i was going through my folders and i found this video that i saved from last year. i'm glad i saved it bc op deleted it/disappeared not long after. there was other AI covers which i unfortunately didn't save but at least i got this one buried in my memory. i always thought noah added some the weeknd vibes to tdopom album (like in bad decisions, the way he says "hennessy" that's so abel coded) and my heart dropped to my stomach when i listened to this.
i mean no offense by reuploading this video. it's merely for entertaining purposes and i'm very aware that some artists (and people) are against AI covers, but in this case i feel like it's a nice way to imagine how noah would sound like singing this song.
i wanna thank og for posting this (as well as all the other covers that are now gone), you really made my day 🤍 hope you are doing good wherever you are now.
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
Content warnings: Knife, though it’s not used to hurt someone or draw blood (save for Will nicking Noah on accident -- he licks the blood off his knife); referenced knife play; power dynamic (not exactly dom/sub, but Noah controls the scene and Will); references to blood, cutting, wounds; anal fingering; masturbation; biting; choking/breathplay; unprotected anal sex; begging; orgasm control; ruined orgasm; slapping (once); referenced masochism/sadomasochism (not acted out). MDNI.
Summary: Noah makes a poor decision when Will corners him at an event and finally takes Will home. Well, to a hotel.
Word count: ~4,200
Author's note: This was all because of a prompt that Malice sent in, but of course it turned into a full-blown fic. It's part of a 'verse I've dubbed Sex in Your Violence, which is Will and Noah being Fucked Up Guys. There are two prompt fills based in this 'verse already, and this fic is actually a bit into the timeline of the story. I will eventually post the first (chronologically, at least) entry, but, for now, take barely any context. It was going to be darker, but Noah is still in denial in this one, so he reined me in. Boo. I haven't edited or proofread this much, and I finished it this morning, but I always make inadvisable posting decisions when it comes to fics. Err on the side of caution with this, because I'm not sure if I've done a great job tagging some of the darker inner dialogues Noah has. Title is from "Headache" by Motionless In White, and the divider is from @/saradika-graphics.
It had been a chase for so long that Noah had nearly lost himself in the rhythm of it. Will always seemed intent on taking Noah apart — slicing away the layers, digging around in his messy bits, spilling everything out where he could see and shape it. Noah had started to see it all as something rather one-sided: Will wanted to take, presumably until all that was left was a husk to discard, but he had no interest in offering something in turn.
Noah wasn’t particularly invested in why that was or the inner mechanisms that led to that hoarding of self on Will’s part. Honestly, it wasn’t even particularly upsetting or even unattractive; he still toed along that quivering tightrope of temptation every time he breathed the same air as Will, particularly when it was only the two of their bodies in a space (an outcome Will seemed more than skilled at orchestrating).
What it did mean, though, was that Will once more managed to catch Noah completely off-guard. They were both at some event that Noah had to be coerced into attending; he lingered toward the edges, having done his required mingling and chatting, and was wondering how long he had to be physically present before he could leave when he caught sight of familiar pink curls.
Will always found some way to corner Noah — it was literally this time, a surprising feat given that Will wasn’t short but he was rather slight. It should have been easy to step past him. And Noah tried one, two, three times before giving up, huffing loudly at how Will’s energetic self managed to wiggle into the same space Noah was moving toward each time.
“You know,” Will started, tilting his head and grinning, “you’d think you didn’t like me with how hard you tried to avoid me.” Which meant he knew that Noah was avoiding him but didn’t care. For some reason, that was more frustrating than the potential of Will having somehow missed Noah’s efforts.
Noah’s brow pinched and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way his fingers curled and tightened. He wasn’t someone known for violence, and he wasn’t keen on changing that aspect of his public persona now. “I don’t like you, Will.” It was more than the death metal singer had gotten out of Noah before, and he recognized what a mistake that was when Will’s entire face lit up like he had been offered something valuable and precious.
Any semblance of personal space was strained at best when Will was around, but the very notion was discarded for the way Will trailed fingers up Noah’s chest as if they weren’t in a crowded, bustling room. A room with strangers, people Noah wished were strangers, fellow artists that held ill intent toward Noah for whatever reason. A room with phones and cameras.
Will’s voice cut through the panic swelling in the back of Noah’s mind, audibly rushing in his ears. “I think it’s because you’re scared,” he remarked, and the way he flashed dimples as punctuation felt odd and out of place.
Noah blinked at Will, face smoothing out into something barren and blank. That seemed to be his tell with Will: where most people saw Noah’s neutral face as something disinterested or perhaps annoyed, Will appeared to be the only individual who identified it correctly. It was a protective measure — he was hiding some sort of knee-jerk reaction he didn’t want observed, was shoving an emotion or urge or thought down deep enough the surface didn’t even ripple.
“That’s how I caught you, you know. How I figured out what you were.” Will’s voice was pitched lower than usual, a rasp to it that almost echoed the demonic vocals he was known for. Brown eyes were still intent and rapt, but now his gaze had darkened and intensified.
A twitch at Noah’s jaw, the first crack in the facade he seemed to always wear when Will was near. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re insane. And don’t touch me. People are looking,” he snapped, instantly recognizing the remark tacked on at the end as a mistake.
It was a misstep Will didn’t call him out on, though, at least for the moment. Instead, he laughed and pulled his hand back, held both up and showed Noah his palms. For the gesture of good intent, he didn’t allow Noah any sort of physical space; there was no step back, and he continued to lean in toward Noah slightly. “We could go somewhere they can’t watch us.” He said the words idly, as if there wasn’t a weight to the offer.
Noah’s gaze flicked around the room, bouncing between people and faces, taking in those who had their attention on the vocalists in the corner and those who were oblivious. He kept a tally, gauged the risks; even as he conducted that mental math, though, he responded to Will. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
The question was posed with the intention of being rhetorical. There were countless answers that would entice Noah, but nothing Will could say would tip the balance Noah had labored so hard to maintain. At least, that was what he had thought when the words left him. But then Will stretched up, mouth hovering next to Noah’s ear as he breathed, “I want you to ruin me.” A pause before Will pulled back to meet Noah’s guarded gaze.
Will was a lot of things, but he also seemed to be earnest about most things he said — though there was always the chance that such an observation was also incorrect. After all, Will was disproving one vital theory Noah had held thus far with such a simple, flippant, blatantly horny remark. It took him a moment to process the words, but then Will tipped his chin up a little, bared his throat a bit, and Noah’s brain seemed to short-circuit.
Noah leaned in now, whispered in Will’s ear with a jaw so tight and taut that his teeth audibly snapped when they met. “I’m leaving out the front door. You’re going to wait a few minutes and then follow. If anyone sees us together outside of this room tonight, Ramos, you’re dead,” he threatened, though he assumed the rumble to his words would be more arousing than frightening.
And the way Will’s pupils reacted when he pulled back confirmed that assumption. Great. “I’ll be on my best behavior,” Will promised regardless, taking a Scout’s oath with a bright, toothy expression lighting his features.
Which was how they ended up crowding into a rental together — Noah and his bandmates had carpooled oddly to the event; it meant that Noah would have to placate an annoyed Nicholas with some sort of present or peace offering for taking the car but wasn’t leaving anyone stranded. Besides, Noah had made it clear that he had no interest in being at the event, so they’d all assume that Noah had simply not wanted to wait any longer to depart.
The abrupt disappearance would probably not, in their minds, involve Will in the passenger seat, one foot kicked up on the dash and hands idly fiddling with a pocket knife that he’d apparently brought to the event. How security had neglected to locate and confiscate the weapon was beyond Noah, but the sight was a bit distracting as he tried to drive.
Noah’s knuckles whitened with how tightly he gripped the wheel, forcing his gaze to remain on the road. A particularly long red light had him glancing at Will just in time to see the man trailing the very tip of the blade along his own jaw. Everything in Noah’s brain stuttered — and it seemed his breath did too, if the way Will’s eyes snapped to him was any indicator.
“What’s up?” Will asked with audible delight, knife continuing its idle little dance along a jawline that seemed made for such a sight.
It took a split second of hesitation for Noah to turn his attention back to the traffic light, glaring at it like that would cause it to change any faster. He almost managed to focus enough to loosen the tightness in his lungs, but then he felt it, something cold and sharp pressing against his jaw.
Just enough pressure from Will had Noah turning his head to look at the knife-wielding maniac in his passenger seat again. “Your pupils are blown to hell. You can act like you’re not into this if you want. I know you are,” he all but purred, self-satisfied and completely insufferable.
A honk from the car behind them jolted both of them. He winced at the nick against the underside of his chin, somehow managed to shift his attention despite the throb between his legs — he started driving again before the person behind them could get any angrier and cleared his throat. “You’re insane,” he said simply, reiterating his words from earlier because they seemed the only apt sort of retort.
Except Will just laughed in the face of them, though he thankfully kept his mouth otherwise shut for the remainder of the drive. Noah refused to look his way again but swore he saw Will lick the blade clean, something that — even half-glimpsed — was going to live rent-free in his head for what felt like the rest of his life.
Noah managed to not take out any pedestrians or hit any curbs despite the fact that his brain was racing along mental pathways involving anything but safe and responsible driving. He wanted to say fuck common sense and pull into some dark, empty parking lot; take that stupid knife from Will, feel its weight in his hand; and hold it to Will’s throat as he slid a hand in his pants. Taking him apart like that felt only fair after all the hell Will had given him. But he managed, somehow, to keep the car in drive and to stay on the road.
He had no idea where Will’s band was staying, had just brought the man in question back to the hotel Omens had secured for the stop, and he had no real concern about Will finding his way back to where he belonged. With how Will was, with how his bandmates were, someone was bound to come looking if Will got too lost. Which meant Noah had to leave him in a state fit to leave on his own, which was oddly disappointing to consider.
Will managed a rather uncharacteristic display of good behavior on the way to Noah’s room: his knife was tucked back away and he kept his hands to himself, though he kept leaning in toward Noah like he was drawn in by some sort of physical force. It would have been naive for Noah to claim he didn’t experience a similar pull, though he was far more reluctant to indulge it.
“We need rules,” Noah started the second the hotel room door was shut. He shed his coat, tossed it on his suitcase, and turned to find Will offering an expression that was all cheshire — wide and tilted and delighted in a distinctly deranged way. “We don’t talk about this. No one knows about this. We’re not doing this again.” Oh, and the arch of Will’s eyebrows for the last rule; it was clear they both knew that Noah was full of shit.
But he refused to amend his statement, and he certainly wasn’t going to look such a lie in its face while Will was peering at him with such avid interest. “I’m controlling this. You want me to ruin you? Fine. You’re here for me to use. You don’t get a say.” Noah paused. “If it’s too much in a bad way, stop me. Otherwise . . .” A shrug.
Will kicked his shoes off and padded up to Noah with a spring in his step that set his curls bouncing. “You know I’m not exactly good at behaving,” he pointed out, though it was notably not a refusal of any of the rules.
Noah snagged the chain around Will’s neck, finding the amount of slack a little disappointing: he couldn’t choke Will easily while pulling on it, but it was just short enough that he couldn’t twist it around his fingers completely and cut off his air in that manner either. So he just hauled the smaller man in by it, stared down at him as he felt his own face go blank. “You don’t have a choice.”
And then they were kissing. Noah couldn’t pinpoint who had initiated it, and for a moment he couldn’t determine who was in control. It was something bruising and violent, a needy back-and-forth shove; he felt teeth at his bottom lip, no tongue to soothe after the sharp sting but a grin meeting the gasp that slipped free.
It felt second-nature to place a hand on Will’s throat; Noah curled his fingers around it, applied barely any pressure, and forced the kiss to break. Will looked desperate and eager, ready to agree to anything to get off, and Noah wondered, for a moment, just how far he could push the man. The problem, he realized, was that he didn’t have all night. Eventually, his bandmates would check on him.
“Knife on the table.” Noah stepped back, lifted his chin a little to frown down his nose at Will. There was a moment where Will just blinked at him, but the man seemed more dazed than defiant. “And clothes off. Wherever you’re not going to forget them.” He kept his tone flat, refused to give away even a hint of what he was feeling.
Will, though, seemed to know anyways, like he always did — frustratingly, impossibly. “You know,” he mused as he sat the knife down, “we don’t have to leave the knife over here. I don’t know if you’re as good with one as I am, but I could always teach you.” His clothes were shucked absentmindedly, left in a pile on the floor, and he looked utterly at ease as he stood in front of Noah, naked as he was.
Noah rolled his eyes and hoped Will missed the slight shiver that trailed along his spine. “I’m not going to the hospital tonight so you can get your weird kick.” He inclined his head toward the bed. “Sit.” The word was spoken like Will was a dog who couldn’t be counted on to listen, who needed an extra firm tone. He waited long enough to make sure Will did, in fact, comply before he moved to pull lube out of his bag.
The lube was tossed onto the bed next to Will, and then Noah undressed. He took his time with it, folding the clothes and setting them next to the knife. There was a faint sense of unease, of unbalance as he shook out his hair and turned his attention back to Will, but it all dissipated when he registered how Will stared at him: the gaze settled on him was simultaneously reverential and ravenous. He looked like he wanted to worship Noah but that worship would involve split skin and spilled blood.
It was hard to focus when such an expression was fixed on him, but Noah pushed down the urge to chase the promise there. “I hope you’re good with your fingers.” He picked up the lube, pressed the bottle into Will’s hand; fingers trailed up the column of Will’s throat so he could grasp his chin, tilt it up. “You’re only touching me how I tell you to, got it?”
As the words left him, Will had been lifting his free hand; it paused a few inches from Noah’s side as he sighed loudly, rolled his eyes. His whole demeanor still seemed far too lighthearted for where they were, for what they were to each other, but Noah couldn’t find the switch to flip to finally earn some serious regard from Will. “Would be a lot cooler if I could just touch you,” Will argued, dropping his hand.
Noah scoffed and climbed up on the bed, laying on his back and spreading his legs, feet planted on the mattress. “I’m ruining you, remember? Isn’t that what you wanted?” he reminded, snark dripping, as Will settled between his thighs and slicked his fingers.
“Then why are you the one getting fingered?” Will asked, fumbling the bottle a little but eventually managing to set it down without spilling too much. His fingers were surprisingly deft as they slipped along Noah’s entrance, teasing for just a moment before one digit slowly eased its way inside.
A pause as Noah’s breath hitched, eyelashes fluttering. “Because I’m using you to get off. You said to ruin you, you didn’t say how.” He assumed Will could hear the promise in his words by the toothy grin that Will flashed as he started pumping his finger in and out.
Will tried twice to get his other hand on Noah, getting stopped each time before much progress could be made. He shifted around and adjusted his position several times — but never stopped working Noah open, so Noah allowed it. His own hand found his cock, stroked slowly as Will worked a second, then a third finger inside him, and he made the mistake of tipping his head back as he groaned.
Which was, of course, when Noah felt a sudden and sharp bite to his inner thigh. His hips jerked up, head lifting and eyes shooting open to stare down at Will. “W-What—“ He found Will staring up at him with big, round eyes and teeth still firmly buried in the muscle. “Will,” he groaned, and he wasn’t sure if it was because the pressure increased and made his cock twitch, or because he was exasperated.
It took Noah shoving at Will’s head with one hand to get him to release, beaming up at Noah without so much as a glance at the teeth marks he’d left. “You said no touching. Biting isn’t touching. Technically,” Will argued, though he sounded a little uncertain on that last word.
Noah sat up, fisted Will’s hair and yanked him closer by the curls. “I should’ve known you liked to bite. I already knew you were a smartass.” He huffed, the fingers not twisted up in pink strands squeezing Will’s throat again. “On your back. Hands at your side. You touch me, you leave. Got it?”
Will groaned filthy and freely at the pressure to his throat. “Y-Yeah, got it. Kind of hard to listen when you do that, though.” His eyes rolled when Noah constricted his throat enough to briefly, momentarily block airflow, and then he was being released so he could scramble onto his back.
This was such a stupid idea. Noah mentally berated himself for it even as he poured more lube onto Will’s cock, stroked him a few times — it was a bit insincere, though, to call himself an idiot when he was also relishing in the thought of how Will’s dick would feel inside him. Perhaps that made it even more emphatic a sentiment, though.
Regardless of how advisable the course of action was, Noah straddled Will, sank down on his cock with a low groan that rumbled somewhere deep. The nails of one hand skimmed down Will’s sternum, his stomach, and the way Will arched up into the touch seemed to beg for more. “How much would you let me do to you?” Noah asked softly, rocking his hips as he adjusted to the feeling of Will inside him.
A breathless laugh. “As long as I’m still breathing at the end? Whatever the fuck you wanted,” Will answered with a sort of enthusiasm that made Noah pause and tilt his head. “Bet I’d hurt you just as good, though. With my teeth or my knife or— fuck.” His face scrunched as Noah started to move, to fuck himself slow and steady.
Noah wasn’t sure what else Will had thought about doing to him, but the incessant desire to know warned him that anything else on the matter would just tug him closer to the precipice of whatever abyss yawned up at him. Something about that dark, no end in sight, was so alluring, so tempting, but he forced himself to focus on the drag of Will’s cock as Noah rode him. “You talk too much,” he muttered to Will.
It didn’t take long for Noah to lose himself in the movement, the pleasure; he felt his muscles burn, the sweat pooling along the divots of skin, and he found himself fixated on watching Will’s face. He was so expressive, every ounce of pleasure playing out on his features, and he could tell the second a thought occurred to the man. Before he could brace himself, Will blurted, “Choke me.”
The whole point of Noah taking control and orchestrating each aspect was to push down the spiral he felt looming, but there was something about the way Will said the words. Maybe because the tone was off for a demand: it sounded more like a plea, albeit one without pretty, polite phrasing. “Beg me to,” Noah replied, fucking himself faster and stroking his own cock now.
Will either had no sense of pride or was far more capable of swallowing it down than the average person, because the words left Noah and instantly Will was nodding. “Fuck, Noah, please, choke me. I want your hand on my throat. I want you to squeeze until I’m dizzy. F-Fuck, Noah, please.” He was all but whining by the end, undoubtedly driven more desperate by how tightly Noah clenched around him.
And stupidly, stupidly, Noah found himself demanding that Will say his name again. And again. The sound of it leaving Will’s lips, the way his voice twisted and pitched upward, had Noah cumming hard, rhythm stuttering as he milked his orgasm. Despite not telling Will he couldn’t cum, Will held on, biting the heel of his palm and scrunching his eyes shut.
Noah found stillness, panting and twitching, and looked down at Will for a long, quiet moment. “You’re not going to cum until I tell you, are you?” he asked, gathering his semen on his fingers and offering the digits to Will when those brown eyes peered up at him once more.
Will shook his head and slurped on Noah’s fingers, mumbling around them, “Figured I couldn’t.” He groaned when Noah pulled the digits free, slid off of his cock. “Jesus. Fuck. You gonna choke me now?” He bared his throat in an almost humorously over-exaggerated gesture, licked his lips.
“Yeah, give me a second.” Noah settled in as comfortably as he could on Will’s thighs, one hand going to that bared, tattooed skin and clamping down as the other wrapped around Will’s throbbing cock. He stroked him quickly, grip a little tighter than Noah himself preferred, and squeezed on the sides of Will’s throat. He eased him into it, more to tease than anything else; brief pressure for a moment, then he released. A longer, deeper squeeze, another release.
Finally, Will was thrusting up into Noah’s touch and red-faced, eyes hazy and lips parted in a fruitless bid for air. Noah could see his gaze unfocusing and stroked Will faster, just about to tip him over the edge when he released his throat — and then he stopped. He didn’t even finish the upward stroke, just pulled his hand back, and he could tell instantly that he’d timed it perfectly because Will’s cock twitched and leaked almost pathetically as his stomach muscles clenched and his hips bucked up.
Will wheezed something that was probably meant to be insulting, so Noah slapped him just in case. “You said you wanted me to ruin you,” Noah reminded him sharply. “You didn’t say how.” He watched the orgasm that had only started to graze Will’s nerves fade and offered an expression vague but smug when Will finally opened his eyes to blink up at Noah.
The room was oddly quiet, save for Will’s rasped breaths, and Noah stared down at him for a long, contemplative moment. “I’ve thought about hurting you,” he started, not sure where the words were coming from or why they spilled forth unintentionally now, given how tight of a grasp he usually kept on his own thoughts and impulses, “and I always imagine you asking me for it first.” His fingers danced along the mess Will had made of himself even in spite of his peak being ripped from him.
“I would. And you would too. You’d ask me to hurt you. I wouldn’t unless you asked ‘cause that’s part of the fun,” Will replied, the heaves of his chest lessening, slowing.
Noah blinked. He wanted to demand an explanation, a justification — why would Will ever think that about Noah? Noah was normal, well-adjusted, civil. He wasn’t some deranged, depraved thing that got off on blood and guts and tears. Except, well, the confession had just left Noah’s own lips: the thought of Will in pain, at Noah’s own hands, frequently occupied his thoughts. And maybe he’d thought about it mirrored, too; Will holding that stupid knife to Noah’s skin and painting pictures in one single shade of crimson.
God, he was so fucked.
And, just to really emphasize that, a familiar ringtone erupted from the table — Noah hadn’t even bothered to take his phone out of his pants pocket, but he knew that particular tune plenty well enough to recognize who was calling him. The fact that he was sharing his room tonight came flooding back to him belatedly, earned a wince. Nicholas was going to kill him.
Tag list: @dodgersnotebook, @ami-gami, @desperatetype, @dominuslunae, @malice-ov-mercy, @fadingangelwisp
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warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, noah being vocal and not in a hot way LMAO, seriously he's so fucking annoying i need him, chapter 7 and 8 were both pretty short and my lovely best friend @likeavillan helped convince me to put them together to make one longer chapter instead so here it is <3
i'm so sorry for how inactive i've been lately, i have soo many things to to reply to and asks to answer which i'll be getting around to soon!! but it's my birthday tomorrow and i wanted to post this tonight because my next few days are gonne be super busy!! <3
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
His lips crashed against yours, kissing you lazily but there was still heat behind it. His hands were under the hem of your- his- shirt, the rough pads of his fingers tracing circles on the bare skin of your lower back and hips. Every pass of his thumbs over the elastic of your panties sent a rush to your head and heat to your lower belly. You shifted subtly, trying to do something to ease the ache between your thighs, but feeling how hard he was in his boxers only made it worse.
He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss as he leaned back against the headboard, a lazy smirk already playing on his lips. His eyes were dark and heavy lidded as he looked up at you, scanning your face.
“Comfortable up there, princess?” He teased, his finger hooking into your waistband again, but not making any move to tug them off.
“Yeah.” You breathed, trying to sound nonchalant, shifting again to hide how your inner thighs trembled.
You leaned down to capture his lips again, hoping to distract him, your tongue sweeping against his as you moved your hips, grinding down on him again, seeking more contact. He groaned softly into your mouth, his hands sliding down to cup your ass firmly. He then squeezed, pulling you tighter against him, forcing your center flush against the thick hardness hidden under his boxers. And oh, the sudden pressure was delicious, making you gasp against his lips.
You rocked forwards again, slower this time, and a tiny whimper escaped you when the friction felt just right. He pulled back again, his smirk widening into a grin.
“That’s it,” he purred, one of his hands coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, the other still holding you against him, “Take what you need.” His gaze dropped down to where your bodies met. “Feels good, huh? Rubbing that sweet little pussy against my dick? I bet you’re getting real wet for me under there.”
You were. The combined sensation of his rough hands on you, his lips on yours and rubbing yourself against his hard cock? This was heaven. You clenched around nothing, and you tried to hide just how desperate and pathetic he was making you by kissing him harder. You ground down harder against him now, rocking your hips… but then suddenly your back hit the mattress with a soft thump.
Noah positioned himself between your thighs, one hand planted beside you, holding himself up and the other cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how soaked it had become.
You were an idiot. You shouldn’t want this as much as you do. You shouldn’t have imagined this very moment as much as you had.
His fingers pressed a little firmer against you, and you whined into the kiss- and you could feel him smirk against your lips.
“You hate me this much, huh?” He whispered between kisses.
“Shut up.”
“So bossy,” he pressed his fingers just right, “Let’s see how long it’ll take for your act to break… you could barely take my fingers last time and now you want my cock, huh? I don’t think you’d be able to handle it, baby.”
Your cheeks burned red, and his words, the humiliation, only made the ache between your thighs stronger, and your hips rocked into his touch.
“I can.” You whispered, eyes falling shut.
“You can?” He laughed, pulling back slightly to tug your underwear down, throwing somewhere by the side of the bed. “Babe, this dick ruins girls who’ve been fucking around for years… they can’t take it, they cry on it, they lose their minds, they say it’s too much, and you…” his thumb found your swollen clit, brushing over it in a slow circle, “You’ve never even taken real dick before-”
“You’re so fucking full of yourself, Noah.” You panted, squirming under his touch, “You- fuck!”
He pressed one long finger in, gently eased it back out before pushing a second in too, smirking as your thighs tried to shut around him.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you, sweetheart. What were you saying?”
You swallowed hard, your teeth gritted as you glared at him through hazy eyes. And just as you opened your mouth to speak, he curled his fingers, rubbing that delicious spot again.
“Noah…!” You threw your head back against the pillows, your fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He cooed, “You want me to stop?”
You shook your head.
“What do you want, then? Tell me, princess.”
“More… I can take it.” You whispered, your eyes meeting his- and shit, you almost came right then.
“Oh, I don’t think you can.” He taunted, “No… you’d split in half, you wouldn’t be able to take this-.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Your hips bucked against him, desperate and humiliated, but aroused beyond belief.
“Mmh.” He curled his fingers again, dragging another helpless cry from you, “Sweetheart, you can’t even handle what I’m doing to you right now.”
“Please,” you breathed, already hating how fast you’ve given in, “I can-”
“Ohh, are you begging me already?” He grinned, clearly loving this already judging by the way his eyes were lit up. He kissed the corner of your mouth and purred, “Who am I to deny my good girl?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, but look at you…” He chuckled, pushing his boxers down his thighs. And you froze when you looked down at it.
He wasn’t lying.
“...Oh my god.” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it slipped from your lips anyway. And clearly, you were only boosting his ego.
“Yeah, that’s all real baby,” he laughed, his voice was pure sin, “First time you’ve ever seen a real one, huh? Still think you can take it?”
You swallowed hard, nodding your head, not trusting yourself to use your words.
“Say it,” he demanded, his tone mocking and cruel, “Beg me again.”
“I want,” you gasped, feeling a little dizzy as his thumb found your clit again, “Please… Noah…”
“Please what, babe?” His cock slid along your wet folds, teasing your entrace with the broad head, making your brain malfunction, “Please… what?”
You fucking hated him. You hated that you couldn’t stop yourself. You hated that you didn’t want to stop.
“...Please, I need you… inside me.”
“God,” he groaned, his head falling back, running one hand through his messy hair, “You sound so fucking sweet when you’re needy.”
Then, with one hand guiding his cock, the other still holding him up, he leaned down to kiss you and pushed forward just enough for the fat tip to breach your entrance. You dug your nails into his shoulders, the stretch making you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Shit!” You groaned against his lips, already feeling your mind start to float away.
“Mm, that’s it baby. Just the tip.” He whispered against your ear, nipping at your neck as he held himself there, not moving. “Feel how big I am? This is all you’re getting. You’re too fucking tight to take the rest yet.”
You felt tears fill your eyes from the overwhelming stretch, but it only made you want more. You wanted all of him. He did feel huge, and although the stretch was almost unbearable, it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Oh, look at you,” he laughed softly, “This little pussy’s never had to work this hard before, huh?”
You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut again as he thrust forward barely an inch, then pulled out again.
“Mm, told you I’m fucking huge. You still think you can take it all?”
“Youre so- god, youre so cocky.” You shook your head, but you felt him smirk against your neck.
“I’m realistic, baby… look at you, whining and crying over just the head splitting you open!”
“Shut up.” You groaned, shame and pleasure both mixing together in your belly.
“Why?” He tased, rolling his hips again just enough for the stretch to steal your breath, “Am I wrong? You’re barely handling what I’m giving you, and I’ve got so much more waiting…”
You whimpered, your hips lifting helplessly to meet his.
“Gonna need to train you, princess.” He whispered, pressing himself just a little deeper, “I’m gonna have to stretch you out… get you nice and ready to take it all.” He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your skin again.
God, you wanted to put him in his place, make him shut up and stop being so damn full of himself- but your walls clenched around him, betraying you and earning a groan from him.
“Fuck… you like it, don’t you? Knowing you can’t take me, knowing how much bigger I am than all those toys you stuff inside yourself at night.”
“Shut up!” You forced out, but you could feel him grin against you.
“Baby, nothing else is gonna compare after this. All you’ll ever be able to think about is me.”
As if that wasn’t the truth already.
“Noah.. please, I-”
“Please what?” He asked through a grin, his cock twitching inside you, “Do you even know what you’re asking me for?”
“More..” You whimpered, rolling your own hips again like you could force it deeper.
“More?” He mocked as he slipped one hand beneath your shirt, “You sure, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” You nodded frantically, but he just chuckled and kissed the side of your neck again.
“Fuck, you’re begging to get split open when you can’t even take oneinch… you’re pathetic, babe.” He taunted as his hand slid up from your stomach to squeeze your tits.
“You’re so fucking mean.” You said, though it came out as more of a breath, making him smirk.
“And you’re dripping down my balls for it.” He pulled back just enough for his tip to catch at your entrance, then he pushed it in again, making you cry from the sudden stretch. “Oh, baby, feel how tight you are? Fuck, I almost feel bad for you.”
You whimpered, going out of your mind already. You didn’t give a fuck how needy or desperate you sounded any more as you buried your face in his neck.
“Please, please, Noah…” You sobbed.
“You still begging me for more? How much do you think you can take? You seriously think you could take it all?”
“I’ll… I’ll try.” You nodded, clinging to his shoulders.
“Mm, you’re sure? Cause once I start, I’m not stopping until you’re full.”
“Please.” You whispered one more time, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.
That’s when you felt it, he pushed in a little more, and then a little more. You gasped, the stretch a little painful, but so good you saw stars.
“Good girl, that’s it.” He whispered, “Take it all, like you’ve been begging for… feel me stretching you? That’s not even half of it yet… shit- I’m trying to be nice but it’s like your pussy’s trying to suck me in… you still want more?”
Why can’t he just shut the fuck up and fuck you?
“Yes,” you said, your eyes rolling back as he played with your clit again, “I… please…”
But being the asshole that he is, instead of giving you more, he pulled out completely, leaving you whining and pulsing around nothing. His cock slid wet against your clit, the tip nudging it as he rocked his hips, and yours chased him before you could even stop yourself.
“Ohh you are needy,” he teased, “Bet you’d hump my thigh if I let you, wouldn’t you?”
“Noah, stop fucking teasing or I swear-”
He positioned the head against your entrance again.
“You swear what, angel?”
“I’ll- ohmygodohmygod…” You drew in a sharp breath as he finally did it, the stretch went from overwhelming to unbearable pleasure, inch after inch sliding in until you felt so full it hurt.
“There you go, baby,” he grinned, “This what you wanted? Shit you’re squeezing me so tight I don’t know how long I’m gonna last…”
Your thighs shook as he slowly pulled back, before sliding in again. You almost choked on a moan, clinging to his body as you felt your mind float away with every thrust.
He started off slow, but his pace soon began to pick up, and with his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, you couldn’t help but clench around him, pulling almost pained sounds out of him. All you could do was lay there, and take all the mindblowing pleasure he was giving…
“I’m really not gonna last long, baby… not with you looking so pretty underneath me… bet you never thought we’d ever be here, huh?”
“Noah!” You tried to warn, but it came out as a whimper…
“Yes, baby? You want more?”
“No, I want you to stop fucking talking.”
He laughed at that, and shook his head.
“There’s only one way to shut me up, princess.”
Your eyes met his, then his drifted down to your lips, and you tangled your fingers into his hair as you pulled him down, your lips colliding with desperation, hate, frustration, need- everything he’s ever made you feel.
“Can feel you squeezing me,” he said as he pulled back, his voice raspy, “You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on your first real cock?”
You nodded, your hands cupping his face and bringing his lips back to yours.
“Let go for me, baby.” He whispered against your lips, and suddenly the feeling of his cock stretching you out, his fingers playing with your clit and his body on yours all became too much…
Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, you moaned into his mouth as you clenched around him again and again, your thighs trembling and your body melting further into the mattress.
“Fuckk-” He groaned, and you felt him twitch inside you.
Then he buried himself deep with one, long, hard, final thrust, making your body jolt, making you bite his lip so hard you could taste copper, and he spilled inside you.
He stayed there for a moment whilst the both of you caught your breath, long enough for you to stop clenching around him. You were both covered in a sheen of sweat, tears dried on your cheeks and Noah’s lips red and kiss swollen.
Slowly, Noah slid one hand down to your tummy, holding there as he slowly pulled out, the both of you wincing. He tucked himself back into his boxers and he pulled your shirt back down. He collapsed down on the mattress beside you, his breaths slowing whilst yours were still shaky and uneven.
You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had just happened. Because what the fuck…
Noah shifted beside you, you half expected him to roll over and pass out, confirming everything you’ve ever thought about him, but instead he broke the silence.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, his voice a little rough.
“Yeah,” you managed to breathe, “Just… exhausted.”
He smiled, propping himself up on one elbow, watching your face carefully.
“Hey,” he brushed a thumb along your cheek, tracing where one of your tears had dried, “You sure? That was a lot for you. You look… somewhere else. It wasn’t too much was it?”
“No,” you chuckled weakly, “I’m fine.”
He gave a small nod, then pushed himself back up, reaching for something behind him.
“Here.” He handed you his water from the nightstand, “Small sips.”
You hesitated before taking it with a simple thanks, but the simple gesture warmed your heart more than you wanted it to. You couldn’t imagine him treating all his girls like this. So have you underestimated him all this time? Was he more than just a fuckboy? Was he really a sweetheart deep down?
You took a few sips of the water, sitting up in the bed as he went to the bathroom. When he came back, he had a box of tissues with him.
“Do you want me to help you uh… clean up?” He nodded to where your legs were still slightly spread, they felt like jelly beneath you.
“It’s okay.” You shook your head, “I’ll do that. I should probably pee anyway.”
He nodded, placing the tissues down on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, good idea. I’ll, uh, get you a clean shirt if you want, I’m guessing that one got a little sweaty..”
You nodded, thanking him as you slid out of bed carefully, reaching for your discarded panties on the floor and feeling your legs tremble slightly as you made your way to the bathroom. When you closed the door behind you, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, and almost didn’t recognise the girl staring back- hair a mess, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. You shook it off, and continued with the task at hand.
By the time you came back out, Noah was digging through his tour bag. He had pulled out a top for you, one of his band's ones, and he nodded towards it.
“You can wear this if you want…”
You smiled, thanking him as you reached for it. You walked back over to your side of the bed, and turned away from him.
“Noah…”
“Yes?”
“Cover your eyes, please.”
“Babe, I’ve just been inside you.” He laughed, and you heard the thud as he tossed his tour bag back down onto the floor.
“I know, but…”
“Fine!” He chuckled, turning around too to give you your privacy as you changed from one of his shirts into another.
After a couple seconds you told him he could look again, and you climbed back into bed. He joined you, pulling back the covers and sliding in beside you… and then for a few seconds, neither of you spoke.
You were still trying to process everything in your head- how this was the one thing you swore would never happen… but now look at you. Then, your thoughts were interrupted as Noah cleared his throat.
“Uh,” he whispered, turning his head slightly towards you, “Do you wanna cuddle…? Or do you want some space?”
You glanced up at him, the question and softness of his voice melting your heart. But you didn’t reply, instead you shuffled closer to him, and he smiled as he slid his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head rest against his shoulder.
You felt safe, you felt taken care of, so you let your eyes close, your let your muscles relax, but before you could drift off, Noah spoke again, his voice a lot more sincere this time.
“Thank you.” He whispered.
“For what?” Your brows drew together as you tilted your head to look up at him.
“For trusting me like that.” He said simply. “For letting me be your first.”
You smiled, letting your eyes shut again.
“Don’t make it weird, Noah.”
He chuckled, his fingers finding yours under the sheets and lacing them together.
“There she is,” he smirked, kissing the back of your hand, “I knew I wouldn’t fuck the attitude out of you.”
“Shut up and go to sleep.” You groaned against his chest.
So Noah didn’t speak again after that, and he didn’t move. He just held you, his thumb brushing gentle circles over the back of your hand as you slowly drifted off together…
…
The next morning, sunlight crept through the gaps of the hotel blinds, painting warm stripes across the tangled sheets. You woke up first, or so you thought. Your body felt heavy and sore in places you didn’t know could be sore. When you tried to stretch, a quiet wince escaped you.
“Shit.” You whispered, pressing a hand to your thigh. “Noah, you bastard.”
“Good morning to you too.”
You turned your head and found Noah already awake, lying on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. His hair was a mess, and he looked far too pleased with himself.
“You’re staring, babe.” He said, his voice still gravelly from sleep.
“You’re far too smug for… 9am.”
“Can you blame me?” His grin spread slowly. “You’re walking evidence of how good I am.”
“Shut the fuck up.” You groaned, burying your face in the pillow.
He just laughed softly, then reached over and tugged the blanket up to your shoulders.
“You okay though? You’re making little noises every time you move.”
“I’m sore.” You admitted, your voice muffled against the pillow.
“Oh yeah?” He smirked, “Guess I really did a number on you, huh?”
You lifted your head just enough to glare at him.
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
“And you let me fuck you.”
You wanted to argue, to tell him to shut up again, but the way he was looking at you like he was completely unbothered by what happened last night, like nothing had to be weird or awkward now, made you feel relieved.
He rolled out of bed, stretching, his tattoos catching the morning light. Look away look away!!
“You want breakfast before we hit the road?” He asked, “Or should we get something on the way back?”
You sighed into the pillow, trying to will away both the ache in your thighs and the smugness radiating off the man standing half naked by the window.
“Let’s just eat here,” you said finally, your voice muffled. “There’s a cafe down by the lobby. I don’t think I’m ready to sit in the car yet, everything hurts.”
Noah chuckled, picking up his shirt from the floor.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a girl say that.”
You narrowed your tired eyes at him as you swung your legs off the side of the bed. Wincing as you stood, and he just smirked and handed you your jeans.
“C’mon, get dressed. Breakfast is on me, I think you’ve earned it.”
Asshole.
Ten minutes later, you were sitting across from him in the hotel cafe, trying very hard to act normal while your brain was working at a thousand miles per hour. You kept your eyes fixed on your plate, stirring your coffee to keep your hands busy.
Noah, of course, looked completely fine. Totally unbothered. Like this was just another Wednesday morning. His red beanie was back on his head, his elbows rested on the table as he took a bite out of his pancake, and he was scrolling through his phone like the two of you hadn’t just-
“Fuck… I guess I should probably book an sti test when we get back.”
He blinked, looked up, and frowned slightly.
“What?”
You shrugged, stabbing at your eggs.
“Well, you didn’t use protection, did you?”
“Oh yeah, about that… sorry. I didn’t have any on me.”
“Seriously?” Your eyes widened, “The guy who fucks anything that moves doesn’t keep an emergency stash on him?” You gave him a look.
“Hey,” he said, pretending to look offended. “First of all, that’s rude. Second, you don’t even need to worry about getting tested. I’m clean. I always use protection. Last night was actually the first time I’ve never used a condom… ever…”
You studied him for a second, waiting for some kind of smirk or joke, but there wasn’t one.
“Seriously?” Your eyes widened.
“Yes!” He chuckled, “Hell, I’ll even get tested if you don’t believe me. You think I’m not responsible? I take care of myself, sweetheart, and I’d never do anything that’d put you at risk.”
You didn’t really know what to say to that. So you just shrugged.
“Whatever, I’m still getting tested.”
“Good girl,” he said, grinning again as he reached for his coffee, “Your first time and you’re this responsible. I’m proud of you.”
You shot him a glare.
“Eat your damn pancakes, Noah.”
…
An hour later, you and Noah got back in the car and were on your way home. The ride started off quiet, not awkward, but rather peaceful. You had your legs curled up in the passenger seat, Noah’s hoodie draped over your lap like a blanket since you were complaining about being cold, yet Noah had all the windows down, claiming he was too hot.
He had one hand on the wheel, nodding along to whatever song was playing through the speakers. But an hour or so into the trip, he looked over at you.
“Hey, I didn’t realise you were still awake. D’ya wanna play DJ? My phone’s plugged in.”
You hesitated.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding toward his phone. “The passcode is 1234.”
“Of course it is.” You snorted, but smiled, grabbing his phone.
The moment the screen lit up, you saw all the notifications….
Molly: you back in town yet?
Taylor: i missed you last night :(
Unknown number: heyyy when do you get back? I was wondering if you were free tonight hehe
Your stomach turned before you could stop it. You knew who he was, what he was like. You knew this was just him... but somehow, seeing proof of it, especially after the night you just shared, still stung a little.
You forced a small laugh, trying not to let it show.
“Wow, you’re popular.”
“Huh?” He glanced over at you briefly, then back to the road.
“All the girls in your notifications,” you said, ignoring them as you found his spotify. “Impressive.”
He chuckled.
“Oh, that. Yeah, people get clingy.”
“Uh-huh.” You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out a little flat.
“Oh… are you jealous?” He smirked.
“Of what? The line of girls desperate to be ignored by you?”
“Hey, I don’t ignore them,” he said. “I’m a gentleman.”
You shook your head, but you didn’t look at him.
“You’ve got a really weird definition of that word.”
Noah grinned, sensing the tiny shift in your tone.
“Aw, come on, sweetheart. You’re not really mad, are you?”
“No! I’m not mad,” you said too quickly. “Why the fuck would I be mad? It’s not like I-” You cut yourself off, realising how defensive you sounded.
He chuckled under his breath.
“Mm right. You’re doing that thing again, babe.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend you don’t care when you obviously do.”
“Shut up, Noah.” You said before finding an album you liked, putting the first song on and turning the volume up enough to drown him out…
For a while, it was quiet again, except for the music playing. You watched out the window, watching the fields and trees pass by, the occasional gas station… but you could feel your eyes grow heavy again. And after a while, Noah glanced over and saw your head leaning against the window, your eyes finally falling shut.
“Tired?” He asked quietly.
“Mhm.” You hummed, your voice hazy.
He smirked.
“Not surprised after what we did last night.”
“You’re disgusting.” You said, opening your eyes just enough to glare at him.
“You say that a lot, y’know.”
“Yeah. Because it’s true.” You groaned, letting your eyes shut again as you heard him chuckle.
“Go to sleep, princess,” he said quietly after a moment, “I’ll wake you when we’re home.”
You wanted to protest, to tell him not to call you that, but the warmth of his voice and the tiredness taking over made it impossible. Within minutes, you were out.
Noah glanced at you again a few moments later, and he couldn’t help but smile.
…
The next day
When your alarm woke you up for work, you groaned. Not because you had to leave your warm, comfy bed, but because you’d have to face Noah again. And your uncle. You were sure he’d be questioning you about the last couple days, and how you and Noah coped with each other- which is why you were determined to get to the garage first, because you were scared of how much Noah might tell him, and how much he might lie about.
So you got up, took a shower and got dressed. You were supposed to shower last night after Noah dropped you home, but you were still so tired and still a little sore, so you just went straight back to bed. You still couldn’t believe you slept with him, after making a promise to yourself that you would never do that. But what you also couldn’t believe was that you enjoyed it… though it shouldn’t be a surprise, you’d been fantasising about it for weeks.
So, you got to work at 8am, you pushed the door open with one hand, your coffee in the other, and the bell on the door jingled above you. You were immediately hit with the smell of dust, coffee and engine oil, and it was weirdly comforting after the last two days you just had.
You tossed your bag down on to your desk, getting your laptop out and tried very hard not to think about Noah’s voice, or his hands, or most importantly his d-
“You made it back alive!” Your uncle grinned, making you jump as he appeared at the door, “How did it go? Is Noah still in one piece?” He chuckled.
You shrugged, already busying yourself with filing the paperwork left on your desk.
“The suppliers made a mistake again, but it’s fine. I handled it.”
Steve’s brows lifted, impressed.
“Handled it? Look at you! I’m proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks.” You smiled almost shyly, remembering Noah’s words. That’s my fucking girl!
Steve crossed his arms, resting against the counter where he kept the kettle and the coffee, and he gave you a look- the Steve look. The one that you knew meant he was about to ask something you didn’t want to answer.
“So,” he said casually, “How was it with Noah?”
“It was fine.” You said it too quickly, “He was… fine.”
Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Just fine? Because last time I checked, you can’t stand to be in the same room as him.”
“...Well, he did have his moments.” You shrugged.
“Uh huh,” he smirked, “So you two are finally getting along now? You finally confessed your feelings for him?”
You shot him a glare over your shoulder.
“I do not have feelings for him.”
“Sure, sure!” He grinned wider. “Y’know, I’ve had this feeling that you two are secretly in love ever since he started here, ever since I caught you looking at him, blushing and doe eyed and-”
“Oh my god, Steve, please stop.”
“Hey!” He chuckled, “I’m just saying, he’s a nice guy. I wouldn’t mind having him as a nephew-in-law.”
You laughed at that, shaking your head.
“As if that’s ever going to happen.”
“Oh yeahh, because you ‘hate’ him, right? That’s why you’re smiling right now.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.”
“Steve!!”
“Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.” He laughed, backing toward the garage bay.
You rolled your eyes, but as soon as he disappeared through the door, you caught your reflection in the black screen of your laptop.
And he was right. You were smiling.
…
The door to your office creaked open just after nine, the bell above ringing as the sound of boots hitting the floor caught your attention. You didn’t even need to look up from your laptop to know who it was.
“Morning, princess.”
You looked up over the top of the screen and, yep, there he was!
Noah came in with messy hair sticking out from his beanie, a grey tshirt and… he looked tired? More than tired actually, he looked exhausted.
“You look awful.” You pointed out, turning back to your work.
He snorted, tossing his keys onto your desk.
“Yeah, thanks sweetheart. Love the concern.”
“You’re welcome.”
He wandered over to the counter, taking a mug from the cupboard and rubbing his jaw as he let out a long sigh.
“Late night?” You asked, not because you cared- at least that’s what you told yourself- but because silence around him always felt suspicious.
“Mmhm.” He grinned lazily. “I had some… catching up to do.”
“Catching up?”
He looked over his shoulder at you, his grin widening in that infuriatingly smug way.
“Yeah, y’know. Had a few girls that wanted to see me, and who am I to say no… I think I might’ve overdone it though.”
“Ew.” You grimaced with a shake of your head.
“Ew?” He laughed, “That’s all I get?”
“What do you want me to say? Congratulations?” You scoffed, trying to act unbothered.
Noah chuckled under his breath.
“Y’know, jealousy really doesn’t suit you, babe.”
You turned, eyebrows raised.
“Why do you always seem to think I’m jealous?”
“Mm, maybe not jealous then. You’re just mad I didn’t come back to tuck you in last night, huh?”
You shot him a glare, but didn’t say anything. You just typed away on your keyboard, trying to distract yourself.
Noah was quiet for a moment whilst he made his coffee, though you felt it every time he glanced over at you. Then, he picked up his mug, and his voice softened as he asked…
“You sleep okay last night?”
The question threw you off.
“What?”
“Last night,” he said, shrugging casually, though his tone wasn’t teasing now. “You slept all the way home, and you looked wiped when I dropped you off.”
“Yeah,” your brows furrowed, confused at his sudden care? “I slept fine… unlike you, clearly.”
He chuckled at that, taking a sip of his drink.
“Babe, you could hardly last one round with me the other night. Try going three rounds, with three different people- and no sleep, I’m running on nothing but pussy and redbull this morning.”
“God, you’re so fucking gross. And you told me I don’t need to get tested?” You grimaced.
Noah grinned over the rim of his mug.
“You don’t! I told you, I’m clean.”
You blinked at him, disbelief written all over your face.
“You literally just said you slept with three people last night.”
He shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Yeah, and I used protection with all of them.”
“Oh, wow! Do you want a medal?” You shot back sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t say no to one.” He smirked, walking past your desk.
“You’re so fucking irritating.” You groaned under your breath.
“Mmhm, I prefer ‘experienced’.” He shot back, making you roll your eyes.
“It’s actually painful to be around you sometimes.”
“You sure that’s pain you’re feeling, sweetheart? ’Cause it kinda looks like you’re remembering… you rolled your eyes like that for me the other night, too.”
You froze, just for a second, but he saw it.
That smug, knowing little glint lit in his eyes again.
“I’m not-” you started, then stopped, because the look on his face was too much. You huffed, and turned away from him completely. “You’re such an ass, Noah.”
He just chuckled quietly behind you, taking another slow sip of his coffee.
“Yep, but you love it.”
You scoffed, forcing a laugh.
“In your dreams.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned in just enough that his voice dropped low, playful and a little rough. “You are in my dreams.”
Your jaw tightened, but your face felt hot.
“Just- fuck! Get to work, Noah.”
He grinned and pushed off your desk, finally giving you space.
“Okay, okay...”
As he walked away, you tried to focus on the laptop screen in front of you, on anything that wasn’t him, the way he looked so confident as he stepped into the garage, or the sound of his voice. But your mind wouldn’t quiet down.
Because even when Noah was being the most insufferable human alive… some stupid part of you still kind of missed the way he’d looked at you that night, the way he’d touched you like you were the only person in the world.
You couldn’t tell who you hated more, him or your brain.
…
“Jess… I messed up.” You frowned, sitting down on the closed toilet lid in the garage bathroom.
It was now half way through the day, and you weren’t sure how you managed to survive this long. Every time Noah laughed with a customer or brushed past you to grab a form from the desk, your stomach did a little flip. You tried to focus, but all you could think about was that night in the hotel… and you just needed to tell somebody.
“…Oh my god. What did you do?” Jess asked.
You lowered your voice even though no one could hear you from outside.
“I… fuck it sounds so stupid!” You groaned into your hand. You tried to think of a way to break it gently, something that didn’t sound as blunt as- “...I had sex with Noah.”
“I- you did WHAT?”
“I slept with him!” You groaned. “It just kinda happened, okay? We were on a trip to the suppliers and we had to share a hotel room and there was only one bed and-“ You stopped, shaking your head. “One thing just led to another….”
“...You slept with the guy you’ve been complaining about since the day you met? The guy you supposedly hate?!”
“Fuck, I know. Don’t remind me.”
“Oh, babe.” You could practically hear her grin through the phone. “Was it at least good?”
You threw your head back with a groan.
“Jess!!”
“Mmhm. That’s a yes.”
“But now I don’t know what to do, because he’s just out there acting like everything's normal, like nothing ever happened, and I… I don’t know what to do from here.”
Jess hummed.
“Okay. Just keep calm… don’t overthink it. I need to get to work in two minutes, so go and finish your shift, then come over tonight and we can talk all about it? Okay?”
“Okay.” You nodded even though she couldn’t see you. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Good! I finish at 7 so… see you then?”
“See you then.” You said with a smile, before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.
With a long sigh, you got back up and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You could not let him know the effect he is having on you. You’d never hear the end of it. So you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and went back out to your office- trying (and failing) not to glance at Noah the second you stepped out.
No. Stop. Limit your distractions, shut the door.
So you did. Before sitting at your desk, you reached over and shut the door leading into the garage, but that didn’t stop you from seeing him in your head.
…
Surprisingly, Noah had been busy the rest of the day, so he didn’t have time to come and bother you- that or he was genuinely so tired after his eventful night and fell asleep out there. Either way, you didn’t see him again until you were getting ready to leave.
It was 5pm, so you slipped your laptop into your bag, picked up the few rogue staples that were scattered on your desk and reached for your jacket, hoping to sneak off before Steve pestered you about overtime to make up for the last two days- but then the door opened…
“Heading out?” Noah asked, leaning against the doorframe as he wiped his hands off on a rag.
“Yep.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder.
“What, Steve isn’t making you work overtime too?” He smirked. “I’m staying behind, you don’t wanna give your favourite coworker some company?”
“Trust me,” you scoffed, “I’ve had enough of my ‘favourite coworker’ for one lifetime.”
He nodded his head, clearly not convinced.
“Got any plans for tonight?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I do, actually.” You said.
“Oh yeah?” He smirked, “You going to see your other friend… what was her name, Jess?”
“You…” You froze, confused as to how he knew, “How did you know I’m going to see Jess?”
He grinned.
“Because you always do when you’re stressed, or when you want to talk about me. And after the other night, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to tell her. Make sure she knows you came first, I have a reputation for being a gentleman.”
You screwed your face up.
“You’re sick.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But if the memory makes you horny and you wanna go again… you know where to find me, babe.”
You scoffed, shaking your head as you reached for the door and left.
God, I hate him, you thought as you got into your car- but the heat in your cheeks said otherwise.
…
“Okay,” Jess began, pouring you a glass of wine, “I need all the details! Was it good? Surely he was, but-”
“Jess!” You groaned, burying your face in your hands.
“What?!” She grinned, “You fucked a hot guy- a hot guy that you hate- and I need to know what happened! Was he rough or soft? Did he moan? Was he vocal?”
“Vocal? He didn’t shut up,” you shook your head, reaching for your glass, “He was saying all these things that seemed so hot in the moment, but thinking back just makes me cringe!”
“Oh yeah?” She gasped, “Like what?”
“You seriously want me to repeat what he said during sex?” You asked, shooting her a look.
“...Yeah?” She shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world!
You groaned, setting your glass down on the table and adjusting yourself so you were sat with your legs crossed on her couch.
“He spent most of the time telling me how I wouldn’t be able to take his ‘massive’ dick…” You said flatly, making Jess almost spit out her drink.
“And was it… y’know… big?”
“I don’t know, I have nothing to really compare it to…”
“Hm, I guess. Size never usually matters too much, but did he know what he was doing with it?” She smirked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a long, defeated sigh.
“He did,” you said, “It was good… too good. He knew just where to hit and what to touch and where to kiss and… fuck-”
She just giggled, placing her glass down on the table beside yours.
“So what’s the deal with you two now then? Have you asked him about being friends with benefits or more, or…?”
“I don’t know,” you confessed. “I told him I wanted to do that more with him, but that was basically it. We haven’t really talked about it properly yet…”
Jess frowned.
“You mean you just-”
“Yeah.” You cut her off quickly. “We just… did it, and then he was really sweet after, and the next morning he was just… normal Noah again. Same old teasing, same stupid smirk, same smartass comments. I didn't really expect anything else though.”
“So no post sex heart to heart?” She teased gently. “No love confessions or anything?”
“God, no. I don’t even know if he does that.” You sighed. “But that’s what’s so confusing. I thought it would be weird after, awkward maybe, but it wasn’t. He checked on me, he was gentle, he made sure I was okay, and then the next day he was making jokes about it, like nothing had changed.”
Jess watched you quietly for a moment.
“Okay, but what do you want from him?”
You looked at her, caught off guard.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged.
“Well, you’d always talk about him like you hate him, but I can tell you don’t. Not really. So if you could pick… just say it. What would you actually want this to be?”
You hesitated, your mouth opening and closing before you finally whispered,
“I don’t know. I mean… I know he’s not the relationship type. I’d be stupid to even think that. But at the same time, I don’t want to feel like just another girl to him. He came into work this morning and started bragging about how he fucked three girls last night?!”
Jess softened a little.
“I see… so you do want him, right? But he doesn’t do relationships, and you don’t want to get hurt.”
You gave a small, bitter laugh.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
She nodded slowly, swirling her wine.
“You really need to talk to him about that. You need to tell him how you feel, what you want from him, what you want to offer him… and then set some boundaries around it.”
You stared at the rim of your glass, chewing on your bottom lip.
“I don’t know if he even thinks that deep about it. I don’t know if he even thinks that deep about anything. He’d probably just think I’m like any other girl in his contacts asking for sex.”
“Then make him think about it.” Jess smiled softly. “If he really doesn’t care, you’ll know. But if he does…”
You looked up at her, a flicker of something nervous, but also a little hopeful in your eyes.
“If he does?”
“Then you’ll finally know what this thing between you actually is… because it doesn’t sound like you're just any other girl to him. It never has.”
You leaned back, your heart twisting in your chest.
“Yeah,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Guess I will.”
The two of you sat in quiet for a moment, music playing quietly in the background, wine glasses half empty. Jess finally broke the silence with a grin.
“So. Are you gonna call him?”
You groaned, throwing your head back.
“Absolutely not.”
Jess laughed.
“You need to talk to him though. Maybe not tonight… but you should.”
“I know,” you sighed, “It’s just difficult to try and talk to him about something serious. He’ll just use it to make fun of me or something.”
Jess chuckled.
“Yknow, I’ve still not met him yet.”
“Good,” you scoffed, “You don’t want to. He’s insufferable.”
“So insufferable that you’re freaking out over how much you want him.”
“Don’t put it that way.” You frowned. “You make me sound like Zach.”
“…Oh, uh… yeah, about him…”
You shot her a glare, narrowing your eyes.
“What? What is it?”
“…So y'know how he moved in with Sam recently.”
“…Yes?”
“He’s going to be at his halloween party.”
“Jess!” You groaned, “No! I’m not going to that party if that creep is there. Last time we went to a party and he was there he wouldn’t stop telling me how I smelled nice and kept trying to kiss me!”
“I know, I know.” Jess frowned, “It’s not my idea, if it was my choice I’d have never let him move in, but Sam needed someone… but I have an idea.”
“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like it?” You frowned.
“Because you might not, but it’ll work!”
“Jess-”
“Just hear me out, okay? I thought that maybe if you brought a date with you, he’ll be sure to keep his distance!”
“A date?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a date. Because I won’t be going.”
“No!!” She pouted, “Please!”
“Who the fuck would I bring? Glenn from the garage?!”
“No… I was thinking maybe someone taller, someone hotter… someone who wouldn’t mind pretending for one night.”
“Jess, do I look like someone with an abundance of options?”
“I can think of one.” She said with a little smirk as she took a sip from her glass, and you immediately knew where this was going- where this had been going.
“...No. Jess, no!” You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch.
“Hey you don’t even know who I’m-”
“You mean Noah, don’t you?”
Jess gave you a little, shy smile.
“I mean Noah.” She said, putting her glass back down on the table, “It sounds like the two of you act like a couple anyway. He’s hot, he’s protective when he wants to be and he already drives you insane- sounds just like me and Sam!”
You thought about it for a moment. You asked yourself what you would rather- a night spent getting hit on by Zach, feeling uncomfortable and leaving early… or a night spent with Noah by your side. You already knew he’d say yes if you asked. But you also knew the “date” act wouldn’t be entirely convincing, since he’d probably spend most of the night flirting with any girl in sight.
“This is such a bad idea…” You said with a long sigh, and Jess grinned like the fucking devil.
“So you’re saying yes!!”
“I’m saying maybe.”
“Hmm, so that’s a yes!” She giggled, “Yay! I can’t wait to meet him!”
You shook your head in disbelief, wondering how the fuck were you agreeing to this.
“Has Maya told you whether she’s coming or not yet?”
“Uh… she won’t give me a straight answer. She said she might have plans, apparently it’s one of her other friends' birthdays on halloween.”
You scoffed, knowing that was most definitely just an excuse to get out of going.
“Yeah, right. Maya doesn't even have any other friends.”
…
You had spent the rest of last night and all of this morning wondering how the hell you were going to ask Noah to come to a party with you. You were sure he’d already have plans, he was always at parties- even on work nights. This is why you had to ask him now. Halloween was still a couple weeks away, so maybe if you asked first there was more of a chance he’d agree? Right?
You sure hoped so. The last thing you wanted to do was look like a fucking idiot in front of him.
“Morning, princess. Missed me?” He smirked as he strolled in late as usual, tossing his car keys down onto your desk.
You didn’t even look up from your laptop.
“I missed the peace and quiet.”
“Aw,” he cooed, “You’re cute when you lie, y’know.”
You sighed, glaring up at him.
“Don’t start, Noah.”
He laughed under his breath and went to the counter, rifling through some papers.
“You’re tense today, babe. What’s got you all wound up?”
You, you wanted to say.
Instead, you rolled your chair back and stood.
“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.”
“Hmm.” He turned around, leaning against the counter. “Too busy thinking about me, huh?”
You said nothing to that, you just ignored him, waiting for the printer to print out your form.
“Hey,” Noah said a little softer, “What’s up? I can tell something's on your mind.”
“Nothing’s on my mind!” You snapped, only making him smirk.
“Sure, sure,” he chuckled, “You know where I am if you want to talk about it, sweetheart.”
He headed towards the door to the garage, and you weighed it over in your mind, but before you could stop yourself you called out,
“Noah, wait.” You sighed, letting your eyes fall shut, knowing he’d be smirking already.
“I’m waiting, babe.”
“...There’s something I need to ask you.” You said, turning around to face him.
“Oh, this sounds fun.” He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Hit me.”
“So, Jess’s boyfriend, Sam, is throwing a halloween party…”
“Oh, and you’re telling me this.. why?” He smirked, “You need someone to pick you up?”
“...No. Actually yeah, maybe, but… this guys gonna be there, I don’t like him, he’s a massive creep and he seems to be obsessed with me-”
“What’s his name?”
You blinked at him, thrown off by how fast he asked.
“What?”
“What’s his name?” Noah repeated, his tone sharper this time, and the smirk had faded, replaced by something that was almost a little scary.
“He’s called Zach.”
He nodded once, like he was committing it to memory.
“Right… and what’s his deal exactly?”
“He’s just creepy and weird…” You rubbed your arm, “Whenever we go to the same party he’ll spend the whole time trying to talk to me, he tried to kiss me last time we were in the same room and he just never seems to get the hint.”
Noah’s jaw flexed as he folded his arms across his chest.
“And Jess’s boyfriend is friends with this guy?”
“They’re housemates. I don’t think Sam knows how creepy he is.”
“Right,” Noah nodded, “So carry on, you’re going to a party and a strange guy's gonna be there, and…?”
You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little small under his stare.
“...And Jess suggested maybe I bring someone with me, to scare him off.”
Something shifted in his expression at that, something a little lighter. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave a small, humourless laugh.
“So you want me to come and play bodyguard boyfriend?”
You huffed, shaking your head and turning back to the printer.
“No. Forget it, it was stupid to even-”
“Hey,” he reached for your arm, spinning you back around, “I didn’t say no. I just wanted to make sure I heard you right.”
You looked up at him, swallowing hard, your heart racing despite your best efforts.
“Yeah. I just thought that maybe if you came with me, he’d finally back off.”
Noah stared at you for a moment, before his lips curved into a little smirk, but this one felt different.
“Okay,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Yeah. I’ll come with you.”
“Really?” You asked, almost a little shocked.
“Yeah,” he shrugged casually, “If some weird guy’s been bothering you, you think I’m gonna let that slide? You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
You furrowed your brows at him, surprised by how sincere he sounded.
“Noah…”
“No, don’t get sentimental on me, babe. I’m just not gonna let some loser stare at what’s mine all night.”
“Yours?” You raised a brow, your tummy fluttering stupidly.
“As your fake boyfriend, obviously.” He said quickly, but the little smirk that followed told you he knew exactly what he was doing. “So when is this thing?”
“...On halloween. It’s a halloween party.” You said flatly.
You watched him bite his lip, like he was thinking, or hesitating… though it only lasted a moment.
“Okay. I’ll make sure I’m all yours that night.” He smirked.
“Thank you.” You said, your words genuine even if they came out a little more quiet than you wanted.
“No problem,” he smirked, “But y’know, if I’m doing this- if we’re doing this… I have a couple conditions...”
“Oh god, here we go.” You groaned.
“First of all, you’ve gotta call me babe all night.”
Your eyes widened in fear.
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He said, tilting his head, “If we’re pretending to be a couple, we’ve gotta sell it. We can’t have this creep thinking we're just friends, or worse… coworkers!”
“You’re an idiot.” You snorted, but you couldn’t help the little smirk creeping up on your lips.
“And second, I get to pick our costumes.”
“No!!”
“C’mon! If we’re going to a halloween party as a couple then we have to dress up! I’ll pick you something out.”
“Pfft,” you shook your head, “Choosing what I get to wear, making me call you babe, what next? You gonna keep me in the kitchen and make me raise your five kids?!”
“Of course not! I’m a feminist.” He said proudly.
“Mm, sure.” You rolled your eyes, sitting back down at your desk. “Just don’t put me in anything slutty, Noah.”
He smiled, far too innocently.
“Would I ever do that to you?”
“Yes.”
…
Noah: hey babe what size are you
A few days had passed, it was now Sunday afternoon and you stared at the message on your phone, confused for a solid five seconds before texting back.
You: ?
Noah: i said what size are you?? can’t you read??
You: y’know its kinda rude to ask a woman what size she is…
Noah: hey it’s not like i give a fuck about what size you are
Noah: i just need to know because i’m costume shopping 🙂
You: NO
Noah: YES
Noah: NOW TELL ME OR I’LL HAVE TO GUESS
You sighed and told him, already regretting asking him to come with you.
You spent the rest of the day half panicking, half curious about what he could possibly choose for you. He wasn’t going to tell you what he got, he wasn’t even going to tell you what he was going to be, but when there was a knock at your door the next night, you had some kind of idea as to who it was.
And you were right. You opened the door to Noah, standing there with a smug grin, holding a glossy back bag.
“No… I don’t like that face, or whatever is in that bag.”
“Relax, babe,” he said, stepping into your home, “I come bearing gifts.”
He dropped the bag down on your coffee table and you eyed him suspiciously as you shut the door.
“What is it?”
“Look for yourself.” He said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You swallowed hard as you stepped over towards the table and reached into the bag…
“NOAH! I TOLD YOU NOTHING SLUTTY!!”
He chuckled, sitting down on your couch like he owned the damn place.
“I know,” he smirked, “But c’mon, it looks hot, right?”
“It’s… blasphemous!”
“It’s an erotic nun, babe. Don’t you think it’s ironic, since you-”
You shot him a glare, which seemed to shut him up.
“There is no way I’m wearing this shit.”
The outfit- if you could call it that- was basically just a low cut black body suit with a tiny skirt attached, and a veil.
“If Zach sees me in this I-”
“If Zach sees you in this then he’ll respect your boundaries, because you should be allowed to wear whatever the fuck you want and not have to worry about guys like him.” Noah said, crossing his arms. “Clothes do not equal consent, sweetheart.”
You hated when he made comments like that, because it made it hard to hate him.
“I know that,” you said, trying to ignore how his words made you feel, “But I don’t even want to wear that!”
“Hey, you might change your mind once you’ve tried it on! Oh- and I’m not leaving here until you do.” He smirked.
“You asshole,” you shook your head, shoving the clothes back into the bag, “So what are you gonna be? The devil?”
He shrugged.
“Close.”
“Close?”
“I’m gonna be your hot priest… now c’mon, I’ve not got all day, babe.”
You scoffed, picking the bag up.
“Why? Who are you hooking up with tonight?”
“Oh, there’s no hookup tonight. I’ve got some songs to record.”
“Bad Omens?”
“Yup.” He nodded, “We’ve almost finished recording our first album. It’s gonna be sick.”
“I’m sure it is…” You said, before disappearing off into the bathroom with the bag.
When you stepped back out a few minutes later, the air in the room seemingly changed. Noah looked up from his phone, and for once, he didn’t have anything smart to say.
He just blinked, slow and stunned, and then a small, crooked grin crept back onto his face.
“Well, holy shit,” he gasped.
You folded your arms over your chest, trying to cover up at least a little skin.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything!” He said quickly, though the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him. His eyes swept down and back up again, and for once he didn’t even try to hide it. “You look… wow.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
“It’s ridiculous. I look ridiculous.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, still very much staring. “You look sinful. Which, I guess, is kinda the point.”
“You’re such an ass.” You said, shoving at his shoulder as you walked past him, but he caught your wrist for just a second, enough for your pulse to race before he let go.
“You’re blushing.” He grinned softly.
You froze.
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.” He was smiling now, but it wasn’t the usual cocky smirk, it was smaller, quieter, the type that made your stomach do that stupid flip. “You really don’t see what I see, do you?”
That shut you up.
“Serioulsy, you look… unreal. I don’t even have the words.”
“Right, and when do I get to see Father Noah?” You tilted your head.
paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)
summary: it quickly becomes apparent leaving to protect yourself and Steve does anything but that. if only it didn’t take a life threatening situation for you to understand. // MDNI 🔞
WC: 10.7k
includes: angst. hurt/comfort. not quite smut but there’s some Suggestive Activities™️ occurring here. fluff. blood (and very mild blood play). language. gentle reminders: vampires by lore are unnaturally strong, please keep that in mind during certain parts, Steve affectionately calls reader ‘angel’, and reader has no physical description, but she has specific personality traits. if any of this bothers you— this is not the fic for you.
masterlist // vampire vibes playlist
A/N: this part has the scene I wrote that originally kicked off this fic, so I’m really excited to share it with y’all!! like the tags say, it’s not quite smut, but we couldn’t jump into that without a lil’ foreplay, eh? 😏 thank you to everyone who has read so far!! hope y’all like reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 (title is from mean - health, chelsea wolfe / divider from @/strangergraphics!)
‘I can't fake it, I can't sleep / this fantasy I can't escape
clouded mind, haunted lover / doomed to want, can't get enough’
In the first 24 hours since leaving the funeral home, and leaving Steve behind, you come home to a message on your answering machine.
Dropping your grocery bags carelessly to the counter, you drag your feet over to the machine, hitting play. You rub your eyes, completely spent from not sleeping well the night prior— whatever effect Steve had on helping you sleep must’ve broke when you left him behind.
The automated voice reads out the time and date of the call as you begin putting groceries away. There’s an awkward cough on the voicemail, followed by a hesitant, familiar voice speaking out your name.
Eddie?
Your hands freeze in the paper bag, hyper-focusing on the answering machine.
“Uh, hey, kid. I didn’t know you were leaving, sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. Steve won’t tell me shit, as usual, just that you quit… so… hope you’re okay. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
The tape stops, leaving you alone in an empty, soulless apartment, tears slipping down your face and into the bag of food. You know Eddie’s being honest that Steve won’t tell him what happened, because he says “we’re here for you”.
And with the way you abandoned Steve, abandoned something that could’ve continued to flourish, abandoned a job you actually loved, there’s no way Steve would want to hear from you again.
After all, that silent, hidden, yet comforting presence you could feel most sleepless nights, lulling you into safe, restful dreams, had vanished completely.
It was only fair, after all— Steve gave up on you, the way you gave up on him.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The next evening, you miss a call during your shower. The little blinking red light catches your attention as you leave the bathroom, wrapped in your robe.
Changing into pajamas can wait; you hit play, allowing the machine to give you the time and date before Eddie begins addressing you again.
“Steve’s too chickenshit to call after whatever the fuck happened, but he wants you to know you can come grab your stuff whenever you’re ready, no rush. If it helps, I can pick it up and drop it off. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s been a miserable son of a bitch ever since you left. That’s— I’m not saying it’s your fault. Whatever he did or said, though, he sure as fuck won’t forgive himself for, so uh… just really hope you’re okay.”
Silence fills the room, but the tape rolls on for a few seconds before Eddie sighs.
“Sorry for this. Hope you’re taking care of yourself, kid.”
The tape clicks off, and you’re left with your mind and heart treading in a sea of emotions.
You’re lost, you’re angry, you’re depressed, and you hate that Steve seems to be blaming himself for you leaving. He didn’t drive you away, you left out of pure cowardice, masked in the excuse of protecting you both.
Instead, you’re both left wounded and heartbroken.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The third night goes by silently, and you consider that to be the end of Eddie reaching out on behalf of Steve.
On the fourth night, though, Eddie leaves another voicemail, one you’re around to hear in real time while mindlessly watching TV, but can’t bring yourself to pick up mid-recording.
“So, uh… I really hope I’ve been calling the right number, otherwise this message is gonna sound fuckin’ nuts… if it’s not the right number, you heard nothing.”
That nearly brings a faint smile to your face, until Eddie says:
“Steve’s not feeding. I don’t think he has in days… and the, um,” Eddie coughs dramatically, “‘supply’ doesn’t stay fresh for long… he keeps telling me he’s not hungry.”
Your heart drops. Steve, from what he shared, didn’t like to take blood from the living, and you knew it was only a matter of time before blood of the deceased goes bad. Really bad.
“I know losing Robin hit him hard, but…” he grumbles some curses under his breath. “I think losing you in the same night is really doing a number on him.”
Bile rises in your throat; you never once considered how leaving in the same night that Robin died could mar his heart so heavily. He lost his best friend, his platonic soulmate, and then he loses you hours after confessing his truth, his feelings…
Oh, god. What have I done?
“Look, you don’t owe us shit right now, sure as fuck don’t owe anything to Steve… but I don’t know what to do or how to help him... and I know he means a lot to you, too, so I thought you should know about this.”
You could pick up the phone, grab it before Eddie hangs up, tell him everything and return to help Steve— but you’re frozen solid in your chair. By fear? Rejection? You’re unsure. You should pick up, or call back the moment his message ends, but you can’t.
There’s a sound of rustling, and in the distance you can hear footsteps bounding closer, with Steve yelling, “Eddie, I swear to god if you’re calling her again—“
“Dude! She has a right to know!”
“Fucking— give me that!“ there’s a slight struggle, a grunt, before you assume Steve takes the phone, voice closer, painfully crystal clear. “I don’t want to drag her down anymore!”
The call clicks onto dead air, whirring the tape to a halt. The TV drones on in the background, overshadowed by your shallow, panicked breaths.
Is that what he thinks? Is that what I made him think? He’s dragging me down? I fucked up, I fucked up so badly—
You find the strength to stumble out of your chair, clambering over to phone, but your hand hovers, fear holding you back again.
You could clearly hear how wounded he feels, just in that quick exchange. Would calling even help? Or would it make things worse?
He won’t want to hear from me, and I don’t blame him.
Reluctantly, you back away from the phone, eventually crawling into bed.
Steve’s words haunt you for the remainder of the night, keeping you in a restless state until dawn.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
You’re struggling to stay upright, afraid to even pour yourself some coffee and drop the pot out of pure exhaustion.
It’s morning, and you’re not sure if you slept a little or just imagined you did within your deprived state. So when the phone rings, it doesn’t register in your mind until two rings before the answering machine picks up. When Eddie frantically rambles, it takes you a minute to realize it’s morning.
He’s never up at this hour, neither is Steve, and now knowing the truth you understand why, so it’s alarming he’s calling so early.
“Kid, listen, I- I‘m going away for a bit, once night falls. I asked Steve if he needed me to stay but he wants me gone anyway.” A ragged sigh laced with frustration at best deflates out of Eddie. “I’m not telling you what to do, or what not to do, but just… be careful if you stop by to grab your shit, okay? If you decide to check on him, keep your distance.”
Fear slips back into your heart, pounding in your chest.
“He’s… he’s not himself right now. He won’t be until he feeds, and I can’t force him to. Trust me. I tried once back in ‘67, it was fuckin’ horrible.”
You’d laugh at his anecdote if this wasn’t so serious.
“Steve wouldn’t hurt you, though. I’m freaked out he’ll do something stupid in front of you, but never to you. He cares about you way too much.”
How could he still care? After what I’ve done to him?
“Here’s the number for where I’m staying…” Eddie rattles off a sequence of digits for you. “Call if anything gets worse. Stay safe, kid.”
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The sixth day, the phone rings mid-afternoon, you allow the answering machine to do its job while you attempt to focus on a book you’re reading, but you’ve been stuck on page 29 for a half hour now.
Heavy, shivering breaths rattle out of the speakers and through your apartment. It’s enough to make you jump, sending your heart racing. Your breath hitches as you wait for the caller to speak up.
It’s not Eddie this time.
“A- angel?”
Tears spring to your eyes— Steve sounds so fragile right now, the complete opposite of how he carries himself normally.
“Fuck, shouldn’t call you that anymore… m’sorry.” He’s slurring a little, as if he’s just your average human who had one too many drinks. Any hint of formality in his speech has vanished. “I should’ve kept everything to myself, but I was selfish. I’m so sorry.”
You throw the book aside, swinging your legs off the couch to stare down the answering machine across the room.
“Don’t worry about your credits, I’ll make sure you still get those, but you don’t have to come back… I’d love to have you back…but that’s not— you—“
Steve shudders out something akin to a sob; you can just picture his blood red tears, and it makes you sick.
You are the reason he feels so broken.
“If you come by to pick up your belongings, I’ll stay out of your way,” he promises. “Thank you… for being a part of my life, if only for a blip in time. I’m grateful you even gifted me that.”
No one, platonic or romantic, has ever talked to you this way, talked about your connection to them this way.
You royally fucked up leaving him that night.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you sleep anymore… but I hope you can still find sweet dreams.” He takes one final breath, and you finally find the courage to rush to the machine, ready to pick up and apologize left and right. Before you can reach the phone, he murmurs, “Goodbye, angel.”
The tape clicks off, just as your fingertips hit the phone.
Maybe this was beyond repair. Maybe not. The only way to find out is to try.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Not one light is on inside the funeral home.
It took more time than you’d have liked— after 9 days of moping, avoiding calls, crying over voicemails, and dreading what’s to come, you reluctantly return, ready to pick up the rest of your belongings, and drop off your key to this former workplace you loved dearly.
Love. Still present tense. Strange to say about a place filled with death, but there’s more heart within this building than out in the real world.
There’s more heart within Steve than normally found in living beings.
The lights inside the home are always on, even if only dim. An unsettling feeling washes over you the moment you step through the front door. Some dull light peeks through the curtains, the grey kind on a cloudy day that can’t kill Steve; it only makes him ill if he’s out in that diffused light for too long.
You knew Eddie was on vacation, but Steve should still be here— he lives right upstairs anyway.
“… Hello?”
Nothing.
The door to Steve’s office is open, and you can make out a figure in the shadows, but barely.
“Steve?”
You allow your eyes to adjust to the light; he’s slumped over in his chair, head resting on his desk. He gives a weak grunt in return.
“What’s going on?”
“You need to leave,” He rasps out, sounding pained. It only urges you to move closer to him. “Don’t—“
“I just wanted to grab the rest of my stuff and drop off the key.” You keep your voice soft, calm, unsure what could trigger him further into whatever has him so weak and bitter. “Will you be alright?”
He slides his palms along the ebony wood desk, nails scraping into the dark surface as he pushes himself up with all the strength in his body. You rush to flip on a light, but he cries out in agony.
“Turn it off!”
Catching a glimpse of his face in the light, he looks like hell. His features are more gaunt, sickly pale than ever before; he appears as if he could wither away any second.
“I said off!” He slams his hands down on the desk, but it comes out as a weak slap instead. “Turn them off!”
You flip the switch while his anger grows, breaths falling ragged.
“I- I’m sorry.” You rush over to him, leaning over the desk to reach out for him, but he shoves your hands away, collapsing into the desk chair again. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter—“
“No. Don’t start that.” His attitude is dissolving your patience within seconds. “Tell me what happened, right now.”
“Did you forget how to listen? I said—“
You grab his face, firm hold, but not rough, just like he’s done to you before; his distant stare trails back to you with the exchange of control.
“And I said tell me what happened. Right. Now.” He’s unbearably cold, unlike anything you’ve felt before on his skin. It almost hurts, as if your fingers were shoved in snow for far too long. “You’re clearly unwell, Steve. What the hell is going on?”
Steve’s bottom lip trembles, just enough to catch it in the limited light.
“It hurts.”
Your expression softens, pitying him. “What hurts?”
“No more bodies.” His weak answer clicks for you immediately.
“Are you saying…” Eddie didn’t mention this in the messages. “Shit.” You fumble around in the dark to grab your sunglasses out of your bag, shoving them at Steve. “Put these on, I need to turn the light—“
“No!”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do right now.” Stomping across the room, you flip the switch, and Steve hisses, as if you shoved him directly into sunlight. Never have you heard such a sound leave him before. “Put them on, ‘cause I need the damn light to see what’s wrong.”
Viewing him in the light churns your stomach; normally, he’s pretty pale, but his skin is worn thin, transparent enough to see his strained veins with ease. Circles dark as night, with a purple tinge around the edges, hang heavy under his eyes; they’re prominent enough they push past the lenses of the sunglasses you forced on him. His hair is coarse and dry, lips chapped, and overall just looks frail.
Violently, you shove aside any and all hurt feelings; what matters most to you in this moment is reviving him.
“When did you last feed?”
You already knew the answer from Eddie’s voicemails, but you wanted to hear it from Steve directly. He shrugs, and even that is an aching effort; wincing from said pain also takes more energy than expected.
“A week ago? I…” his head lolls to the side, gripping the armrests of his chair weakly. “Haven’t had calls in a few days… like it matters.”
“Has this ever happened before? Like, a pause of embalmings, I mean.” He shakes his head. “No emergency blood stashes?” He grunts. “What should I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, for fucks’ sake, Steve, I’m not leaving you like this.”
“I deserve it.” His breathing is shallow, slumping little by little in the chair. “After overstepping the line… making you uncomfortable enough to leave—“
“No, it was my fault not yours, and—“ Shaking your head, you push hurt feelings aside. “None of that matters right now.”
You rush out of the room, flipping on the hallway light; when you return, you keep the door ajar, just for enough light to see, while you kill the light in the room. “Just tell me what to do. Should— fuck, I- I’ll bring someone back here if it means you’ll feel better. Tell me what you need, Steve.”
He only shrugs. You’re losing your patience, only because you want to help him, fix this, save him.
… There is one way to end his suffering immediately, though.
“How much blood do you need?” Your heartbeat roars through your ears as you try not to think too deeply into this. “What if you used me?”
Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, stays silent for a beat too long, convincing you he just died on the spot. He clears his throat, hoarsely speaking out, “… Absolutely not.”
“Is it possible to just take what you need? I’d be okay, I— I trust you, y’know.” He shakes his head, struggling to sit up straight. He throws the sunglasses onto the desk, groaning through mirthless, flat laughter. “It’s this or die, and you’re not dying on my watch.”
“Already dead, angel.”
You roll your eyes; he’s worse than humans when they get hangry.
You stand before him, running a hand through his hair, brittle and scratchy against your fingers; a stark difference to how luminous, soft, and effortlessly gorgeous it usually is. The touch still soothes him, just barely, but enough to relax his shoulders a bit. You take the opportunity as he melts into your touch, climbing onto his lap; it’s a bit uncomfortable as you swing your legs over his to straddle him, awkwardly hanging them under the armrests.
“Wh- what are you—“ Your arms wind around his neck, resting your forehead gently against his. His attempt at a warning tone comes out breathy and desperate, “Angel…”
“Do this one thing for me, okay? I need you to listen to me, just this once, and I swear to god, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
If Steve wasn’t on the cusp of expiration, he’d tease you with something like ‘there is no god’, but he just whimpers. If the situation wasn’t dire, you’d allow yourself to revel in the fact your words made a vampire whimper.
“Please? I know you won’t…” Hurt you? Kill you? You can’t bring yourself to voice either. “You wouldn’t go too far.”
“You don’t know…” He trembles underneath you, restraining himself with the last of his self control. “… what you’re asking for, angel.”
“I do know. If I didn’t trust you, didn’t believe you could control yourself, I wouldn’t offer.” I’m out of my fucking mind. “Steve, please.”
You’d kill for a moment like this under different circumstances; one where you’re both in this solely for the attraction and pleasure. One where his lips are close to yours like this, almost touching, all because he wants you in other ways, not like this; not where you’re begging him to quite literally suck the life out of you, all to survive.
“You’re scared,” He rasps, observing the way your skin prickles with his frostbite-inducing touch. He trails a hand up to the back of your neck, fingers splaying against your head and weakly tangling into your hair. “I’m scared, too.”
You’re glad you wore an older, worn shirt, one that stretches with ease as you pull at the collar to expose your neck.
“So… How bad will it hurt?”
“Bad, but only f- for a second.” He licks his lips, tongue sticking to his bottom lip for a second from how dry it is. “I wanted to— I wish this was— I wish we were—“
Gently, you shush him, head rolling to the side for easier access. “Save your energy, and tell me after.” You shiver against him, whether from the chill he holds or the anxiousness, it’s unclear. “I’m ready,” you whisper, but your quivering voice says otherwise.
Steve hesitantly leans into you, lips grazing your jaw, trailing down with weak kisses to your neck. They’re cold, stiff, but the mere thought alone of him kissing you makes you weak. It’s hard to hold back your shuddering breaths, aching to transform into needy whines. He’s murmuring apologies into your skin before his lips come to a halt.
He nuzzles his face into your neck, while your fingers find purchase in the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly to brace yourself. At first, he’s sucking softly, like he’s trying to leave behind a mark, claim his territory. Involuntarily, you moan into his ear, and that drives him to sink his fangs into your neck.
“O- oh… fuck.”
He wasn’t kidding; this shit hurts.
The pain hits hard, searing through your neck and rapidly reaching every inch of your insides. You seize up as he pulls you closer, fangs plunging deeper. The unmistakable, metallic scent of blood fills the air, making your head spin. He inhales the sharp essence, body quaking against your own.
A faint sob rolls out as the inferno in your neck intensifies, trying your best not to squirm in his hold. He pulls back, barely, but enough for a rush of a chill to filter into the puncture wounds, making you cry again.
“Shh, shh, I’m sorry, angel.” He winds his free arm around your waist, fingers dancing along your back in soothing patterns. “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.” Even from the minimal blood he’s taken, he’s starting to sound a little more coherent. Again, he bites into you, and the pain begins to radiate away, only to actually fade completely.
You’re very aware of what’s going on, what he’s doing, but now it only feels as if he’s suckling gently on your neck. The scent of blood, and the drips of it cascading down your neck are still incredibly noticeable, but it’s not alarming anymore. In fact, it’s almost… pleasant.
The sounds of your shuddering breaths fill the room, floating among the faint noises of satisfaction, muffled against your neck as he continues to indulge in this feeding.
The pleasant sensation rolls into euphoria, urging your body to move on its own accord. You arch your back, pressing against him while whining. The whines turn to soft, airy moans, while your hips begin rolling back and forth. You’re in a daze, aware of what you’re doing, but too high on the bliss of Steve sucking your blood to care.
Slowly, he regains his strength, little by little with each draw of blood; it shows in the way his grip on you becomes sturdier, and how he pulls you even closer, satisfied noises muffled against your skin as his mouth fills with your blood. When you grind down a little too hard into his lap, his hips jolt up into you, earning a surprised moan.
Steve pulls his mouth back again, panting wildly. Though you want to look at him, you can’t bring yourself to; one look at the blood on his face will send you into a spiral, you just know it.
Draining blood and bodily fluids out of a corpse? No big deal, that’s a breeze to you. Witnessing your own blood drip down Steve’s face? It doesn’t disgust you, but it’s quite a bit to take in, with emotions heightened and an unexpected desire, rising deep from within.
“Could get addicted to your taste, angel.” Whining, you lean forward, urging him to take more. You’re both intoxicated by the lust that seems to accompany the act of feeding. He laps at the blood rolling down from the wounds. “How do you feel?”
“Need you,” You groan, rutting against the bulge underneath you. You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure, you’re unsure if he’s hardening, or you’re imagining it. “Need y’so bad, Steve.”
The hand on your hip tightens, digging his fingers into the plush curve. That’s when you dare to steal a glance, and yeah, you were right, the sight of your blood dripping down his pretty face is sending you into a tailspin.
“We should not do this,” he grits his blood tinged teeth. “Angel, we can’t.”
“We can— we already are,” You fight his hold, grinding against him lazily. It’s enough pressure, enough friction, where it catches on the seam of your jeans just right. Gasping, your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure builds. “Please?”
“This is why I warned you— shit.” Your grinding begins to reward him, too, causing his head to thunk onto the chair’s back with a hiss. His other hand departs from your neck, firmly grabbing your other hip, trying to stop you from moving. He has the super strength to halt your actions, but he’s not trying to hurt you. Not past feeding off of you, at least. “We’re done, I’m feeling okay enough to stop, alright? Just… will you stop fucking doing that— fuck—“ He sounds so beautiful, all breathy with gasps and shudders.
“I can’t, I- I don’t—“ Burning. Your skin is burning. There’s tears welling in your eyes while distress consumes your expression. “—it hurts, Steve.”
His eyes clamp shut, trying to steady his breathing and weigh the pros and cons to himself. If anything else happens, it’ll change things between the two of you forever.
Things have already changed, though, and drastically; he’s already crossed so many lines, as have you. Your dynamic shifted permanently since the night he admitted the truth about his past. The point of no return was the confessions of affection later that night.
The regret Steve couldn’t reverse already had done its damage; he was certain you’d both were on separate paths, for good. Now, you’re here, when he needed help, needed you the most.
You really are some kind of angel to him; the least he can do is help you in return.
“What hurts?” He’s half expecting you to gesture to your neck, but unsurprised when you only shove your hips into his lap desperately. “I am not going to force anything, but whatever can ease the pain, I’ll guide you through. Alright?”
You nod frantically, pulling your shirt off before he can protest. He’s dumbfounded, and lovestruck, politeness kicking in to keep his eyes from wandering down your figure. “M’sorry, it’s just— I feel— it’s hot and cold, and a little dizzy, I- I— I don’t know how else to describe it—“
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Steve coos, grip loosening enough to caress your hips, slowly inching up your sides with each slide of his fingers along your curves. He allows his stare to stray, breath hitching while he takes in your figure for only a moment. “Take what you need.”
With permission, you drag your clothed heat against his, earning a delicious shudder from him. In ecstasy, your head eventually lolls back after a few thrusts against him, breathy whimpers spilling from your lips. He does as he promised, guiding you along by your sides, pushing and pulling gently with your motions.
“There you go…” A throaty groan follows his praise as you wriggle down, adding more friction against his cock. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone, lips lingering each time he does. “You’re doing so well, angel.”
“Again… please, again…”
“What are you asking for? Don’t be afraid, you can tell me.” He slides a hand up your back, splaying his fingers again as he brings you closer. “I’ve got you.”
You roll your head forward, lids weighty with lust as your mouth falls open, focused on the space where your clothed heat meets his own. Between the blood loss— while not significantly dangerous, enough to keep you lightheaded— and the sinful release building within, it’s difficult to find the necessary words.
With a wavering hand, you trace a finger along the bite mark he left behind, gradually still oozing drops of blood. Some of it gets on your finger; you bring it up to his lips, patiently waiting for him to catch on. His tongue flits out, eyes rolling back, tasting you again. His gaze blows wide with lust before parting his lips, coaxing your finger in with his tongue lapping at the blood. He suckles softly, moaning around your digit before pulling back.
“It’s sinful how delicious you are…” He licks the skin clean, gasping as you find a steady, devious pace with grinding.
“A little more?” You pant, bringing that same finger to your own lips before lazily licking over his blood tinged spit left behind. “Please, Steve. Wanna feel you again.”
Tongue rolling over his lips, he stares down his piercing handiwork.
“Are you sure—“
“Yes!”
Steve’s fangs sink into the existing marks, but there’s been too long of a pause since he first pulled away, so the searing ache returns— and only grows.
“Ngh— is it…“ A ringing builds slowly in your ears, limbs tingling with an airy, lightheaded sensation. “Steve, is this supposed to—“ Your own guttural cry interrupts you, startling him off your neck. The pain breaks through your lust-clouded mind. “M’sorry, I didn’t— I thought it wouldn’t hurt—“
He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks and wiping away a stream of tears.
“You’ve no reason to apologize, it’s my fault.”
Even through the suffering that has returned with a vengeance, it’s a relief to see how much better he appears. Yet something about offering yourself to him past the point of need turns you on.
“But I— god this is embarrassing. I begged you, and…” The ringing hasn’t stopped, breaths falling shallow. “I still want—“
“No, and that’s final.” He pretends to ignore the way your hips twitch at his order, tucks it away for another time—if he’s lucky. “I should’ve known your limits and played it safe, I’m so sorry.”
“Steve—“
“Hold still,” He leans back into your neck, but you flinch. “Angel, I need to stop the bleeding. This won’t hurt at all, I swear.”
Steve kisses the wound, but doesn’t suck from it. He licks along the aftermath, lapping up the blood as it slows. You can’t see what’s happening, but you can feel the pain ebb away. Though it’s not as satisfying as when he drank your blood the first time, it’s certainly relieving.
It doesn’t ease every side effect, though.
“Steve? I really…” Air slips away as you try catching your breath, struggling to speak up. “… I don’t feel so good…”
Your vision begins to tunnel in, slumping in his embrace. Everything begins to float away like a dream, while sleep steals you quickly.
You never hear the panic in Steve’s voice as he calls your name, begging you to stay awake.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
“Quite extraordinary how vampires work, hm?”
You open your eyes, but everything’s bright white and blurred. Sitting up, everything feels heavy, making your brain spin.
“You should rest. It’s okay. The first time is overwhelming, and a bit frightening.” A voice recalls. “Had to help him once, and fainted while he fed from my arm.”
Coming into focus is a woman, standing overhead of you. She has kind eyes with a smile to match, with freckles glittered across her face; something about her seems familiar, but you’re not sure what.
Her hand slips into yours as she sits by your side.
“You don’t have to fear him, though. He’d truly do anything to keep you safe.” Her voice is so soothing, easing your worried thoughts. “He stands by his word. Even if you decide to go your separate ways, he’ll care for you, if you let him.”
“Who… Steve?”
The woman nods.
“Thank you for keeping him safe. He’ll never admit it, but he needs someone to look out for him, too.”
Wait— “Robin?” Her smile widens, kind gaze lighting up; she looks just as she did in that portrait with Steve. “I- I- I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to overstep, o- or take your place—“
“You’re taking a place he’s held open for so long, waiting for someone right to step in.” Softly, she squeezes your hand, “It was never like that with him and I, you know that. It’s relieving to see how happy he’s become since you entered his life.”
Guilt for leaving him settles in the pit of your stomach. “What if I ruin things? I don’t want to hurt him again.”
“You won’t. Just allow yourself to love again, and allow love to come to you. The rest will fall into place.”
Love? Is that what you’ve been feeling? Does he feel the same?
“Is he… is he okay?”
“You saved his life. I’d consider that incredibly okay.” She takes your free hand in hers, clasping them both together in her gentle, warm grip. “I hate to ask anything more of you, especially after the eventful day you’ve had… but would you pass a message along to him?”
It’s hard to focus as you gawk over her presence. Robin’s gorgeous, but her kindness brings out the best of her features; you can tell why Steve was mesmerized by her from the start, even if he grew out of those feelings rather quickly.
“Ye- yeah, yes, of course.” You reply quickly, a bit embarrassed for staring. “What’s the message?”
“A few things: that I’ll miss my best friend dearly, and I’m eternally grateful for his love and care.” Her gaze grows glassy as tears well along her lash line, offering a pensive smile. She squeezes your hands once more, bottom lip trembling slightly. “And please… let him know I made it home safely.”
Without a chance to reply, your surroundings and Robin begin to dissolve into dust around you.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Something hard hits you, startling you awake. Rather, you hit something hard— the floor, to be exact.
Gripping your head, you groan from the unwelcome wake up call; footsteps dart closer to the doorway before it slams open, scaring you even more.
“Motherfucker— What the fuck—“
“Are you alright? Did you…” Steve scans over your figure; you’re fatigued, but nothing looks severely injured. He bites back a laugh. “You tumbled out of bed, didn’t you?”
“I’m dizzy! Not my fault, since you nearly sucked the life out of me.”
He sighs, shaking his head; with complete ease, he lifts you in his arms, bridal style, to rest you on the bed. You realize you’re in his bedroom while he pulls the covers over you. You’re also half naked, save for the boring bra and comfortable shorts you had worn.
God, why didn’t I wear a cuter bra—
Hang on … Why the fuck am I shirtless?
“How the hell did you lift me? Where’s my shirt?” You grab the comforter, covering your torso; it’s pointless, he’s clearly seen it all. “Why does it feel like I was hit by a train?”
Steve holds out a fist, straightening out a finger one by one with each answer. “With my arms, you threw it off while I was feeding from you, and probably from the blood loss— first time’s rough, I hear.”
“With my arms— okay, smartass, I’m not very light, y’know— Wait—” You wonder how you even made it into his bed to begin with. “You lifted me all the way up here? How?”
“I’m sure there’s a name more fitting than ‘super vampire strength’, but basically that.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows like a goofball, making you giggle. “Perks of being the scary monster with pointy teeth.”
He’s only joking, but your expression still falls. “You’re not a monster, Steve.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“Anyone who thinks otherwise is clearly boring and wrong.” Still semi-delirious, you reach your hands out to him, making grabbing motions in front of his face. Confused, he laughs softly, pretty fangs flashing in the dim candlelight.
“What are you doing?”
“Grabby hands.” He’s still lost, but his gentle grin doesn’t fade as you wiggle your fingers. “C’mere.”
“In bed? With you? You think that’s—“
“Yes. Just wanna cuddle. I gave you my life juice—“
“Ew, angel, don’t call it that.”
“Whatever. The least you can do is hug me.”
Steve’s body twitches, like he wants to immediately slide into bed next to you, but he hesitates. “That’s… not such a good idea. You’re still recovering…. and you wanted to leave for good. I made you uncomfortable.”
“Only because it felt necessary, thought it’d protect us both,” you admit with a hint of shame. “Not once have you ever made me feel uncomfortable, either.”
“How would that ever be necessary?” He sounds wounded, and you want to kick yourself that you believed walking away was the best option for you both. “I never wanted you to leave.”
“Then don’t let me go again.”
Steve runs his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly while he mulls over his decision; as if giving in to cuddling is a harder decision than whatever the hell happened earlier.
In seconds, he caves.
“Alright, alright. You win, angel.” He slips under the covers with you, while you’re already eager to share body heat and cozy up next to him.
Except there isn’t any body heat when it comes to this man.
His bare arms curl around you, making you yelp as his chilled skin meets your warmth. Shivering in his embrace, he notices the way you tremble, immediately pulling back. “I— wait, hang on.”
You still must be out of it, because you don’t realize he’s draping something over your shoulders. The sleeves tumble down your arms, enveloping you, soothing the shivers out of your body. It’s a loose, slouchy cardigan, stitches worn down from heavy, consistent love; you realize it’s the sweater he wore the night you two awkwardly tried to talk about your relationship. A relationship you’re still lost on.
“I can grab more blankets, too, if you’d—“ Steve only means to glance for a second, but he’s stuck, admiring you with his undivided attention. Heat burns under your skin as he continues to stare. “You’re so pretty, angel.”
Heat burrows under your skin from his compliment.
Sliding back into bed, his hold curves around you again. It’s easier to snuggle closer now with the knitted barrier, but you still duck your head under his chin, teeth chattering as you rest your face on his chest.
“Do you ever warm up?”
“You’re really bothered by the cold, aren’t you?”
“No— well, kinda, but doesn’t it bother you?”
Steve chuckles softly, but you feel the vibrations rumble in his chest against your own.
“Not really, no. It’s not uncommon for vampires.” He murmurs against the top of your head, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you scared I’ll freeze to death?”
“You’re already dead, Steve.”
“Un-dead, excuse you.” He corrects smugly. You scoff, and he misses the eye roll you give, face still buried in his chest. He’s tracing his fingers along your back, caressing up and down your spine. His voice drops just above a whisper, “Thank you for helping me. I know that isn’t why you returned, but… thank you.”
“I’m sorry I even left. You didn’t deserve that.” You inch back to meet his stare. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Much better, thanks to you. And luckily, we’ve started getting business again the last two days, so that’s helped with the blood supply—“
You shoot up, squawking out, “I’m sorry, two days?” The room tilts, and it must be apparent by your expression, since Steve immediately guides you slowly back against the bed.
He winces, nodding slowly. “I tried gently waking you several times, but figured you really needed the rest. I hadn’t realized how much blood I took from you until you passed out in my arms.” Now he’s the one who jolts up suddenly, “Shit, I didn’t— I forgot— you definitely need water, and food— are you hungry? You must be starving by now.”
His concern warms your heart, but you shake your head. “Oh, it’s okay, I can just… I’ll just grab something on the way home.” He grabs your chin, like the week prior; your eyes widen as your heart pounds, pulse beating straight down between your legs from the quick change in demeanor.
“Angel, I meant it when I said I take care of my people,” He reminds you softly. Your breath hitches as you watch his stare flit down to your lips, only for a moment. “I don’t mean to make decisions for you, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of you driving tonight. Maybe even for a few days, depending on how long recovery takes.”
“But I…” He’s right. You know he’s right, yet you stay in denial. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“You’re always welcome here, whenever you want, or need.” He releases your face and adds, “I’d offer to drive you home, and will if you truly so wish, but you probably should not be alone right now.”
You nod, knowing there’s no use in arguing that.
“Could you take me back so I can grab some stuff at least? I don’t have anything to wear, especially work clothes—“
“Oh, you’re not working, either. That I’m not budging on.”
“What? Why not?”
“Rest for the living is more important than tending to the dead,” Steve argues as he crosses his arms.
“I left you for a week already—“
“And while you help keep this place running smoothly, I can handle another week on my own. I promise.”
“Okay, but who’s doing pickups then if Eddie’s away?”
“Me, who else?” You frown comically, pulling a breathy laugh from his lungs. “Angel, it’s fine. I can handle it. If there’s anything you still need from home I can retrieve it, but otherwise, you’re recovering.”
Reluctantly, you nod. “Alright, fine. I’ll make a list.” He grins, rolling out of bed to grab a pen and some paper for you from a nearby desk.
You don’t need much, just a few necessities; scribbling them down quickly, you tear the paper off the notepad, handing it over.
“Good girl,” Steve murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He feels you shiver under his lips, smirking before he parts ways.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Steve has to have a heightened sense of sound, or something; the moment your feet hit the floor, swung over the edge of his bed, he throws the door open, frantically rushing into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He stares at you wide eyed, while you haven’t even fully stood up yet.
You glance down at your feet, then to him, quirking a brow; you’re part annoyed for the way he’s hovering, and part grateful that he cares this much. “… Trying to walk?”
“You’re too weak for that right now,” he strides over to you, hands out to hold you in place by your shoulders. “You need more rest.”
“Okay, well I need to shower, it’s been days, and I feel gross, so-“ Steve picks you up in a flash, carrying you bridal style. “- hey, hey! Put me down!”
Damn him and this super strength bullshit vampires have.
“And risk you slipping in the shower?” He carries you out of the room effortlessly, down the hall with premeditated, cautious steps. “I don’t think so, angel.”
The soft glance he gives nearly dissolves the argument. You’re too drained to pretend you dislike the way he dotes on you; tucking your head into the ditch of his shoulder, your arms hook around his neck.
Okay, yeah, maybe it’s not so annoying to be cared for.
“So, what, I have to sit in the shower?”
“No,” he states calmly. “I have a bathtub.”
“Oh, okay, so I’ll drown instead.”
“No, you won’t, because I’m staying with you.” Steve reaches the bathroom, setting you down slowly.
You stumble as your feet hit the tiled floor— over his words, not weakness. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I won’t look, but you’re in no condition to be in a full tub all alone.”
Even the damn bathroom is elegant, with a massive, porcelain clawfoot tub as its centerpiece; candles are scattered throughout the room, offering a serene glow, yet you feel anything but relaxed.
Steve made it clear he’d only stay for your safety, but your mind still indulges in your desires.
Heat washes through you at the thought of sharing a bath together; your back against his chest, cool skin contrasting yours, hot to the touch… his fangs grazing your neck as he kisses you from behind, large hands exploring every inch and curve of your figure… him toying with you… while deep inside you, delicately feeding from your blood—
“Hey, where’s your mind off to now?” Steve’s gentle voice whisks you away from any impending filthy thoughts. He rests the back of his hand against your forehead, frowning. “Are you feeling ill? You’re pretty warm.”
Christ, I need to stop thinking like a goddamn romance novel.
Pushing his hand away, you refuse to look him in the eye. “M’fine, I’ll be quick, promise.”
Offering a glance of disbelief, he sighs with a nod. Still only in your underwear and his sweater, you pull the edges of the cardigan to wind around your body, shivering as he turns the faucet on. Your gaze falls upon him, studying his features, muscles in his arms flexing effortlessly with each turn of the handles. Something crossed between a dull ache and arousal ripple throughout your body.
You yearn to be closer with him, closer to him; the desire to feel not only passion and intimacy with him burns, but the desire to intertwine your lives where you take care of one another all the time… that burns brighter.
Placing fluffy, cloud-like towels next to the bathtub, Steve turns to you, inspecting your expression.
“How about I sit right outside the door, give you some privacy?” He asks, concern surfacing as he notices you shiver. “Or I can stay in here, but I mean it, I won’t look. It’ll only be precautionary—“
“N- no, I can… I’m okay alone, I promise.” Your fingers twitch as you ball them up tighter, sweater still snug within your grasp.
“The second you need something, though, just ask, alright?” He reaches out to your hands, resting his palms over them, thumbs gently caressing along your knuckles. “Need you to relax, angel.”
Shakily, you exhale, loosening your grip while daring to look Steve in the eye.
“Take all the time you need, and use whatever you want.”
You squeak out a quick “thank you” before he slips out the door, leaving it ajar just enough for a sheet of paper to fit through.
Eager for the tub’s warmth and to wash off two days worth of bed rest, you climb in, cautiously, of course. Involuntarily, a whimper escapes your lips the further you sink down into the sudsy water. The comfortable temperature should ease you to relax, but you can’t.
Your muscles only continue to tense up, and a groan rumbles through your chest, not quick enough to stop it.
The door creaks open an inch, but Steve still remains outside, respecting your privacy.
“Are you alright?”
“Uh-huh,” you reply, but it comes out full of uncertainty, not helping your case.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm, y- yep!” You grab a bar of soap and a washcloth, hoping to scrub away your worries, and really, at first, it does start to relax you; there’s nothing like a relaxing, hot bath after tiring events, and you definitely earned the peace.
That quickly melts into unsolicited pleasure as the soapy cloth brushes against your chest. Your eyes jolt open as you gasp, sensitivity higher than you’ve ever experienced.
“What the fuck—“ you whisper, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle a moan. Heat burns white-hot throughout your body, pulsating from your core and rippling outward.
Imagery laced with lust float through your mind; you, sitting on Steve’s lap, a whining, nearly incoherent and dazed mess, grinding down on him. Steve, warning you of consequences, advising against giving into what you craved most.
You, begging, pleading, for more, while your blood drips from his lips. Lamenting to him of how it hurts, how something within you burns, and you need him—
Why does this feel so real? Why does it feel like you’ve been here before?
Has this already happened?
A breathy sigh slips from your lips as you realize your other hand is already between your legs, circling your aching clit. Your hips flex up in the water, cloth long forgotten among the bubbles as your other hand toys with your breasts.
That sigh molds into a moan, one you can’t hold back, lost in sinful thoughts of Steve touching you. That moan, also forms into his name, and you don’t realize it until he’s calling out in a panic.
“What’s going on?”
You gasp as your climax, once just out of reach, now withers away; as you pull your hands off your figure, embarrassment shadows over every other feeling that you were just sinking in moments ago.
“Angel?”
Trying to control your panting, you force yourself to respond, albeit while your voice trembles. “I- I’m okay!”
“You sound far from okay,” he counters, inching the door open a little, as a warning. “I’m coming in.”
“Steve, I’m fine, really!”
He refuses to take your word, and really, you don’t blame him; you probably sounded like a wounded animal on the other side of that door.
Sinking further into the water, gathering up the suds around you as a cover, you narrow your stare at him. There’s concern woven within his features, but … something you can’t quite pinpoint either.
God, you hope you weren’t too obvious.
Steve focuses on your lips, licking his own. He drops down to his knees next to the tub, making you extra aware you’re completely nude, only covered by the tub wall and bubbles; better than no barrier at all, you suppose.
“Steve, what are you—“
“Angel, hold still for me.”
It’s the ‘for me’ that nearly kills you inside, eats you alive from the inside out with adoration for this man.
Steve gently holds your chin in one hand, while licking his thumb in the other, gingerly swiping it along your bottom lip. The sting left behind from biting your lip— something you completely forgot about— ebbs away, twitching as you fight the urge to take his thumb into your mouth and suck softly.
Still holding you in place, he brings his other hand to his own lips, lapping away at the blood left behind on his thumb. A small, satisfied hum slips past his lips. You gawk as his tongue flits out, erasing any trace of crimson left behind. When his gaze finds your own, you notice a flash of deep red in his irises.
“There,” his hand on your chin moves to cup your cheek, thumb caressing over your cheekbone. “All better.”
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
You somehow manage to convince Steve you can get out of the tub without assistance, and you’re grateful he gives you that moment alone, because you need a minute to yourself— what the fuck just happened?
With your clothes in the wash, and still yet to pick up your belongings from your place, Steve offers a cozy, fluffy robe for you to rest in. Except, there’s not much rest happening now, no thanks to that ruined orgasm and the wired, pent up energy you’re running off of.
Your desires eventually simmer enough to ignore them, enjoying a more wholesome hope you’ve had with Steve quite some time. It feels like the night you two officially declared friendship, where he began to open up.
Sitting cross-legged on Steve’s bed, you lean over to the water and snacks he grabbed for you, resting on the nightstand. He fixates on you as you speak, “I had a really weird dream, right before I woke up.” You pick at some grapes, throwing one in the air to try and catch it in your mouth; it bounces off your cheek instead, back into your hands.
“Never getting you grapes again, Steve, teases; laying on his side, leaning onto his arm while resting his head in his palm, he watches you with extra caution and concern. “That’s just a choking hazard waiting to happen.”
“I didn’t think vampires were all about safety first.”
“Maybe just this one. You humans are cute, but stress me the hell out.” A smile ghosts along his lips.
“May I remind you,” your eyes narrow towards him, “that you were human once too.”
“And never once a safety hazard like yourself.” He quips with a shrug, smirking as you roll your eyes. “Go on, what was your dream about?”
“Okay…” You huff, brushing off your nerves; you’re worried you’ll sound absolutely nuts.
Then again, not much more gets weirder than finding out your boss… friend… crush, is a vampire.
“It’s gonna sound bonkers, but… Robin appeared. I- I talked to her— well, she talked to me, first.”
Steve coughs, wide-eyed and taken aback. “What?”
“I know! I know, it sounds silly. I don’t know her aside from what you’ve told me, and the portrait she’s in, but she— I don’t know.”
He sits up, attention invested in your every word. “No, please, tell me what happened.”
“She mostly just reassured me everything would be okay… with you, and me… and us.” You go into more detail about the dream, ending with, “She wanted me to pass a message along, too.”
Steve’s gaze widens in anticipation. “What was it?”
“That she’ll miss you dearly, and she’s eternally grateful for your love and care while she was alive. Her words, not mine.” The last part takes a second to pop into your mind. “Oh, and she… she wanted you to know she ‘made it home safely’.”
Struck by something deep within him, he sits up and stares at you, dumbfounded. “Word for word?”
Your brows crinkle together, “Uh… yeah? I’m actually kinda shocked I remember this dream fully, they usually fade away the moment I begin talking about them— hey… are you okay?”
Steve runs a hand down his face, sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. Patiently, silently, you wait for an explanation.
“I always thought she was joking.” He gives a short huff of a laugh, but it isn’t melancholic. “When she was of sound mind, she’d tell me “I’ll let you know when I get home safe,” after leaving this world… always had this grin when she’d remind me, too.”
“She also said—“ You pause; maybe you should keep the rest of the dream to yourself. It’s too late, Steve’s already hanging on your unfinished thought. Shaking your head and hands, your eyes squeeze shut, feeling foolish. “It’s silly, I shouldn’t— I need to shut up.”
“Tell me,” He demands softly, hand slipping into yours. “Please?”
“Robin mentioned how… how nice it was to see you happy again, since we met. But she was still alive when we met, so how would she know?”
The smile that appears looks like one that pairs with tear-filled eyes, but he’s holding back. You wonder if that has anything to do with the way he cried in front of you the first time, with tears of blood. Maybe he’s worried he’ll scare you.
“When I’d visit her the last month or so, I might’ve brought you up a few times. The doctors encouraged talking to her, even in a coma, rather than weep by her bedside.”
“What, probably telling her how annoyed you were when I’d call you Mr. Harrington in the beginning, huh?”
“Alright, once, but aside from that—“ Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “I was talking about how good things had become since you came around.”
You’re surprised, and flattered, honestly; he saw you as someone worth telling his best friend about.
“I wish you could’ve met her, really met her. You two would’ve gotten along easily,” he grins fondly. “The kids, too. They could be troublemakers, but I think that’s part of being a kid.”
You get cozy, resting on your side, close to Steve, but nowhere near allowing your body to touch his, aside from your hands still clasped together. Snuggling into the pillow, you ask softly, “Were you like that as a kid, too?”
Steve’s mouth hangs open, struggling to find the right answer. “I… I don’t remember much of my childhood.”
Your heart aches, but you try approaching curiosity with sensitivity. “Is that, um… does that happen normally? Vampires forgetting parts of life like that?”
“Not sure, honestly.” He shrugs, “I have photographs as a kid, only a few, but they’re all blurry. Asking a child to sit for minutes long exposures is asking a lot.” He chuckles, but it’s tinged with a certain type of sorrow. “I have nothing else from that time, and I’m not sure if mementos would jog my memory enough, either.”
“I’m sorry, Steve.” You inch closer, breaking down the barrier of self-doubt, little by little.
“It’s alright.” He gives a gentle, lopsided smile. “I’m lucky enough to have watched those kids grow up, support them and cheer them on. That kind of fills the void left behind where I can’t remember my own childhood.”
“Will you tell me more about them? Someday, when you’re ready?”
He nods, softly agreeing, “Yes, of course. Might take me some time, the loss still feels fresh… even if it’s been decades. I’m sure that sounds ridiculous.”
“No, not at all. Grief is so finicky and works on its own time, not ours.” A stray strand of hair falls in front of his face; you reach out to gently brush it aside, fingertips lingering as they trail down the side of his face. “Take all the time you need, just know I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to open up.”
“There’s not enough of this kind of empathy when it comes to grief, certainly not in our field,” he observes. “It comes to you naturally, though.”
“So… does that mean I still have my job?” You offer a grimace-like smile, earning Steve’s gentle laugh, fangs and all.
You’re a sucker for that sight alone.
“Of course, as long as you want to come back.”
“Okay… b- but won’t it be a conflict of interest?” You inwardly curse at yourself for bringing professionalism back into this dynamic. “Power imbalance, and all of that?”
“Well, it could be… but I’ll let you decide for us, and for yourself.” His hand finds yours, still cradling his face, resting on top. He isn’t so cold anymore. Or maybe you’re growing used to it each time you touch. “You’re going back to school full time once the summer ends, anyway… and whatever you choose in the meantime, I support. No more pathetic, heartbroken voicemails, I promise.”
“Why don’t you get a say in any of this? It’s unfair to you if only I decide how this works out.”
“Because your time on this earth is limited, angel.” He turns his head, lightly kissing the heel of your palm. “You deserve to decide how you spend that time, not the guy who is stuck here forever.”
The one time you finally find someone interested enough in you that they respect your space, your choices, your autonomy, you’re reminded it’s not all perfect.
There’s always a catch.
“If this is what you want, and you have to want this on your own terms, I refuse to force you— we take things a day at a time.” He presses a kiss to your palm again, working slowly down to the pulse point in your wrist. Your veins throb, along with your still-sensitive core. “Understand?”
Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you nod, hissing as your tooth hits the spot of your now healed wound. It’s still sore, despite the skin’s lack of breakage.
“Don’t hurt your lip again, angel. I’d be tempted to kiss it better.”
“No one said you can’t,” you pout, coaxing his smile to stay put.
“It never came up, and I’d need your consent, anyway.”
“Wait. So… we never kissed when you fed from me?”
Steve’s bewildered. “No, not at all. You can’t remember what happened?” He asks, blushing a bit— so, vampires do blush— clearing his throat, “… Do you want to know?”
“Well, yeah, ‘cause I only remember when you first bit me, and how it began to feel good… then I woke up on the floor in here—“
“Fell out of bed onto the floor, you mean—“
“Oh, whatever.” You sit back up, playfully rolling your eyes; you reach out to the snack tray, popping another grape into your mouth. This time, you manage to catch it. “Just tell me what happened.”
Taking a deep breath, Steve exhales roughly, head tilting up toward the ceiling. You watch the blush splotch down his neck, spilling under the collar of his shirt— seriously, what’s the science behind vampires blushing?— “You became a bit… excited.”
“Excited?” A chuckle slips out. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Um, well, you see,” He looks down, but not at you, scrunching his eyes shut as he nervously begins to ramble. “It’s, uh, not uncommon for humans to become… aroused, while being fed from. It’s why I was worried to feed off of you in the first place, I didn’t— you don’t—“
“Oh.”
“I let you decide everything, and you told me it hurt, so I- I just wanted you to feel better, I told you to take what you need, so you, you know, you just…” He gestures to your hips, voice cracking. “You asked me to continue feeding, but the pain became too much, and you fainted— thankfully on me, not the floor, or I’d never forgive myself. Or if you bashed your head off the desk, that could’ve been horrible, and I— the whole thing—“
“Steve—“
“You were so good to me, caring for me like th- that. So good for me, I just wanted to help you. Wanted you to feel good.”
‘Good for me.’
Forget everything else he just said, all that matters are those three words, how electrifying they are to hear from a stunning creature like himself.
I’m so fucked.
Clearing your throat, you dare to ask, “… Did I?”
“Did you… what?”
“F- feel good?”
He nods cautiously, the lewd scene of you, grinding onto his lap in a lust-driven daze, replaying in his mind. You, desperately searching for some kind of respite after offering yourself to him. How you swiped the blood from your neck onto a finger, slipping it between his lips, studying every movement he made. It’s only up to the imagination to question what could’ve happened if you were able to continue.
“Steve?” You wave your hand in front of his face.
“Hm?” Gaze flitting down to your lips, he licks his own. “Uh… yes. I’d say so.”
You wait expectantly, laughing, “You’re not gonna elaborate?”
“Angel, I’m— I would rather not make you feel uncomfortable.” He nervously chuckles, stare darting away. “Maybe it’s best you don’t remember what happened.”
“Clearly, I wasn’t uncomfortable, and still am not, since I’m laying half-naked in your bed.” You gesture to the robe he offered you, while washing the clothes you had in the meantime.
“Well, a certain stubborn human refuses to rest, and won’t allow me to retrieve their belongings.”
“I never said you can’t go!” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine alone, seriously.”
He ignores you, narrowing his stare playfully. “Probably would’ve drowned in the tub, or choked on a damn grape by now.”
“Okay, okay, I promise I won’t be a stubborn, functioning human being while you’re gone!” You sit up with a smirk, “As long as you tell me what the hell happened when you were feeding.”
“Oh, we’re bargaining now?”
“Maybe. You could always just… show me what happened.”
You loosen your robe, allowing it to slink off of your shoulders; it’s enough to expose the top of your chest, but not enough to expose everything quite yet.
Mesmerized by the sight before him, Steve’s jaw drops, hands drawn to your figure like a moth to a flame. He leads you to lay back against the pillows in his strong grasp.
You gasp; this is it. Finally.
However, you don’t expect him to pull the duvet back over you. Or pull your robe back over your shoulders.
“What the—“
“You’re right, I could show you, and I’d love to,” he grins like the smug bastard he is. “But I meant it when I said you need rest.”
You pout dramatically, earning a genuine laugh from Steve, fangs gleaming in the candlelight, just like the night he confided in you of his past.
“Not even a kiss?”
He hums, offering performative contemplation before leaning down, hand winding behind your head to cradle it before pressing his lips against your forehead.
“The sooner you recover…” Steve tilts down to rest his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. Eyes fluttering shut, your breath hitches. His nose brushes against yours, the chill of his skin contrasting the heat of yours. So close… he’s so close— “The sooner you’ll get more than just a kiss.”
And just like that, he’s detached from you, leaving you utterly flustered.
With a disgruntled groan, your eyes open and roll, diving under the duvet as you grumble grievances to yourself. “Fine. Get outta here so I can rest or recover, or whatever.”
Steve chuckles as he leaves, hanging in the doorway for a moment. “Sweet dreams, angel.”
Warnings: Smut, dom!Noah, dom/sub relationship, Noah in a ghostface mask, mask kink, oral (male receiving), fingering, PiV, slight degradation, predator/prey play, fear play, choking, I’m pretty certain that’s it but let me know if I’ve missed anything!
So this has been a long time coming haha I originally thought of this last September I believe and done this moodboard for it but never got around to writing it until now so I hope you all enjoy! 🖤
I have been dealing with some writers block due to suffering from really bad burnout recently, I feel like my personal life has been so hectic and I’ve not stopped for months and that always affects my writing head but I am trying to write on and off on my stories behind the scenes!
The house was cast in a dim light, the silence was almost deafening save for when the floorboards creaked under your weight as you moved slowly down the hallway.
You were listening out for Noah, you’d left out a ghostface mask on the living room table for when he came home.
You’d heard him chuckle under his breath before it went quiet. The game had begun.
You couldn’t stop the small smile from forming as you crept further along, you knew he wouldn’t be far away, for a man his size he could be scarily quiet on his feet but that just made the chase even better.
You were debating on doubling back on yourself when you heard the same floorboard behind you groan and felt his presence towering behind you before you heard his voice whispering in your ear.
“Run”
You gasped as you felt the heat of his breath and you broke out into a run but of course it didn’t take Noah more than a couple long strides before you felt his arms lock around your waist, lifting you off the ground while you giggled as he carried you into your bedroom before throwing you down onto the bed and watching your body bounce on the mattress.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight than that, anyone would think you wanted to be caught”
You stared up at the ghostface mask that was lit up by the bedside lamp, you felt your core throb with the anticipation of what was to come.
Noah had already taken his shirt off and was left only wearing his jeans as he stalked closer so he could lean down over you.
“Enjoying the view baby? Let’s see how much”
Noah’s fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down your legs and chucked them behind him as he opened your thighs.
“There’s a surprise, my little slut is already dripping and I haven’t even touched you yet”
He cocked his head to the side as he dragged a finger slowly over your folds.
“Does the thought of being in danger turn you? Or is it just the mask?”
Your breathing started to quicken as you cleared your throat to respond.
“B..both”
Noah let out a low distorted chuckle from behind the mask, humming as his fingers trailed further down, teasing your entrance more.
“Get on your knees”
You obeyed without hesitation, heart racing in your chest as you shifted on the bed, hands steadying yourself on the edge as you turned and knelt before him. He stood tall, mask tilted downward, watching your every move like a predator admiring his prey as he unzipped his jeans slowly.
“If you’re gonna act like a little slut, I want you to show me how much you love being used like one”
His cock sprang free, thick and already hard, the tip flushed and leaking. He fisted the base lazily as he stepped closer, letting it brush against your lips.
“Open”
The moment you did he pushed inside, letting out a shaky groan. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He didn’t thrust, just held you there, letting your tongue swirl around the head of his cock, teasing him the way he always teased you.
“Eyes up”
You looked up, straight into the Ghostface mask. That blank stare looking back at you, his eyes hardly visible at all through the plastic.
He groaned, letting his hips roll forward.
“Fuck…look at you, you look so pretty with your mouth full”
He started to move, letting himself sink further each time.
“This what you wanted? To gag on my cock while I watch you through this mask?”
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you moved your head faster and reached your hand up to grip him and move in time with your mouth, feeling yourself clenching as you listened to his low growls.
You sucked on him harder, moaning around him as you felt him twitching.
“Fuck…that’s enough”
He gripped your hair, slowly pulling you off his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and a line of spit still connecting you to him.
“Bet that sweet little pussy’s aching now huh?”
You nodded breathlessly, thighs clenching on nothing, your fingers twitched against your lap but you knew better than to touch without permission.
“You’ve been such a good girl, about time I give you a reward eh?”
Before you could respond, Noah had moved you onto your back, bringing you to the edge while pushing his jeans all the way down.
You felt him tease your slick folds before pushing in with a sharp thrust causing a broken moan to be pulled from your chest.
He didn’t give you a moment to adjust. His hips slammed forward again, burying himself to the hilt, a strangled cry leaving your lips as your back arched off the mattress. The stretch burned in the most delicious way and you could practically see the smirk behind the mask as he pulled back and slammed into you again, harder this time.
Your hands held onto him, trying to anchor yourself as Noah’s pace turned brutal. His hand came up, fingers wrapping tightly around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision hazy around the edges.
“Look at you…just a toy for me to fuck”
Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily and he growled at the sensation.
“That’s it. You like being fucked by a killer baby?”
You couldn’t answer, you could only moan under him as you tried to keep your eyes open to stare up as he leaned closer, the cold plastic of the ghostface mask brushing against your cheek.
“Noah…ohhh…”
His free hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it with unforgiving pressure. You cried out, legs trembling around his hips, heat curling low in your belly like a coil was about to snap.
“Don’t you dare cum yet”
You whimpered, tears starting to spill from the corners of your eyes as you tried to hold back at his command.
Noah pulled out suddenly, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, dragging your hips up and back until you were on your knees with your cheek pressed to the mattress. His cock still hard and leaking as he pushed back in from behind, the new angle stole your breath away.
Every sound in the room was carnal. Skin slapping, bedsprings creaking, his ragged breathing behind the mask, your broken cries.
You felt his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises and then his hand came down sharply across your ass causing it to sting instantly. You moaned shamelessly, your body vibrating with tension.
He reached around, fingers working your clit again, thrusts growing more erratic.
“Cum for me. Let me hear how good you are for me”
And when you did, when that orgasm tore through you with a scream, clenching around him like an iron vice, he followed with a guttural growl, slamming in deep as he spilled inside you, panting against the back of your neck.
You both collapsed forward, bodies slick with sweat, the only sound in the room was your mingled breathing as you came back down from the high.
Noah pulled out slowly causing you both to groan and he gently turned you over as he pulled the mask off, his cheeks were flushed pink as he looked down at you with a smirk.
“Next time…run a little faster baby. I like it when you make me work for it”
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x fem!reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: fluff, slight smut
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: He just wants to help out a friend, nothing wrong with that, right?
The familiar, comforting chaos of Eddie’s trailer usually wraps around you like a well-worn battle jacket, the surefire cure for any bad mood. Tonight, however, its magic has failed utterly. The band posters seem like faded ghosts, and the usual organised clutter of his D&D campaign notes just looks like a mess.
Curled into your designated corner of the couch—the one with the perfect view of the TV and the dip in the cushion that feels like it has been moulded just for you—you are just going through the motions. On screen, Bruce Campbell is battling the undead, but the guttural sounds of The Evil Dead are nothing but white noise.
A sudden click, and then a silence so thick and heavy you can feel it pressing against your eardrums. The screen freezes on a grotesque, tree-possessed face.
“Okay, spill.”
Eddie’s voice cuts through the stillness, low and unwavering. The couch cushions shift as he turns his whole body toward you, his focus a physical weight you can feel even without looking. The warmth of his knee brushes against your leg, and he nudges your sock-clad foot with his own.
“You’ve been sighing for the last forty-five minutes, and I’m pretty sure you just ate a piece of unpopped kernel without flinching. What’s got you all… grumpy-pants?”
You wave a dismissive hand, a performance of nonchalance you are galaxies away from feeling. “It’s nothing. Just… a long day. Don’t worry about it.” The words sound hollow and brittle even to your own ears, shattering in the small space between you.
Eddie’s eyes narrow into dark, knowing slits, seeing straight through the flimsy facade. The silver rings on his fingers glint like tiny blades in the low light as he folds his arms over his chest, the Hellfire Club shirt stretching tight across his shoulders. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think so. I am a certified expert in your ‘nothings,’ and your ‘nothings’ have tells.” His voice drops, losing its theatrical edge and becoming something lower, more intimate. “You get a little crease right here.”
He leans forward, and the world shrinks to the space of the worn couch. The unique scent of him—worn leather, faint weed, and the essential, warm spice that is just Eddie—floods your senses, a familiar aroma that now feels dangerously intoxicating. His calloused finger, so often flying over guitar frets or fidgeting with a twenty-sided die, is surprisingly gentle as he bridges the final inch. He taps once, softly, on the spot between your eyebrows, a touch that somehow smooths away a tension you hadn't even realised you were holding.
The contact, brief as it is, is a lightning strike. A familiar, pleasant jolt arcs straight to you—a feeling you’ve been carefully collecting and secreting away in a locked corner of your heart, a feeling that was starting to feel less like a secret and more like a truth you could no longer ignore.
He doesn’t pull back. His face remains dangerously close, his dark eyes holding yours, seeing everything. “So, try again,” he murmurs, the words a soft vibration in the air between you. His knee presses more firmly against your leg, a solid, warm line of contact that feels less like an accident and more like an anchor, tethering you to this moment, to him.
The joke is soft, a peace offering wrapped in a little levity, but his eyes are dead serious. They hold yours, dark and unwavering, refusing to let you hide.
A genuine, if weary, laugh escapes you. It’s a small sound, but it feels monumental, cracking the shell of your mood and loosening the tight, anxious knot in your chest just enough to let you breathe.
“It’s… it’s stupid, I promise.”
“Hey.” The single syllable is a gentle command. He shifts imperceptibly closer, the world narrowing to the space on the couch between you. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid to me,” he counters, his voice softening into that rare, sincere tone he usually keeps locked away under layers of theatrical flair and metalhead bravado.
It is the tone that undoes you.
It’s the voice he uses when you’re the only one in the room, the one that doesn’t need an audience. It strips away all the noise, all the defences you’ve so carefully built, and leaves just… Eddie. Raw and present. The effect is immediate and devastating, a blowtorch to the icy butter of your resolve. You feel your carefully constructed composure not just crack, but begin to melt, pooling somewhere in the pit of your stomach, leaving you exposed and terrifyingly seen.
Fortified by his unwavering sincerity, you take a deep, steadying breath, staring intently at the half-empty popcorn bowl as if the unpopped kernels hold the secrets to the universe. “Fine,” you mumble, the word barely audible over the persistent hum of the trailer’s fridge. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “It’s… my boobs. They’re really sore today, okay, and it’s just… it’s been a miserable, distracting kind of day.” You chance a glance at him, your face heating with a flush that feels like it could single-handedly power the entire grid of Hawkins.
The confusion that blooms on Eddie’s face is so pure, so comical, it could be studied in a lab. His head cocks to the side like a confused puppy who just heard a dissonant chord. You can practically see the gears turning behind his dark eyes—gears that are clearly grinding through a manual he’s never even seen the cover of, let alone read.
“Sore?” he repeats, the word tentative, as if testing it for structural integrity. His hands come up, fingers splaying awkwardly in the space between you. “Like… a muscle ache? Did you… I don’t know, try to bench press Gareth? Run into a door? A particularly aggressive shelf at the library?” He gestures vaguely with a ring-clad hand, trying to physically conjure a scenario that would make sense in his very specific worldview.
He is so genuinely, earnestly trying to problem-solve, his brow furrowed in a concentration usually reserved for mapping out a lich’s lair. The sheer, adorable absurdity of it all crashes over you in a wave. The embarrassment doesn't vanish, but it is suddenly dwarfed, utterly annihilated, by a surge of such profound affection for this ridiculous, wonderful man that it steals the air from your lungs. The laugh that bubbles out of you isn't weary or guarded this time; it's pure, unadulterated joy.
“No, it’s not that kind of sore. It’s just… a thing that happens. Sometimes. Hormones and… stuff.” You make a vague, fluttering gesture with your hand, as if trying to shoo the entire, mortifying topic of female anatomy out of the air. You can feel the heat of your blush creeping down your neck, a telltale warmth that betrays your feigned casualness.
“Oh.”
The simple syllable hangs in the air, a single, clueless note of pure, unadulterated male bafflement. You watch the journey play out on his face in real time: the slight squint of confusion, the subtle parting of his lips, and then—the moment. You see the penny drop, not with a gentle click, but with the force of a slot machine jackpot. His eyes widen just a fraction, his brows launching towards his hairline.
“Oh.”
Realization dawns, and is instantly chased away by a rapid-fire ramble, a classic Eddie Munson defense mechanism against any and all social awkwardness. It’s like watching a verbal pinball machine light up, all bells, whistles, and frantic, chaotic motion.
“Right, right, okay, biology. The, uh. The curse, and all that. The crimson tide. Aunt Flo’s… unwelcome pilgrimage.” He is excavating a deeper hole with every cringeworthy synonym, his ring-clad hands conducting this symphony of his own mounting panic. “Man, that’s a raw deal. The rawest. Just walking around, minding your own business, and bam, unscheduled internal sabotage. It’s like your own body’s betraying you, you know? A real-life body horror flick happening right in your… uh… central… torso-region. What’s the evolutionary advantage? Seems counter-productive if you ask me, which nobody does, but I’m giving my unsolicited opinion anyway! You’d think after all these millennia there’d be a patch, or an update, or something—wait!”
He snaps his fingers, a sharp, metallic click from the rings. A look of eureka-level inspiration lights up his face, though the idea is clearly hurtling down a dangerous and entirely unpaved track.
“A massage! That’s what you do for sore muscles, right?” he declares, a flash of triumphant genius in his eyes, as if he’s just solved a complex arcane riddle. “Loosens the tension, promotes blood flow—it’s basic anatomy! So, I could just… you know…”
He trails off, his verbal train of thought having clearly left the station without its conductor. The triumphant gleam in his eyes flickers, replaced by a dawning, wide-eyed horror at the destination his mouth has just hurtled towards.
To your utter shock and perverse fascination, his hands come up, and he mimes a vague, two-handed kneading motion in the air, hovering perilously in the space between you.
It’s not a subtle gesture. It’s blatant. It’s pictographic. It is, without a doubt, the single most ridiculous and terrifying mime of breast-massage you have ever witnessed.
The world grinds to a halt. The only sounds in the trailer are the frantic, sympathetic hum of the refrigerator and the deafening, kettledrum thump of your own heart against your ribs. A fresh, scorching wave of heat floods your face, so intense you’re surprised the cheap paneling on the walls doesn’t start to smoke. You are frozen, caught between the primal urge to shriek with laughter and to simply vanish from the face of the earth.
His eyes go wide with sheer, unadulterated horror. A deep, crimson flush explodes from the collar of his Hellfire t-shirt, racing up his neck and painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears in a vivid, mortified scarlet. It is a blush to rival all of your own, a spectacular, full-body cringe.
“No! No, no, no, that’s not—I didn’t mean—” The words tumble out, tripping over each other in their desperate haste to escape. He waves his hands frantically in a warding gesture, as if trying to erase the very suggestion from the air between you. “I was thinking medically! Like a physical therapist! A very, very professional and detached physical therapist who is absolutely, one-hundred percent not me! A guy with a clipboard and a bad mustache and zero thoughts in his head besides proper skeletal alignment! Forget I said anything. I’m an idiot. A cretin. A troglodyte who just crawled out of a cave and has never seen a woman before.” He buries his face in his hands with a groan that seems to vibrate through the very couch cushions. “Just… end me now. Let the Demogorgon take me. It’s what I deserve.”
As your coughing fit subsides, leaving you breathless and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, a dangerous, thrilling thought takes root, bold and undeniable amidst the wreckage of his composure.
He is offering.
And as insane, as utterly ridiculous as it is… you aren’t opposed. In fact, the idea, now stripped of its accidental comedy and laid bare, sends a wave of pure, undiluted heat through you that has nothing to do with embarrassment. It is a slow, liquid pull low in your belly, a sudden, vivid awareness of every point where his body is close to yours on the couch—the press of his knee against your leg, the warmth radiating from his thigh, the scent of him that now smells less like comfort and more like temptation.
The space between you feels charged, electric, as if he’s just thrown a live wire into the scant few inches separating you instead of a terrible, wonderful suggestion. The air is thick with everything that has just gone unsaid, and the only thing louder than his groan of despair is the sudden, frantic hammering of your own heart.
“Eddie.”
Your voice is a little hoarse, scraped raw from laughter and the sudden, breathless tension coiling in the space between you.
He peeks through the fortress of his fingers, a single, dark eye regarding you with a mixture of abject terror and a fragile, desperate hope. “Yeah?”
You bite your lip, the sharp little sting grounding you as your own heart hammers a frantic, wild rhythm against your ribs, a drum solo begging to be let out of its cage. The words feel dangerous on your tongue, a secret whispered in a sacred space. “I mean… if you’re serious… it might… help.” You hold his gaze, refusing to let him, or yourself, hide from the precipice you're both teetering on. “It’s worth a try, right?”
Now it is his turn to choke on nothing. On air. On the sheer, terrifying, thrilling implication of your words. He makes a sound that is half-gasp, half-whimper, a noise a drowning man might make the second before he stops fighting the current and lets it pull him under.
The flush, which you thought had reached its peak, deepens to a spectacular, concerning shade of purple-red, a wildfire of mortification and something else, something hotter, creeping all the way to the burning tips of his ears. The fortress of his hands falls away, dropping to his sides as if they've gone numb.
The careful, clinical image he’d constructed—the physical therapist with the clipboard and the bad mustache—shatters into a thousand useless pieces. In its place, a new one blooms, vivid and unbidden, stealing the air from his lungs: the imagined, devastating warmth of you filling his palms, the impossible softness of your skin under the rough calluses of his fingers. The soft, breathy sigh you might make if the pain finally, miraculously, eases under his touch. It’s a thought so intimate, so real, it is now seared onto the back of his eyelids, a brand. It is all he can see, and it is entirely, devastatingly, perfectly inappropriate. And he cannot, for the life of him, look away.
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple performing a frantic, painful-looking bob. The silence that follows is not empty; it is taut as a guitar string tuned a half-step too tight, vibrating with a frequency that sings directly to your blood.
“Yeah,” he finally croaks. His voice is stripped down, an octave lower and rough with a gravelly texture you’ve never heard directed at you before—a sound that was all Eddie, but a new, dangerous frequency of him. It was a voice for dark rooms and whispered secrets. “Yeah, okay.” He slowly, deliberately, lowers his hands from his face, revealing a look of raw, unguarded shock that was quickly being burned away by the heat of a dawning, terrifying understanding. “If… if you’re sure.”
The air in the trailer is no longer the comfortable, familiar atmosphere of your shared sanctuary. It has been transformed. It is thick, syrupy with anticipation, electric with the current of every single unspoken word, every stolen glance, every casual touch that has ever passed between you. It is the quiet at the eye of the hurricane, and you are both standing right in the path of the oncoming wall of the storm. The space between you on the couch feels like the only real space left in the world, a charged vacuum begging to be crossed.
cws: incest, dub-con?, Eddie is a pervert, fem!reader, Eddie coaxes you into giving him a blowjob. head-pusher Eddie (he’s rough), virgin!inexperienced reader.
notes: first fic im posting here ... be nice to me, or not ! feedback appreaticed (｡•́ ̫ •̀｡)
Tobacco – the smell lingered throughout your shared trailer home with Eddie. It was something you had to get used to, especially with his exams coming up. He was determined not to flunk again this year, he refused to get held back another time. So, his study sessions consisted of chain-smoking cigarettes. He argued, “It helps me focus.” You know it's bullshit, deep down a part of you thinks it’s just to piss you off.
Eddie was sitting out on the sofa, books and loose pieces of paper all over the place, and he was hunched over, rereading the same sheet of notes for the fifth time. You were on the single sofa nearby, watching him and flicking through the magazine you had found lying around, which was mostly full of images of hot women. You wondered who that belonged to.
You flipped through a few more pages and noticed something odd about the theme of this magazine, the girls looked weirdly like you, same hair, eyes and a similar body type.
“This yours?” You dangled the magazine in front of you with one hand, exposing the lewd images of girls that looked like you towards Eddie.
“What?” he sighed out, turning his head to observe you, a dumbfounded look plastered on his face, his lips were slightly parted with a cigarette dangling out on the side of his mouth.
“Why do these girls look like me?” you queried, tossing the magazine at him. He picked it up and scanned the pages, “damn they do look like you, hot”.
“Ew, you're so gross, Eddie. No wonder you’re failing, I bet all you can think about is porn!”
He shrugged and closed the magazine, folding it and putting it on the sofa beside him, “Maybe that’s true”, he grinned and snuffed out his cigarette.
Curiosity got the better of you. “Do you always look for porn stars who look like your sister?”
You and Eddie have always had a weird relationship. Growing up, he was your first kiss, he'd always let you practice on him. Who better than your brother to learn from?
He snorted and shook his head, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Well, yeah, that’s why you asked.
A faint smirk grew on Eddie's lips “If you help me with my studying, I'll give you an honest answer,” he signed a cross down his chest and kissed his finger “Swear it” he scooted over eagerly, making room for you, patting the cushion, motioning you over.
You already knew the answer.
You palmed your face in annoyance. I mean, it's not like you had anything better to do. Eddie barely let you leave the house alone, he claimed Hawkins was too dangerous for you. It was somewhat true, you wouldn't say dangerous, but conversations always ended with the topic of Munson being your brother.
You gave in and got up, prancing over to him, and plopping yourself down on the sofa. “So what's your test on, English, math–” You were rudely cut off by Eddie's hands grabbing your cheeks. “Mmm, I wanna study you for a bit first”, he purred, kissing your lips, just like when you were younger.
“Eddieeee”, you whined with smushed lips, using your manicured hands to push at his chest.“Get off me!”.
“You don't wanna have some fun?” he questioned, letting go of his grip on your face, his brown doe eyes staring at you, looking way too innocent for what he's saying.
You thought about it for a moment, like actually considered it. Eddie is handsome, his stupid big eyes and curly hair making him look so cute… You were more like lovers than siblings at this point, for fuck sake you shared a bed! It's not like Eddie hadn't jerked off in the same room as you before, gotten boners from spooning together, you really didn't have an excuse not to do this.
“But I've never–” you got cut off once again by Eddie pressing a finger to your lips.
“Just let me guide you, baby”, he shushed you, and peppered kisses all over your face, slowly trailing them down your neck. You whined into his kisses, and you felt your face flushing. All of this was becoming increasingly overwhelming.
You caressed his cheek, gently soothing your thumb over the pinkness that was showing, “Waitwait– I wanna um” with each word you paused, running your hand down his chest and stopping at his boxers.
Eddie blinked at you, his pupils dilated and his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes flickering over your hands as they fumbled around shakily, freeing his aching half-hard cock. He was big and thick, you didn't even know where to start, or if your mouth would fit over his length.
You sank to your knees in front of him, resting your elbows against his thighs. You’ve never taken anything this big before. Sometimes, you’d suck off your dildo, but it’s nothing compared to this!
You gave his cock an experimental pump with one hand, and Eddie let out a breathy groan and smiled at you. His cock twitched in your hand, getting harder by the second.
“Fuck you're so cute”, he teased.
You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, you stuck your tongue out and ran it from his tip to base, running it over the prominent girthy vein as you went down. Eddie held back another moan, biting his lip, his eyes drowning in yours, like two paints mixing.
His cock was warm with a slightly salty aftertaste. You started to lap at the pre-cum leaking out of his mushroomy tip—you took him in your mouth, slowly–very slowly, trying not to gag around his length.
Eddie let out a groan and put his hand on your head, resting it there for the time being.
You pulled off with a wet pop. “You’re really getting off to your sister, sucking you off?”
“Don’t act all innocent, I bet if I flipped you over, you’d be soaking wet”, he purred.
“Pervert”, you mumbled. He wasn’t wrong, your thighs felt sticky, and you had a strange feeling bubbling in your tummy. Intimacy was all very new to you.
You put your mouth over his cock again, sinking, you reached halfway until you started choking and needed air. Eddie’s grip on your head tightened, and he swiftly pushed you down further, bottoming out. Your eyes became watery, and you gagged at the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat.
“Lay your tongue flat, baby, it feels good like that”, he cooed in between shaky breaths.
You relaxed your mouth around his cock, you took deep breaths through your nostrils and glided your wet tongue gently around his base. Eddie let out a sharp groan and bucked his hips up, he was getting close.
He used both of his hands to fuck your head against his cock, using your body like an aggressive sex-doll. Your jaw ached from taking his length, your scalp burning from his grip. Every time he bottomed out, his pubes would tickle your nose, adding to the overstimulation.
With one big thrust, his hips stilled, and he cried out, filling your throat with his cum. You pried yourself off of his cock, coughing breathlessly, spilt and cum dribbling down the corners of your mouth and chin, the stickiness of it all making you gag.
Eddie was quick to stroke his thumb over your messy face, wiping some of the spend onto his boxers.
“Can you— give me a— a warning next time?” You sputtered out.
Eddie gave your head a pat, that cliche move every big brother does. “Sorry, sweetheart, I got carried away”
You figured all men were like this, horny, impatient and secretly having incestuous relationships with their sisters, boys will be boys.
But you’ll never find out, after all, you belong to Eddie now.
I love that you write for plus sized readers as a chubby girl I feel praised / silly
Feeling praised as you should!! Thank you, love. As a plus size girl, I am happy to provide the representation 💖 if you’ve seen Jack in LCL, I’ll be writing Oliver Mellors x plus size reader next!
“You really want to know what it feels like?” Noah teases, catching the faint flush that blooms across your cheeks, the way your breath hitches like you’ve suddenly gone shy, and it makes his mouth curve into a slow, wicked grin. His hands tighten on your thighs, dragging you closer until he's nestled between them. “Why don’t I tell you…” he murmurs, leaning in, his mouth tracing up the column of your neck, until he reaches your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that ghosts across your skin. “While I’m inside you.”
The words hang heavy between you, and it’s enough to make his cock twitch, already straining against his shorts. He imagines it, being buried deep inside you, you trembling while he talks you through every second of it, and that thought alone snaps the last of his restraint. Your clothes are gone in a blur, mouths hungry, hands greedy, until he’s finally pushing into you. His heart flutters, then pounds, a helpless sound catching in his throat as he slides home into the warm embrace of you.
“It feels like… fuck—” his voice breaks on a groan as his fingers dig into your hip, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged.
Heaven. Cliché, maybe, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Heaven, when you’re wrapped around him like that, slick and hot, clenching down as if you never want to let him go. Every roll of his hips makes your walls flutter, dragging along him in a way that makes his body shudder, a deep sound rumbling low in his chest. He tilts your hips, just enough to sink deeper, and the new angle has you both gasping. Your bodies fit tighter, closer, his chest pressing to yours as his breath stumbles out against your throat.
“I like when you wrap your legs around me like this…” he growls softly, voice strained as he grabs the backs of your thighs. He guides them up and around his waist, his palms gliding down the smooth length of your legs until you hook your ankles behind him. Your heels press hard against his lower back, holding him there, locking him in.
“Just like that, baby… just like—” The rest breaks off in a guttural moan as his hips roll forward, slow but heavy, dragging every inch of him between your slick walls. The tight pull around him makes him twitch, and pulse, his breath catching as he sinks deeply again. He stays there for a beat, trembling, letting himself feel it—how you squeeze around him, how your body reacts to every little grind of his hips. Each thrust after that is deliberate, slow enough to feel everything, deep enough to make both of you shudder. His jaw tightens, eyes half lidded as he groans against your skin, lost in the rhythm of it, lost in you.
You card your fingers through his hair, guiding his head up, and his hooded eyes lock on you. His body’s already trembling, but the sight of you beneath him only deepens the blush that warms his cheeks. “What about when I do this?” you ask, your voice low and husky. It almost distracts him, almost, until he feels the way you’re rolling your hips beneath him, how your thighs tighten around his waist to pull him closer. His mouth falls open, the sound caught in his throat as your walls clench around him, milking him.
“Fuck… you… you—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he can pull himself back together. “You can’t do that, not unless you want me to cum.”
“So you do like it?” Your taunt is soft, saccharine, teasing, and if he weren’t already buried balls deep inside you, he’d be pinning you down just to prove exactly how much he does.
“Mhm,” he hums, voice thick and wrecked. “The same way you like it when I do this…” He shifts, just enough to draw back and then drive his hips forward again, slow at first, rolling into you with precision. The angle is perfect, he knows it the second your breath stutters, a tremor running through you, your lips curling into that telltale smile that gives you away—he’s found the spot. He repeats the motion once, twice, again and again, until you’re trembling beneath him, until the wet sound of it fills the room, obscene and slick as his thrusts grow rougher, deeper, needier.
“I love how this makes you tighten around me,” he groans, voice rasping against your skin. “How wet it makes you. The way it sounds so fucking filthy.” His head dips lower, his lips pressing along your jaw as he speaks between heavy breaths. “I can always tell when you’re close like this. When I hit you right here…” He punctuates it with another deep thrust, and his hand slips between you, pressing against your stomach—just the right amount of pressure to make your eyes roll back. The loud, helpless moan that rips from your throat has him grinning against your skin. “Oh yeah, just like that. You gonna cum all over my cock, baby?” His voice is a low growl. “You know how much I love it when you do that.”
You nod, barely managing a breathy ‘uh-huh’, and it makes him smirk, because he can feel how close you are, how your body’s trembling, pulsing, ready to fall apart around him. His own climax is chasing yours, licking at the edges, his muscles tense as that familiar coil tightens.
“God, you’re gonna make me cum,” he pants, voice breaking. “I need to fill you up—fuck, fuck—I gotta breed you, baby. I want you to take every last drop, okay?” He drags his mouth along your jaw, pressing hot, breathless kisses to your skin before catching your lips in a slow, heated kiss. His tongue slides against yours, eager and desperate, matching the rhythm of his hips as they slam into yours again.
The moment his body trembles, the wave hits, his orgasm crashing through him just as your walls clamp down, milking every inch for every spurt of cum he fills you with. You come apart together, your bodies pressed tight, trembling in sync.
Even as the comedown starts to wash over you both, he keeps his hips flush to yours, still rocking gently, his body shaking as your walls flutter around him. His lips brush yours with a shaky breath, keeping you close, keeping you full.
