestfriend!noah / part one, two, three
cuddling noah / one, two, three
noah taking care of sick reader
reader helping noah with his new tattoo
a little fluffy comforting noah through a thunderstorm thing.
It’s 1am when the heat from the past few sweltering days finally breaks with a flash of lightning that illuminates the sky, and your bedroom. For a second, everything is lit bright and blinding before you’re plunged into darkness once more.
You count the seconds. One… two… thre—
A thunderous roar echoes in the distance, crawling closer, louder than the muffled rumbles that had previously stirred you awake.
A thunderstorm had been looming on the horizon, weather warnings already in place for the day ahead. They never phased you. If anything, you relished them, watching from the window with a thrill curling at the base of your skull with every crack of lightning splitting the sky, followed moments later by the roar of thunder. Sometimes it came loud and deafening, powerful enough to penetrate even closed windows. Other times, it softened into distant rumbles that faded with the passing of a brief storm.
Tonight, it’s the former.
The sound of thunder penetrates louder with your windows left open, and as you turn toward the window from where you lie in bed, listening to the rain striking against the pavement as the heavens finally open, Noah jolts awake beside you at the sudden gunshot-crack of thunder. Unlike you, he isn’t calm when it comes to thunderstorms, and being ripped so suddenly from sleep by one is enough to leave him visibly panicked and disoriented beside you.
Even in the dim illumination cast by the streetlights outside, you can make out the furrow of his brows when you turn to face him. Instinctively, he reaches for you like a safety blanket, your name spilling past his lips in nothing more than a rough croak as he desperately seeks reassurance.
Raising your hands, you cradle his face. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m here. It’s just a little thunder.” Your voice softens as your thumb strokes against his cheek, and he melts into your touch like a cat seeking warmth and affection.
A moment later, your hand slips around to cradle the back of his head, gently guiding him down against your chest while you shift against your already squashed pillows to hold him comfortably.
“I thought this wasn’t until—”
Crack.
Another flash of lightning, followed by a booming roar, cuts him off, and you feel him tremble against you.
“Fuck,” he hisses beneath his breath, burying his face into your chest while your fingers comb soothingly through his hair.
“I guess it came early,” you murmur with a quiet laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head.
His fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your shirt, his arms winding around you as though the tighter he holds on, the safer he’ll be.
“It can’t hurt you, baby.”
All you get in response is a grunted acknowledgement that sounds closer to a disbelieving whine, because no matter how many times you’ve reassured him through past storms, it never quite settles the anxiety brewing while he waits for it to pass.
“Why don’t you put on that anime you’ve been watching?” you suggest, taking a different approach, hopeful that a distraction might help and keep him from spiralling into the catastrophising thoughts no doubt brewing in his mind.
“Okay…” Noah murmurs, his voice sounding so small compared to his overbearing size. Even as he shifts to reach for the TV remote he refuses to let go of you, one arm still tightly wrapped around your waist.
Another flash of lightning spills into the room, and Noah immediately tenses beside you. Your touch travels soothingly down his chest as he settles back against you after retrieving the remote.
“Here.” You gently take it from his hand, allowing him to return to his clingy form of self soothing.
The room is soon bathed in the glow of the TV light as you switch it on.
“Which one was it again?”
Opening Netflix, you scroll through the options before moving down to the ‘Continue Watching’ section just as Noah mumbles, “Naruto.”
You could roll your eyes at the amount of times he’s watched it already.
A small grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you hit play. The screen turns black before the familiar Netflix logo appears on the screen and the signature ta-dum sound suddenly blares through the room, causing Noah to flinch violently against you.
“Oh, baby, did that scare you?” Even though you try to hide it, amusement bleeds into your voice, earning a quiet chuckle from him in return.
“It caught me off guard. It was loud, okay?” he harrumphs, shaking his head before nestling his cheek against your chest again as he settles comfortably into place.
His attention eventually drifts toward the TV, growing quieter as the episode begins, while yours flickers between Noah and the bedroom window.
Outside, the night sky lights up intermittently, cracks of lightning branching across the darkness in jagged lines and fleeting shapes before vanishing just as quickly. At last, the cooling temperature begins to drift through the open window, no longer rendering your fan useless from doing nothing but blowing hot air around the room.
psa because for some reason it needs to be fucking said but do not post information pertaining to family members of the omens even if it’s “public” googe-able info. using that shit as “tea” is highly inappropriate and shows that you’re a poor excuse of a human being lol
this is why these boys aren’t actively online anymore because some of you don’t understand the concept of boundaries. please leave them alone. and block bodamenstea or whatever their user is for posting that shit. thanks.
Tags: fluff, cuddling, caretaking, mentions of depression, mentions of weight loss
4.2k words
He mumbles a quiet “goodnight,” before promptly falling asleep. His soft snores lull you to sleep, as your body finally remembers what it’s like to relax alongside the boy you love.
Or
Tour has been especially rough on Noah. You take care of him when he returns home.
A/N: Based on this request and this blurb
EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION. This is technically part of the puppy!noah verse. Or not. Depending on how you want to see it. It lines up with a future poly!omens x puppy!noah fic that i might post. This would be installment number one of the puppy verse, before they've even established their dynamic.
You insisted on picking Noah up from the airport. Initially, he tried to argue, saying that it wasn’t practical, that it was too risky. You told him that you didn’t care whether any fans would see you. Your tone was so insistent, that in that moment, Noah didn’t even dare argue with you.
You were going to see your boyfriend as soon as humanly possible, intrusive fans be damned. You've been waiting for a month and a half. You can’t wait any longer.
You’ve seen the photos online. You’re aware of the fact that this tour was rougher on him than usual. You noticed his late-night texts that came through to you at a time when he should have been asleep. You noticed the bags under his eyes that seemed more prominent with each photo that Bryan took. Halfway through the tour, you even received a concerned message from Jolly, asking whether there was anything that he could do in order to help Noah.
The other band members tried to make sure that you didn’t worry yourself too much about Noah—but it was impossible not to. You would call him during the nights where he struggled to sleep—and you would hear his unfiltered, whispered admissions. He had stopped working out, he barely ate, he didn’t even have the energy to go outside and get some fresh air. He spent most of his free time curled up in his bunk, curtain drawn as he laid in the darkness.
Throughout it all, there was nothing that you could do to help. You were stuck on the other end of the phone, helpless, as you watched Noah become a shell of a person. Sure—you offered words of advice. But they fell on deaf ears.
You’ve seen the photos online. But nothing could have prepared you to face the reality of just how awful Noah looks. His posture is terrible—he’s hunched over as if he’s trying to make himself seem smaller—as if he’s imposing too much. His skin is paler than usual, an almost sickly colour. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than ever before. While hugging him, you can feel that he’s lost weight.
Though he seems exhausted, the smile that he gives you is real. His eyes brighten when he sees you, and you can almost see the weight that lifts off his shoulders.
You give a weak smile in response, trying your best to mask your concern. You tell yourself that whatever happened on tour—that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that he’s home—with you.
You’ll finally be able to hold him, comfort him, and take care of him. He’ll be okay now. He has you to take care of him.
You’ll make sure that he’ll be okay.
Noah is mostly silent on the way back to your shared house. You’re okay with that. Now that he’s finally able to relax, you’re not surprised that he doesn’t feel like talking. For the first time in a month and a half, he can rest his voice.
You don’t feel a need to talk, either. You’re perfectly content with sitting in silence.
There’s many questions on the tip of your tongue, many things that you wonder about—but you stay silent. Noah doesn’t need to be interrogated right now. He doesn’t need you worrying over him, fussing over just how different he looks within the span of a month and a half. You stay silent, reminding yourself to keep your worries to yourself. Sharing them aloud would only make everything worse.
Once you both step into your shared home, Noah leaves his suitcases by the door, takes his shoes off, and grabs you by the hand. He pulls you towards the couch, pushing you down onto it until you’re lying flat. He unceremoniously clambers on top of you, snuggling against your side. He lets out a quiet sigh as he allows his body to melt into yours.
He feels so perfectly warm against you. He’s like your personal heated blanket. You’ve always perfectly complimented each other this way—your cold body helps cool Noah down, and Noah’s warm body helps warm you up. It’s the perfect contrast.
You can’t help the shiver that runs through you once his body slots against yours. It’s always like this after a long tour—after a month or two of being away from him, the physical contact almost feels unfamiliar. It brings you back to when you first started dating him—feeling electricity run through you every time that his touch met yours.
Every time that you cuddle him after being apart for so long, you wonder—how did you ever get so lucky with this man? On some days, it still feels unreal. You feel so grateful that despite everything that’s going on in Noah’s life—he manages to find his peace within you.
The two of you simply lay in silence, indulging in the blissful presence of the other. Your hands wander over Noah’s waist, sliding beneath his shirt and softly rubbing the warm skin of his back. You’ve missed being able to do this. You’ve missed being able to feel just how soft his skin is, just how perfect it feels beneath your touch. Noah lets out the sweetest sigh, as you spoil him with soft touches.
The silence is broken by a very insistent rumble, coming from Noah’s stomach.
“We should go eat something,” you mumble, gently scratching your nails along his scalp.
Noah shakes his head, though his argument is offset by another noise coming from his stomach.
“When was the last time you ate, baby?”
He pauses, debating on how to answer. “Don’t wanna leave you,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder.
“Oh sweetheart,” you coo. “We’ll go eat, and then we can go right back to cuddling, hmm? How does that sound?”
“I don’t want to,” he whispers, pulling you impossibly closer against him.
There’s something so soft and honest about his admission, that you let go of the subject. He almost sounds distressed. You coo at him, softly petting over his hair, while your other hand rests against his back, holding him close.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you. We won’t move until you want to.”
Noah nods, nuzzling further into your shoulder.
You keep mumbling soft words of affection to Noah, and he hums in response. He responds so beautifully to your affection, making the sweetest little noises as you coo over him. Slowly, you begin to notice that his hums are quieter, and eventually, he stops responding.
“Baby,” you whisper. “Don’t fall asleep on me. I know that you’re jetlagged, but you’ll feel even worse if you let yourself sleep now.”
Noah grumbles in response.
“You growl like a little puppy whenever you’re unhappy,” you whisper, mostly to yourself.
You gently scratch your nails against his scalp, and his grumbles taper off into a happy hum. He’s so easy to please.
“I can’t let you fall asleep now. It’s still too early.”
Noah lets out another grumble. It would be comical, if you didn’t know just how exhausted he is.
Your voice softens. “How about we get you to eat something, and then we shower afterwards? I’ll cuddle you to sleep once you’ve done that, I promise. Just do these two little things for me?”
Noah looks up at you then, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours. He is very much on the verge of falling asleep. “I want sleepy cuddles now,” he states firmly.
You coo at him, reaching out and softly cradling his face between your palms. “I know, baby. I know. But we need to make sure you’re fed and clean, yeah? And then once your tummy is full and you’re not stinky anymore, we can go cuddle. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Noah sighs. “Fine,” he mumbles, looking visibly displeased. “And ‘m not stinky. You’re lying.”
You give a noncommittal hum in response. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “I promise you’ll get your cuddles soon.”
Once you help Noah stand up, you reach for the blanket that’s folded over the edge of the couch. You unfold it and wrap it around Noah’s shoulders, enveloping him in the plush warmth. He smiles, closing his eyes for a moment as he wraps it even tighter around himself.
“It feels like a hug,” he whispers.
You smile. You can tell that he’s still a little bit sleepy. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. When you pull away, his smile looks almost infinitely brighter.
You take his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers with his and giving his hand a soft squeeze. He squeezes your hand in response. You guide him into the kitchen, and he reluctantly follows behind you. You pull a chair out from your dining table, and gently guide Noah to sit down. Once he’s sitting, you press a small kiss to his forehead, before fixing the blanket that’s draped around him.
He lets out a little noise of displeasure as you pull away, but you remind him that you’ll be back in just a moment.
You go about preparing some food for you and Noah.
Earlier in the day, you cooked a simple broth for the two of you. Sometimes, after coming back from tour, Noah loses his appetite. You wanted to make something simple that you were sure he could stomach. There’s no telling what state his appetite is currently in.
You re-heat the broth, pouring it into two bowls and topping it with noodles and veggies. Once you bring the food over to the table and set it down in front of Noah, he almost visibly brightens at the sight of it.
The weight in your chest lightens once you hear Noah enthusiastically slurping his food. Only when Noah begins to eat, do you allow yourself to do the same.
“I missed this so much,” he sighs.
He eats very slowly, and you try to match his pace in order to make sure that he’s not feeling self conscious. Despite all of your worries, he manages to finish his entire portion. You’re not sure if you imagine it, but you swear that you can see some of the colour return to his face once he’s finished eating.
You leave the now-empty bowls at the kitchen counter. You don’t bother putting them into the dishwasher. That can be done tomorrow.
You have more important things to take care of now.
You guide Noah upstairs. You can see some of the tension leave his shoulders as he steps into your shared bedroom. He gives a sigh of relief as he lays his eyes on the bed. You don’t allow him to get distracted by the prospect of sleep for too long, though, as you bring him into the bathroom.
“I’d love to give you a bath,” you say, “but I think that runs the risk of you falling asleep inside it.”
Noah blushes so prettily in response.
You help him undress, allowing your hands to drift over the soft skin of his body. His skin feels so perfect beneath your touch. It feels right.
As he removes his clothes, your suspicion that he had lost weight is confirmed. It’s quite concerning. You don’t comment on it.
“Cold,” Noah whines, shivering a little bit.
”I know, I know,” you soothe, your hand rubbing over his arm. “We’ll warm you up soon.”
You turn the shower on, letting the water heat up for a moment, before guiding Noah into the shower. You follow after him.
Noah lets out a sigh of relief as the warm water meets his skin. You stand there, silent, letting him bask in the comfort that the warmth brings.
He guides his head beneath the shower head, getting his hair wet. Once it’s fully soaked, the water weighs it down, and you can see just how long it’s gotten over the duration of the tour. You can’t help but reach up and run your fingers through it.
“It’s gotten so long,” you comment. “Are you going to cut it?”
Noah gives a noncommittal hum in response.
You squirt some shampoo onto your hand, and begin to wash Noah’s hair. You thoroughly lather it while your fingertips firmly massage his scalp. Noah hums happily at the attention.
He almost makes a noise of complaint as your hands leave his hair. He’d like to bask in your affection for just a little bit longer. You guide him beneath the shower head, washing away the shampoo.
“I know, baby, I know. Feels nice, doesn’t it? But let’s get you clean quickly so that we can cuddle, hmm?”
Noah hums in agreement once he’s reminded about the cuddles that he initially wanted.
It takes a lot of coaxing and cooing on your end in order to get Noah to leave the warm haven of the shower, but eventually, you manage to get him to step out. Immediately, you wrap him up in one of the towels that has been sitting on the radiator. You wrap another towel around yourself, too.
He sighs as the warm towel meets his skin. You gently dry him off, patting his face dry in the process. He gazes reverently at you, a smile on his lips. You lean in, meeting his lips in a soft kiss. You can’t help it. He practically melts against you, and you almost have to hold him upright as his body sinks against yours. He very reluctantly pulls away once you complain that you’re struggling to hold him up.
You make sure to dry his hair too, patting it with a towel until it’s not dripping wet.
You help him get dressed. He looks adorable in his oversized, loose t-shirt and boxer shorts. His thighs look criminally good in his tight, black boxer shorts. You really want to press soft kisses to his thighs. Your eyes trace over his body. You’re itching to get into bed and feel the warmth of his bare legs against yours.
In return, Noah then makes a big show of trying to take care of you. His hands softly trace over your bare skin. His fingers glide along your waist, before tracing up your torso, and down your arms. It’s not sexual—he’s simply trying to remember how your skin feels. It feels so new to him, after having spent so much time away from you. He helps you get dressed too, though it’s a little clumsy, what with how sleepy and tired he is.
Somehow, you manage to convince Noah to allow you to blow-dry his hair. Noah initially flinches at the loud noise of the hairdryer, but eventually, he relaxes.
Once you’re finished, he turns to look at you, and you can’t help but affectionately ruffle his hair. It’s so soft and fluffy. It’s a little bit reminiscent of a puppy that’s just returned from the groomer’s.
Noah allows you to admire his hair for a few seconds, before insistently tugging you towards the bed.
“Sleep,” he insists.
“Sleep,” you agree, as you follow him into the bedroom.
Noah doesn’t waste any time before crawling beneath the covers, patting the space beside him. You slide in next to him. You’re both facing each other. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, as he smiles in response. You then guide him to face away from you, before tugging his back against you so that you’re spooning him. It’s a little bit awkward—what with how tall he is—but you don’t mind.
You reach up and place a soft kiss against his neck. He sighs as he allows himself to sink into your touch. He makes a needy little noise, one that signals that he wants some more attention. You obey, leaving lots of little kisses along the back of his neck.
You let your face nuzzle against his back. You can’t help but rub the side of your face against him. He feels so warm, so right against you. He smells so good too. You’ve missed this. All of it.
He mumbles a quiet “goodnight,” before promptly falling asleep. His soft snores lull you to sleep, as your body finally remembers what it’s like to relax alongside the boy you love.
_ _ _ _ _
The next morning, you wake up before Noah does. You’re lying on your back, with Noah pressed against your side. His hair is fluffy and unruly, and the sight is reminiscent of a scruffy little puppy. You can feel his soft little breaths against your skin. He makes the sweetest little noises as he sleeps, these soft snores that are so adorably endearing. You could listen to them forever.
You slowly rearrange yourself until you’re facing him. You bring one of your hands around his back, pulling yourself even closer to him. Though there’s a morning chill in the room, Noah’s warm body acts as your own personal heater. You can’t help but snuggle against his warm chest, nuzzling your face into his torso.
You bask in the warmth of his touch, as you drift in and out of sleep. You’re appreciative of being able to silently rest and relax in Noah's presence—especially after being apart for so long.
Eventually though, you can’t help the restlessness that you feel. You know that it’s time to wake Noah up soon. He won’t be happy that he’s slept in for so long. Plus, if you let him snooze for any longer, he’ll struggle to fall asleep tonight.
Slowly and careful not to disturb him, you slide out of bed. Instantly, the chill in the room settles into your bones, and you miss the warmth of Noah’s skin. Going back to bed feels so alluring, but you resist the temptation.
You quietly make your way into the kitchen. You decide to make Noah a cup of tea—as a sort of consolation prize for having to wake him up. While on tour, he had sent you a photo of a new tea brand that he discovered. He claimed that it worked wonders on his throat after a show. You also noticed that whenever he sent you a photo of his breakfast, you would always spot the same tag on the tea bag that was hanging out of his cup. Unbeknownst to him, you made sure to buy some of that very same tea, so that he’d be able to drink it while at home.
He ran out of the tea before the tour ended, and you remember receiving his very upset text message about it. You then proceeded to scour the internet, trying to find a way to somehow import this brand of tea to America. It was some sort of home-made blend, sold in a family-run store, somewhere in Europe. You paid an unholy amount of money in order to ship it to America, and get it to arrive before Noah came home.
You settle about preparing the tea just how Noah had described it to you during one particular video call. He had gone off on a tangent, explaining the intricacies of how to perfectly brew it. At the time, you had giggled over just how passionate he was over something as simple as tea, but still, you committed all of his instructions to memory.
Once you finish brewing his tea—making sure not to let it steep for too long—you head upstairs, as you debate just exactly how you should wake him up.
There’s no need for that, though.
Noah sits up as you enter the room.
“You left me,” he croaks, voice still hoarse from sleep. He pouts, and his wide eyes look up at you. He looks a little bit like a neglected hamster. Your heart jolts at the sight, and you feel slightly bad for leaving him to wake up on his own.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say. “I have a little something to cheer you up, though.”
He looks adorably confused as you approach him. He even tilts his head slightly, wordlessly wondering what it is that’s inside the mug that you’re currently holding.
You place the mug of steaming tea between his hands. “I made you your favourite tea. I know that you like drinking it first thing in the morning.”
Noah looks surprised for a moment, before noticing the familiar smell. He looks up at you then, his gaze so endlessly grateful. “Oh! Thank you,” he smiles softly.
He’s silent for a moment, as his thumb rubs against the side of the mug.
He’s just feeling a lot of different things right now.
You notice how his eyes seem to tear up a little bit, but you don’t mention it. He clears his throat, before taking a sip.
He sighs as the warm comfort of the tea settles his throat.
“Where did you even—how did you even find this?”
“Magic,” you say, winking at him.
You slide into bed beside Noah, sitting up beside him. You move closer, until your side is pressed against his. Noah hums at the contact, his free hand coming out to rest on your bare thigh, as he sips his tea. His fingers trace soft patterns against your skin. It feels nice.
The two of you sit in silence. You’ve missed this—being able to simply bask in Noah’s presence, sit beside him, and take comfort in the fact that he’s close to you. No outside pressure, no stress, no work to attend to—just the freedom of knowing that you can go about the day with ease.
He drinks the rest of the tea quietly, letting the warm comfort of it settle over his throat. As much as he takes pride in how well he takes care of his voice, he doesn’t deny the fact that his throat begins to hurt towards the end of tour.
“Thank you. You always take such good care of me,” Noah says. It’s a quiet admission.
In response, you place a soft kiss on his jawline. He hums so prettily at the contact.
Once he’s done drinking his tea, he places the mug aside, before turning to face you.
“Wanna cuddle you,” he insists, making grabby hands.
He’s so endearing that you can’t help the little smile that blossoms on your face. “Of course, baby. C’mere,” you say, lying down and patting the space beside you.
Noah doesn’t waste any time before sliding closer to you and settling himself against you. You’re lying on your back, with Noah tucked against your side. His head rests on your chest, and you can’t help but slide your fingers through his hair, playing with the soft strands.
He makes such pretty noises as you scratch his scalp and play with his hair. You let your nails drift over the nape of his neck, and he hums so prettily at that, too.
You don’t even suggest leaving bed. You let Noah curl against you and stay there for as long as he wants. At some point, he drifts off and falls asleep again, but you don’t mind. You simply hold him close, your hand wandering beneath his shirt, memorising the feeling of his warm skin against yours.
You’re not sure if he can handle doing another tour. You’re not sure if you can handle him doing another tour. You try not to think about it, though. You let yourself enjoy the feeling of Noah’s warm body pressed against yours. You try to ignore just how much your heart aches at the thought of being separated from him again.
_ _ _ _ _
You spend your days taking care of Noah. Cooking for him, making tea for him, bringing him water, bathing him, dressing him, bringing him for walks. You can tell just how much calmer he feels whenever you’re by his side. He seems to have developed slight attachment issues—always trailing after you like a lost little puppy. He can’t stand to be apart from you—even if it’s only for a short moment.
Most days, Noah is silent. He doesn’t say much, apart from little hums of agreement, or soft noises of affection. He’s very much okay with being able to be quiet for once, not needing to constantly be in charge and oversee everything. There’s no need for him to talk—not when you’re the one that’s taking care of most things. You’ve learnt to enjoy the silence. It’s nice because in a way, you don’t feel a need to talk, either. It feels easier like this—to communicate through soft touches and actions.
Noah happily lets you take charge. You decide the plan for the day, what you’ll both be doing, what you’ll both be eating, and even what Noah will be wearing. Noah finds that having someone else make the decisions for him helps a lot. It eases his mind of the burden of needing to constantly think. It’s reassuring, in a way.
Really, you don’t mind. You like being able to provide for him in such a way. Taking care of the boy you love makes you feel content in a way that you can’t quite describe. Knowing that he’s being taken care of—it puts your soul at ease.
Chase Forever Down (With You Around) — Best Friends to Lovers — Noah Sebastian x Reader
Pairing: Best friend!Noah Sebastian x Reader
Summary: Being Noah's best friend means hiding your big fat crush on him for the sake of the friendship. That is, until the beginning of tour party, where maybe you can just say fuck it.
Warnings: explicit language, making out, cunnilingus, sex in a public bathroom, unprotected sex, simultaneous orgasms
Word Count: 6,491
Read on AO3
Notes: This is a gift/exchange fic for my sweet new friend @measuredingold! I have loved bonding over Bad Omens and having our daily chats. I hope you love this fic as much as I loved writing it!
“Behind!” You shout, gripping tightly onto the stack of boxes you’re lugging.
They’re filled to the brim with various pieces of merch and piled high. The few people in your way step aside as they desperately try to make room. You look comical, eyes barely peeking out as you crane your neck. You're probably racking up endless safety violations and blowing your back out, but this method has worked for the past nine years you've been doing this job, so there's no point in changing it up now.
Once upon a time, merch for Bad Omens consisted of you, a hand cart, and a dream. Now, you've got an entire crew of your own to manage a ridiculous amount of t-shirts, hats, and other various goodies. And even though there are more people and more responsibilities, your days feel the same as they did on your first tour.
You expected things to be different this time, especially given the size of the rooms the band is playing in. Hell, they’re huge compared to the last tour, even. 1,500 capacity venues are something you all have become comfortable with, but 20,000? All those people in hockey arenas just to see a silly little band that all your closest friends are in? It feels unbelievable, especially when you say it out loud.
Even though there are more fans and bigger venues, you’re still plopping boxes down in piles and counting shirts like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Slinging merch became your career path practically by force. When Bad Omens first began touring, your best friend, Noah, didn’t know anyone else with enough experience. The last thing he wanted was to hand money to someone who could barely count. At the time, you had a few years at Hot Topic under your belt, so to him, it only made sense.
The rest is fucking history. Somehow, your job is to travel all over the world, sell shirts and socks to twenty-somethings, and sleep on a bus. Reality is weird sometimes.
Today is the first day of this monstrosity of a tour. And while you'd normally be already setting up at the venue, you’re occupied somewhere else for now.
Noah’s newest idea is a pop-up shop featuring exclusive pieces available only here, at this storefront rented to the band for the day. So all of the boxes surrounding you aren’t even half of the stuff you’re managing, considering the rest is for the actual merch booths at the show.
The pop-up won’t open for a few more hours, but the line outside grows longer and more impatient with every passing minute. You can hear fans just behind the locked front door talking softly amongst themselves. Anticipation builds higher for them and for you. While you know there are always hiccups this early on, you want it to be as perfect as possible.
You plop the boxes down to create new stacks, organizing by the size scribbled in Sharpie on the tops and sides—something you did days before to make this part easier. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that idea as you swivel on your heels to continue working.
Instead of walking forward, back through the curtains, you bump into something—no, someone. A hard chest that feels far too familiar. You lift your chin, eyebrows creased with confusion.
“What the—”
Noah looks down at you with a full-tooth smile, a black hat covering his grown-out hair, and a slight tilt of his head. He’s like a curious puppy, interested in your reaction. Your body relaxes as recognition takes over. You didn’t expect him to show up here, especially not with how many fans lurk just outside the makeshift storefront. Hell, it’s a mystery how he even got inside undetected. Did the Superman baseball cap trick actually work?
You step back instinctively, putting some semblance of space between your bodies, which feels impossible with the number of boxes directly at your heels. Being that physically close to Noah is a long, windy road you don’t want to go down this tour.
He’s your friend—your best friend, at that. You love him to pieces. There’s not a single person in this world who comes close to where he sits in your heart. And that’s the issue. It’s a really big, 6-foot-3-inch-tall, incredibly hot problem.
Somewhere along the way, you developed a crush on Noah. Maybe it was early on when you were crammed in a tiny sprinter van, using his bony shoulder as a pillow. It could have been more recent, though. Maybe their first full headlining tour or even that show they played with Linkin Park, where you cried during their entire set. You don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.
It’s not something you can ever act on. So, you steel yourself and keep going as if you didn’t just get an intense whiff of his cologne—vanilla, citrus, and ash. Yeah, you want to bury your fucking nose in the crook of his neck, but whatever.
“What are you doing here?” You murmur, eyes darting around the room as if anyone here would freak out being in his presence.
Noah smirks, shrugging nonchalantly when you finally look at him again. “Davis is being a perfectionist, so I told him I'd tag along and make sure everything is right for the first day.”
Yeah okay. You don’t believe that shit for a second. Noah has a specific vision for the layout and execution of the pop-up. And as per usual, he's pretending not to be a diva about it.
“Don't lie,” you snort, narrowing your eyes. “You were worried we were going fuck the setup.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I didn’t say that!”
“I can see it in your body language,” you snort. “You’ve got that nervous little shoulder hunch going on.”
“I do not.” He’s suddenly standing two inches taller.
“Honestly,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. Your muscles are sore from hauling all those boxes, but it feels good to stretch them out. “I’m insulted that you thought I couldn’t handle a little one-day storefront.”
“I think you can handle it just fine,” he says, leaning forward for emphasis as he starts to whisper. “I just don’t know what to expect from everyone else.”
“I hand-picked the entire merch crew. Don’t you trust me?”
It took you close to a month to find people because you were being picky, choosing only from a small pool of people you’d already worked with. Most people you reached out to jumped at the chance to work for Bad Omens. Others already had tours booked for the same time. Regardless, you only chose the best of the best. Noah has nothing to worry about.
He fixes his posture for the second time in this five-minute conversation. Except now, there’s a seriousness lingering in his dark brown irises.
“Of course I do,” he states.
“Then I think we’ll be fine without our boss lingering around.”
“Don’t call me that,” he shudders as his nose crinkles. “Sounds weird coming from you.”
Your stomach twists. This is the part where he calls you his sister and makes you want to puke. You know this because it happens every single time, like he’s purposefully trying to remind you of your place.
You throw your arms up in surrender, desperate to cut him off before he has a chance to break your heart. “Alright, alright! Go micromanage someone else.”
You walk, turning your shoulder to get past him. He reaches out, gently places a hand on your arm, and pivots you to look at him again.
“I came to check on you, asshole,” he blurts out like this level of honesty is the hardest thing he’ll do all day.
As the two of you have gotten older, Noah has lost most of the softness in his features. When you first met, he had chubby cheeks, noodle arms, and an awkwardness that seeped into nearly every part of his personality. He talked softly, walked with his head down. There was no authority to him, no intimidation. He was your gentle giant. Little by little, that changed. It felt like you blinked and he became someone completely different. A hard-cut jaw, pointed features, muscles for days. Suddenly, he spoke with authority, with a deeper voice that made you swoon. You thought it would be easy to adjust, to make room for the new Noah. But then he cut his hair. You never believed that hair held memories until the first day you saw him without his long locks that you were so used to running your hands through. Since then, it’s felt like every moment you shared as young adults is gone, taken away by sharp scissors.
You don’t feel like you’ve changed at all. You’re still the same girl wearing band t-shirts you cropped yourself and out-of-style skinny jeans. You’re still the same girl blindly following Noah around and doing all the crazy things he comes up with. You're still the same girl who is hopelessly in love with him.
And even now, as you stare at him with wide eyes and take in the way his jaw ticks, you feel completely blindsided by him. This random confession from him is too fucking much. The only normal thing about it is his use of an insult.
“I’m fine,” you murmur, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You always get anxious on the first day,” he whispers. You don't mind if people hear him, but it's considerate of him to try to keep it private.
And he's right. You always do. You instantly think back to every single time you threw up or had a panic attack at the start of a tour. The first time you ever worked for Bad Omens, you spent thirty minutes in a dingy, incredibly dirty bathroom puking your guts out. The guys never let you live it down, especially because it happened a few times. One time, you had such a bad panic attack that the venue’s medics made you sit in their designated area and get checked out. It's always embarrassing, and you don't want it to happen again.
You’ve gotten better at keeping yourself calm. Plus, you're so focused on working hard to get this right that you don’t even feel any nerves right now.
Forcing a smile, you reach out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m fine.”
Repeating the words makes your statement less believable. Noah stares at you, eyes tracing over your face. Joke's on him. You’re way better at lying than he is. Hell, you’ve been keeping a secret for years.
“Okay,” he nods. “You’ll be there tonight, right? You’re not going to hide away in your hotel room?”
By there, he means the start-of-tour party. It's a tradition that was once just the group of you getting drunk in the van and has now morphed into crew and industry professionals sipping wine and talking softly.
You’ve been staying at the band’s designated hotel for two days now, opting to fly in early to sign off on merchandise orders, approve the rental space, and get your ducks in a row. You also have had plenty of time to curl up under the pristine white sheets and mentally prepare for the next month. It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fucking fine.
You drop your hand, rub it absentmindedly against your jeans, and flash Noah something between a smile and a grimace.
“I’ll be there.”
~~~
Five minutes into this party and you’re already staring longingly at the exit. Promising Noah you’d be here was a big mistake.
Matt worked with management to have the hotel’s bar reserved for the night. It’s massive and really extravagant. The dimmed lights don’t hide the bright white walls trimmed in gold or the deep emerald green of the chairs and booths. The bartops are a cool gray concrete that makes you snort at the sight of them.
The party’s attendees stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in all black and covered in tattoos. The hotel staff is friendly enough, even though you surely aren't their typical customers. None of you belong here, and it's funny to think that someone attached to the band has enough money for an open bar at a place like this.
You scan the room as you lean against the counter and sip on a glass of lemon water. Everyone is already here, and most are familiar faces. At this point, more than half of these people are far more your family than any of your blood relatives. The few new faces are refreshing to see, holding their drinks close to their chests and keeping to themselves.
Your closest friends are in a huddle, standing together and chatting casually. You immediately notice that one particular person is missing, but you try not to think about it as you watch them laugh and sip their drinks. Folio has a beer while Jolly’s nursing a glass of something—bourbon maybe? They all look freshly showered and somewhat comfortable, opting for dress pants and t-shirts. They didn’t pass along the memo because you’re in a dress. It's black and simple, nothing flashy or crazy, but you still feel out of place. Your free hand tugs at the hem, attempting to pull it further down your thighs.
“No alcohol for you tonight?” A voice made of sweet honey breaks you out of your concentration.
After your quick moment with Noah at the pop-up, you barely saw him for the rest of the day. Once you could trust your staff with the checkout line, you headed to the venue to check on the merch booths and make sure they were set up correctly. You did inventory, spoke with the venue’s merch manager, and even found some time to answer emails. Most of it went smoothly, but you were busy. And so was Noah. You didn’t even get to wish him good luck before Bad Omens’ set. You just had to sneak away and watch part of it from the sound booth.
It's bittersweet, this growth, this level of success. Back in the good old days, you would put out a cardboard sign that read, "Go watch the set with me and buy a shirt after!” and then you'd catch the band’s performance from side-stage. You'd mess with Noah in between songs, hand him water or beer or whatever else you had on hand. Now, you feel so far away. You can't reach out and grab hold anymore. There's so much space between you.
Not seeing him all day means you've had plenty of time to stew. To think long and fucking hard about his earlier actions, the way he looked at you with a concerned softness that made you melt. You know he cares about you. Fuck, you know he loves you. It's just not exactly in the way you've always hoped for.
Thinking about it now makes you feel stupid. How did you let yourself fall for someone who could never feel the same? Your blood boils as you turn to face Noah.
“No vocal rest for you?” You bite back with a grin.
When you see him, the air is knocked right out of your lungs along with your smirk off your face. He's in a new jacket. It's somewhat denim blue, almost grey in this light, but not quite. Silver grommets and buckles adorn the collar, and it ends right at his waist, hugging him in all the right places. A mental image of him wearing it will be burned into your brain for the rest of your sad life. He’s paired it with a simple black t-shirt underneath, black dress pants, and black boots.
If he notices you gawking, he doesn't show it. He just quirks an eyebrow.
“Why would I go on vocal rest when everyone's here to talk to me?”
“Oh wow. Someone’s got a big head.” You roll your eyes as you search open-mouthed for the straw of your drink, and take a sip when you find it.
“That’s what they tell me.”
You sputter, eyes widening while you cough up your water all over the front of your dress.
Noah cackles as he reaches over the bar for a stack of napkins, haphazardly pressing them to the spot in an attempt to help. He’s only making it so much worse as his hands push firmly against your breasts. You stammer backward, pressing yourself against the counter.
“I’m good,” you squeak as you take the napkins from him. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure?” He asks, still laughing.
“You just surprised me.”
“I can still do that after ten years?”
He takes a step back, tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and rocks on his heels slightly. It’s a habit from the past, something he used to do when he felt uncomfortable. It’s one of the many things you picked up on over the years that instantly gave away his mood. Maybe he has changed as much as you thought.
“You don't even know half of it,” you say as you blow out an exaggerated breath.
“What?” Noah blinks.
You wave him off. “Nothing.”
“Don't be like that,” he tuts, rolling his eyes. “You're being weird. Just tell me.”
Your blood boils. How dare he call you weird when he’s the reason you’re on edge?
“Can you stop?” You snap.
Noah recoils, his entire body curling inwards like he just pressed his palm against a burning hot stovetop. He opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it. You know he doesn’t want to push you any further.
“You just—” you straighten up. “You're impossible, you know that?”
“I haven’t done anything,” he murmurs, voice full of confusion and something else—pain maybe. Did you hurt him with your attempt to put up your walls? Has he seen right through it?
You’re mad, pissed even. He hasn’t done anything? For the past ten years, he’s made you fall in love with him. He’s kept you at arm’s length, turned you into the most loyal best friend, and made you feel so utterly helpless every time he has flashed a genuine smile your way. Fuck, there’s a laundry list of things you can blame him for. How can he not see what he has done to you?
“Are you okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.
You slam your drink down on the bar behind you and step close to him, putting all your weight on your toes to meet his eye. Damn him for being so fucking tall.
“You came to the pop-up even though there were hundreds of fans outside just to make sure I wasn’t having a panic attack. And I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day.”
“Is it?” You challenge. “Because that’s what I keep telling myself. That it was just you being nice. That you would have done it for anyone on the crew. And yet, no matter what I do, my brain reminds me that it could mean something else. Something more.”
Noah’s lips press into a thin line, and you swear, if you squint, you can see sweat beading at his hairline. He doesn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare. So you keep going.
“But I think that there’s no way there could be something more. Because you constantly remind me that I’m just your friend. That it would be gross to see me any other way. And it just sucks, Noah. You know that? It really fucking sucks.”
“Why?” He croaks.
“Why what?”
“Why does it suck?”
You laugh. Actually, it’s more of a cackle. It’s filled with anger, frustration, and years of a crush that come tumbling out as you throw your head up and stare at the ornately decorated ceiling.
“Don’t fucking laugh,” Noah spits. When you point your chin down and look at him, you can see pieces of his facade cracking. His lips are downturned in the slightest pout, eyebrows furrowed, body completely still.
“You know why it sucks. You just want me to admit it,” you whisper.
“I'm trying to understand.”
You feel like an animal backed into a corner, ears pointed inward, and tail down between your legs. You know the blame can't be on Noah when you've put yourself here. But now you have to admit a secret you never thought would see the light of day. You don’t really have a choice. He's already watching you fall apart at the seams. There’s no way he doesn’t know something.
“Every time you do something nice for me, it just makes me fall more and more in love with you.”
And there it is. Out in the open, evaporating into the stale air. This is absolutely not where you expected to say it, but it tumbled out, and now it's done. There's no going back.
Noah's face morphs, dozens of emotions wiping over his features. He lands on something that makes your heart break: indifference. His lips curl, and his eyes almost look vacant, like he's trying to find it within himself to care. You want to throw up. No, you want to bang on his chest and scream in his face. Say something. Please. Just let me down gently.
When he doesn't move an inch or mutter even a sound, you decide you can't stand here any longer. You shake your head and stammer forward, shoulder colliding with Noah's as you walk past him and through the doors. You frantically search for the bathroom, practically running into it when you finally see the sign.
You don't head for a stall. Instead, you clutch the sink, knuckles going white instantly. Tears cloud your vision as you stare down at the granite countertops.
What have you done? You're going to lose your best friend over some stupid crush. Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself?
You squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself cry. At least for a few minutes. Time blurs.
After a small pity party, you pick your head up to check out your reflection in the mirror. Except you're not alone. The most familiar silhouette, one you could recognize in the pitch-black darkness, stares back at you from the entryway. Noah. He's not wearing the jacket anymore, as if your words made his skin too warm.
“You can't be in here,” you say as you turn around to face him.
“I don't care.”
“Well, I do,” you sniffle, stepping forward and putting your hands on him. One goes to his chest while the other grips his shoulder. You push and shove, but he doesn't budge. “Someone could see you.”
“Let them.”
“Noah, please, just go.”
“No,” he says sternly, like it's that easy. Plain and simple. Like your entire life doesn't depend on how delicately you handle this.
“No?” You repeat. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
“Why did you say that you love me and then run off?”
You bristle, straightening out your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. Even though your hands aren’t on him anymore, you can still feel his warmth sizzling against your fingertips.
“I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Well, you did,” Noah says with a huff. “I just want to understand.”
He's already said that once this evening, but it hurts more to hear it a second time.
“What is there to understand? You don’t love me back, and I have to find a way to live with that.”
Noah’s shoulders slouch as if there’s too much weight bearing down on them, as if your admission is far too heavy. Now that you’re really looking at him, there’s so much pain etched into his face that it makes your heart ache.
“Of course I love you,” he whispers.
“I know, Noah. As a friend. You don't have to remind me.”
“When did I say that?” He asks, throwing his hands up.
“You say it all the time! You call me your sister or say that you’ll always see me as your best friend. And trust me, it’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it. I understand.”
“No, you don’t understand anything,” he laughs coldly.
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve spent all this time deciding how I feel and not letting me get a word in. If you had let me, I would’ve already told you.”
Your body goes cold. “Told me what?”
Noah steps forward hesitantly. In the sterile white light of the bathroom, you can see the dimensions of colors in his irises. They're no longer dark brown. No, they're ivory and honey and ember. They're almost as beautiful as he is. And right now, he looks practically ethereal with a softness to his face that reminds you of ten years ago.
“That I feel the same way. That I love you too, that for the past ten years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss that look off your face.”
This cannot be happening. You're dreaming. You fell and hit your head, and this is a hallucination. There's no fucking way Noah feels the same way you do.
You open your mouth, promptly close it, then open it again. You're fucking speechless. You probably look like a fish out of water.
“All ten years?” You finally whisper.
Noah’s eyes go half-lidded, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “That’s the part you're holding onto?”
No, you're holding onto all of it. In fact, you’re never going to let this moment go.
“I just…” You swallow hard. “I don't believe you.”
It's the cold, hard truth, but it stings coming up your throat.
Noah softens. All of him. His eyes turn into round saucers, mouth parting open on a sharp, steadying inhale, and shoulders rounding out.
“No?” He asks.
You don't speak. You just shake your head. He takes the opportunity to step closer until your bodies are mere inches apart. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, instantly warming your entire body. You didn't even realize you were shivering. One thumb reaches up and brushes away a few stray tears.
“I have loved you since the day I met you. And I know how fucking cheesy that sounds, but I don’t care. It’s true. I have spent every day since trying to change how I feel, but no matter what I do, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t change. If anything, I’m just falling harder.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?” you murmur.
“For the same reason as you, probably. Because I was scared. Because I didn’t want to lose you. Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life, right beside the band. I thought I could lie and pretend my feelings away for the sake of keeping you in my life and not overcomplicating things. But I just fucking can’t. I love you.”
“Noah…”
“I know,” he hums, offering you a lopsided smile. “It took us a long time, huh?”
You should answer him, tell him all about when your feelings started, and laugh about this. But you don’t. Instead, you snake your arms around his, grab his face with both your shaking hands, and kiss him. Hard.
He freezes, body locking up and eyes widening, but only for a second, just long enough for him to realize what’s happening. When he does, he drops his hands from your face and snakes them around your waist, kissing you back with an intensity that almost knocks you off your feet. The moment your lips press against his, fireworks light in your stomach and take off in your chest, leaving sparks to fizzle out in your throat.
Before you can relax into it, Noah’s already moving, lifting you off your feet by his grip on your hips. Your eyes widen, and you scramble, throwing your hands out to your sides. They meet cold, slightly wet granite.
“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly.
“Making you closer to my height,” Noah explains, sliding you further onto the counter.
“We can’t do this here!” You look around, eyes wildly searching the bathroom for any signs of other people. There’s no door to listen out for since this is a fancy hotel with an open corridor that leads straight in. “Let’s go back to my room.”
Your room is on the fifth floor, and from what you understand, it’s far enough away from most of the crew’s rooms that sex noises won’t raise any suspicions. You’re not really one to hook up with people while on tour, but Noah has a distinct enough voice that anyone who knows him will be able to point him out immediately.
“No,” he says simply, stepping even closer to you. His body presses against the edge of the counter, and he forces your dangling legs apart to slide in between them. Leaning forward, his mouth presses against your neck, peppering it with kisses.
You squirm in a feeble attempt to push him off, but it’s no use. He’s much bigger than you, and he’s on a mission.
“Noah,” you whimper.
“I want you now,” he growls, voice low, rough, and full of need.
It makes you shiver and ultimately, give in, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to your mouth. He kisses you back hungrily, tongue pushing against your lips to force your mouth open. You oblige, letting him in with a heady whine. His tongue explores, tracing over your teeth before it dances with your own tongue, fighting for control.
You don’t expect to win. You’ve known Noah for ten years, and everything about him has always screamed dominant and controlling until now. He yields for you, melting into the kiss, letting your tongue push against his.
You pull back, chest heaving.
“You want me now?” you ask, repeating his earlier words. He looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and glazed over.
“So fucking badly,” he answers.
“Then take me. Right here.” He moves, leaning in to take your mouth again. You tut teasingly, putting a hand on his chest to push him back. “Oh no, big boy. If you’re going to make our first time be in a bathroom, you’re going to do it my way. On your knees.”
Noah blinks, sucking in a surprised breath, but he listens just as well as you expect him to. He looks breathtaking on his knees, his gaze up at you, awaiting further instructions. You smile softly at him and press your palms against the countertops to slide forward. With how tall Noah is, he lines up perfectly with where you want him.
An hour ago, you felt out of place in your dress. Now, you’re thankful you decided to wear it as you hike it up over your hips. Your panties are on full display now. They’re simple, a black and lacy thong.
Noah lets out a hungry groan at the sight. “Fuck, baby.”
You flash him a sinister smile as you shimmy the panties off your hips and down your legs. Noah moves before you can say anything, practically ripping them out of your hand and shoving them into the pocket of his dress pants.
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Did I say you could keep those?”
“Try to take them from me,” he challenges with a tilt of his head.
You laugh, pointing your chin up toward the ceiling for a moment before looking back down at him.
You never thought you’d be here: propped up next to an expensive sink in a public hotel bathroom with Noah, of all people, on his knees, seconds from worshipping you.
“You want to waste time playing around?” You ask. “Or do you want to taste me?”
Pure greed flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, simply because he doesn’t need to. You both already know how he feels. Instead, he leans forward, places a hand on each of your inner thighs for leverage, and feasts. His tongue presses flat against your folds and laps at them repeatedly, humming low in his throat like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You throw your head back, eyes s queezing shut as pleasure wracks through your veins. Noah focuses his efforts, moving his mouth to surround your clit. He flicks at it with his tongue, and you jolt, body sliding forward. You didn’t know shiny, pristine granite could be so slippery. You feel the pulsing pleasure for only a moment before Noah wraps his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks at it, changing the sensation to something completely all-consuming. Your mind swirls, body tensing.
You want to savor this, live in this moment for as long as you can. But the reality of where you are means you don’t have much time. You snake your hands through Noah’s hair and tug. He looks up at you, mouth hanging open and chin glistening with your juices. God, he looks so fucking hot like this, on his knees for you.
“Fuck me, pretty boy,” you demand as you drop your hands.
He scrambles off his knees and back to his feet, already working at his belt. He barely pushes his pants down his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. In any other circumstance, you’d laugh at how ridiculous he looks. But right now, you don’t care because you’re too busy staring at his hard cock, thick and long and absolutely perfect.
Living in vans and buses with him means you’ve inevitably seen it before, but this is different. This is all for you.
Noah grabs at your hip with one hand and pulls you further off the counter, using his other hand to position his cock against your entrance. He inhales just as he pushes in, exhaling the moment he feels your tight pussy clench around him. The stretch feels immaculate, the slightest sting radiating through your core, making you hiss. Noah shushing you lovingly as he finds a rhythm.
It’s fast, messy, and desperate, like he’s making up for lost time. You always imagined your first time with Noah to be passionate, slow, and full of love, which is the total opposite of what you’re experiencing. Well, except for the love. Right now, it’s tangible. You can’t even begin to question if he feels the same way because it shows in the way he’s holding onto you tightly and watching you intently, like you’re going to disappear if he so much as blinks.
The pace is punishing. Noah’s cock drives into you over and over again, winding you up with every thrust. You’re unraveling, and you know he is too. One of your hands grips his back, fingernails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The other slides down between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing fast circles into it. You whine, but it mixes with Noah’s own moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.
“God,” he groans, lust-filled eyes meeting yours. “You feel perfect.”
The compliment sends a wave of heat over you, starting at your toes and focusing on your center. It makes you clench again, resulting in Noah’s rhythm stuttering. You giggle, getting a devious little idea to move your hips and match his pace. Your bodies writhe in tandem, meeting in wet squelches that echo and bounce off the white-tiled walls. You’re not even trying to be quiet. And honestly? You’re surprised no one has come in and gotten you two in trouble. Maybe the noises are what’s keeping them all away.
Noah tenses, forcing your focus back to him.
“Are you close?” You ask breathlessly.
“Mhm,” he hums. “Are you?”
God, are you? Your body is practically screaming for it as your toes curl and your skin tingles.
“Yeah,” you nod as you pick up the pace of your fingers against your clit. “Cum for me, sweet boy. Show me just how much you love me.”
And he does. Noah groans, heady and loud. His body strains for a moment, going completely straight, before he collapses, practically toppling over. You can feel his cock twitch as his cum pumps inside of you.
And that’s what sends you over the edge. You lean forward, head knocking against his as your muscles lock together. Usually, it’s a gradual feeling. This time, it happens all at once, crashing over you in a wave of pleasure that pulls you under and leaves you a whimpering mess.
Noah takes his time and lets you settle back down before pulling out. You feel so empty when he’s gone, and you realize just how fucked you truly are. Now that you know how good this is, you’re going to be all over him, begging for it every single day. You don’t know how you’re going to get through this tour.
Noah steps back to give you space as he pulls his pants back up and tucks his spent cock into them. You slide off the countertop, and your legs wobble as you feel like a baby deer, struggling to find your balance. For a moment, you and Noah stare at each other, soaking in the reality of what just happened.
It’s Noah’s giggles that break the silence. He sounds downright giddy, using a hand to cover his mouth and stifle it.
“I love you,” he declares again. God, you’re never going to get tired of hearing him say that.
“I love you too,” you murmur, unable to hide the smile that pulls all the way to your eyes and makes the corners of them crinkle.
“I’ll leave first,” he says as he fixes his clothes, pulling his shirt down to straighten it out.
“Okay,” you breathe.
Noah pauses, taking in the sight of you, properly fucked and completely in love. He blows out a breath as he shakes his head like he can’t quite believe that you feel the same.
“Meet me at your room in ten minutes,” he instructs. You nod in agreement before he turns on his heels and strolls on out.
You watch him leave, eyes focused on his broad shoulders until he disappears from your line of sight. Then, you take a second to compose yourself, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress as you pull it back down. You don’t bother turning to face the mirror because you know exactly what you’ll look like. Instead, you just take a deep breath, pick up your chin, and walk out.
The first person you see is Folio, leaning up against a wall across from the bathroom entrance. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Oh fuck,” he says in a hearty laugh. “Jolly owes me a hundred bucks.”
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.
This is the third night in a row that Noah has stayed over at your place without a real explanation. Not that he needs one — Noah is welcome in your home whenever he needs an escape from the house he shares with his friends.
Sometimes he shows up after tour, making a home for himself in your space. On some days, he’s already there when you come home from work, halfway through making dinner for you to share. You could honestly get used to the sight of him in your kitchen — or anywhere in your home, really.
The thing is, that you’ve been harbouring this awful crush on him for years at this point. You know that it’ll never happen, Noah’s been very clear about wanting to focus on his career and health for the time being. And at any rate, you don’t know if he’d even want someone “normal” like you. Risking your friendship for a most likely one-sided crush just doesn’t seem worth it. You’d rather have him as a friend than have to be entirely without him.
When you come home tonight, your home is filled with life. Noah shoots you an apologetic look as soon as he sees you.
“I couldn’t say no to them.” he whispers when he wraps you into a tight hug, “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
You know how dearly he holds his friends, seeing them all gathered around your kitchen table makes you feel awfully soft. And even if you would have preferred a quiet evening, the unrestrained laughter that falls from Noah when Folio spills half of his beverage across his sweatshirt, makes your shoulders feel a little lighter.
Despite your need for quiet and rest, you agree to eat with them. The seat next to Noah is occupied by Nick, who leans back in his chair when you approach.
“You want me to free this up so you can sit next to your boyfriend?” The question is immediately followed by a yelp, seemingly caused by Noah kicking his shin.
You feel your cheeks heat.
You’ve always tried to keep this secret — surely Nick is just pulling your leg.
“I’ll take the free seat.” you say quickly.
As you move towards the other end of the table, you hear them bickering behind you. Your ears still buzz with the rush of blood though and mixed with the chattering in the room, you don’t understand a word.
A slice of pizza is placed in front of you as soon as you’re sat down.
Nick’s words sit at the back of your mind while you chat with Matt. He tells you about the plants he’s planning to get for his garden and how he’s been thinking about how to preserve the things he can’t use up or distribute.
You wish that you weren’t so terribly distracted.
You try to give Matt decent answers, but no matter how hard you try, your head keeps looping back to what Nick had said.
By the time the group has piled out of your kitchen again, you’re ready to head to bed. You still have a mountain of plates and cutlery to clean up before you can call it a night. Noah takes the stack of plates from your hands and sets them down in the sink.
“We can deal with that in the morning.” he announces, as he turns back around, “I’ve kept you up for too long already.”
His hands come to rest on your shoulders, gently squeezing the tense muscles.
You allow your eyes to fall shut for a moment, dragging in a deep breath through your nose. In the moment where your attention lapses, you fail to stifle the yawn that had been tingling at the back of your through for a while.
Noah lets out a soft laugh, “Alright, off to the bathroom with you.”
He turns you around somewhat forcibly, giving you a gentle push towards the general direction of the bathroom. Knowing that he won’t take no for an answer, you trot off. You’ll miss this when he inevitably returns to his own place. Having Noah around always makes things feel a little easier. You have no right to keep him here, he’s “just” your friends, but if you could, you’d just have him with you at all times. It feels a little unfair to feel so much for someone who doesn’t return your feelings.
Noah joins you in the bathroom a few moments later to brush his teeth. You watch him through the mirror. The whole scene feels so domestic. He smiles at you around the toothbrush, dribbling a little of the toothpaste foam onto his shirt. Without thinking much, you drop your head onto his shoulder.
For a moment, you allow yourself to indulge in this fantasy. For a few seconds he’s all yours.
Something feels off when you settle into bed tonight.
You can’t pinpoint it.
Somewhere between the moment in the mirror and now, something has changed.
Noah looks awfully restless when you chance a look at him. You know what he looks like when he wants to say something, but doesn’t quite know where to start.
Maybe this is the moment where he’ll tell you that he’s ready to head back to his own place. He’s already been here for three days — by no means the longest amount of time he’s spent at your place — but the conversation over dinner had revealed that they’re ready to head back into the studio. And that means that Noah will become an elusive creature that you’ll only hear from once in a while.
Noah draws in a deep breath, before he lets out a huff.
“Do you ever think about it?” he asks, eyes still focused on the ceiling above.
The question somehow catches you entirely off guard.
“About what?” you ask quietly.
You hope that the trembling in your voice isn’t too noticeable.
Noah shifts uncomfortably, eventually sitting up against the headboard.
“What Nick said.” he continues.
A small part of you hopes that he’s referring to the small throw-away boyfriend from earlier in the night and not Nick’s comment about wanting to go to Japan for his next vacation.
“I don’t know if I’m imagining it.” he says softly, “Sometimes I think about what it would be like if we were more.”
There’s something so self-assured about what he says, even though the words themselves could change everything.
“Noah.”
“I mean we already act like a couple sometimes.” he continues as if he hasn’t even heard what you said.
You sit up too, moving so that you’re opposite him.
“Please don’t do this.” you plead, “Don’t make me think that this is an option.”
His face changes then, forehead crinkling with worry, “What do you mean?”
“This.” you motion between the two of you, “Don’t make me think that this can work. I don’t think that I can be just a convenience thing with you.”
Noah scoots closer, “Why do you think that I want to be with you just because it’s convenient? Have I made you feel like — I didn’t make you feel like that’s something I’d do right?”
And suddenly you’re not sure of the voice in your head that told you that Noah would never be interested in someone like you came from something he did or if you constructed that narrative out of baseless assumptions.
“You are the best person I know. No one has ever made me feel this comfortable before. I keep trying to come up with reasons to stay here with you, and I’m running out of excuses. I just — I want to be around you all the time. And I don’t just say it because Jolly’s about to drive me insane.”
You can’t help but smile at the humour in his words.
Noah mirrors your smile, as he reaches for your hands.
“If you’ll have me — I’ll do whatever I have to make sure that you know how much I — love you. Whatever you need. I need you to know that I’m serious about this.”
You soak up the warmth of his hands, the comfort the gentle brush of his thumb across your knuckles gives you.
The words only reach your conscious mind when you run through them for the third time.
“You — love me?”
He lets out a huffed little laugh, “Yea — took me a moment to figure out, I’ll admit that. I understand if this is a lot or if you don’t feel the same way.”
“What happened to focusing on your career?” you ask, not quite table to hide your amusement.
Noah presses his lips together, trying to stop himself from smiling, “There’s this girl — and I realised that I might have to divert some of that energy to making sure that she’s as happy as possible.”
You feel yourself fluster at his words.
“What do you say? You wanna give this a try?”
“You know,” you say then, “I was thinking about how long I’ve been trying to hide this crush I had on you. And now it feels so silly.”
“It’s scary. I thought about telling you so often, but — just the slim possibility that it would somehow turn you away from me was enough to make me keep it to myself. If it hadn’t been for Nick tonight — made me realise how much we’re already acting like we’re together.”
“You’re telling me that you don’t cuddle with all of your friends like we do?”
You see him smile in the dim light of your bedroom, “You’ll be surprised to hear that I also don’t stock their favourite snacks in my room or go out of my way to find reasons to stay at their homes for days.”
“You know that you’re always welcome here. However long you want to stay.”
Noah slowly guides you towards him, forcing you to shuffle forward on your knees until you're right in front of him.
“Don’t say that. I might just stay forever.”
“If you want to —”
“We’ll talk about this in the morning. I want to have a proper conversation when we’re both rested.”
You give him a nod in reply, “Look at you being responsible.”
“See how much I do for you.” he grins, “Now come here. We should at least try to get a bit of sleep.”
Noah doesn’t let you get very far away from him — not that you want to be far from him.
His hand is still entangled with yours and in the darkness that now surrounds you, you can see Noah gazing at you so softly.
The exhaustion is starting to gnaw at you by now, but you just can’t bring yourself to close your eyes. You want to soak up as much of this moment as you can. And it would appear that Noah is in a similar predicament.
You place a hand against his cheek and even in the dark you can see him melt against your touch.
“Noah?”
“Hm?”
“I really want to kiss you.”
His eyes light up and instead of answering, he surges forward, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. It’s soft and sweet — a perfect first kiss. You steal another kiss from him, before you mould yourself against his chest. You feel Noah’s arm drape over your body, keeping you close to him.
The last thing you feel before you drift off is Noah pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The warmth of his body lulls you into a comfortable sleep, and tomorrow morning you’ll wake up to an entirely new phase of your life — one that you’ve been looking forward to for almost as long as you’ve known this boy.
note: @pastelsswirlvangogh and i talked about how cosy noah looked in that one picture with the fan and the nicks and it spiralled into this. happy holidays <3
Noah looks especially cute all wrapped up in his coat.
This tour had made your crush on him about ten times worse. You’d tried your best to push it to the back of your mind. You’re friends first and foremost — Noah has never made any kind of indication that he’s even remotely interested in you. Risking the friendship you have with him and the others over a foolish little crush just doesn’t seem worth it.
They’d played the last show of this tour the night before, and as a group, you’d decided to only fly back home after the weekend. The boys wanted to actually see some of the places they were visiting this time around.
You’d briefly split up earlier in the day. Nick, Noah and you had gone to the Rijksmuseum after hearing that the group that went earlier enjoyed it a lot. Nick had abandoned you at some point, leaving you and Noah to wander through the halls on your own. For a moment, you had allowed yourself to imagine that you’re more than just friends.
Noah makes it so easy to let yourself imagine that you could have more with him. For the first few years of your friendship, Noah had been somewhat reserved, always keeping a healthy distance to you. But now a few years later you’ve become a fixed part of his circle. Now you get to see the Noah only his friends know, the deeply affectionate boy who loves his friends with his whole heart. Now you get to enjoy the warmth of his arm thrown over your shoulder.
After a morning in the museum, the group had reconvened for lunch, before you’d found yourself dragged off to a record store by Nick and Jolly. The album you pick out for yourself is nice, but between the stacks and stacks of records, you find something you know Noah will love. He’s been talking about wanting to get more physical media, and a soundtrack you know he loves will be a perfect place to start.
When you finally meet up again to let the evening ring out on the Christmas market, you’re about ready to tuck in for the night. But you’ll stay out for a while longer.
Noah’s in the middle of a conversation when you rejoin their group. He still flashes that pretty smile of his towards you. You give a little wave in return and weave your way through the crowd towards him.
“Bought out the whole store?” Noah asks, turning towards you.
“Almost.” You reply, “What did the rest of you get up to?”
“Matt found a music store he wanted to check out. We had to drag Folio away from the kit with two kick drums. I think he might make demands now.”
Something tells you that before long, Folio will get what he wants — no one can say no to him for too long.
You wrap your coat around yourself a little bit tighter, trying to ward off the chill that is slowly creeping into your bones.
“I told you to take the gloves, didn’t I?” Noah quips with that annoyingly cocky grin on his face.
“You did.” You reply, “But it also wasn’t this cold earlier.”
He shakes his head with mock disapproval. Without saying more, he takes your hands between his, rubbing them to bring a little bit of warmth back into your skin.
“For someone who keeps complaining about how cold they are, you don’t take a lot of precautions when you go somewhere….cold.”
The playful tone makes you swoon a little, and you have to force yourself to snap out of it again.
After a couple of minutes of that, he releases your hands again. And you think that that’s the end of it, but then he reaches into one of the pockets of his coat. He produces what you quickly recognise as your rolled up gloves from it.
“There you go. Don’t say I don’t think of you.” He says softly, “Can’t let my favourite person be cold.”
Favourite person.
You pull the gloves on, and a part of you still craves the warmth of his hands.
Your group wanders between different booths for a while, picking up food and drinks here and there. You steal some of Nick’s fries, and in return you offer him a sip from your warm apple cider. Throughout the evening, you keep feeling Noah’s eyes on you, always lingering for a little bit longer than should be normal for friends. You’re sure that you’re just reading too much into it.
It’s nearing ten when the exhaustion and cold really get to you. You sidle up next to Noah, trying to siphon off some of his warmth.
“Still cold?” He asks, quiet enough so that only you can hear him.
You nod, putting on a little bit of a pout.
Noah pulls you in for a hug. What you don’t expect is for him to fiddle open the zip of his coat so that you can soak up even more of his warmth.
You always underestimate just how warm he runs. The fabric of his sweater is soft against your cheek. Your mind instantly eases when he holds you like this. For a moment, you let yourself forget that you’re in the middle of a crowd in a foreign city halfway across the world from where you live. For a moment, all that exists is the two of you.
“You wanna head back to the hotel? It’s been a long day. We can watch a movie if you want?”
“I can go back on my own. I don’t want to drag you away from your friends.
“Our friends. And I’m not going to let you walk back alone.” Noah says firmly, “If you’re going back to the hotel, I’m coming with you.”
You last a little while longer, before Noah makes the announcement that he’ll walk you back to the hotel. The size of the group meant that you had ended up with a room of your own, which you honestly were pretty thankful for. You love these people to bits, but having a little bit of privacy after being stuffed into the same cramped spaces for weeks is more than needed.
“Do you – still want to watch something together, or are you ready to call it a night?” Noah asks as you walk down the hallway towards your rooms.
“I could be convinced to watch an episode of the show we started.” you say, trying not to sound as if you’re desperate to keep him at your side.
Noah stops in front of the room he’s sharing with Nick, “Sweet. I’m gonna hop under the shower and be back with you in a moment, okay?”
You have enough time to hide the record in your suitcase and get changed into something comfy yourself, before Noah knocks at your door. He’s changed into his usual uniform of sweatpants and hoodie, making him look even cosier than he did earlier at the Christmas market.
“I found a bag of crackers in Nick’s backpack.” he says triumphantly, holding up the slightly crumpled up bag, “I don’t think he knows that he had them so he won’t miss ‘em.”
You step out of the way, letting Noah into your room.
As you walk behind him, you notice the same brown paper bag that had been stuffed into one of his coat pockets earlier. You can’t help but wonder what he’s up to again – surely he’s not done the same thing you have.
Noah makes himself comfortable on your bed, spreading out like he usually does. You settle down next to him, staying an arm's length away.
“Oh, before I forget — I got you a little early Christmas present.” He picks up the paper bag, “I saw this in the window of a book store while we were on the way to that music store. Matt said you don’t have this one.”
You scramble off the bed then, “I have something for you too! I was going to wait until Christmas, but if you’re starting early — it’s only fair that you get something too.”
Noah looks at you with a softness then that almost knocks you out. You know that he isn’t the biggest fan of receiving presents. He’s the first person to say that he doesn’t need a birthday present, but when he’s then handed something, he always gets a little emotional.
You wait to open the bag until Noah is looking into his.
“Oh wait, is this — that’s the soundtrack for the first season?” He marvels, “I didn’t even know they put that on vinyl.”
“I saw it in that store Nick wanted to go to. Thought this would be a good thing to start your collection with.”
He turns the record around to look at the track list on the back.
“I don’t have anything to play it on.” He says after a few moments, and you’re sure that there’s a trace of disappointment in his voice.
“You could come over and play it on my player?” You suggest.
Noah gives you a smile in response, “That’d be nice. Maybe I could cook something for you in exchange.”
“You don’t have to.”
He sets the record to the side then, before he takes one of your hands into his, “Let me do something for you too. You went along on this tour with us just because I asked you to. I have to do something.”
Sure, you’d come because Noah had asked you. But there’d also been that selfish side of you that had wanted to stay close to him.
“Maybe I came because I wanted to see Europe.” you shrug, knowing that he won’t believe it anyway.
“Sure.” Noah drags out, “Because you couldn’t have gone on your own when it’s not freezing cold.”
He falls quiet for a moment, idly playing with your fingers.
“I’m glad you came with us. It was really nice to have you with us. Maybe you can come with us again when we come back in the summer.” he says suddenly sounding so shy, “Maybe – if you want to – we can stay a bit longer, see more things.”
“Are you asking me to go on vacation with you?” you ask.
“Maybe.”
“I thought you don’t do vacations.”
“Well, technically I don’t see the need, but I think it would be nice – with you.”
Your heart makes a little leap at that. You don’t want to read into it, but it’s so hard not to when he looks at you like this. It doesn’t take an expert to see that he’s waiting for your response with almost bated breath. And deep down, you know that a guy who is asking someone who he sees as just a friend wouldn’t look this nervous about a fairly innocuous question.
“But only if you don’t complain about having to walk too much again.” you smile, harking back to a trip you’d taken a little while earlier.
Noah gives a mock salute, making you smile even wider, “I’ll do my best to suffer in silence.”
“We both know that’s not going to happen.” you quip back.
Within a second you find yourself thrown onto your back with Noah leaning above you. He hesitates and you wonder if he had more of a plan than toppling you.
In a romantic comedy this would be the moment where the main characters finally kiss, but you’re not in a film and you don’t have that kind of relationship. And yet –
His eyes flicker across your face, stoping when they land on your lips.
You bring a hand to his side, feeling the muscles beneath your palm jump.
“Noah.” you say softly.
His focus shifts back to your eyes. There’s a moment of hesitation before he leans down to brush his lips against yours. It’s over as soon as you’ve realised what’s happening. Noah pulls away again so quickly that you don’t have time to react. He practically leaps off the bed and quickly paces towards the other end of the room.
The whiplash of the moment makes you feel a little dizzy.
You watch as he runs a hand across his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he did. His face is wrought up in a deep frown when he turns back to you.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t — I shouldn’t have done that.” he barely manages to look at you when he speaks, and somehow that makes it feel worse.
“Do you regret kissing me?”
Noah thinks for a second, before he shakes his head, “I should have asked if you wanted it first. I’m really sorry.”
You know him well enough, by now, to know that he’s about to worry himself into an anxiety spiral, and really that’s the last thing you want for him right now.
You clamber off the bed so that you can come to stand in front of him, “How about you ask me again?”
“What?”
“Ask me if I want to kiss you.”
He swallows a breath, “Do you want that? Kiss me, I mean?”
You pull him down by the collar of his sweatshirt, not giving him a chance to worm away from you. Noah lets out an adorably started gasp when your lips meet again.
“Does that answer your question?”
He gives a doubtful hum in response, and you swat your hand against his chest.
“It does.” he finally replies, with a soft smile return to his face once more, “I have another question for you, though.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you want to try this? You and me as more than friends?”
“This is probably the most non-committal way anyone has ever asked another person out.” you say, poking a finger against his chest.
Noah grabs your hand then, using it to pull you in against him, “I’m trying you know I’m shit with these things.”
“I know you are, and I appreciate your effort.” you reply, “And yes, I would like to try.”
He leans in to kiss you once again, a little less rushed this time. He lingers close to you for a moment, close enough for you to feel his breath fanning out across your skin.
This feels right.
“And now look at your present. I need to know if Matt was full of shit or if he was actually helpful for once.” Noah says suddenly, snapping you out of your little moment.
The rest of the group is already gathered around a table by the time you and Noah enter the dining the following morning.
He gives your hand a tight squeeze as you come into view of your friends.
Noah only lets go of your hand to pull a chair out for you. He sits next to you, hands wrought up in his lap to hide how fidgety he’s been all morning. It’s been an absolute delight to watch him try to keep his hands off you. It feels almost as if he can’t stop himself now that he’s officially allowed to share this kind of closeness with you.
The group is silent except for the quietly grumbled good mornings you all exchange.
You’re about halfway through your coffee when Folio finally speaks up, “So did you two finally figure your shit out?”
Silence spreads around the table.
You look over at Noah, just to find him already looking at you.
Neither of you speak up, but the looks you exchange seem to be enough for your friends.
“Fucking finally.” Folio exclaims then, “Nick, you owe me ten. You too Matt.”
The table breaks into a mess of laughter and complaints then, but the noise fades into the back as Noah brings his hand to your knee. You watch as this revelation quickly becomes something normal, and your friends return to their previous conversations.
You drop your head to rest against Noah’s shoulder.
This is exactly where you’re supposed to be. With these people and this boy who makes everything feel so much lighter.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Noah chants beneath his breath with every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, each deep stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He’s faltering now, every movement edging him nearer to his climax. When you gaze up, you catch the beautiful sight of him in the mirror ahead of you—Noah behind you, your ass raised, chest pressed down into the bed.
Your mouth hangs open, soft moans spilling between plump lips. The sharp slap of his hand against your ass draws a yelp, quickly followed by the rough kneading of his large palm, and then another swat.
“I’m gonna fill you, baby,” he grunts. “Fill you up nice and good. Make your pretty little pussy all mine.”
His hips quicken as he slams into you from behind, each thrust making your fingers tighten around the sheets, your eyes rolling back as moans of pleasure pour from your lips. He’s pulling you apart bit by bit, unraveling you around him, and you feel the final thread snap, dragging him over the edge with you.
Noah leans down, pressing his forehead to your back as a shuddering whine slips past his lips. He grips you tightly through the wave of his climax, hips jerking erratically as he falls apart inside you. There’s nothing you love more than this, the way he breaks, the heavy throb of his cock, the way he presses as deep as possible, warmth flooding you with every spurt of cum.
It takes a moment for the wave to fully wash over him, for both of you to come back to yourselves. When he finally does, he slowly draws himself back.
You shudder as he slips out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whine as you clench around nothing, determined to keep his cum inside despite the way you feel it slowly leaking, a sticky, warm mess trailing along your cunt and down your thighs.
“God,” he mutters, leaning back to admire the mess spilling from you. “Your pussy looks so pretty when it’s filled with my cum,” he coos.
At his sudden, unexpected touch, you let out a moan, leaning back into it as Noah watches his tattooed fingers drag between your folds, collecting the cum leaking from you, mixed with your own. Your hips buck as you try to press back against his fingers, but he pulls them away, bringing them to his mouth.
Slowly, deliberately, he rubs his fingers over his lips, coating them in the blend of your juices. In the mirror, you watch as he taunts you, a quivering moan slipping past your lips while you press back against his still half hard cock, grinding along his shaft, aching to feel him inside you again.
“Noah, please…” you beg, gasping, but all he does is smirk, slipping his tongue out to lick over his fingers, an audible groan leaving him at the taste of you coating them.
“You want more?” he asks, hazy eyes fixed on your reflection as his hand glides up to your waist, guiding your rhythmic, desperate grinding against him.
“Yes…” you breathe, doing your best to keep your eyes on him in the mirror. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, desperate for more, desperate for him. As he reaches a hand down, he grips his cock and guides himself, rubbing the mushroomed tip between your folds, teasing it back and forth until he tilts his hips forward and you press back, meeting him.
He gasps and his other hand moves to your waist, gripping you firmly as he holds you still. A soft, trembling “fuck…” slips from him, a shiver rippling through his body at the sensation—his cock still sensitive as it’s squeezed between your tight, needy walls, feeling you clench and drag him deeper.
Holding you in place, his thumbs rub at the divot in your lower back, grounding both of you. Leaning over you, he crowds you easily, teeth grazing your jaw as you tilt your head back to give him more access.
“I want you to make yourself cum over my cock,” he urges, and you already know you’ll do anything for him. Your body quivers with pleasure, eyes fluttering as you try to keep them fixed on him in the mirror. His teeth nip between kisses along your jaw as you reach a hand beneath you, slipping it between your thighs.
You find your clit easily, met with the slickness of his cum mixed with your own wetness, circling the sensitive nub as you squeeze around his cock. Noah groans against your jaw, his head pressing close to yours as his hands settle at your hips, keeping you in place while he grinds into you—the drag of his cock between your walls encouraging every slow, desperate movement of your fingers.
The pleasure builds quickly now, rising with dizzying intensity. Turning your head, your mouth meets his in the best kiss you can offer—sloppy, heated, hungry, moaning into each other’s mouths as he continues to grind, using your cunt as his own personal fleshlight, working you like a fuckdoll.
You feel him twitch inside you, the stutter in his movements as he’s edged closer. Your cunt squeezes around him again, recognizing the signs, urging him, needing him to cum with you, to cum inside you and fill you all over again.
He doesn’t disappoint. His movements stay steady until you feel it, the shuddering, dizzying climax crashing over you, soaking him and your fingers. His hips jerk as his cock pulses inside you, spurting hot ropes of cum deep into you, filling you once more as his hips press flush to yours, pinning you beneath him.
Chest heaving, he drops his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, leaving faint kisses wherever his mouth brushes. He clings to you for just a moment longer as your body sinks into the mattress, the slightest movement making your walls flutter around his twitching cock in your shared, oversensitive state.
Orie had been out of town for a few days, working on a music video, and while the house ran the same way it always did, his dog Harper seemed a bit off.
She was quieter. More watchful and sometimes snappy.
You didn’t know much about her past, only that she was a rescue and that whatever she’d gone through before Orie found her had left its mark. She was scared of feet and brooms. Loud noises sent her scrambling for the nearest doorway or barking like mad. And she always carried this gentle awkwardness with her, like she was never completely sure how a dog living with people who love her should behave.
She didn’t really love cuddles, preferring her own little bubble, but on rare days when she felt braver, or maybe just softer, she’d let you pet her, leaning her head into your palm for a few seconds or napping next to you, before wandering off again.
During the last week, she kept moving from room to room like she was checking each space twice before settling down. Her tail still wagged when someone bent down to greet her, but slower. Sometimes, she stuck close to whoever was nearby, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.
Other times, she would curl up in a corner of the living room or in Orie’s doorway, her body tucked tightly into her bed or against the wall. She’d lift her head whenever you walked past, looking up at you with her big, sad eyes that made you want to hold her close, and tell her that everything was okay and Orie would be back soon.
It wasn’t unusual for dogs to shift their behavior when routines changed. You all knew that. But it still tugged at you when she’d pause outside a room, sniffing gently before stepping in, like she needed extra reassurance that everything was okay.
You also knew that over the last few days, during Noah’s twitch streams, Harper had started sleeping on his bed. To keep her calm and to keep an eye on her while he played, he’d taken her dog bed and placed it right on top of his mattress.
She almost never climbed onto anyone else’s bed unless Orie was there, so the gesture was both practical and very sweet. Noah had told you she’d been completely relaxed, dozing off for most of the stream, only lifting her head when he slipped her tiny pieces of treats from time to time. She happily ate them, tail thumping once against her bed before she drifted back into quiet, peaceful half-sleep after a pet.
That night, you were asleep in Noah’s bed, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist from behind. His breathing was warm against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your skin.
You’d been living with the band for over a year now.
With the fact that you worked for them, your old lease ending, and a spare room in their house that would’ve otherwise stayed empty, it was convenient for all of you.
You had known them pretty well even before moving, but being there every day, sharing mornings, deep conversations and laughter, late-night meals and movie marathons, did something.
Especially with Noah.
The closeness built slowly. Soft moments turning into gentle touches. Quiet talks turning into inside jokes, which turned into longer glances across rooms and nights spent watching anime with him with his arm around your shoulders, which turned into something neither of you wanted to name too fast.
You liked him.
God, you really liked him.
And you were pretty sure he liked you too, you could feel it in the way he lingered near you, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he looked at you.
You weren’t official-official yet. Early stages, testing the waters, figuring out how to be something more without rushing it. But sleeping in his bed, with his arm around you, felt natural. And you loved it.
Outside, the storm had been going strong for hours. Rain hit the windows hard, and the wind kept pushing against the house in short, sharp bursts. Noah’s room was almost completely dark, lit only by the streetlamp outside his window. Its light came in through the curtains just enough to make out the shapes in the room: the bed, the dresser, the desk, the shelves.
Noah shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding slightly along your hip before resting again. You smiled against the pillow.
You were right on the edge of sleep when a faint noise reached your ears: a soft, irregular tap-tap, like something lightly brushing against wood.
Your eyes opened slowly.
You stayed still for a second, listening.
Nothing.
Maybe you imagined it.
You let your eyes close again.
Tap… tap. Scratch.
Okay. That was real.
You frowned and reached behind you, pressing your fingers gently into Noah’s arm where it rested around your waist.
“Noah,” you whispered, giving him a tiny shake. “Hey… did you hear that?”
He made a tiny noise, somewhere between a groan and a hum, and buried his face further into your shoulder. His voice came out muffled and way too adorable.
“Mmnh… it’s just the storm. Go back to sleep…”
You would’ve believed him if the noise didn’t come again, a little louder this time.
Scratch… scratch-scratch.
You sat up halfway. “Noah. Noah, that’s not the storm.”
He finally blinked himself awake, squinting at the dark room like his brain was still loading. His long hair was a mess, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and soft.
“Huh…?” he mumbled. “What—what noise?”
Scratch.
That one made his head snap toward the door.
You whispered, “That.”
He stared for a second, processing, then looked back at you.
“…Harper?” he guessed, voice still raspy from sleep.
“I think so.”
That woke him up more. Noah gently moved his arm off you and sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Shit. She probably got scared,” he said quietly.
The scratching came again, and your heart melted a little. Harper almost never came to people’s doors. She usually kept to her corners unless Orie was home.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed.
“I’ll get her,” you whispered.
Noah nodded.
Crossing the room, you opened the door just a crack, and immediately, a small black nose pushed through the gap. Harper’s eyes met yours in the dark, wide and uncertain, ears low, tail giving the tiniest, hesitant wag.
“Hey, sweetheart…” you whispered softly.
She slipped inside quickly, and you shut the door gently behind her.
Harper looked up at you again, then at Noah on the bed, then back at you, unsure, but clearly wanting something.
Noah leaned over the edge of the mattress. “Hi,
sweet girl…” he said, voice soft and warm in that way he only used with animals and maybe a few humans. “You scared? Of the storm?”
Harper’s tail thumped once against the floor.
You walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, patting the blanket.
“C’mon, Harp,” you whispered. “It’s okay. You can come up.”
She hesitated, like she always did, shifting her weight between her front paws. She looked at Noah again, head tilting slightly.
Noah patted the bed too. “Yeah, you can. It’s okay. Up, Harp.”
Another loud crack of thunder made her jump.
And that was enough.
She scrambled forward, paws pressing into the mattress as she climbed up, until she was fully on the bed.
But once she was there, she looked so... unsure.
Her body stayed stiff, her paws planted awkwardly on the blanket as she looked between you and Noah like she wasn’t totally convinced she was allowed to be doing this.
You smiled softly and shifted back under the covers, lying down on your side to give her more space.
“It’s okay, Harp,” you murmured, keeping your voice gentle. “You’re good. Come here.”
You held your arm out just a little, palm open.
Harper watched you for a long moment, her eyes wide and shiny in the faint streetlamp light. Then, very slowly, she moved closer. One paw, then another, until she reached your side. She sniffed your shoulder, sniffed the blanket, then let out the smallest, quietest huff and settled.
She curled her body right against your stomach, like she was tucking herself into you. Then she lowered her head and rested it on your arm.
Your heart almost burst.
“Oh my god…” you whispered. “Sweet girl…”
Noah, who’d been sitting halfway up, watching the whole thing, just froze. His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open a little.
“Dude… what…” he whispered, blinking like he couldn’t believe it. “She basically never does that.”
Harper shifted just a little, pressing closer to you when the wind rattled the window. You instinctively brought your free hand up and gently stroked the side of her neck. She leaned into it, her eyes fluttering shut for a second.
Noah looked like he’d melt straight through the mattress.
“That’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice soft and ridiculously full of emotion. “You two are... I can’t— look at this.”
You shook your head a little, whispering, “She’s just scared.”
“No,” Noah whispered back, lying down slowly beside her, careful not to startle her. “She came in here looking for someone. And now she’s cuddling you. She chose you.”
Harper shifted again, snuggling closer, her head heavier on your arm now that she was fully relaxing, meaning he finally felt safe.
You couldn’t stop staring at her with a little proud smile.
You brushed your thumb slowly along the top of her head, then you looked up.
Noah was already looking at you.
He wasn’t even pretending not to.
He was lying on his side facing you, head propped up slightly on his hand, the soft light from the streetlamp catching in his eyes. There was a little smile on his face too.
You blinked. “What?” you whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. Just kept looking at you for a second.
And then, quietly:
“I love you.”
Your breath caught.
Not because you didn’t want to hear it, but because it was the first time he’d said it, out loud, plainly, in the dark while a storm rattled the windows and Harper slept against your arm.
Immediately, Noah’s eyes widened a little, like his brain replayed what he’d just said.
“I...shit,” he whispered, his voice flustered. “I’m sorry. Maybe that’s too soon. I didn’t mean it to come out like...it just—”
He gestured weakly at you and Harper. “This is so cute. And seeing you with her is just… it’s so sweet, and I thought...I dunno, it just came out, I—”
You reached out before he could spiral any further.
Your hand cupped his cheek gently, thumb resting just under his eye. His entire face softened instantly under your touch.
Then you leaned forward across the small space between you and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
Just a moment.
When you pulled back, you were smiling.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
Noah let out the tiniest breath, almost a laugh, almost a sigh of relief, and his smile grew, slow and genuine.
“Yeah…?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his cheek again. “I really do.”
Noah leaned in and kissed you again, just a gentle press of lips, careful not to move too much and disturb Harper.
He looked down at her, then back up at you, that same soft expression returning.
“Of course she loves you too,” he said quietly. “How could she not?”
He reached over carefully, his hand hovering for a second like he wanted to be sure she was fully settled. Then he brushed two fingers, those tattooed fingers you loved a little too much, along Harper’s back. Light, slow strokes.
“Good girl…” he whispered, his voice low and warm. His fingers kept moving gently on her body, patient and careful for a moment. You loved how sweet he always was with her and animals in general.
Like when he fed that stray white and grey cat by the mailbox, whispering, “It’s okay, buddy,” for twenty minutes, and also making a video so you could see it too.
Or when you’d found him napping on the couch with Boo, Matt's dog, curled like a warm potato on his chest.
Or the time you caught him lying on the floor with Ruffilo’s cat batting at his hair, and he looked up at you like, “I'm so happy, look at him.”
So seeing him now didn’t surprise you, it just made you feel like you were falling in love with him all over again.
Then, he stretched his arm toward you, slow so he wouldn’t jostle Harper, and let his fingertips graze your side, right above your hip. A small touch, but his way of finding you again, even with Harper nestled safely between you both.
You shifted slightly to meet his touch, letting your hand rest on top of his where it touched your side.
And just like that, the room felt warm and quiet and safe.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, barely audible.
“Goodnight,” you murmured back.
With Harper tucked between you, Noah’s touch lingering at your waist, and the soft rhythm of his breathing across the mattress, you let your eyes close.
And the three of you drifted off to sleep together.
You should’ve known something was off when Noah texted you three times in a row before noon.
Noah wasn’t a morning texter. Half the time you were convinced he forgot humans were expected to be conscious before sunset. But there they were—three messages, all variations of are you home? and I’m coming over. No punctuation, no context, just straight chaos energy.
You didn’t answer, mostly because you were half-asleep under a weighted blanket, fever-sweaty and exhausted and vaguely wishing someone would smother you with a pillow just to put you out of your misery.
So when your apartment door clicked open, you barely had the strength to lift your head.
“Noah?” Your voice sounded like gravel scraped across concrete.
He stepped inside with an armful of things—Gatorade, soup cans, a bag that was definitely full of junk he bought impulsively, and a blanket he stole (borrowed) from the bus.
Oh great. A whole circus.
He kicked the door shut. “Why are you being so annoying today?”
You blinked at him from the couch. “I’m literally dying.”
“That’s not an answer.” He dropped everything onto your coffee table, then knelt next to the couch, studying your face with that intense, worried look he pretended he never had. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“You had a day off. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“So you said.” He squinted at you like you’d personally offended him. “Do you just want me to be miserable with you, or…?”
“Yes. Solidarity.”
He huffed out something like a laugh—quiet, breathy, fond. “You’re ridiculous.”
You coughed, which hurt your entire soul, then muttered, “You’re still here.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I am.”
And you hated that those three words warmed you more than your fever did.
Noah, unfortunately, refused to leave.
You tried to tell him to go, that you didn’t want him catching it, that he had work, and that you’d survive on your own like a fully functioning adult.
He stared at you for a full five seconds, then said, “No.”
That was the whole argument. He just refused.
He rummaged through your kitchen like he owned the place, making soup (from a can, poorly), opening Gatorades, asking where your medicine was, asking again when he didn’t believe your answer, then digging for it himself.
Eventually he sat on the floor beside the couch, scrolling on his phone while you drifted in and out of sleep.
Every time you cracked an eye open, he was looking at you instead of the screen.
You pretended not to notice.
He pretended he wasn’t caught.
The real trouble started an hour in.
You shifted on the couch, groaning at every muscle in your body. Noah glanced up again.
“You’re still being annoying,” he said, voice soft.
You glared. “You keep staring at me.”
“Because you’re making concerning noises like you’re haunted.”
“It’s called being sick.”
“No, you sound like a Victorian child on their deathbed.”
He paused. “Should I call Jolly? He’s good with ghosts.”
You threw a pillow at him. You missed.
He caught it anyway, smirking.
You hated how attractive he was when he smirked. Or maybe you just hated being sick and emotionally weak and therefore susceptible to noticing how handsome he looked in your apartment, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes warm and tired and focused entirely on you.
You closed your eyes again. “Go away.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the only one allowed to bully you when you’re sick.”
“That makes zero sense.”
“Shh.” He tucked the blanket higher over your shoulder. “Sick people don’t get to debate me.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love it.”
And that—that—was dangerous.
Because you did.
Way too much.
At some point, your temperature spiked.
Everything felt heavy and hot and blurry. You didn’t remember falling sideways, but suddenly you were half off the couch, shivering despite the heat.
Noah was instantly there.
“Hey—hey. C’mere.”
His arm slid behind your back, lifting you gently, pulling you upright. “Jesus, you’re boiling.”
“I’m fine,” you whispered.
“No, you’re not.” His voice dropped, quieter, more serious. “You should’ve called me.”
“I didn’t want—” You swallowed. “Didn’t want to bother you.”
“When have you ever bothered me?”
Your heartbeat tripped. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to say things like that. Not when you were sick and vulnerable and already trying not to think about the maybe-something between you two that neither of you talked about.
You curled tighter under the blanket. “S’just a fever.”
“Which still counts,” he muttered.
He sat down on the couch beside you—really beside you, hip pressed to yours, one leg tucked up, warmth radiating like a furnace. His hand hovered before resting gently on your forehead. His palm was cool. You leaned into it without meaning to.
His breath caught.
Very softly.
You wished you hadn’t heard it.
“Noah…”
It came out as a plea and you hated that too.
He didn’t pull away. If anything, he moved closer, shoulder brushing yours, thigh warm against your leg.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“Fever.”
“I know.” He hesitated. “Do you want…?”
He didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t know what he meant. Or—maybe you did. Maybe you were just scared to assume.
“…Just—stay,” you whispered.
His exhale was shaky.
Then he moved, slowly, carefully, sliding down until he was lying beside you, back pressed to the couch, his body a warm, steady line against yours.
“…Fine,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed. “Scoot over.”
Being this close to him should’ve been illegal.
Noah was warm and solid and smelled like cedar and coffee and his stupid cologne that always made your stomach flip. Being curled against him felt wrong and right at the same time—like a boundary broken that neither of you were going to address.
You rested your head on his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, steady and grounding.
“You really don’t have to stay,” you mumbled.
“I’m already here.”
“But—”
“Nope.” His voice was firm. “Not arguing. You feel like shit, so I’m staying.”
You sniffed. “You’ll get sick.”
“Maybe I want to.”
“Why would you want to get sick?”
“So I have an excuse to make you take care of me.”
You lifted your head, staring up at him. “Is that seriously your plan?”
His cheeks flushed faintly. “Maybe.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
He met your gaze—really met it, eyes dark and soft and unguarded in a way he rarely let anyone see.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
Something unspoken hung between you.
Something warm.
Something that made your fever feel irrelevant compared to the fire creeping beneath your skin.
You dropped your head back onto his chest before you could say something stupid.
His hand settled on your side. Not pulling. Not pushing. Just resting there.
Like he’d wanted to do that for a long time.
An hour later, you woke up tangled together.
His arm was wrapped fully around your waist. Your leg was thrown over his. His face was tucked against your hair.
You should’ve moved.
You didn’t.
Instead you whispered, “Noah?”
He hummed into your shoulder. “Mm?”
“You’re still here.”
“You say that every time you wake up.”
“Because every time, I expect you to be gone.”
He shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were sleepy and soft, lashes long, mouth relaxed.
“I wouldn’t leave you sick on your own,” he said quietly.
“But you don’t have to—“
“I know I don’t.” His brows drew together, something like frustration crossing his face. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then?” you asked softly.
His jaw flexed. His hand tightened at your waist.
He looked at you like the truth was clawing up his throat.
And then—
“Nothing,” he muttered, closing himself off, turning his face away. “Forget it.”
Your heart sank.
Typical Noah. Always stopping himself at the last second. Always hovering at the edge of something real, then backing away like it burned.
You swallowed hard. “Okay.”
But it wasn’t okay.
It hadn’t been okay for months.
You shifted away, and Noah instantly pulled you back.
His arm tightened around you.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m just—hot,” you lied.
“You’re running away.”
“No, I’m—”
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Not right now.”
His voice was raw. Not demanding—pleading.
You froze. “Noah…”
He closed his eyes, forehead pressing to your temple.
“Just stay here,” he whispered. “Please.”
Your chest constricted.
You stayed.
He let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it for years.
Sometime later, the fever broke.
Your body felt lighter. Your head clearer. Noah was half-asleep against you, arms still wrapped around your waist like he thought you’d vanish if he let go.
You watched him, letting yourself look because for once you didn’t have the strength to pretend you didn’t want him.
His lips parted softly. His breathing deep. His hair falling into his eyes. He looked younger like this. Softer. Ridiculously beautiful.
And you realized—again, painfully—that you were in trouble.
Your hand drifted up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
His eyes fluttered open.
He caught your wrist lightly.
Not stopping you—just holding.
“Hi,” he murmured, voice impossibly soft.
“Hi.”
He studied you for a long moment. “You look better.”
“Because you’re a good nurse.”
“Liar.” He smiled. Small. Real. “But thanks.”
Silence settled. Warm. Heavy. Loaded.
Then Noah inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered.
“Which part?”
“That you don’t bother me.” His thumb brushed your wrist. “You never have.”
Your breath hitched. “Noah—”
“And I didn’t stay here because you were sick.”
His voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
“I stayed because I wanted to.”
Your pulse thundered. “Why are you telling me this?”
He swallowed hard.
“Because you’re sick enough that maybe you won’t remember if this ruins everything.”
“Noah—”
He took a shaky breath.
“I like being here,” he said quietly. “With you. Like this. I always have.”
Your heart stopped.
You whispered, “I like you here too.”
His eyes snapped to yours.
Hope. Fear. Relief. All tangled.
“Yeah?” he breathed.
“Yeah.”
He exhaled shakily, forehead dropping to yours.
“Good,” he whispered. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
You smiled, small and sleepy and full of warmth.
“Solidarity?”
His lips brushed your cheek—barely there, feather-light, like he was asking permission without words.
i want to be with you everywhere ⭑nicholas ruffilo x f!reader⭑
word count: 1.6k
warnings: unprotected intercourse, swearing
note: birthday fic for the most beloved boy based on an anon ask i got a while ago. it's a day late and not as long as i wanted it to be but my brain is a little stubborn atm. i hope this is still okay <3
Keeping secrets from Nick is hard.
He’s got a way of figuring things out that never fails to impress you. But somehow you’ve managed to manoeuvre all of this past him. You’d enlisted the boys for help, Noah and Jolly had done their best to keep him occupied while you’d gathered all the components for your plan. Folio had been gracious enough to let you stash the main element at his place. He’ll come by in a couple of hours while Nick is distracted.
For now, you’re happy where you are, cuddled up in bed with him.
Nick is still wrapped around you, with his face burrowed into your side. Even if you’d want to, there’s no way you’d be able to get out of bed without waking him up. His arm is draped across your body, keeping you stuck to this very spot.
It’s almost ten when Nick finally stirs.
He shifts, likely trying to work whatever knot has settled into his shoulders out. As carefully as you can, you swipe the strands of hair that have fallen into his face away, revealing your still sleepy boy to you.
“Good morning, my love.” you say quietly, not wanting to disturb the comfortable silence in the room, “Happy birthday.”
You feel him smile, before he presses a kiss against your t-shirt covered ribs.
“Thank you.” He grumbles, evidently not quite ready to be awake yet.
With how you’re positioned, you can just about press your lips to the top of his head.
“You’ll be happy to hear that I haven’t made plans for us today. It’ll just be the two of us this year.”
Nick finally sits up then.
His hair is still messy from sleep, cheek pink from where he’d been resting against you. He’s never looked prettier to you.
Nick eyes you with that adorably suspicious glare of his.
He squints at you, as if he’s trying to peer directly into your brain. He’s able to keep up the facade for a few moments before he breaks into a smile.
Reluctantly, you sit up too.
“I love the boys, but I’ll be honest. I'm glad that it's just us today.”
There’s a faint trace of guilt in his words, and you’re not sure if it’s towards them or you. The band’s been busy recently, and Nick has already confessed that he sometimes feels as if he’s neglecting you a little when they're in the thick of it. But you also know how important the boys are to him.
“You’ll see the boys next week.” You reply softly, placing your hand on top of his thigh, “I want you all to myself today.”
Nick smiles back at you, before he leans in to kiss you.
“Got plans for us?” He asks, barely pulling away from you.
You hum as if in thought, “Big plans. Step one is you on top of me.”
His head tips forward as he laughs.
A moment later, you find yourself thrown on your back, with Nick hovering above you. His lips meet yours once again. It’s that tender kind of kiss, sweet and indulgent. Your hand wrap into the hair at the back of his neck, keeping him as close to you as you can. And just when he thinks himself safe and comfortable, you push back against him. Nick never expects you to disrupt your gentle little moments like this, so it’s easy to catch him off-guard, allowing you to throw him onto his back quite effortlessly. Nick lets out a little sound when his back his the mattress. It fades into a gasp when you seat yourself on top of him.
“Change of plans, actually.” you say with a smile, “Think it’s my turn to treat you, no?”
He blinks up at you for a moment, evidently trying to gather his thoughts again.
“Birthday boys need to be pampered.” you muse, as you let your hands wander across his chest.
Nick’s breath staggers the lower your hands travel on his body.
He gasps when you let the elastic of his boxer snap back against his tummy.
You direct his glance towards you with a firm hand on his chin. Once his focus is entirely where you want it, you reach for the hem of your own shirt. Watching his mouth drop open always is one of your favourite things about this. Nick has a way of making you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, even when you maybe don’t feel like it.
His hand come to meet your waist, gently squeezing the soft flesh they find there. His watchful eyes flit across your body, taking in the shape of you in a matter of seconds.
“Fuck, I’m lucky.” he mumbles more to himself than to you.
You move to push Nick’s shirt upwards, silently urging him to take it off. As soon as his skin is bared, you bring your lips to his chest. The soft little sounds that fall from him as you trail your lips down his chest and tummy only spur you on.
You don’t feel like drawing it out today. No, all you want to do this morning is shower your boy with all the love he deserves.
His finger tangle with yours when you sink down on him. Fighting the instinct to close your eyes is easy today. Nick keeps your glance, watching you as intently as you’re watching him. And no matter how intense the stretch of him inside of you feels, the last thing you want to do is take your eyes off him.
You settle into a slow grind against him, allowing barely an inch of distance between you. Nick carefully pulls you forwards, until you’re draped across his chest. The warmth of his body seeps into yours. It wraps around you like a comforting blanket.
You feel his hand coming to rest on the small of your back.
The contrast between the softness of his skin and rough callouses left behind by the strings of his bass never fails to make your head swim. There’s always an intensity to his touch, even when he’s just absentmindedly dragging his fingers across your skin.
Nick’s lips press against your shoulder, bringing you back to the present moment.
You lift yourself off him just enough for you to be able to look at him.
Nick looks so much more composed than you feel.
“Already so close, aren’t you?” he asks, almost sounding a little amused.
Your yes fades out into a moan, bringing a smile to Nick’s face.
His smile quickly fades when bear down against him.
His hold on your hand tightens, and you watch as he draws in a strained breath.
You set our mind to getting both of you towards your climaxes then.
It doesn’t take a lot for Nick to tip over the edge. Feeling him spill inside of you, pulls you down along with him. You ride out your high against him, until the feeling becomes too overwhelming.
Keeping Nick out of the kitchen while you get breakfast ready is another struggle.
He seems to understand that you have something planned relatively quickly, though, and declares that he’ll take a shower. While you get started on the stack of pancakes he always gets for breakfast on his birthday, you text Folio letting him know that he can come over whenever he’s ready.
You’re about halfway through your breakfast, when the doorbell rings.
Nick gives you a confused look.
“I thought we’d be alone?” he asks, leaning back to get a glimpse at the driveway.
You shrug, “I dunno. You wanna check?”
The look on his face becomes even more suspicious when the doorbell is followed by a firm knock on the door.
You follow him to the door, staying a couple of feet behind him.
You just catch Folio darting around the corner as Nick opens the door, and you have to force yourself to stay silent.
Nick seems to be quite confused by the porch being entirely deserted.
You wait with bated breath for him to notice the cardboard box at his feet. When he finally does, he somehow looks even more surprised.
He looks back towards you for a second, before he looks back at the box — and its loudly meowing contents.
“Where did this guy come from?” he asks, kneeling down in front of it.
You join him at the door, placing your hand on top of his shoulder.
“One of our neighbours had kittens, and they asked if we’d want one. It just so happened to line up with your birthday.” you explain.
“But how did he get here?”
As if on command, Folio pokes his head around the corner with the brightest smile plastered across his face.
“Happy birthday.” he grins, “I have stuff from my mom in the car. You know she doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Nick finally plucks the little kitten from the box.
“His name is Jasper.” you say, “Runt of the litter.”
The little ball of fluff in the cradle of his hands lets out a surprisingly loud meow, pulling everyone’s attention towards him.
By now, Folio has unloaded what you can only describe as enough food for a small army from the back of his car.
“I didn’t think a cat would be this easy to deal with.” Nick says, with that smile still plastered across his face, “I was almost tempted to keep him.”
Nick only stays long enough to help get everything inside.
As soon as the door falls shut behind him, Nick pulls you in for a kiss.
“Thank you for this, my love.” he whispers, “I think this might be one of the best birthday presents.”
You bring a hand of the side of his face, “Only means that I have to come up with something even more impressive next year.”
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