june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be
i'm so hyped i love the social part of this site and the tag games! thank you so much to the coolest @und34dd0ll for the tag!
Go on pinterest and type in the prompts down below. Whatever image pops up first is your image.
Prompts: Color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower.
now, the i feel annoying part!! no pressure tags: @midnightsummerrain @steelandvibranium @decadentpaperduck @leavemealoneplzs @hopeless-vt @theebladestar @saturncollides @slowerghost @fadingangelwisp @prettydykeprincess @starberrymatcha
Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.
cast
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4
Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8
Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11
Additional one shots and drabbles:
Hands stained with blood
Sore and safe
moodboard / moodboard 2 / moodboard 3 / aes
Part 2
Series summary: Nearly a year after Noah quit fighting, a suspicious death pulls him back into the underground scene, and this time, the truth may cost him everything.
Series summary: Nearly a year after Noah quit fighting, a suspicious death pulls him back into the underground scene, and this time, the truth may cost him everything.
Series masterlist
The weeks that followed felt almost weird as you started to return to something resembling normal.
For Noah, the first step had been going back to therapy.
He had missed an embarrassing number of sessions during everything that had happened. At first it had been because things were spiraling too fast to keep up with it, then because he simply hadn’t been able to face it. The idea of sitting down and explaining what had happened, what he had done, and what he had almost lost, had felt unbearable.
But eventually he went back.
And he didn't lie about anything, this time.
Maybe it had been the sight of your blood on his hands. Maybe it had been the ten days he had spent sitting beside your hospital bed wondering if he had destroyed the only good thing left in his life.
Maybe because he was tired and just wanted to be okay.
Whatever the reason, when his therapist asked the simple question she always asked at the beginning of every session, "how have you been?" he had just… told the truth.
All of it.
And by the time he finished speaking, the room had gone strangely quiet. His therapist was still sitting in the same position behind her desk, but the pen she normally used to take notes had been resting motionless between her fingers for several minutes. She had actually forgotten to write anything down.
Noah noticed it, of course.
Under different circumstances he probably would have made a sarcastic comment about it, something to deflect the attention away from himself. But that day he simply leaned back in the chair and exhaled like someone who had been holding his breath for years.
“I guess that’s the first time I haven’t lied to you in a while,” he admitted eventually.
His therapist blinked once, still looking slightly stunned, before finally setting the pen down on her lap entirely.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she replied quietly.
From that point on, the sessions changed.
They were harder, in some ways. Talking openly meant confronting things he had always avoided, but it also helped in a way Noah hadn’t expected. Once all the lies disappeared, the space between him and the person across the room stopped feeling so big.
He talked openly about all his nightmares, how he kept seeing you dying over and over again but didn't tell you yet. And she said they were gonna work on that too.
Meanwhile, you had spent a little longer in the hospital before you were finally allowed to go home.
Those last days had been full of nurses checking your vitals and endless reminders that recovery took time. You had more stitches than you cared to count, and every movement reminded you that your body had been through something scary and violent.
But the doctors were reassuring.
Every single one of them said the same thing: the worst had passed. The surgery had worked, the damage had been controlled, and now your body simply needed rest. It was normal not to feel like yourself yet. It was normal to feel weak, slow, exhausted.
“You’re healing and alive,” one of the doctors had told you kindly. “That’s the important part.”
Noah, of course, had asked every single person on the medical staff if they were absolutely sure.
Doctors. Nurses. Even a poor medical student who had only walked into the room to adjust a monitor.
“Are you certain she’s ready to leave?” he asked.
The answer was always the same.
Yes.
You just needed to rest.
Eventually, even Noah had to accept that answer.
So you went home.
And strangely enough, despite everything that had happened, life began to settle again.
Alpine appeared quietly from the hallway when you first arrived, staring at you for a moment as if she couldn’t quite believe you were actually there. Then, when Noah helped you sitting on the couch, she walked over and pressed her head against your hand, letting out a small, complaining meow as if scolding you for being gone so long. You laughed softly and stroked her fur, and she immediately curled around your arm.
One thing you hadn’t expected, however, was Noah’s next decision.
“I think I want to go back to teaching,” he said at some point.
You had blinked at him.
After everything that had happened, after the underground fights, the chaos, and the violence, you expected him to take a break, but then you remembered it was Noah you were talking about. Of course he was not going to take a break.
And in the end, you simply accepted it.
Because you knew being around kids made him happy and helped his mental health and because you knew Noah well enough to understand one simple truth:
When he decided he wanted something, there was absolutely no way to stop him.
Amber started coming over very often after you got home. Sometimes she showed up with a bag full of sketches, dropping them across the table or the couch and asking for your opinion on fabrics, cuts, or details she couldn’t quite decide on. Other times she came with no work at all, just snacks and the intention of putting on a movie and forcing you to relax for a few hours. Every now and then she brought Viv with her too, which you never minded, and the three of you would often end up talking long after the movie had stopped playing in the background.
One afternoon Nick came by as well. He stood awkwardly in the living room at first, like he wasn’t entirely sure if visiting was appropriate, but eventually he relaxed enough to sit down and talk. He told you he was genuinely grateful you were alive and that the studio would still be there whenever you were ready to come back. There was no pressure, he said, only when you were truly at one hundred percent again. You had smiled at that and admitted, a little sheepishly, that you were already working on new designs from home. Sketchbooks had quietly started piling up again on your table during the weeks of recovery.
Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, Dean started visiting too.
A lot.
Possibly a little too often.
He would show up at the door with the same leather jacket and casual attitude every time, ask how you were feeling, scratch Alpine behind the ears, and then wander straight into the kitchen. After the first couple of visits he had stopped asking permission entirely. He simply opened the fridge, inspected its contents, and helped himself to leftovers from the night before or whatever else he could find.
At some point he had apparently decided that taking a bullet for your boyfriend was a perfectly valid excuse to treat your apartment like a second home.
And honestly, you didn’t really mind having him around.
One afternoon Noah had taken the car to Folio’s garage.
At that point the car had been sitting there for a while, and Noah had driven it over because someone had to deal with it eventually.
According to him, Folio had walked around the car slowly when Noah pulled into the garage. He hadn’t said anything at first. He had just stood there, hands on his hips, looking at the dented metal, the cracked glass, the parts that clearly weren’t supposed to look like that.
Then he looked at Noah.
“Okay,” he had said after a moment. “I’m sorry… but what the fuck happened to this thing?”
Noah had shrugged, “Long story.”
Folio stared at the car again, leaning slightly to inspect one of the damaged panels before letting out a low whistle.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m guessing.”
In the end, after another few minutes of examining it, he had come to a very simple conclusion. Fixing it would have made absolutely no sense. The damage was too extensive, and repairing everything would probably cost more than the car was worth.
So he had told Noah the most reasonable solution.
“Honestly?” Folio said. “Just scrap it.”
And that was exactly what happened.
The car was sent off to be dismantled, and a few days later you and Noah found yourselves with a new one. It felt strange at first, sitting in a new vehicle, but eventually the feeling passed. Sometimes starting fresh really was the better option.
Some nights, Noah became even more cuddly than Alpine on one of those days when she decided she wanted to be the most affectionate cat in the world.
It usually happened late at night, when the apartment was quiet and the sky outside dark. Without really saying anything, he would pull you closer on the couch or in bed, wrapping his arms around you like he needed to make sure you were still there. Sometimes he buried his face in your hair, sometimes he just held you tightly against his chest, pressing slow kisses to your temple, your forehead, your cheek.
There was something almost instinctive about it, like he needed the physical reassurance. After everything that had happened, letting you out of his arms for too long still felt wrong to him.
You didn’t complain.
You had expected his nightmares to worsen, but in reality, they kind of didn't. He might wake once or twice a week, often in the dead of night, drenched in sweat and shaking, his eyes wide. Some nights, the dreams were particularly vivid, truly terrifying, replaying fragments of everything he had seen: the fight rings, Tyler’s death, and the moment you had almost been taken from him.
When he awoke, disoriented and trembling, he often tried to explain what he had seen, words tumbling over each other in frantic bursts. “It’s… it’s all mixed together,” he’d whisper hoarsely, voice cracking. “Tyler… the ring… you… I… I—” He couldn’t finish, choking on his own panic, his hands gripping the sheets or the edge of the mattress.
Those were your nights to step in. You would rise quietly, careful not to startle him, and move to his side, settling yourself against him. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close until he felt the warmth of someone who was real and next to him. Your fingers would thread through his hair or trace small circles on his back.
“You’re here,” you’d whisper softly, your lips brushing his temple or the side of his cheek. “I’m here. It’s okay now. It’s over.” You reminded him repeatedly that the bad guys were behind bars, that the fighting ring had been destroyed and would never touch him again. “You’ll never go back there,” you said gently, “it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s done. It’s over. You're home.”
And slowly, as you held him through the hours of the night, he began to breathe more evenly, his eyes losing the wide, panicked glare and finding the familiar, tired trust that came with being home.
One quiet afternoon you were sitting with Noah in the living room. The windows were open just enough to let in fresh air, Alpine was curled up on the armchair and the television played something neither of you were really paying attention to.
Noah was leaning back against the couch, one arm stretched behind your shoulders.
“Oh” he said suddenly, like he had just remembered something. “You know what Matt told me?”
You turned your head slightly toward him.
But before he could continue, the doorbell rang.
Noah immediately lifted his eyes toward the ceiling in exaggerated annoyance.
“Of course,” he muttered.
He stood up with a sigh and walked toward the door while you stayed where you were, already having a very good guess about who it was.
A second later the door opened.
“Hey guys!” came Dean’s voice from the entrance.
You didn’t even bother turning around.
Dean walked inside, not even waiting to be invited. When he passed the living room, he gave you a casual nod of greeting.
“Hi.”
Then he disappeared straight into the kitchen.
A moment later you heard the fridge door open.
There was a pause.
Then—
“Ooooh, pizza!”
Noah returned to the living room looking deeply unimpressed and dropped back onto the couch beside you, leaning his head against the backrest.
“Don’t you have a house to stay in, Dean?” he called out toward the kitchen.
“Mhm-mh,” Dean answered, his voice muffled.
A second later he walked into the living room chewing happily, a slice of pizza already halfway gone in his hand.
“But I feel good here,” he added casually.
Noah stared at him.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we have to feed you.”
You started laughing.
Dean pointed the pizza slice at Noah.
“I took a bullet for you, man.”
“A grazing one,” Noah corrected immediately.
“I still took it!”
“That barely counts.”
Dean scoffed.
“Wow. Ungrateful. I risked my life and this is how you thank me.”
You laughed again, shaking your head.
“I don’t mind having Dean here, Noah,” you said, smiling. “He keeps me company sometimes when I’m alone.”
Noah slowly turned his head toward you.
“Oh great,” he said flatly. “Fantastic. Next step is replacing me.”
“Never,” you said quickly, still chuckling. “Don’t worry.”
Dean took another large bite of pizza, clearly enjoying the conversation. “See?”
Noah grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at him.
Dean caught it with his free hand.
“Violence!” he said through a mouthful of pizza. “This is what happens when a man is traumatized and underfed.”
“You just ate half the fridge.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
Alpine lifted her head from the armchair, watching the scene with the slow, judgmental gaze of a creature who believed everyone in the room was behaving like idiots.
Dean noticed.
“Hey,” he said to the cat, crouching slightly. “Don’t judge me. I almost died.”
Alpine blinked once.
Then went back to sleep.
Noah leaned closer to you, lowering his voice just enough.
“I swear he’s here more than he is in his own apartment.”
You shrugged lightly.
“Well… he did take a bullet for you.”
Noah groaned softly.
“Oh my god, not you too.”
For a moment after that, the room fell quiet, and the only clear sound in the apartment was Dean chewing. Loudly.
“Anyway,” Noah said, brushing a hand through his hair, “before I was interrupted… I was saying that Matt told me something yesterday. He said the kids’ classes are getting pretty big. Apparently more and more parents are signing them up, so the group is starting to get crowded.”
That didn’t surprise you very much. You had heard him talk about the gym enough over the past weeks to know the place had slowly been filling up.
“So he thinks we’ll probably have to split the class in two soon,” Noah continued. “Which means more work for me, technically… but I don’t really mind. I actually like it.”
“More children,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Terrifying.”
Noah ignored him.
“Matt also suggested something else,” he went on. “He said we could bring someone else in to handle the adult classes, and only leave the kids’ groups to me. That way I can focus on them properly instead of switching between completely different classes all day.”
“Well… if that’s something you’d like, it sounds like a great idea.”
Noah nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I think I would like it. Now Matt just needs to find someone for the adult classes, but I think—”
“Mhh!” Dean suddenly raised a hand with his mouth still full.
Noah stopped mid-sentence and looked at him.
“…What.”
Dean swallowed, placing one hand on his chest.
“Oh no,” Noah said immediately.
“I!” Dean announced proudly. “I would be perfect!”
Noah stared at him.
“You didn’t even fight.”
Dean scoffed. “You don’t know what I did in my free time, okay? And besides, I spent years of my life in that place. I probably know more about fighting, box and all that stuff than you.”
“Absolutely not,” Noah replied flatly.
Dean took a step forward, suddenly looking very invested in the idea. “Come on! Please! I need a job and I’m good at this!”
“You are not teaching people how to box,” Noah said firmly.
Dean pointed at him. “Dude you don’t even know what I know about this!”
“I’m not putting in a good word for you with Matt.”
Dean looked offended.
“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms for half a second before immediately changing strategy. “Can you at least give me his number?”
Noah let out a long, tired sigh and leaned his head back against the couch.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t help laughing.
One afternoon you decided to stop by the gym to see Noah.
Miles and Theo’s mom had needed to run some errands in the city and had dropped them off with you for the afternoon. At some point, while the three of you were sitting in your living room with Alpine weaving lazily between your legs, you had asked them if they wanted to go say hi to Noah at the gym.
The answer had been an immediate and very enthusiastic yes.
Now the three of you stood near the entrance of the gym. Across the room, Noah was in the middle of a class with a group of kids.
He stood in front of them explaining something, demonstrating the movement slowly with his hands. He wore a black tank top that showed the definition in his shoulders and arms, and his hair, now grown longer again, was tied into a small bun at the back of his head to keep it out of his face.
The kids were gathered around him in a loose semicircle, some of them mimicking his movements with varying degrees of success.
You stepped a little closer, approaching from behind while Noah’s attention was still on the class. He clearly hadn’t heard you come in.
“Woah,” you said casually, loud enough for him to hear now. “If someone had told me the trainer here was this hot, I would have started coming to the gym much earlier.”
Noah turned around quickly.
For half a second he looked surprised, and then his face broke into a wide, genuine smile that lit up his whole expression.
“Keep practicing the movement,” he told the kids, gesturing back toward them. “Same exercise as before.”
Several of them nodded and immediately went back to trying the combination he had shown them.
Noah walked over to you.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone warm but also slightly concerned as his eyes briefly scanned you like he was checking you hadn’t overexerted yourself. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
You rolled your eyes lightly.
“I’m fine, Noah. I’m going back to the studio next week anyway.” You gestured toward the two boys beside you. “And they wanted to see you.”
“Hi Noah!” Miles and Theo said at the same time, both grinning.
Noah crouched down slightly so he was more at their level, his expression softening immediately.
“Hey you two,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“We know you teach kids how to fight,” Miles said very seriously.
Theo nodded beside him.
“Can we join?”
Noah laughed softly. “Well, technically it’s more about learning discipline and technique than fighting,” he said, glancing briefly at you with a playful look.
Theo leaned forward, peering past him toward the group of kids still practicing.
“Do they get to punch things?”
“Sometimes,” Noah admitted.
Miles’ eyes lit up.
“Can we do it?”
Noah hesitated for a second before glancing back at you, silently checking if you were okay with that.
You shrugged with a small smile.
“They’ve been very well behaved today.”
Noah chuckled quietly and stood back up.
“Alright,” he said, gesturing toward the training area. “You can join them for a bit. But only if you listen carefully.”
The two boys immediately nodded and Noah led them toward the group while you stayed near the edge of the mat, watching.
As he rejoined the class, you noticed the way a few of the kids glanced curiously toward you before returning to their exercises, and the way Noah naturally slipped back into explaining the movements again, patient and calm.
Miles and Theo tried to copy what the others were doing, occasionally looking back at Noah for approval.
And every now and then, while correcting someone’s stance or demonstrating a movement again, Noah’s eyes drifted briefly toward where you were standing.
Each time, he smiled.
After a while, Noah clapped his hands once and called the kids over.
“Alright, break time,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the gym. “Fifteen minutes.”
The reaction was immediate. The group dissolved into chatter and movement as the kids scattered toward the benches, water bottles, and bags along the wall. Miles and Theo ran off with the others.
You stayed where you were near the edge of the mat while Noah walked over to grab his water bottle.
He tilted his head back and drank for a few seconds, his throat moving as he swallowed. Then, with the casual practicality of someone who had spent most of his life in places like this, he grabbed the hem of his tank top and pulled it off.
The black fabric was damp with sweat, and he tossed it over one shoulder for a moment before grabbing a towel from a nearby hook.
Now shirtless, he quickly wiped his face and the back of his neck, the towel dragging through the loose strands of hair that had escaped the small bun during the lesson.
You leaned casually against one of the support pillars, pretending not to stare.
He finished drying off, tossed the towel back where it belonged, and glanced around the room to make sure the kids were behaving. His eyes landed on Miles and Theo, who were now sitting on a bench with a little girl, talking animatedly about something.
Apparently satisfied that nothing was on fire and no one was punching anyone else during the break, he walked back over to you.
“You know it’s illegal to bring people here who aren’t actually enrolled in the class,” he said casually.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, clearly joking.
You raised an eyebrow.
“It’s also illegal to have someone teaching without a proper license,” you replied calmly, “and yet not only are you here, but Dean is teaching in the room next door.”
Noah groaned immediately and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Please don’t remind me,” he muttered. “When we have classes at the same time he literally comes in here just to annoy me.”
You smiled faintly.
“I know you don’t actually hate him that much.”
Noah looked at you with a skeptical expression.
“Oh, are you sure about that?”
From somewhere in the building, as if summoned by the conversation itself, Dean’s voice suddenly echoed faintly through the hallway.
“Alright people, try not to break each other’s noses!”
Noah closed his eyes for a second.
You laughed.
After a minute, you saw Miles and Theo getting up from the bench. They started walking toward you and Noah, and with them came the little girl they had been talking to.
She stopped a step in front of you, looking at you curiously for a moment before speaking.
“Are you Noah’s girlfriend?” she asked very directly.
You chuckled. “I am.”
The girl nodded. “Noah told me you’re badass.”
You couldn’t help laughing.
“Did he really?”
She nodded again, serious.
“Well,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “maybe I am. What’s your name?”
“Elsie.”
“Nice to meet you, Elsie,” you said warmly. “And I bet you’re pretty badass too.”
Her face lit up immediately.
“Noah made me become it!”
You laughed again at that.
Beside you, Noah rubbed the back of his neck with a small, slightly embarrassed smile but didn’t deny it.
Then Miles suddenly turned his head toward the far corner of the gym.
His eyes widened.
“There are monkey bars!”
He pointed at them before immediately taking off in that direction.
Theo didn’t hesitate even half a second before running after him, and Elsie followed right behind them, the three of them racing across the gym.
You and Noah watched them go.
For a moment neither of you said anything as the sound of their excited voices echoed lightly through the room.
Then Noah looked back at you.
There was something soft in his expression, something warm and affectionate that made his eyes linger on your face for a second longer than usual.
He stepped a little closer and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.
You felt the warmth of him, the familiarity of his presence, and you kissed him back without hesitation.
That was the moment you realized had never been this happy in your entire life.
Mentally preparing myself because LAST CHAPTER?!!!! 🥲💔 my babies I love them sm, I can’t 😭😭😭 this story is my absolute beloved 🫶 and literally is one of my top favorites to reread because it’s that good!!! This might be a long reblog 😭
And he didn't lie about anything, this time.
Maybe it had been the sight of your blood on his hands. Maybe it had been the ten days he had spent sitting beside your hospital bed wondering if he had destroyed the only good thing left in his life.
Maybe because he was tired and just wanted to be okay.
Whatever the reason, when his therapist asked the simple question she always asked at the beginning of every session, "how have you been?" he had just... told the truth.
All of it.
And by the time he finished speaking, the room had gone strangely quiet. His therapist was still sitting in the same position behind her desk, but the pen she normally used to take notes had been resting motionless between her fingers for several minutes.
She had actually forgotten to write anything down.
Noah noticed it, of course.
Under different circumstances he probably would have made a sarcastic comment about it, something to deflect the attention away from himself. But that day he simply leaned back in the chair and exhaled like someone who had been holding his breath for years.
"I guess that's the first time I haven't lied to you in a while," he admitted eventually.
His therapist blinked once, still looking slightly stunned, before finally setting the pen down on her lap entirely.
"I'm glad you didn't," she replied quietly.
From that point on, the sessions changed.
They were harder, in some ways.
Talking openly meant confronting things he had always avoided, but it also helped in a way Noah hadn't expected. Once all the lies disappeared, the space between him and the person across the room stopped feeling so big.
He talked openly about all his nightmares, how he kept seeing you dying over and over again but didn't tell you yet. And she said they were gonna work on that too.
I’m so proud of him 🥹🫶
Meanwhile, you had spent a little longer in the hospital before you were finally allowed to go home.
Those last days had been full of nurses checking your vitals and endless reminders that recovery took time. You had more stitches than you cared to count, and every movement reminded you that your body had been through something scary and violent.
But the doctors were reassuring.
Every single one of them said the same thing: the worst had passed.
The surgery had worked, the damage had been controlled, and now your body simply needed rest. It was normal not to feel like yourself yet. It was normal to feel weak, slow, exhausted.
"You're healing and alive," one of the doctors had told you kindly.
"That's the important part."
Noah, of course, had asked every single person on the medical staff if they were absolutely sure.
Doctors. Nurses. Even a poor medical student who had only walked into the room to adjust a monitor.
"Are you certain she's ready to leave?" he asked.
The answer was always the same.
Yes.
Alpine appeared quietly from the hallway when you first arrived, staring at you for a moment as if she couldn't quite believe you were actually there. Then, when Noah helped you sitting on the couch, she walked over and pressed her head against your hand, letting out a small, complaining meow as if scolding you for being gone so long. You laughed softly and stroked her fur, and she immediately curled around your arm.
WHO’S CUTTING ONIONS?! 😭 MY HEART MELTED
"Hey," he said to the cat, crouching slightly. "Don't judge me. I almost died."
Alpine blinked once.
Then went back to sleep.
Alpine really said don’t involve me in, I’m just trying to catch up on a nap 🤨
Noah leaned closer to you, lowering his voice just enough.
"I swear he's here more than he is in his own apartment."
You shrugged lightly.
"Well... he did take a bullet for you."
Noah groaned softly.
"Oh my god, not you too."
Love this part sm <33333
After a minute, you saw Miles and Theo getting up from the bench. They started walking toward you and Noah, and with them came the little girl they had been talking to.
She stopped a step in front of you, looking at you curiously for a moment before speaking.
"Are you Noah's girlfriend?" she asked very directly.
You chuckled. "I am."
The girl nodded. "Noah told me you're badass."
Yes she is and a queen as well 💅✨✨✨
You couldn't help laughing.
"Did he really?"
She nodded again, serious.
"Well," you said, tilting your head slightly, "maybe I am. What's your name?"
"Elsie."
"Nice to meet you, Elsie," you said warmly. "And I bet you're pretty badass too."
Her face lit up immediately.
"Noah made me become it!"
You laughed again at that.
Beside you, Noah rubbed the back of his neck with a small, slightly embarrassed smile but didn't deny it.
Then Miles suddenly turned his head toward the far corner of the gym.
His eyes widened.
"There are monkey bars!"
He pointed at them before immediately taking off in that direction.
Theo didn't hesitate even half a second before running after him, and Elsie followed right behind them, the three of them racing across the gym.
You and Noah watched them go.
For a moment neither of you said anything as the sound of their excited voices echoed lightly through the room.
Then Noah looked back at you.
There was something soft in his expression, something warm and affectionate that made his eyes linger on your face for a second longer than usual.
He stepped a little closer and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.
You felt the warmth of him, the familiarity of his presence, and you kissed him back without hesitation.
That was the moment you realized had never been this happy in your entire life.
CRYING RN OMGG MY BABIES ARE HAPPY, SAFE AND SOUND, LIVING LIFE, I LOVE THEM SM 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
Thank you so so so so so so much for writing this story and sharing it with us!! You are so talented <33333
chapter warnings: 18+, smut, explicit language, unprotected oral sex (fem!recieving, male!recieving), fingering, lots of emotional infidelity feelings
note: thank you to everyone for your patience!! This chapter took me the longest to write by far. I wrote around four different sex scenes and absolutely hated them all; finally landing on this- but I am finally happy with it. This is definitely my favourite chapter in the series (other than 4) by far, I am so proud :') <3 just one more chapter left!!!
THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!
The rain started as a whisper against the windows ten minutes before your shift ended.
It was gentle enough that pedestrians hunched their shoulders rather than breaking into desperate runs for cover. The cafe window had fogged over, but you could still make out Noah's silhouette across the street. He had arrived early.
As he stood there, rain beaded on his jacket, a grey umbrella dangling unused from his wrist. After months- years- of orbiting the same earth by different revolutions, here he was idling on the curb in a drizzle, one shoe tipped over the gutter as every part of him vibrated with anticipation.
“So… I have to ask,” Jen whispered, her red hair swaying from its pony as her chin tipped toward the window. “Who is that? Is that your mysterious pen pal guy?”
Your fingers stilled along the counter. “No,” you said softly, not looking up. “That’s just Noah.”
“I see,” Jen leaned against the pastry case, unimpressed. “Well, there’s some chemistry there. You’d think you’ve known eachother for years… especially since ‘just Noah’ waits for you in the rain.”
Placing the cloth over the sink handle, you busied yourself with gathering your things, avoiding her question.
That morning, you had traced the hairline cracks in your bedroom ceiling with your eyes, watching dawn crawl across the plaster while your phone rested heavy on your chest. For three days, there was silence, and then he had just come back. Like it was nothing.
"You disappeared," you had typed back, fingers hovering over the send button before committing. The words looked harsher on screen than they had felt, but you didn’t regret it.
Sebastian’s response arrived quickly.
“I didn't mean to worry you. I just needed to think.”
You had stared at those last words, squinting at your phone screen, trying to decipher what exactly he meant. Though before you could respond, another email had loaded in your inbox, your mind spiralling.
“Try not to count exits tomorrow night. Just stay, and listen.”
Across the street, Noah tracked the rhythm of traffic lights painting his skin. Rain caught on his knuckles, each droplet sliding through the grooves of his fingers as his reflection stared back in the darkened bakery window.
He tugged his hood up over his head just as you pushed through the door, your eyes darting both ways before dashing across to him, one hand lifting against the drizzle. His smile was crooked, even as beads of water collected at the tip of his nose, watching the way the mist clung to your cheeks and lashes. Neither of you spoke at first; your sigh fogged in the air between you, and for a moment, there was only the confusion of hands unsure where to land.
With a nervous laugh, you fumbled your bag higher onto your shoulder. Noah’s grin flickered in response, and he fought with the umbrella, shaking off the collected droplets, opening it for you.
Stepping beneath it, a quiet “hi” escaped your lips.
“Hi,” he echoed, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “It’s still comin’ down out here.”
“Oh, is it?” A laugh grew as you steadied the wobbling umbrella, tasting rain at the corners of your mouth. “What gave that away? Perhaps the water falling from the sky?”
“You know umbrellas work better when you open them,” you said, causing Noah’s eyes to crinkle at your sarcasm. You felt your expression soften. “The cafe also has this revolutionary thing called a roof.”
His eyes travelled to the sky, then back to your face, lips pursed in playful consideration. “Yeah, but then I’d miss the whole standing-in-the-rain thing...”
“What thing is that?” you asked, fingers catching at the sleeve of his jacket as you shifted closer beneath the fabric’s cover.
For a second, the world shrank to the soft percussion of rain overhead against the umbrella. “A thing that shows I’m committed,” he said gently.
“Careful, Noah,” you quirked, following his lead as he began to guide you down the street. “That’s a loaded adjective.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t like loaded, Y/N?”
The way he said your name made you chew the side of your lip. “Nah, I prefer defined.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth, the two of you shielding yourselves beneath the canvas while the rain began pelting down harder.
“Defined how?”
“I like context,” you replied, shrugging. “Y’know. The intent…evidence.”
“Wow,” he said. “And here I thought we were just simply walking in the rain. Silly me.”
You smiled, eyes lulling up before falling toward the pavement. “You’re the one who introduced commitment into the conversation.”
“Yeah, commitment to the aesthetic.”
“That’s still ambiguous,” you frowned, and Noah only huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head lightly.
“You always interrogate vocabulary like this? Like every word has meaning?”
With another shrug, you felt him place his inked fingers on the small of your back, just like the day before.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” you smiled, but didn’t elaborate. You didn’t know that he knew exactly what you meant.
Noah went quiet for a beat, listening to the rain thicken as a thought raced through him. “Okay,” he said, “Then I know where we should go.”
“Do you now?” you asked as his hand found yours, fingers sliding between your own, guiding you past a string of trees.
“Mhm,” He hummed, squeezing your fingers gently, and your stomach swirled from the contact, “I didn’t exactly have a plan for this date, but since you’re so particular about language…”
You stumbled slightly to keep pace, sneakers sliding through a puddle, drenching your laces. Your fingers warmed against him.
“I’m taking you somewhere with…” he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully now, glancing down at you, “...unmistakable poetry.”
With a raised brow, you shot him a skeptical look. “That’s still frustratingly vague.”
“I know,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as his thumb traced a small circle against your palm, sending a current straight to your continuously racing heart.
A neon sign cut through the clouded mist with an electric red hue. Though you had walked by this storefront countless times, something had always kept you moving past. When Noah pushed the door open, the scent of aged wood and vinyl musk rushed to greet you, along with the warm pop and hiss of a record spinning somewhere inside.
Noah shook raindrops from the umbrella with a few flicks of his wrist, and while watching his careful movements, there was a quiet feeling that this place would forever be marked as his in your memory.
Your gaze flicked once across the layout of the record store, taking in the genre markers handwritten in ink and the uneven stacks near the counter, and then you moved, closing the door and sealing the rain behind you. Noah noticed, leaving the umbrella by the door.
“You’ve been here before?” he asked in a way that sounded like certainty, falling into step beside you.
“No,” you admitted, fingers already sliding through the nearest crate. “Not inside. But I’ve read about it… I just don’t own a record player, so I never felt the need to come by in person.”
His laugh was soft. “You actually research record stores?”
“I research everything music,” you murmured, fingers already dancing over album spines as you grew distracted. Tilting a sleeve forward, you scanned the tracklist, eyes moving fast, skimming for patterns and recurring themes between titles. Flipping it over, your fingers traced along the liner notes before sliding the record back into place.
Noah leaned his hip against the crate, watching as you repeated the process with another album, your movements methodical.
“You looking for something in specific?” he observed, selecting a record himself, turning it over in his hands with less purpose than you.
Tracing the embossed lettering on the album cover, you didn’t look up. “It’s that hazard we were talking about,” you murmured. “Can’t turn it off.”
Noah went quiet, watching you with an intensity that felt almost physical, and you immediately caught it.
“You knew I’d like this place,” your voice was casual, though the question beneath it made his face warm, suddenly nervous. His fingers circled the rim of the record sleeve as he spoke, his exhale evident that he was deciding whether to risk something or not.
Noah’s eyes dropped to the record in his hands. “After yesterday, I... may have searched for your name online,” he said, voice quieter than before. Noah wasn’t technically lying- he had searched for your Instagram again, trying to think about anything other than that kiss.
Your fingers stilled on the album sleeve, grazing his hands, then eyes.
“I found your articles,” he continued, “and your reviews.”
“Oh,” you managed, warmth crawling up your neck as you imagined him scrolling through your words and thoughts. “Which ones?”
“A few,” he nodded, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck with a small smile forming. “You don’t leave much unexplored, do you?”
Noah’s smile deepened, his eyes lighting in the dimness of the shop. He stood close, though not quite close enough to touch, and watched as you slipped back into movement, feigning focus on another crate. “I like that you don’t just talk about the way something sounds. You talk about why it sounds that way.”
Opening your mouth to speak, you tried to reply, but suddenly felt shy. Noah had started drifting a few steps down the aisle, scanning the labels with a finger. You watched him as he began searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” you asked lightly, shifting down with him.
Noah’s eyes lit with purpose as he moved along the stacks. “Just wait,” he said, dropping to one knee and rifling through a lower shelf. His fingers moved quickly, flipping past albums until they suddenly stilled. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he pulled one free.
Rising to his feet, he studied the cover for a beat with a tinge of nervousness before extending it toward you. Your eyes traced the silhouette draped in crimson fabric, recognition dawning slowly.
“Bad Omens,” you murmured, flicking between his face and the album in his hands. Taking it from him slowly, you stared at the cover for a moment, scoffing a laugh at what you thought was a coincidence.
“You analyzed this one,” He said carefully.
Yeah, you had.
You had also analyzed dozens of others, and this was the one he had searched for?
Sucking in a breath, your brows furrowed quizzically. “I did, a long time ago.”
For a moment, neither spoke, the record shop compressing space. Noah’s hands disappeared into his pockets, fingers playing with the lining while his eyes searched your face for signs of suspicion, waiting for words that didn’t come. When you didn’t speak immediately, heat crawled up his spine.
‘That’s it, she knows,’ he thought, and he imagined the realization clicking into place behind your eyes, imagined you stepping back to reassemble him into something illegitimate and strange.
“I really love their stuff,” You said, catching the shift in his chest when he relaxed.
“They’re playing tomorrow night,” Noah cleared his throat, his hands suddenly feeling shaky as his stomach hollowed with nerves. This was it. “Would you want to go? With me?”
“That’s-” you started, brows furrowing in the bewilderment of it all, then stopped, eyes darting to his face and away again. “Someone else actually asked me...”
Noah’s chest constricted, lungs forgetting their purpose. “Someone else?” he asked, the neutrality of his voice sounding forced.
“My pen pal,” you clarified softly, tracing the scuffed floorboards with the toe of your sneaker. Saying it aloud felt strangely intimate. “Someone I’ve been writing to for years.”
His pulse thudded at the base of his throat. Although he was the image written into existence, the way her mouth stumbled over the phrase “someone else” made his jaw flex.
“Are you going with him?” He asked, clearing his throat again- and you blinked, startled by the weight behind it.
For a second, you grew acutely aware of how close he was standing, and of yesterday’s kiss still lingering like a bruise against your lips.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t even know if he meant he would be there, or if I’d just be… going with him in theory.” It all felt like a confession, not just about the concert, but about the uncertainty you were suddenly carrying between two versions of intimacy.
He looked away first, tongue passing over his lower lip as he searched for something steady to say. The rows of vinyl blurred together as he stared down them, buying himself a second to think.
“He sounds important to you,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to compete with something that’s already yours.”
“He is important,” you admitted, searching Noah’s face. “He’s one of the most important people in my life.”
Your confession made his hands sweat, the pulse in his throat growing heavier. The most important.
“But I don’t… I don’t know the real him. I’ve never met him in person.”
Noah’s eyes stayed on yours, the air thickening as his gaze shifted from uncertainty to something darker. Heat grew low in your abdomen as he finally spoke. “Do you want to?”
Your mouth parted, and in the pause, your brain somersaulted, caught on the dizzying proximity of him. Noah’s thumb pressed into the edge of the record crate.
“I think,” he said carefully, “meeting someone you’ve only known through words isn’t the worst risk.” He then swallowed, the faint tremor in his voice betraying him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
The way he held your gaze then made it difficult to look away, his stare holding you in place for a long moment. Then, with a small shrug, you chewed on the inside of your cheek, unsure. “You could lose what made it special,” you said softly. “Find out it was easier to love the version you imagined.”
Noah closed the distance between you with a step. “What if reality exceeds what you’ve imagined?”
You studied the planes of his face, trying to find the fracture in his expression as his breath mingled against yours. This man, Noah, really wasn’t anything you expected.
“You’re very calm,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the store’s ambient music.
His brow twitched faintly. “Am I?”
“I just told you someone else invited me to the same concert,” you continued, warmth pooling in your arms. “Yet here you stand, unbothered.”
Noah’s teeth caught his lip briefly, a faint huff leaving his nose as he looked at the floorboards. “Who says I’m not?”
“Then why aren’t you fighting for it?” You narrowed your eyes slightly.
There was a pause, and then he spoke, the words crawling out heavily.
“I already kissed you.”
The admission hovered in the rows between, making the world inside the record store compress to a single point. Rain drummed harder against the storefront windows, drawing your eyes briefly away from his face.
Your lips tingled with phantom pressure, the careful yet insistent way he had kissed you yesterday in a conversation without words that still echoed through your body.
“That was before,” you managed, your voice smaller than intended.
“Nothing about it was casual to me.” Noah’s eyes didn’t falter. “Do you really think I’d kiss you like that and disappear?”
The response died in your throat as he closed the distance between you, the air thin. Without breaking eye contact, he took the vinyl from your grasp and set it aside. Your fingers caught briefly in the fabric of his jacket as he did, the contact accidental and brushing a heat up your neck.
“I won’t try to steal you away,” he said, voice finding its foundation again. “But don’t mistake that for leaving. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, you just looked at him and the way he hadn’t stepped back. Your hand moved before you fully decided to, catching on his jacket at the collar, and you tugged him downward. This time, your lips sought his first.
The flavour of it was rainwater and coffee, warm and soft. If you expected him to take control, you were wrong. Noah paused, sighing and letting you set the pressure and pace, his hand braced on the record bin. You had never kissed someone inside a record store before, and never wanted to; but as the world slowed to the crevasse of his mouth, you realized you had never wanted anything quite like him either.
Noah made a soft sound against your lips when you pulled him closer, his careful restraint falling as your teeth caught his bottom lip. His fingers found your hips, steadying you both between the narrow aisles. In his letters, he had constructed a version of you that lived on paper- but this reality was infinitely better than anything he’d imagined himself; and somehow that was exactly what he hadn’t known he was waiting for.
When you finally separated, the record store seemed to materialize around you again, piece by piece. Noah lingered in the moment the way a diver hesitates before surfacing, reluctant to break the tension and drown in air again. His hands went to the pockets of your jacket, holding you against him for a moment longer.
There was a gnawing need with you, a strange compulsion to touch and confirm the reality of this, not just as a sensation but a series of commitments building into something that made even his most careful words seem insufficient in retrospect.
The store owner coughed politely from behind the counter, a sound that shattered the reverie. Embarrassed but unapologetic, you stepped away from each other, laughs trembling in the space between your bodies. Neither of you looked directly at the owner, who now pretended to be deeply engrossed in tallying change behind the ancient register.
Instead, Noah retrieved the Bad Omens album with mock reverence, tucking it into the proper crate. The brunette straightened, brushing his hands together- and for a second, you didn’t move.
“We should probably-” you began.
“-Yeah,” he echoed at the same time.
A soft laugh escaped both of you, hanging in the air between as Noah’s hand moved toward the umbrella propped by the door. His fingers stalled mid-reach before falling away.
“Let me walk you home?” The question came out level, though the tone underneath it vibrated.
You held his gaze longer than necessary, suddenly unwilling to say goodbye.
“I’d like that,” you murmured as he pushed against the door. Rain drummed against concrete outside, and a rush of damp air slipped beneath your cuffs, and this time, Noah opened the umbrella immediately.
Ducking beneath its shelter, your bodies were now close enough that his warmth radiated against your side with each step. Neither of you moved to create distance. Against the umbrella handle, Noah’s thumb drew lazy circles. Behind his eyes, thoughts spun with far more intention.
She’s choosing me, he thought, and the realization carried a mix of triumph and doubt. She’s choosing me, but is that how easily Sebastian could be left behind?
Rounding the corner, you broke the silence with a soft clearing of your throat. “I don’t usually do this.”
Noah’s ocher eyes found yours. “What, get caught in the rain?”
You smiled faintly. “No. This.” Your fingers gestured between your bodies. “Jumping in without knowing where I’ll land.”
“Where do you think you might land?” he asked, voice steady.
“That’s just it,” you admitted. “This might sound stupid… but I feel caught between two realities, and choosing one means losing the other.”
Rain drummed against the umbrella’s canvas, filling the silence between you. Noah’s throat worked as he swallowed. If she knew both versions of me existed in one body, would her eyes still soften like this? Or would she retreat into the distance of her letters with guarded revelations?
The confession sat heavy on his tongue, as it had a dozen times since he first saw your name tag.
Instead, he said, voice barely above the rainfall, “Tonight doesn’t have to be the choice.”
Your laugh barely disturbed the rain. “That’s exactly my problem.”
The crosswalk signal flashed its warning as you both came to a stop. Noah shifted the umbrella, creating a perfect shelter against the drops, his other hand finding the curve of your fingers, suggesting they always belonged there, together. You tilted your face toward his, studying him with new intention, and he analyzed as your earlier uncertainty crystallized into a restlessness that had nothing to do with confusion.
The light turned green. Your feet remained planted on the wet concrete.
“Noah,” you said, his name crawling off your tongue. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
He caught the cloud of your exhale disappearing into the rain, his throat working.
“Okay,” he said as a car rushed past, spraying mist against the curb. “There’s a place down the street from there that stays open late,” he offered.
Your throat worked carefully, fingers tightening around his as you anchored him in place. “I don’t want to be around people right now... I just..”
Noah’s chest rose with a sharp intake of air. “I have a room at the Belmond.” His weight shifted from one foot to the other, his grip on your hand tightening in response. “It’s three blocks from here.”
You met his eyes, then nodded once. “Just to talk,” the brunette added softly. “Get warm. Nothing else has to happen.”
The corner of your mouth lifted faintly. “You’re very careful with your wording, hm?”
“Occupational hazard,” he teased, and this time, when the light changed, you crossed.
+
The hotel room was warmer than the rain had prepared you for.
The door clicked shut behind you, and for a second, neither of you moved. The world outside was reduced to the muffled hush of traffic twelve floors below and the distant hum of a furnace.
Noah toed off his shoes beside the door. Your jacket clung damply as you worked it from your shoulders, fingers stiff with cold. His eyes tracked the movement carefully.
“Let me,” he murmured, closing the distance between you before pausing, hands hovering near the collar. “May I?”
A nod was all you could manage as he eased the fabric from your shoulders, each movement drawn out and taking more time than necessary. He told himself he was being gentle because you were cold- not because if he moved too quickly, he might forget every promise he had made to himself on the walk back here.
When the jacket slipped to the floor, Noah’s hands lingered on your arms. He felt the warmth of you through the thin fabric beneath his fingers, and it took more effort than it should have to let go. “You can sit, if you want,” he offered, voice rougher now, threaded with nerves he could not quite hide.
The shyness in Noah tone left him standing in a puddle of his own anticipation. He shifted his weight again, very aware of the bed only a few steps away, and of the fact that he was alone with you in a way he had imagined too many times under a different name.
“You’re nervous,” you observed softly, placing your arms behind your back.
A faint huff of breath left him, not quite a laugh. “A little bit.”
“About what?” you asked.
His eyes met yours, and for a split second, he considered lying; it was so much easier to blame the rain… but he couldn’t lie any more than he already had, so instead he confessed. “About…misreading you.”
You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his shirt, causing his heart to skip a beat. With the tilt of your chin, you smiled. “I don’t think I’m that hard to read, Noah,” you whispered.
His gaze dropped to your mouth at that, then lifted again, searching your expression for hesitation; but when he found none, his hand rose slowly to your face, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw in a reverent caress to test the permission he thought he might have.
For a breath, you existed like that with your faces inches apart, exhale heavy against his. Noah studied your mouth one last time, then your eyes- and without refraining any longer, you pressed your lips to his first, any doubt he had before vanishing.
The relief that tore through him was almost disorienting. Noah’s throat caught quickly, your name escaping without permission as his hands settled on your waist through the deepening of the kiss. His lips moved along your own with newfound hunger, the only thing that existed was the fact that you were here, real and warm, beneath his palms.
He had replayed yesterday’s kiss over and over, the feeling of relief that your lips were once again upon his making his legs shake.
“What about the man in your letters?” The questions slipped out before he could swallow it, his own alias a paper ghost in the room.
“I can’t live without him-” you began, palms pressed flat against his chest; and you could feel Noah’s heart race just a little bit faster as his throat tightened painfully. “-but I don’t know if he would look at me the way you do.”
His eyes traced your own for the hundredth time, and a part of him ached at your admittance- because he was looking at you like this. He was wanting you like this- though you were giving that want the wrong name.
Noah’s eyes searched yours again for absolution he did not deserve, and when you tugged on his t-shirt collar, he surrendered. His arms folded around you, hands moving with borrowed confidence around your waist. Even if this was selfish and maybe a little reckless, Noah thought that he could at least be honest in his wanting.
He drew you close, brushing his mouth against yours again as your hands slid higher against his chest to feel the steady rhythm beneath your palms, then curled around the warmth of his neck. He guided you backward, the edge of the mattress meeting the backs of your knees.
You didn’t break the kiss when you fell; you pulled him with you, fingers tightening at the nape of his neck until his weight settled between your thighs, body pinning yours to the bed. The position alone made his pulse spike, and he felt it in his throat, an anticipating heat sinking low in his stomach.
His lips moved from your lips to your jaw to your neck, nipping and biting at the skin which left a small sound escaping your chest, and Noah smiled. His mouth left yours slowly, mapping a path across your jaw and down the line of your throat in a fervent shift. His teeth raked at your skin, testing your reaction, until a soft sound escaped your chest, leaving him grinning.
“I haven’t even done anything,” he murmured against your collarbone, fighting a chuckle before pressing an arm on either side of your head, holding himself above you.
You looked up at him with an uneven breath, fingers still tangled in his hair before sliding towards the hem of his shirt. “Then you should,” you whispered, smiling as you eased the fabric upward, and Noah let you strip it from him, revealing the ink spread across his torso. It took everything in you to chew back a groan. He was so pretty. Everything about him was a masterpiece; the lines of his nose, the shape of his collarbone; everything.
Noah caught the way your eyes consumed him, sending a shiver up his spine. He bent and took your jaw every so gently in one hand, his thumb stroking a line beneath your cheek. He kissed you then with both hands framing your face, and when you arched against him, you felt his whole body shudder in response.
“I need to know if this is what you want. Really.” He breathed, tongue pressing slowly along the lines of your lips, eliciting a soft cry from your throat. “So are you sure about this? Because I don’t think I can hold back once I get a taste.”
His hips shifted instinctively, settling more firmly against you before he could stop himself. The pressure drew another inhale from him, and this time he didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He held your gaze as you felt the hard line of him pressed through the thin barrier of fabric. For a second, a mix of guilt and desire collided in Noah’s chest. He thought of the ink-stained letters and promises written in years of careful script, and he thought of the man you believed you loved. Him.
“If you can’t hold back,” you added, eyes lifting to meet his as you took his hand, pulling his palm towards the hem of your jeans in guidance, “maybe you should stop trying.”
Noah’s eyes had darkened completely now, the ocher ring nearly swallowed by black. Whatever restraint he had left disappeared, fingers tightening around yours as you helped his hand past the barrier of the thong you wore beneath your jeans.
There was no stepping back from this version of himself once he crossed this line.
You shifted, guiding his fingers and sliding them through your folds, chest catching at the contact. Noah’s jaw clenched, a quick exhale slipping through his teeth as his composure fractured before you, fingers coated in your arousal. “Jesus fucking christ-” the corner of his mouth twitched in disbelief as he captured your mouth in a greedy kiss. “You’re soaked.”
All you could manage was a brief ‘mhm’ against his tongue, taking his lip between your teeth. A groan left Noah as you pulled him toward you, pushing your hand harder against his while his fingers slid upwards, circling your arousal slowly. The brunette’s hips rolled instinctively at the sound you made, an uneven moan pressing into your mouth. His fingers moved with growing confidence, tracing the shape of your core faster, pressing and pulling in a rhythm that made your mind blur.
Noah slid his fingers deeper at the encouragement, two of them stretching you open, curling until you arched off the mattress. He watched the way your eyes fluttered and the exact moment your chest held, and then felt the ripple of your pleasure crawl through your legs. His own arousal was almost painful now, clothed in the tight press of his jeans, but he ignored the urge to unbuckle and grind against you to chase his own relief.
Instead, he dragged his mouth back down your thigh, kissing a trail through the fabric that still separated you. His teeth caught the edge of your waistband, and with a slow, gentle insistence, he peeled the remaining barrier away, rolling your jeans and thong down your hips and off, never once glancing at the perfection of your thighs or at the darkness glistening where his hand had just been. He paused, only watching your face, overwhelmed at the sight of you lying there open for him.
He pressed his mouth to your bare thigh, then with a hunger that startled even himself, his tongue traced long lines across your skin, lips exploring hot, slow, mapping every sensitive inch. When he finally reached your center, he hesitated only to whisper your name, almost in a warning, that this was everything he had ever wanted, and feared, all at once.
Every pass of Noah’s tongue along your folds was greedy; every flick purposeful and seeking to memorize the taste of you. He moaned into your skin, shaking at the effort to keep his movements tender- but each time you rolled your hips to chase his mouth, the urge to lose himself in you almost eclipsed his self-control. Your fingers caught in his hair, tugging at the brunette strands in desperate handfuls, as your hips pressed up to steal more of him.
The taste of you was heady, and Noah let himself sink lower, lips and tongue working evenly. He wanted to slow down to make a meal out of every inch of you; though your hips kept finding him, hand holding him steady.
When your voice broke on a syllable that sounded like his name and not the one you had kept pressed to your heart for all those years, Noah lost it completely. His brows furrowed as he moaned, eyes closed and relishing in the flavour of your pussy, so sweet and taunting he could feel the wet pool of precum stain through his jeans.
For you, all sensation collapsed into the wet heat of his mouth and the pounding of your pulse in your ears. His tongue traced patterns more eloquent than anything you had ever committed to paper, each one a line of poetry you could never have written. Sebastian’s letters flickered briefly through your mind, and part of you wondered- secretly hoping despite it all- if he could ever be this good. If the man made of careful sentences might one day feel as real as this.
But the thought dissolved against the reality of Noah’s mouth between your thighs, because he was the one here, tasting every sound you offered- not the man imagined.
Noah’s hands were sure as he gripped your thighs, splaying them open wider to give himself more room and access to the parts of you already slick and swollen for him, no intention of being careful anymore. He drew sharp, needy breaths between licks, your legs clamping around his head. He looked up between slow passes, eyes glassy and dilated, lips shining with your arousal. He let you ride the edge as long as he could bear, forearm holding you down across your hips and refusing to let you squirm away from the rhythm he now set.
“Fuck,” he hissed, the word vibrating. “You taste like heaven.”
Noah slipped a finger into you, then another, following the rhythm of his mouth, and watched through a curtain of his hair as your body responded to him. Every muscle tightened, and he knew then, and there, the whine in your throat would haunt him forever.
“Right there,” you gasped, fingers clawing for Noah’s scalp, “Please don’t stop. Please.”
It was the plea that landed the hardest for Noah. The syllable danced against his tongue, punching any innocence that remained from the room. He sucked hard, then gently, surfacing to gasp for air before lapping again, his fingers stretching and curling and finding the shape of her exactly as he’d dreamed.
“You’re perfect,” he choked, guttural, with a reverence that belonged to altars not bedrooms. “I love the way you fuck my face-” His words broke off, voice snagged in his throat, “the way you’re not afraid to use me.”
You could not have stopped if you’d wanted to. The certainty of an orgasm built and built until it was the only thing left inside your skull, and when it hit, Noah held you down with his whole body, refusing to let you escape. You twisted against the pressure of his mouth, pulse hammering at the roots of your teeth, and let every sound escape unchecked. The flush of your face sent tremors through your legs, fingers clawing at the sheet and at the softness of his scalp.
The taste of your own name on his lips ruined every old fantasy you had ever had about Sebastian, because Noah drew it out, slow and sweet, cresting the wave again and again until you finally pushed at his forehead, panting a shaky, “No more, no more-” but he lingered for one last heavy kiss, pulling off only when your thighs quivered, cried rattling your chest.
Noah surfaced, wiping his mouth on the back of his inked hand and savouring the taste with a dark, swollen smile. He watched as you pressed the heel of your hand to your eyes, blinking away tears of pleasure and disbelief, and took in the shake that still wracked your frame.
In the universe of letters, he had read about such experiences as if they belonged to people smarter, braver, or more star-crossed than him. However, every slow breath that left your body belonged to him, as did the high flush painted across your cheeks. You were his, and this moment was theirs.
Pressing a series of kisses along your forehead, his thumb caressed your cheek, each kiss softer than the last. Noah’s tongue swept across his bottom lip, tasting the last of you- and he wanted to ask if you had ever been touched like that; ask if Sebastian had written about hands on skin and mouths on thighs, could that compare to the weight of Noah’s body holding yours in place?
“You okay?” he asked.
When your heart finally quieted, you let your head loll to one side, hair stuck damply to your temple. Noah circled above you, bringing his face in line with yours, and traced your chin with his thumb again. He kissed the corner of your eye, the salt of your tears lingered, and you laughed softly, embarrassed by your own intensity.
“Yeah,” you nodded and pulled him down to you. He tasted of salt and secrets, and you held the kiss as you shifted positions, guiding him onto his back against the rumpled sheets. You settled your weight across his hips, feeling the heat of him beneath you as your fingertips mapped slow paths down his chest, stopping at the button of his jeans.
When your palm pressed against the hard outline beneath the denim, Noah’s hips jerked involuntarily to meet your touch. A soft, vulnerable laugh escaped him as his eyes fluttered closed, the sound a combination of pleasure and surrender.
“You don’t have to-” he began, licking his lips quickly and moving to push your hand away. Reaching for his wrist, you pinned it to the sheet.
“I want to,” you said, kissing lower, tracing the trail of ink from his belly button to the rough ridge of denim. Your tongue circled the hollow of his hip, and Noah sucked a ragged inhale. The need in him was bottomless, feral; his eyes fixated on the way you undid the button and pulled the zipper down to free him.
Even as you watched the way his eyes devoured you, you worked slowly, shuffling backwards on the bed, gaze never leaving his as you tugged the fabric down his thighs. His hips arched to help, underwear catching at the hard lines of his length until he sprang free.
A flush caught your cheeks as you revelled in the shape of him, your hand wrapping around the base- and Noah’s throat worked.
Here you were, kneeling between his legs and consuming him with a gaze so direct it made his spine arch. You didn’t hesitate, tongue circling the flushed head of his arousal with precise curiosity, lips parted hot against his skin. Your palm stroked him full, the aching hardness pressing against your cheek.
Noah groaned a laugh, the raw sound filled with absolute disbelief and need. He tried to reach for your face, wanting to guide you, but you pushed his hand away firmly, planting it on the mattress beside his hip again. The denial made adrenaline shiver through his whole body.
“Please,” he whispered, need scraping at the back of his throat.
You smirked at the desperation in his tone, at his turn to beg- then pressed your mouth over him, lips sliding farther down the thick shaft. Your mouth was tight and wet as you sucked with deliberate pressure, tongue working circles along the underside. The taste of him was salt and skin, slick with want, and the way he filled your mouth made you gasp against the stretch.
Savouring how his muscle tensed, you swallowed him, listening to the way Noah’s breath broke into rough, unguarded sounds.
Noah bucked, hips arching helplessly as the head of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Fuck, I’m gonna-” the rest shredded into groans as you found a punishing rhythm, mouth and hands working him with focus. He tried again to reach for your hair, desperate for something to hold, but your nails bit into his thighs to hold him steady. The glare you held was playful, full of challenge, daring him to let go and give himself over to your mouth entirely.
His hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles bleaching, every muscle in his abdomen flexing as your mouth coaxed him closer and closer to the edge he pretended not to see approaching. He tried- he really did, to keep some dignity and not moan too loud or gasp your name with every beat; but even he was not immune to the relentless heat of your mouth or the spectacle of you bowed before him, feral and worshipful.
With a warning, Noah came embarrassingly fast and hard, his body locked beneath your mouth as he spilled into you. Ropes of his savoury cum coated the back of your throat, and you swallowed him completely, marvelling at the taste against your tongue. He let go so completely it startled even himself, and the whimper that came out of him was not meant for anyone’s ears but your own.
Noah lay back, stunned. The ceiling spanned out above him, the drywall tiles blurring in and out of focus. You crawled up the bed and collapsed beside him, tucking your face into his shoulder, laughing quietly to break the tension.
“Fucking Christ,” he began, then abandoned it, unable to comprehend any words that could sound right in this moment.
He wanted to say everything at once: that he had read every word you had ever written, that your sentences had become the scaffolding he built his own around, that even now the taste of you in his mouth was almost too much to be real.
However, he just lay there, watching the condensation slide down the hotel window, and thought only of how easily any of this could be lost by the wrong word at the wrong moment.
Beside him, you curled an arm over your eyes and exhaled. When you spoke, your voice was thin: “Am I supposed to say thank you? Or is that old-fashioned?”
Noah propped himself up on one elbow, tracing a finger across your lips. His eyes danced across your face, trailing along the lines of your cheeks and chin, soaking in the way your brows twitched with a shyness that had mirrored his own.
“Never thank me for something we both want,” he said gently, voice so quiet you could barely hear him.
You smiled behind your fingers, an exhausted laugh making your shoulders shake. “It’s just… unreal.” Dropping your hand, you blinked at the ceiling, unwilling to look directly at him.. “It feels like if I blink too long, I’ll come back to my senses and none of…” You gestured vaguely at the mess of limbs, then at him, “None of this will have happened.”
Noah let the silence fill the room for a moment, then kissed your hairline. His heart raced even faster, the way you lay spent beneath him somehow feeling even more intimate than the moments prior. “You’re not dreaming.”
It would have been easy to roll over and nestle against his warmth, and pretend that the world outside was as still as you wished it to be. Though as you closed your eyes, Noah’s mind went anywhere but quiet, and so did yours.
It was a while before either spoke. Noah noticed how the rain had softened outside, falling now in a patient rhythm against the glass. Somewhere below, a car door slammed, and an engine started, the ordinary sounds of the city threading faintly up twelve floors.
You rested on your back with your arm draped across your stomach, blanket thinly draped over your legs. Beside you, Noah was very still, and as if it had become a habit, your mind circled the same thought it had been trying to avoid all evening.
Sebastian.
Swallowing softly, you finally pierced the silence. “He writes as if he knows me better than anyone,” your voice was distant, “Sometimes it’s… unsettling. It feels like he’s standing somewhere just outside my room, listening.”
Noah’s chest tightened beside you. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, forcing his breathing to remain even. The urge to say something reckless pressed hard against the back of his teeth, but he held it there.
“What makes you keep writing him?” he asked quietly.
You considered the question longer than it deserved. “Because he’s always stayed,” you said finally. “He’s never tried to become something else,” you continued, fingers idly tracing the crease of the sheet. “There’s no performance in him. Just words.”
Noah closed his eyes again. He wondered what would happen to that certainty if tomorrow unfolded the way he knew it would.
Chewing back at the question, he then let it go. “Would you tell him about us?”
A hitch in his lungs trapped the words he was certain would destroy this. He wanted to unsay the question at your silence, to fill the room with noise and touch- to chase the words of Sebastian out into the rain and lock the door.
Noah waited, counting the length of your inhale, watching your fingers curl and uncurl.
“Would you want me to?”
The words danced quietly between you, and the way you said it made it sound as if to love him was to betray a ghost who had never asked for more than a stamp and a secret.
♡ some days will feel heavy and hard to carry. that doesn’t mean you are failing, it simply means you’re human. it’s okay to feel those things and move through them. sending love, always ♡
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.
i’m actually so serious the amount of new tea blogs that i’ve had to block just this week is insane. i love the omens and our little community on here but y’all need to stop interacting with these blogs and just block. the engagement with these disgusting posts is exactly what they want.
also not so gentle reminder that celebrities are also people who deserve respect and privacy and airing out theirs and their families’ business is so insane. this is exactly why the omens are as private and reserved as they are bc y’all do shit like this
i feel like people aren't getting how dire ai is. we are running out of drinkable water. our brains aren't engaging as much with what we see and hear. people near data centers don't get clean water and experience electricity blackouts. it's being used to make pornography of underaged people and women. it often just lies. it affirms everything. it lies. it has made people kill themselves. it lies for gods sake. and people act as if im dramatic for being staunchly against it. 'now i KNOOW you hate ai and whatever, but look at this cute video' this isn't me being a new age puritan about internet videos, this is about the fucking earth and our future living on this planet. people are suffering now, people will suffer more, and my friends and parents will roll their eyes and think im annoying for despising ai so explicitly. we need to wake up because we cannot live like this
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