hiii, may i request please an angsty noah x reader oneshot? perhaps something like she feels neglected with everything that's going on with noah and the band. she tries to be the understanding girlfriend but it comes to a point where she decides to talk to him, only for her feelings to be dismissed. noah would be like, 'i thought you understand what you signed up for?' noah regrets saying that somehow and tries to make up with sex, but she's so hurt so she takes a break from him. then noah gravels lol haha
hope it's not too much, thank you xx
THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS
WARNINGS: noah’s a dumb fucking fuck. lots of angst. feminine pronouns used. fluff. mild smut but still 18+ please.
WORD COUNT: 6013
AUTHOR’S NOTE: wow can you tell that you really inspired me bc this got away from me very quickly lmao hope you enjoy!! thank you so much for the request!! <3
You know you need to talk to Noah. Your mind has been racing nonstop recently. There is so much you need to say to him but you have no idea how to go about it. You’ve become familiar with a looming sense of dread.
Ever since you and Noah first started dating, you knew what you were getting into. You knew you would have to deal with everything that comes with having an aspiring musician for a partner: late night studio trips, sharing in their successes, the grueling ordeal of touring and being away from home for extended periods of time.
And for years you were the most understanding person in Noah’s life. He knew he could always count on you to understand if plans didn’t go just right or the frustration he felt on not getting a song just how he wanted, how perfect he knew it could be. You were his rock and his biggest supporter since the beginning.
Noah always made sure you were taken care of. He made sure you were comfortable and happy, and always let you know how grateful he was for you and your endless support of Bad Omens. He praised you above all else.
But lately, ever since the band blew up really, you have felt like you’ve been stuck on the sidelines. Like nothing you do is good enough. You feel neglected and thrown to the side whilst Noah basks in the glory of being the leading man of a highly successful metal band. He feels further away from you than he ever has.
You’ve had enough. You have spent too many nights alone, crying and doubting everything you have done for your boyfriend. Your mind has been going haywire with the possibilities of why he would have turned so cold towards you.
Maybe he never wanted you around for the bliss of success and fame. Maybe he doesn’t want to be seen with you, knowing just how many people would kill to be in your position. Maybe he’s forgotten how much you mean to him and what you’ve done for him.
What you’ve sacrificed.
Because you have sacrificed a great deal for Noah. From moving in with him after the release of their second album, leaving behind your friends and family to live with him. To staying up late and worrying about his wellbeing while he’s on the other side of the country, or in a different country entirely. So many nights spent full of tears and anxiety, hoping the silence on his end is just because he’s asleep and not something else.
But you continued to be supportive and understanding with everything he told you. About how exhausted he is after shows, or how the guys wanted to go out some nights. You would tell him it was alright, as long as he was safe.
Everything eventually came to a head. As all terrible things do.
Bad Omens just announced their next tour. Noah was ecstatic about it and raving about the setlist ideas he had been coming up with. He was so excited and happy to be getting back on the road.
Leaving you. Again. For what felt like the millionth time in the span of a decade. That’s what made you realize you needed to talk to him.
“Hey, babe?”
Noah looks up at you from his laptop, swiveling in his chair to face you.
“What’s up?” he says as you slowly walk towards him.
You take a seat on the extra chair he has in his at-home studio. You force yourself to look at him instead of at your hands, that are anxiously tangled together in your lap.
It’s now or never, you tell yourself.
“I wanted to talk to you,” you begin timidly.
“What’s going on?” Noah asks with a furrowed brow. He stretches his legs out on either side of your chair. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. Something is wrong.” You swallow nervously, your eyes darting across every inch of Noah’s face. You are so scared right now. “And I wanted to say something before you left for tour.”
Noah stays silent but keeps his worried eyes on you. The blatant concern on his face almost makes this worse.
“Ever since Bad Omens blew up, I feel like I’ve been pushed aside,” you explain quietly. “Like my feelings don’t matter, or just that I don’t matter as much as the band’s success. And don’t get me wrong: I am so incredibly proud of you and what you’ve accomplished! But I feel like I’m on the outside of everything.”
You watch as the concern on Noah’s face gradually shifts to confusion.
“I don’t understand,” he says. “What do you mean like your feelings don’t matter? Or that you’re on the outside of everything?”
“I feel like you care more about the band than you do about me,” you tell him. Blood is roaring in your ears once you finally admit it out loud. “Like my needs and wants come after the band’s. I feel neglected compared to the band, Noah.”
That confusion has settled. But it takes a turn as Noah remains quiet, clearly taking in everything you’ve said. Nerves are clawing at your insides as you wait for him to say something.
You watch as his eyebrows scrunch into something akin to frustration, or maybe annoyance. Whichever it is, though, has your stomach flipping uncomfortably.
“You’re not secondary to the band, babe,” he tells you. His words feel scripted and too thought out. Like he’s reading from a teleprompter. “You never have been.”
“Then why do I feel like this, Noah?” You choke briefly on your words, the familiar sensation of tears burning your throat. “If I’m not secondary to your precious band, then why do you care more about it than you do about me? Your girlfriend?”
“Well, I would think you would’ve understood what you were signing up for when I started all this.”
Tears immediately spring to your eyes when he says that. Your heart is thrashing inside your chest. Searing pain blooms just behind your sternum and is steadily spreading out all over your body. You’re scared you might have a panic attack.
Through blurry vision, you can see the moment Noah fully processes what he said. Then he’s kneeling down in front of you and trying to get you to look at him. But you keep avoiding his eyes as you are closing in on yourself.
“Shit. Baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he murmurs softly, his hands hesitantly closing around your wrists. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You did. You did mean it,” you sob. Tears are rolling down your cheeks and your head is spinning.
Noah ignores you and continues to whisper sweet things in your ear. His arms have wound around your waist and he’s pulled you down on the floor with him. His hands go under your shirt, carefully holding you and touching you softly. You hardly notice the feeling of his lips down the column of your neck.
When one of his hands begins trailing lower and lower down your back, you finally come to. With a heavy sob, you push against his chest, muttering, “No, stop. Noah, stop.”
And thankfully he does. His kisses cease and his hands stop moving. You hate the look on his face when he meets your eyes. He seriously thought this would help.
“Don’t,” you whisper. “I don’t want that right now. I want you to understand, like I have for years. Why don’t you get it?”
Noah says nothing. Your heart is breaking.
“You’re unbelievable.” You sniffle and wipe at your nose, before saying, “I’m leaving. I’m gonna go stay with April and Preston for a while. We’re taking a break until you can come to your senses about what’s really important to you.”
Without waiting for an answer, doubting you would have gotten one anyways, you tear yourself away from Noah. You leave him on the floor of his recording room as you make your way to your shared bedroom where you begin gathering clothes and whatever else you’ll need while away from home. You text April that you did it and you’re coming over now.
Your best friend April was the only person you could trust to vent your emotions to about all this. She had noticed how Noah had been drifting away from you the past couple years, but never knew how to tell you or bring it up. So she had been more than okay with you staying with her and her husband, Preston until Noah came around. If he came around.
Pain and shame overtake your entire body as you move about your room. You stuff everything you need into a couple bags, hoping you haven’t missed anything.
With your bags in hand and an endless supply of tears falling down your face, you make your way to the front door to leave. You walk past Noah’s studio to find the door closed. You scoff quietly before finally leaving the house you share with Noah.
Your phone buzzes from your pocket once you’ve gotten your things into your car. You look down at it with bleary eyes to see a text from April.
Me: i’m omw. he thought having sex would fix everything.
April💛: WHOOOOORE
April💛: i’m really proud of you for doing that, love. your feelings are 110% valid and he’s a dick for not understanding or even trying to fix things. preston made chicken noodle soup for dinner when you get here <3
The tears fall even faster at your best friend’s comfort. A sob rips through your chest as you shakily start your car and begin driving towards her house.
When you arrive, April and Preston are already outside. The tears had eventually taken a pause over the course of your drive, but make a resurgence when Preston doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms.
Preston has always been like a brother to you. He is one of the kindest and most giving people you have ever met. He is also extremely protective of you and would definitely fight someone in your honor. In the back of your mind, you tuck that information away for another time.
He just rocks you back and forth as April gets your bags from the backseat of your car, then she’s hugging you from your other side and resting her head on your shoulder. You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard.
Finally, both of them pull away from you and guide you into the house. April informs you that the guest room is all yours and that you can stay as long as you’d like. Part of you hopes you don’t have to stay too long, at least until Noah gets his shit together and you can go back home.
You eat Preston’s homemade chicken noodle soup with your friends before you’re trudging to their guest room. That familiar sense of dread is consuming you.
Then you’re sitting alone in the room later that evening. You’re alone with your thoughts, which is never a good thing.
You wonder if Noah is anywhere near remorseful for how he treated you, if he truly meant what he said. But you know he did. He meant those words the moment they left his mouth, which hurts more than you care to admit. He knew what was happening and knew how it was affecting you. But he just didn’t care.
You wonder if Noah will chase after you, realizing what he has done and said was wrong. Because even if he meant what he said that doesn’t mean he thought it was okay. Maybe he’ll make things right because he knew he fucked up and wants to fix your relationship.
You wonder if fixing your relationship is even worth it.
But you’re on a break, you said it yourself. So until Noah either decides he wants to fix things between you two or if he decides fame really is more important than you, then you are simply on a break.
That’s what you keep telling yourself for the next few weeks.
You go to work and hang out with April all the same. You go about your day like nothing is wrong, like your thoughts aren’t consumed by Noah and what he’s feeling this very moment. You pretend you aren’t going crazy with anxiety as the first tour date is rapidly coming up.
But even then, you keep yourself busy. You watch countless movie marathons with April and Preston. You work later than you should just so you don’t have to sit alone with your mind. You make an attempt to stop thinking about Noah for the time being.
But it’s hard. Keeping Noah out of your head is remarkably difficult. He is your biggest comfort in the entire world, so suddenly letting go of that after ten years of being together is more than jarring. Whenever you think you have successfully gone a day without a single thought about him, he always creeps back in somehow. Like he belongs there. Like he’s been imprinted on your soul for eternity.
Today is especially hard. It’s the first date of Bad Omens’ tour, and it is all you can think about.
Noah hasn’t reached out to you ever since you declared the break, so you can’t imagine how thrilled he must be to not be worrying about you while traveling and performing. He is probably much more focused on the songs and the fans.
You’re out at dinner with April and Preston. You had reluctantly agreed to go out with them. But you know it was a better idea than lying in bed and looking for concert updates throughout the night on your phone.
“Oh, you’re fucking kidding,” April suddenly mutters.
You look up at her to see her glaring at something from over your shoulder. You glance back and see what she was referring to. There was a family eating a few tables down. One of the girls was wearing a Bad Omens shirt. You immediately avert your gaze, finding your meal much more interesting.
“You’re not about to go fight a sixteen year old, are you?” Preston casually questions his wife as he takes a bite of his food.
“No. But who does she think she is?” April goes on angrily. “Get that shit out of here. We’re on a break from Bad Omens, thank you very much.”
“You say it like it’s your relationship,” Preston remarks teasingly.
“It might as well be. If it affects my best friend, it affects me too,” April says. “So yes, we are on a break from Bad Omens, Preston. Get with the program.”
A small smile graces your face at your best friend’s antics. Seeing her so fired up when it comes to your wellbeing makes your chest swell with adoration. But then the sadness kicks in, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about Noah.
He’s probably performing on stage at this very second, you realize. He’s probably already singing to a crowd of thousands of adoring fans who make him happier than you ever could.
As your dinner goes on, you find yourself softly humming a few Bad Omens songs in comfort. If April and or Preston noticed, neither of them said anything.
Once you’re back at their place, you excuse yourself for the night. You fully anticipate on crashing as soon as you get in bed. But you end up stuck on TikTok, scrolling endlessly. You go nearly an hour without any Bad Omens content or any mention of them, before there is one video of them. It’s a brief clip someone got of Dying To Love. Your heart aches as you watch it, knowing you shouldn’t.
But you can’t help it. Noah’s vocals are beautiful and the surging sensation of home you feel at hearing his voice for the first time in several weeks has you suffocating.
He sounds anguished, full of pain. Well, considering the topic of the particular song you would think he’d up the ante a bit for the stage. But there’s something about the way he sings it that is suggesting otherwise.
Something is off with Noah. And you hate that you can make that observation even through a phone screen.
After watching the clip a couple more times you eventually shut off your phone and go to bed. Your dreams are plagued by a dark figure who radiates warmth and love, a familiarity. You never see their face.
You avoid social media as much as you can for the next month or so. You do not want to see Noah’s face anywhere on your phone. At even the faintest mention of Bad Omens, you scroll away quickly or exit the app completely. You’re on a break, which means you shouldn’t be looking out for anything related to Noah or the band.
You stopped keeping track of their tour dates. Except for their final show so you know when Noah gets home. But you don’t tell April about it because you know she would get stern with you, saying something about how it doesn’t matter; let him come to you, blah, blah, blah.
And you’re going to, let him come to you, that is. You will not crawl back to him and beg for the break to be over. You need Noah to prove he’s sorry himself.
It’s the day after Bad Omens’ final show, and you’re antsy. Jumping at the slightest sound or movement. You can see how worried April and Preston are for you throughout the day. They eventually decide to have another movie marathon in order to take your mind off things. You happily accept.
But one of the movies they want to watch can’t be found on any streaming services. However, you know you own it on DVD. When you offer to drive home and grab it, April immediately shuts it down.
“No way. What if Noah is home and he tries to bewitch you or something?” she argues. “No bewitching until you’re ready.”
You almost laugh at her word choice. But instead you say, “I’ll be fine. Noah shouldn’t even be home yet so I can just run in and grab it, no problem. No bewitching will be had.”
“But what if he is home?” April pushes. You know she’s just looking out for you but you know you can handle yourself, too. “What if he’s a dick and won’t let you leave? What if he donated the DVD without you knowing? What if—“
You watch as Preston shuts her up with a brief kiss before turning towards you. His eyes are steady as he looks at you, a message in their depths you can’t begin to decipher right now.
“If Noah is home, she’ll be fine,” he assures April, who is fuming at his side. “If anything happens, she can text or call us. Just be careful, okay?” he adds as he looks back at you. That big brother side of his is readily apparent as you maintain eye contact.
“I will,” you say. “I’ll be fine. I have my phone if anything happens. I love you, guys.”
“Love you,” Preston and April call after you as you exit the house.
You drive over to your own house with a slight tremor in your hands. But you manage to pull into the driveway without any attack or breakdown of any kind. You steady yourself as you look up at the darkened building. All the lights are off. No sign of life, despite Noah’s car next to yours that hasn’t been used since before he left for tour. You know that for a fact. Because once you’re inside you see his car keys sitting on the little table by the front door.
Relief floods your system as you flip on a couple lights. You make your way upstairs to the shelf in the extra bedroom that holds all of your DVD and CD cases. You scan the spine of each case before you eventually find the movie you’re looking for. And now, you can leave without having seen Noah at all.
You curse yourself for bad timing as you make your way down the staircase, because there is Noah stepping through the front door. He’s shoved all of his bags to the side and is staring wide eyed at you. He must’ve gotten an Uber from the airport.
“Oh, uh, hi,” you say awkwardly, pausing on the last step and clutching the DVD case tightly.
“Hey,” he breathes out. He takes a pace in your direction without looking away from you. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t say it rudely or anything, but with genuine shock and curiosity. He obviously didn’t think he would be seeing you as soon as he got home from tour.
“Just grabbing a movie,” you tell him. You’re growing uncomfortable and anxious under his unyielding gaze. “I was just leaving. I’m not staying.”
When you attempt to step around him to get to the door, he quickly moves in front of it, blocking your way. Frustration has your stomach roiling and you almost smack him across the face with the DVD in your hands. But you restrain yourself.
“Please move, Noah,” you request softly, avoiding his eyes.
“Can we talk?” he says, ignoring you. “Please?”
He sounds desperate. You don’t think you have ever heard him sound so desperate or anything of the sort. He is usually so sure of himself, confident. But when you finally manage to look back at him you see the visible cracks in his exterior. The nicks in the armor he wears. And the desperation in his normally warm brown eyes has you biting your tongue.
You almost say no, just so you can get out of this situation. However, you told yourself you would let Noah come to you if he wanted to fix things. He has come to you, hasn’t he? He’s here, wanting to talk.
You nod stiffly in reply. Relief is bright in his irises as you both step into the living room.
“It’s good to see you,” he begins, almost like he doesn’t know what to say.
“You too,” you murmur as you sit down in one of the armchairs, Noah choosing the couch. And it is so good to see him. You hate how good it feels, to see his face after so long of no contact.
“Wh-What have you been up to?” he goes on.
You hate this. You hate how he’s starting out with smalltalk, probably getting a gauge on how you’re doing and what you’re feeling at the moment. It takes a tremendous amount of effort not to snap at him and urge him to get on with it already.
“I’ve been working mostly,” you respond politely. “How was tour?”
A flash of.. something crosses Noah’s face at the mention of tour. His features fall slightly and you fear you may have made a mistake.
“Umm…” His brows furrow and he looks down at his hands. His elbows are resting on his knees so he’s hunched forward, but you can see the tension in his shoulders anyways. “It was fine,” he finally says. “I, uh… I did a lot of thinking while I was gone though and I wanted to apologize.”
Noah’s hands are shaking and it’s taking everything in you not to kneel down in front of him and help him calm down. Because he wants to apologize? What does he mean by that?
“I’m sorry.” His voice is a near whisper as he continues. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you were second best to the band. I’m sorry I made you feel like you were being neglected, because I know I neglected you for a long time. I’m sorry I never put you first when you’re seriously the most important thing in my life. Bad Omens wouldn’t be where it is if it wasn’t for your love and support. And I took you for granted instead of thanking you like I should’ve been.”
Noah pauses to take a shaky deep breath, his gaze still wholly focused on his hands. There’s a heat behind your eyes as he speaks.
“The guys kinda ripped into me when I told them what happened,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. He sniffles. “They tore me a new one and more or less threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t fix things. I’ve never seen them so upset with me.”
His voice falters on that last sentence. Your grip on the movie case is painfully tight and it’s hurting your knuckles. But you don’t let go.
“Nick did pull me aside one night though,” Noah says. “He told me that if I really loved you and didn’t want to lose you, then I would do anything it takes to make things right. Because I love you and I hate myself for hurting you. I really fucking love you. I don’t know where I would be without you.” He finally looks up at you, and you’re met with his teary eyes and remorse written across his face. “I shouldn’t have said that to you, even if it’s how I felt. It was wrong. I fucked up. But I want to make it right. I can’t go another month without you when you are all I want.”
The pain in Noah’s voice has your eyes blurring with tears. You have never heard him get so emotional when apologizing for something, which tells you he means this. He means every word of this apology and genuinely wants to make things right. But you can’t suppress the fear that has been accumulating in your chest for so long.
“Noah, I…”
You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you want right now. Besides Noah. You want Noah more than anything.
“I appreciate the apology,” you say at last. “I’m glad the guys were able to talk some sense into you. But you really hurt me, then you expected to mend what you said by fucking me. That hurt even more. Not everything can be fixed with sex, you know.”
“That was so fucking stupid,” Noah mutters, seemingly mostly to himself. “I’m so sorry for that,” he tells you. “I have no excuse for that except my own stupidity. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Why did you start putting the band first?”
Your question catches Noah off guard. You can see it in his eyes as he contemplates what to say.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I’ve always wanted to take care of you and provide for you. But I guess in the process I ended up prioritizing the band when I should have been prioritizing you and your needs. I can live without the band and the fame, but I can’t live without you.”
Your heart wrenches viciously inside your chest. Tears are threatening to fall down as you internally battle with your morals.
Noah means every word he’s saying. You know him far too well to think otherwise. And the fact that he is acknowledging how he has hurt you and made you feel without trying to defend himself is a relatively good sign, you think. He would be blaming you instead of admitting his faults and shortcomings.
“You’re really fucking stupid.” Your words are shaky and hesitant but you see Noah flinch at them regardless. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m hurt. I’ve supported you and your dreams long before we got together,” you remind him. “I never thought twice about leaving home and moving in with you. I put so much blind trust in you because I was in love with you. I am in love with you. That’s why this hurts so fucking bad, Noah. Because if you really loved me you wouldn’t have let it get this bad, and you would have chased after me the night I left. You would have fought for me. For us.”
Noah makes you jump when he drops to the floor and is then kneeling in front of you. He grasps the arms of the chair on either side of you, essentially boxing you in.
“I should have gone after you. I should have begged you to stay and let me fix things so we wouldn’t be in this situation right now,” he tells you. His voice is strained and he’s breathing heavily. “I pretended to be okay with this break we’re on for your sake, because you requested it and I wanted to honor it. But god, fuck this break. I hate this space between us. Please let me fix things. I want to make this right. Please, baby.”
Tears are now streaming down your face. Noah is quite literally begging on his knees for you. Begging for you back and promising to make everything right again. You want to be a bitch and demand he take back every single word he said to you that night, as well as all the things he’s said and done to you over the past couple of years. But those big brown doe eyes staring at you, pleading with every fiber of his being, have your heart squeezing and racing.
“I accept your apology,” you whisper shakily. You watch as Noah’s shoulders sag with relief. “I’m holding you to your word though. I know Bad Omens is important to you and is literally your life, but don’t forget about me or us, okay?”
“I won’t. I swear I will make it up to you. Whatever you want. I promise.”
He repeats those two words a handful of times under his breath as he openly stares at you. His eyes are bright with hope and his tears are subsiding.
Whatever you want.
All you want is Noah.
You stare at each other a bit longer before Noah hesitantly brings one of his shaking hands to your face. It pauses several inches away, almost like he thinks he doesn’t deserve to touch you. But you lean into his hand without a word, and you see him visibly melt.
You close your eyes as you take a deep breath. You cherish the warmth of his hand against your cheek and breathe out through your mouth.
“I’ve missed you so much, angel,” Noah murmurs reverently, as he traces your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. His touch is light and soft.
“I’ve missed you too,” you respond.
You look at him again to see his attention is solely on your lips. You kiss the pad of his thumb and watch him shudder at the brief contact. There is a sudden but familiar heat in your belly at the look on his face.
“Baby?”
Your voice comes out as a whisper but it catches Noah’s attention all the same. He looks at you like you are the sole reason he exists. Like you are the very air he breathes. He isn’t trying to hide how badly he wants to make things up to you, in more ways than one.
“Can—“ You swallow nervously. You haven’t been this nervous around Noah in years. “Can you show me how sorry you are? Please?”
Noah is dumbfounded by your question. But he is quick to say “Anything for you” before pushing up on his knees and connecting your mouths.
The kiss is brutal and messy and passionate. Need spreads from your belly all throughout your body as you gladly let Noah claim every inch of your mouth. Both of his hands grab at your waist and tug without moving you, a silent request to pull you down on top of him. And so you grab at his shoulders and slide off the chair until you’re straddling his lap, movie case forgotten.
Noah’s hands are everywhere. From your stomach to your thighs, all the way up to your neck and head. He touches anywhere he can reach, his palms leaving hot brands on your skin as he goes. He seems to be making up for lost time.
Your own hands ride up under his sweatshirt, your nails clawing at his tattooed ribs in desperation. You need him against you. You need to feel him. You need him.
You shove the bottom of his sweatshirt upwards until he takes it off the rest of the way himself, along with the t-shirt he had on underneath. Then he’s pulling off your own shirt and bra and touching you all over again.
His skin is hot against yours. It’s almost scalding to the touch. But you revel in the heat and throw your head back once his lips have begun migrating downwards. Kissing and sucking at your neck, biting at your skin until you’re a moaning, pliant mess.
Eventually, Noah pulls back and lays you down on the floor. His face is flushed a bright red as he stares at you, looming above you. With his hair falling into his eyes, he looks absolutely devastating.
Then you let him take off your pajama pants and he has you screaming and moaning from just his tongue. The grip he has on you is definitely going to bruise in the shape of his fingerprints, but you couldn’t care less. Nothing matters when he is humming into your pussy and savoring the taste of you as you come with a shout of his name. Not even when your thighs are squeezing his head and his tongue is still going wild between your folds.
The slide of Noah’s cock pushing into you is all that matters to you. The stretch is overwhelming, almost too much after so long. But he’s gentle and patient as you become reacquainted his with size, only moving when you’re begging him.
The only thing that matters are the apologies and promises he whispers in the valley between your breasts. Things that are on the verge of being prayers. Words spoken in time with the tightening of your walls around him.
Your hands in his hair and your nails dragging down the tattooed expanse of his back. His lips on your skin. The collision of your hips with each thrust.
Everything else fades away.
Nothing else matters besides when you’re moaning his name at the moment of both of your releases. The dizzying sensation of his come trailing down your thighs as he slowly pulls out.
Your mind finally clears when you feel Noah pulling you into his chest. The gentle movement of his hand up and down your spine calming every nerve inside of you. You hum, blissed out and happy.
“I missed this,” you whisper against his chest. “I missed you.”
“Me too,” Noah says. He places soft, slow kisses along your sweaty forehead and cheeks. “I love you so much.”
“I love you so much.”
As you bask in the afterglow and relish in each other’s presence, the sudden incessant vibrating of your phone startles you. You sit up off the floor at the sound and reach for the device to see endless texts from both April and Preston asking if you’re okay, where you are, why you’re not answering.
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. “April and Preston are worried about me. I told them I wouldn’t be that long.”
Noah laughs against your back, the timber of his voice echoing throughout your abdomen.
“Tell them you’re okay,” he suggests, shifting up onto his hands as you do so.
But as you’re formulating a response to your best friend, Noah is leaving openmouthed kisses across your shoulders and neck. His teeth tug slightly at your earlobe. You have to retype the message.
“Noah, stop for a second,” you say halfheartedly.
“Why? Am I distracting you?”
“Yes. You’re very distracting. Just hang on—“
“But I’m not done apologizing yet, angel.”
And with that, after all is said and done, you send April a simple “i’m ok” before tossing your phone aside and climbing on top of Noah. You’re very keen on him apologizing all night.
thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3
aimsey and eryn had such interesting stuff going on people just didnt pay attention because they arent funny little white boys
i never said that they weren't interesting or that they didn't have potential, they just joined at what was essentially the third act of an already dragged out story and tried to start completely new plotlines that couldn't really involve anyone else since barely anyone logged outside of big lore streams, it's not their fault but I also don't fault most people for not really wanting to get into it either specially considering how many dropped solo plotlines the smp already had
Hiiii!!!! Ummm i whanted to ask something.. ummm you have any Suckathan fanart or comic? IT'S OK IF YOU DONT HAVE IT TAKE CARE ANYWAYS BYEEEE *steals his television*
Yeyeyeye! I post a lot bout sockathan actually!! Go check out the tag >:D
Been a while since I posted something abt it tho
Here are some pretty random doodles I never posted (on here) before tho to make up for it!!!
Been scrapbooking the doodles I make on my assignments LOL
The need to fuck a fake boy as a real trans guy is so real- need her to bounce her tits for me as I point out the difference between my flat muscular chest and her girly female tits, need her to worship my dick and get wet at the fact she could never be as masculine as I am. Need to fuck her till she’s crying and I’ll only let her cum if she apologises for claiming to be a real man and lets me cut up all her binders so she can’t hide how big her tits are
getting fucked by a real trans man is sooooo hot bc it feels like such a betrayal, as a fakeboy
like, ur trans too, u should be more accepting and understand that im a guy just like u!!
even if i love my pussy and actively look forward to needing E cream, and wish that i didnt have so much body hair, and wondering if i even still need to be on T, and hate wearing my binder, and love touching and groping my girly tits, and think im hotter with an hourglass figure, and feel hottest in feminine clothing
im definitely still a guy, we're the same!
show me how wrong i am, show me how silly i was to think otherwise, remind me of my place serving men like you, bigger and stronger and more obviously masculine than i could ever hope to be
