DemonQueen

Kym. 28. The literal definition of a trash can when it comes to band dudes covered in tattoos. Sue me. 🤷🏼‍♀️

[butterflygirlblog]

one minute i could be wanting to read the most sluttiest, jaw dropping, ghosts scaring, toe curling, cat flying smut.

the next i be wanting to read the most chest hurting, breathing problem causes, chest burning, tears rolling down my face into my hair, heart breaking angst.

[appalachianeldritch]

You really think she’s your girl. My brother in Christ she’s up in here every night twirling her hair and kicking her feet to the raunchiest “x reader” COD smut on the planet.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

My heart hurts for Noah, and the fact that people had the gall and audacity to yell “excuses” at him while he felt the need to make a personal apology for being fucking sick makes me legitimately angry. He is fucking human and humans have shitty immune systems. If you truly gave a shit you’d be wishing him recovery and hoping he gets better so he can do what he loves and what we love for a long fucking time, not fucking complaining and expecting him to push his vocals to the point of no return so we don’t get to fucking hear him anymore. God fuck you guys. Awful entitled fucks.

[succumbtothenightmare-deactivat]

Miracle-two

(gif created by me, the fallen nightmare. feel free to use, simply give credit)

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Authors Note: Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13

"How is she?"

I clutched my phone between my shoulder and ear as I carried the box of merch to the table that was set up inside the venue.

"This morning was rough, but we managed."

"Yeah it was like that the other night," I sighed.

Three days ago, after I came home to the lingering smell of gas in the house, I decided that no matter how much it cost I would hire a live-in nurse to stay with my mom while I was on the road. It would only be for one month then once the tour was over, I would quit and find a job that let me be home with her. That night, I woke up in the middle of the night from screaming coming from the front yard and that's where I found my mom only wearing her underwear standing in the middle of the yard. It was cold and her blue lips were trembling, guilt ate away at me because I didn't know how long she was out there. I think she must have been in a catatonic state and woke herself out of it with her screams.

Then the night before I left for tour, I woke up to my mom looming over me in my bed with a bat clutched tightly in her hands. She didn't recognize me and threatened to beat me with the bat if I didn't get out of her house. It took a soft voice and calmness but I coaxed her back into bed, the fear of my life eating away at my insides.

Of course, when I hired the nurse, I was one hundred percent upfront with her about all the bad. The nurse, Lana, never cringed or ran out like I thought she would. She was a few years younger than my mom and worked with Alzheimer's patients for longer than I'd been alive. She was used to patients like this; it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Which is why in one week, I needed to send her first paycheck.

$850.

Every week, for five weeks.

It may have not seemed like a lot but for someone who struggles to pay their bills already, it was a lot. My pay for being a merch girl barely covered it and I didn't get paid until the tour ended. To say I was stressing about how to pay Lana was an understatement.

"She's resting in her room right now." Lana's voice brought me back to our conversation.

I chewed roughly on my bottom lip. "Is the door locked?"

"Don't worry, dear. I'll take good care of your mother while you're gone. Enjoy the time away."

"Please call me for anything, no matter the time," I stressed while letting the box fall to the floor at my feet.

The sound echoed through the room and I waved off the stares from Davis and Matt, who looked at me with raised brows. Lana and I talked for a few more moments before I reluctantly hung up, knowing I had to get to work. Noah was already upset with me being late getting to the venue, the last thing I needed was to get caught slacking off. It took me a long while to gain the courage to leave my mom, much to the pushing from Lana, and I ended up missing the call time for the bus to leave. I texted Davis an emergency came up and I would take a cab to the first city. It was only two hours away but the hole that burned in my wallet because of how much it cost continued to gnaw away at me.

So instead of dwelling on it, I focused my attention on getting my area set up. The table with our credit card machine, a jar for tips, and then the fence-like wall where I'd hang up every merch that we had while the boxes lined the floor at my feet. I set my area up on the other end of the ballroom where the guys would perform in which meant I could watch their set. It was like that sometimes but other times, I would be placed outside the room and wouldn't get to watch; not that I ever cared too in the past. It was our first show of the tour and I wanted everything to look perfect, not giving a reason for anyone to get upset with me being late.

No one cared, I knew that, but the nagging voice in my brain wouldn't shut up.

"Need any help?"

Turning on my heels, I gave a small smile to Bryan and shook my head. "I'm all finished, thank you though."

He returned my smile with one of his own, his camera slung around his neck. "Mind if I snap a few pics?"

"Not at all," I shook my head. "Just don't get any of me, I haven't showered yet."

Since I was late, I had the cab driver drop me off at the venue, not having time to check into the hotel we would stay at tonight to shower. Our next show was in two days about ten hours away so we weren't in a rush to get there.

Bryan chuckled while snapping a few pictures of the merch area.

"Well, I'm sure you can sneak away for a bit."

I groaned, the thought of a shower making me smile. "Tell Matt if he needs me to text me?"

With a quick wave goodbye, I gathered my things and quietly slipped away from the hustle and bustle of everyone setting up for the show.

With the two trays full of coffee in my hands, I entered the venue through the back way and made my way towards the ballroom where I knew everyone would be. I was only gone for less than two hours, using that time to get a quick nap and freshen up for tonight. Davis texted me a long order of coffee, almost everyone wanting some sort of caffeine. Thankfully, he also sent me the money to cover paying for it.

I made some small talk as I handed Matt, Bryan, and Davis their coffee. Ruffilo and Folio came by to grab their orders while Jolly, who opted out of coffee with a shake of his head.

"Who's the last coffee for?" I asked.

"Noah," Jolly answered. "He's up on stage if you want to bring it to him."

I'd rather pour this hot coffee over my head than go talk to him.

I haven't seen him since I got the call from the fire department. He over heard the conversation, knowing something happened with my mom, but I didn't know if he would bring it up. Hopefully, he'll take his coffee and go back to whatever he was doing.

"Sure," I forced a smile on my face.

With his coffee in hand, I walked up onto the stage where I saw Noah standing looking over to the empty floor. Hearing me walk up, he peered over his shoulder at me. I did my best to not to gawk at his bare tattooed arms; the muscles tensing under his white tank top.

"Your coffee," I raised it towards him.

As he took it, our fingers brushed and the spark that shot through me made my toes curl. If Noah felt it too, he gave nothing away. With my back turned to him, I was about to walk away when his voice halted me.

"How's your mom?"

That's a loaded question.

"Uh, she's fine," I did my best to have a straight face, not wanting to give anything away. "She locked herself out of the house the other day and tried getting in through a window. A neighbor thought she was breaking in."

I was shocked in myself at how easily I came up with that lie.

"Good," Noah nodded.

Silence fell between us for a few beats and deciding that the conversation was over, I walked back over to the merch stand doing my best to ignore the burning gaze at my back as footsteps followed close. Noah was following me not stopping when we reached the merch stand.

"What are you doing?" I asked when I saw him riffling through one of the open boxes on the floor.

His eyes roamed over me, taking in every inch of me with his static gaze then pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. When I didn't take it, confused on his actions, he let out an annoyed breath.

"Either you change into this shirt or I'll do it for you, angel and I don't think you want others to see you," Noah said nodding to the group of guys a few feet away from us.

My cheeks burned hot as the blush spread everywhere over my skin because of that damn pet name. But I still didn't take the shirt from him, unsure why he wanted me to change.

"You never cared before if I wore one of your shirts during a show," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "Be a good girl and go change."

The way something rushed straight to my core shocked me. I never thought being called a good girl would turn me on the way it just had.

Licking my lips, something Noah watched intently, I carefully took the shirt from him and stalked over to the bathrooms to change.

Holy shit.

The ballroom was fucking packed, and I was running around like a madwoman at the merch stand for the last two hours. The openers finished their set, Bad Omens coming on soon, which meant everyone wanted to grab the last bit of merch before. I was so busy I barley had time to stop for two seconds to take a drink of water, something Jolly dropped off undetected by the fans before he went to the green room in the back.

"Here ya go. Enjoy the show tonight!" I gave a smile as I handed two shirts and a sweater to the couple in front of me.

With the few seconds I had between customers, I took a large gulp of water then made work of grabbing a ski mask and a shirt. It went on like this for another twenty minutes until darkness cascaded over the room, the opening sequences of Bad Omens set echoing around us. Finally, having more than two minutes for a break, I sat down on the table and took a deep breath. I pulled out my phone to send a quick text to Lana.

She didn't call which meant good news but that didn't stop me from checking in.

Your mom is fine, dear. I'll have her call you in the morning. I think hearing your voice might help her remember you.

After I responded, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and busied myself by cleaning up around my station as Bad Omens played their set. I didn't bother packing up because I knew once the show ended, more people would line up for merch. Before and after the show is the busiest time for merch. Every once in a while, I would watch Noah stomp, dance, and come alive on the stage as he sang or screamed his lyrics. By now he had lost the ski mask and jacket, donning his black cargo pants and black tank top. As much as seeing him in that mask made my pussy clench, seeing him in this outfit practically made me whine with want.

I'd been attracted to guys in the past, hooking up with a few but had nothing serious. Noah, however, was different. I'd never been this infatuated with someone even though he could be a dick to me sometimes.

No, don't think about his dick.

I shook those thoughts out of my head, not wanting to go down that dark tunnel of thoughts, and texted Davis wondering if he could cover me for a few minutes so I could go to the bathroom. Instead of responding, he showed up two minutes later with a smile.

"I'll even give you five minutes for a break," he said.

"My hero," I called out over the sudden screams while rolling my eyes.

Once in the somewhat quietness of the hallway, I stood there for a few seconds taking a deep breath. My ears rang from the screams and loud music so this bit of solace was nice; until I saw the line for the bathroom. Even with Bad Omens playing, it didn't stop people from rushing to the bathroom.

I knew there was one in the green room so turning around; I followed down the long hallway before slipping behind a door at the end. It was way quieter back here, a soft thump of the bass banging against the wall as I walked into the green room, feet halting when I noticed Noah in there alone, throwing back a water bottle in one large gulp. It was at the point of the show where they had a few minutes intermission.

"Who's at the table?" He asked breathless.

Ignoring how his skin glistened under the light, I pursed my lips. "Davis. I just need to use the bathroom but the line for the one in the hallway is insane."

Noah nodded before tossing the bottle in the garbage and I walked passed him towards the bathroom but his fingers grazed over the inside of my wrist, stopping me. I stared down where our skin touched then back up to his face. He said nothing, simply brushed a strand of hair away that fell into my eyes, his fingers lingering on the skin behind my ear. Having him this close to me was enveloping my senses; I could think straight and his scent was deep in my bones. My breath hitched at how close we were and if I didn't know any better, I thought he was going to lean in to kiss me until a persistent knock pounded on the door.

"Noah! Let's go, we're going to miss our mark!" Jolly's voice rang out as he opened the door.

The speed that Noah pushed away from me made my stomach drop. He clearly didn't want to get caught touching me.

Jolly looked between Noah and I. "Am I interrupting-."

"No," Noah shook his head, not letting Jolly finish. "I was grabbing something to drink. Ready?"

As fast as Noah moved away from me, I was alone in the room just staring at the ground below my feet.

"What the fuck was that?" I grumbled, forgetting the whole reason I came in here.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

This is very goooooood. Very good indeed. 😈

[malice-ov-mercy]

Breakfast in Bed

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Content warnings: argument with romantic partner (nothing is explicitly written or detailed), alcohol consumption

Prompt:

breakfast in bed. Prompt list can be found here by @novelbear

A/N: I tried my best to keep this gender neutral. It’s also just barely over 3k words.

————————————————

To say today wasn’t your day would be understatement. Everything that could go wrong, did. You called your parents to make sure they were still coming in tomorrow for your birthday, only to find out they completely forgot. They apologized profusely and told you they would stop by next weekend to make up for it.

Then you got into a huge fight with your partner. They once again suggested moving in together despite how adamant you’d been about it being too soon. You hadn’t been dating all that long and couldn’t justify breaking your lease for them. Plus it wouldn’t be fair to Noah. He’d been more than kind to you when you first moved in a year and a half ago. Sure he could really push your buttons and be an asshole sometimes, but he’d been the least annoying and most pleasant roommate you’ve ever had. You thought about finding somewhere else before signing your new agreement, but if you were honest, you enjoyed Noah’s company too much.

Your partner for whatever reason did not like Noah at all. They always brought him up and seemed to be the center of your arguments—much like right now. The moment they brought up moving in you knew they were going to drift to Noah. At one point, the argument escalated so much, Noah came to check on you. You tried to shoo him away, but he stayed. He leaned on the door frame with crossed arms, watching you yell into your phone.

The final straw was when they demanded you move out or your relationship was finished. You promptly ended things with them then hung up, telling them to never talk to you again. You turned your phone off then threw it on the nightstand. You grabbed a pillow, sat on the edge of your bed, and screamed into it. Tears started to sting your eyes.

“Stupid question to ask,” Noah said, coming to sit beside you, “but are you okay?”

You pulled your face away and looked at him. His long hair was pulled back. A few strands fell loose, framing his face. There was concern in his eyes. You sighed heavily, wiping a few tears from your cheeks.

“Just fucking peachy, Noah.” You flopped back. Noah shifted, bumping your knee as he turned enough to face you. You clutched the pillow close to your chest. “My parents forgot about my birthday tomorrow and now I have no plans. And I’ve realized that I’ve wasted months of my life on a fucking asshole who wasn’t worth it.”

The crack in your voice gave way to more tears. Any other time you’d be embarrassed to cry in front of Noah, but today was rough. You couldn’t be bothered to worry about making him uncomfortable.

“So…” Noah paused, causing you to look at him, “What I’m hearing is I can hit on you again without feeling guilty about it?”

You groaned and threw the pillow at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, I’ve—“

Your glare instantly closed his mouth. He lightly tossed the pillow back to you.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Not the time for jokes.” He clapped his hand on your knee then squeezed. “We can have a chill day tomorrow, if you want.”

“I think I’d rather wallow in bed all day.”

“No way,” Noah said. He laid on his side, propping himself up in his arm. “I’m not gonna let you sulk on your birthday.”

You stared at him.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

He shrugs. “I can take a day for you.”

His words made your heart flutter. You frowned at him.

“That’s very thoughtful but I can’t ask you to do that.”

Noah chuckled. “It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.” He smiled. “Seriously, though. I can’t let you mope around on your birthday.”

“Let me?” You narrowed your eyes. “If I wanna be sad on my birthday, I will.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not allowing it.”

Noah’s shit eating grin made you want to slap it off his face. You know he was teasing, but after the day and phone call you just had, you’d reached your limit. You huffed, turning your back to him. Glaring a hole in your headboard seemed better than trying to stare one into Noah.

“Ouch. Cold shoulder, huh?” Noah feigns hurt, though he did sound just a tad upset. “Alright, I’ll leave you to wallow.”

You felt the bed shift.

“Sorry if I upset you. If you change your mind, let me know.”

You flipped him the bird. “If you wanna make it up to me, make me breakfast in bed.”

———————

The next morning you woke with a dull ache behind your eyes. You stayed up much too late crying some more after Noah left. He did try and check on you again at some point. You heard him knock on your door. He didn’t make any moves to come in, just stood outside for a moment—probably trying to see if he could hear you sniffling. It was then that you realized the time and decided to sleep.

You glanced at the alarm clock and groaned. It read just a little after nine AM.

“So much for sleeping in,” you grumbled to yourself.

With a sigh, you sat up and grabbed your phone, turning it back on. The brightness of the screen caused you to squint. A low battery notification appears. You ignored it, scrolling through your messages. A few coworkers and close friends sent you happy birthday wishes, some offering to take you out if you weren’t busy. You thanked them but declined, telling them you were going to spend the day relaxing at home. Both of your parents sent you a very sweet and very long apologetic message. You told them you’d call them later. There was no message or missed call from your now ex partner which surprised you. You fully expected them to blow up your phone, but there was nothing—so you went to your contacts and deleted them. There’s no sense in having their number if you’re no longer together or speaking.

You get about half way through thanking more people on your socials before your phone dies. You stared at it for a bit, thinking of whether or not to charge it. You decided not to and place it back on your night stand. There was a knock at your door.

“(Y/N)?” Noah called from the other side, “Are you awake yet?”

“Unfortunately.” You yelled back with a sigh. You barely heard him chuckle.

“Are you dressed?”

You looked down and cringed. You were still wearing your shirt from yesterday. You didn’t change into pajamas last night.

“Uh, yeah.”

You were getting ready to scold him for coming in without explicitly asking, but stopped when you saw him carrying a tray of food. You didn’t even bother trying to hide the shocked confusion on your face. Noah set the tray in front of you with a proud smile.

“Happy birthday!”

There was a small stack of waffles, a bottle of your favorite syrup, a small bowl of your favorite fruits, and a cup of what smelled like your favorite coffee.

“Noah, what the fuck?” You looked up at him incredulously. He shrugged.

“You said you wanted breakfast in bed, so,” he gestured to the tray of food, “Enjoy.”

There was a tug in your chest when you looked back at the food. You couldn’t place the emotions you were feeling. They were pleasant, but unfamiliar. Noah always treated you well as a roommate and friend. However, this was entirely unexpected. You looked at Noah again, his expression kind and sincere.

“Thank you.” You said with a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

Noah matched your smile. “You’re welcome.”

He watched as you cut into the stack of waffles and took a bite. You hummed in delight.

“They’re so good.”

His smile turned shy. You swear you saw a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“I’m gonna go finish cleaning up the mess I made. If you need anything else, yell.” He started to walk away, but paused at the doorway when you call his name.

“Noah, wait!”

He turned back to look at you and raised a brow. You shot him a playful smile.

“Can you sing me happy birthday?”

Noah blinked then scoffed amusedly before flipping you off and walking out your door.

——

A while later, you emerged from your room, bringing the tray of empty dishes to the kitchen. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air. Noah was still busy at the sink as you walked into the room. He gave you a quick glance.

“Good morning. How was breakfast?”

“Delicious,” you said with a smile, setting the tray by the sink. “Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

You leaned your hip against the counter and watched him. Noah squirmed. It made you chuckle. You pushed off the counter, coming to step behind him.

“What’re you—“

Noah tensed slightly when you wrapped your arms around his waist in a tight hug. You laid your head on his back. His body was warm and smelled of his usual body wash. You closed your eyes, squeezing him more. Noah didn’t move, his hands stilled in the dishwater. He figured you’d eventually let go, but you hadn’t. You stayed glued to him as he finally finished up. He had to pry your arms off of him so he could turn around. You immediately attached yourself to him again, resting your head in his chest. You could hear the quickened beat of his heart. Noah wrapped his arms around the tops of your shoulders.

Neither of you said anything. You stood there locked in each other’s embrace. You were surprised he didn’t protest at all, but you were happy he didn’t. A hug like this is exactly what you needed after yesterday. If you could melt more into him, you would.

“Not that I mind you clinging to me,” Noah finally spoke. He brought a hand to the top of your head, prompting you to look up at him. “But we can’t stand here all day.”

You clutched him closer. “Why not?” You tried to suppress a sigh as he started stroking your hair.

“Great argument.” He laughed, nudging you with his knee. Reluctantly, you let go of him. He took a dramatic deep breath. You rolled your eyes.

“So what are we doing for dinner?”

Noah crossed his arms. “‘We’?”

You nodded. “I’m taking you up on your offer from last night. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I’m… I'm not busy.” He stammered.

“Did you actually put off work today?”

Noah didn’t say anything. You exaggeratedly placed your hands over your chest. He narrowed his eyes then hurried past you. You caught a glimpse of the blush spreading across his face.

“Pizza’s fine!” You hollered.

————

Most of the rest of the day you spent lounging around in the living room. You charged your phone and finished responding to all your birthday messages. Your ex did end up sending you an apology, but you chose to ignore that one. That ship sailed the moment you deleted their number. You opted to answer a few work emails. One urgently needed attention. You didn’t necessarily want to answer more, but the others would benefit from a quick response.

Despite Noah saying he wasn’t going to work, he snuck away and holed himself away in his makeshift studio for a few hours. You heard yelling every now and then. Whether he was doing vocal takes or if it was pure frustration, you weren’t sure. With how sporadic it was, you’d bet on frustration. One particular scream made you furrow your brows and glance down the hall. That was pure anger. Moments later, Noah stomped out of his studio, slamming the door behind him.

“Is everything okay?” You asked as he stormed into the kitchen. He completely ignored you. You heard him rummaging around in cabinets and then the fridge.

He came into the living room carrying a bottle of wine and two full glasses. You grabbed one, carefully taking a sip.

“Typically you don’t fill wine glasses this full, Noah.”

He set the bottle down and took a big drink of his own glass before joining you on the couch with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. You studied him. The grip on his glass was tight. His jaw was clenched, his breathing heavy. He was definitely irritated.

“I’ll be right back.”

If Noah heard you, he didn’t show it. You took a big sip of your wine before getting up off the couch. You went to the hall closet and opened the door, searching for a blanket big enough for both of you. When you found the one you want, you unfolded it and wrapped it around your shoulders. Noah still had his eyes shut tight when you came back to the couch. You nudged his foot with yours, prompting him to look at you. The look in his eyes was equally as angry as his expression. It softened when you offered the blanket to him. He grabbed it with his free hand, draping it over his lap and yours as you sat back down.

Noah’s arm came around to rest on the back of the couch.You leaned into his side, trying to offer him some comfort. He tensed slightly, but relaxed. He leaned his head back again and stared at the ceiling. His fingers drummed against the couch.

“Noah?” Your voice was gentle. He looked at you. His eyes lingered for a moment before going back to the ceiling.

“I ordered your pizza by the way. It should be here soon.”

“Oh,” you sunk further into him, “thank you.”

Silence fell between you. Something was weighing on Noah’s mind you could tell, but you didn’t want to pry. He rarely ever opened up to you. His hand dropped down. One of his fingers gently traced back and forth on your shoulder. He let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Am I—“

His thought was cut short at the sound of the door bell. You went to move, but Noah pushed you back.

“I’ll get it.” He said.

You sunk back into the couch, pulling the blanket close to your chest. You watched him open the door. He greeted the delivery person with a half hearted smile and nod. They handed him three boxes. He kicked the door shut then placed the pizza boxes on top of the coffee table. He retreated to the kitchen and grabbed plates, napkins, and utensils. You quirked a brow.

“I got you one of those dessert pizza things that you like so much.” Noah sat down beside you again—this time a little closer. He handed you a plate. You thanked him as he placed two slices on your plate.

The two of you ate your dinner in a somewhat awkward silence. You could feel Noah looking at you through the corners of his eyes. You ignored it. You also ignored the way he not so subtly scooted closer to you when he reached for the wine bottle. He filled his glass almost to the brim. You chuckled and handed him your glass to top off. He filled yours a little less than his.

“What were you saying earlier?” You asked, finally breaking the silence. He gave you a confused look. “Before the pizza came?”

Noah shifted his gaze between you and his full glass of wine.

“Uh, nothing. Just…” His voice trailed off. “I’m just struggling with the new music. Nothing’s piecing together the way I want.”

You nodded with a hum. You sensed there was more he wasn’t sharing, but you weren’t going to poke for more. You opened the dessert box and took a piece. Noah shook his head when you offered him.

“Well, if my input means anything,” you said, leaning back into the sofa. You waited until he looked at you before finishing your thought. “You don’t give yourself enough credit as a musician. I think whatever you're working on is probably already perfectly fine; you’re just nitpicking it too much and not giving it space to breathe.”

Noah sipped his wine, thinking over your words. He sighed.

“You’re probably right.” He gave you a small smile. You smiled back.

“You’ll get it eventually.” You place your plate on the table and turn to face him. “Just give it a day or two and come back to it.”

Noah grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. You squeezed back.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, enough of that. Time for a movie marathon.”

You let go of his hand and grabbed your wine, downing half it—much to the amused horror of Noah. You throw half the blanket over him and make yourself comfortable against him. His arm came to rest on your shoulder. You cuddled more into him.

————

You’d practically melted completely into Noah. He didn’t have to convince you much to lay against him. Both of his arms were draped over your waist. The warmth and comfort of his embrace coupled amount of food and wine you consumed made you incredibly sleepy. You drifted in and out of sleep somewhere in the middle of the second film. By the end of it, you were asleep.

“(Y/N)?”

You heard Noah, but couldn’t muster the energy for a response. He said your name again a little louder. You remained silent. His fingers stroked the top of your head softly. It lulled you further into sleep.

“Well, since you’re asleep,” Noah whispered then started to sing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday day dear (Y/N). Happy birthday to you.”

When he finished, he placed a kiss on top of your head.

[starsomens]

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

Any of my fellow writers, I have an idea. But I’m also getting eaten alive by writers block and everything I’ve written for it makes me want to jump off a bridge. 😭 someone help meeee.

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Devil's Prayer Book - Part Eight || Bad Omens

Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: “If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stake, and the quitting time.” He's a part time housemate, full time pain in the ass. But after losing a game of poker you find yourself completely at his mercy for one whole week. Sounds simple? Not quite. It never is.

CW: Language, negotiation of sexual relationships, free use sex arrangement and inexperienced Dom/sub relationship. No sexual content this time, sorry. Just a hella load of angst and sorrow. Content warnings are on a chapter by chapter basis so please read each time to see if it's for you

This is a work of fiction based on real people. If that's not your jam, please press the back button.

Tag Team: @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @bluechalcedony @mixxymess @thesazzb @collapsedglasshouses @thescarlettvvitch @jakekiszkasguitarpick @blackveilomens @jungleflowerz @catj422

You don’t go to sleep. 

There’s no way you could even close your eyes. 

Every time you close them, even for a second, every time you even so much as blink, you see the image of him and her as if burnt into the backs of your eyelids. For a while you pace the apartment, the pit in your stomach growing larger by the moment as your mind runs back through the weeks trying to figure out how you could be so blind, so…stupid. 

It all makes sense now. 

The rules. The avoidance of anything even resembling intimacy between the two of you. Just physical sensation on his terms that, now that you know the truth, makes you feel used, cut up and discarded like trash. Everything seems so horribly obvious that your sadness soon turns to anger. Anger at yourself for letting this happen again. 

It’s only when you turn on the shower to try and find some relief that you find yourself staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, listening to the voice in your head tell you it’s all your fault, that you abruptly realize that you’re angry at the wrong person. 

That’s also when you also realize you need to get out. 

You have your belongings packed into boxes by the time the sun rises. You don’t have much: just what’s in your room, a few sets of sheets from the linen press and a few boxes of books and magazines from the bookcase in the living room. The rest is neither here nor there. You don’t give a fuck about the wine rack on the kitchen counter, or the clock in the living room above the television. He can fucking keep it. 

As you dial Eddie’s number with shaking hands, you hold out the vague, absent hope that Noah will look at it every day and remember this, but you’re not confident in anything anymore so you just sit down on the end of your bare mattress and wait for your friend to answer. 

When Eddie knocks on the door an hour later, you can’t keep it in anymore. The second you see his face, the tears come. He wraps his arms around you and moves you back inside as you collapse into deep, shaking sobs, sitting you down on the sofa before going to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. 

It’s a long time before you can speak but when you are able to, you don’t hold back. You tell him everything. Every sordid detail. He listens without saying a word, like he always does. He’s the best of you all: steady and logical and level-headed, he’s never steered you wrong and he’s never left you high and dry. If you had a dick, you’d probably have married each other by now. 

When you’re done, he pulls you into his arms again, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

“Well, haven’t you gone and got yourself into a big old mess, huh?” he mutters, and you can’t help but cough out a little laugh because yeah. You fucking have. Trust him to point it out like he’s your damn nonna. 

“Mom has a beach house,” you murmur, wiping your nose, “up at Del Mar. I can go stay there until I find another place. I have the week off so I have time to…to…to search…” 

The tears start to fall again and Eddie squeezes you tightly. “That sounds like it would be best,” he says quietly. “You need to get away from this…from him. Clear your head.” 

Nodding, you pull out your phone and bring up your mom’s number. Eddie gets to his feet and points at the bedroom. 

“I’m gonna start loading boxes down into the van, okay?” He raises his eyebrows. “You good to call Joan, or do you want me to?” 

You shake your head. “I can call her,” you reply, getting to your feet. “I’ll be with you in a sec– Hey! Mom. Got time to chat?” 

The hardest bit is dragging that big mattress out of the elevator and loading it into the van. Everything else fits easily in Eddie’s big transit and it’s just past lunch when you go back upstairs for the last time and take one final look around for anything you might want or need. There’s nothing. Everything reminds you of him when all you want to do is forget. You’re exhausted from lack of sleep and Eddie isn’t even out of the parking garage before you’re out cold in the passenger seat, finally numb to the maelstrom of emotions that plague your mind. 

The beeping of the van reversing down the driveway to the roller doors of the beach house’s double garage wakes you not an hour later. Yawning, you get out of the passenger seat and enter the code into the lockbox beside the gate, pulling out the keys and the remote for the garage. 

The garage is filled with your other furniture but there’s room for the small collection of boxes and your bed, so you stuff it all in and then help Eddie take the bags of clothes and boxes of shoes up into the house, setting them down in the guest room. 

“Well, um, that’s all of it then.” You look up as Eddie leans against the doorframe, looking at you with concern painted over his soft features. “I…um, I spoke to Peter, he said I should stay–” 

“No, you don’t need to do that,” you cut in quickly, “go home to your husband, Ed. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…I need to be alone for a bit.” 

He pushes off the wall and walks toward you. His embrace is warm, comforting, just like they always are. You’ve been friends with him since high school, thick and thieves. You know he feels this betrayal almost as much as you do. 

“Okay, well, you should call me if you need anything,” he whispers, cupping your face before he kisses the end of your nose. “I will call you tomorrow at lunch time and if you don’t answer–”

“I know, I know, you’ll call in the big guns,” you finish for him, rousing a grin that physically hurts you to hold more than a few seconds. “Go. Thank you. I owe you.” 

“You don’t, kiddo,” he murmurs, forehead furrowing again. 

“Stop it,” you grouch, pushing him away. “Go home.” 

Eddie grins, ruffles your hair and pushes your shoulder before he disappears out of the room. You wait, listening for the rumble of the van to die down to nothing before you pull off your sweats and your shirt and crawl into the bed. 

You can’t cry anymore. There are no tears left. You’re sure there are more deep down somewhere but the initial shock has worn off now and you just feel empty of everything, so falling asleep takes no time at all.

It’s almost dark when you wake up. The first thing you hear are seagulls, then the gentle rush and fall of waves up and down the beach below. The evening breeze rustles the curtains and they billow gently; you watch them for a while, just laying there while you come back into yourself. 

A growling stomach forces you from bed. Flicking on the downlights, you open the fridge to find not much of anything; not unusual given that your mom and dad only stay out here maybe once a month. There are some apples in the crisper so you pull one out, wash it under the tap. You find a brand new block of cheese so cut some chunks from that too. Some Saltines from a container on the bench makes a meal somewhat complete; you’re not sure you’d be able to stomach anything more substantial than that, anyway. What you need, you figure, is wine. 

Lots of wine. 

The sunlight that assaults Noah's retinas when he opens his eyes makes his lids immediately snap closed again. He groans, trying to roll away from light making its way through the half-open curtains, but he doesn’t get far: there’s a body jammed up against his back. He scowls, shuffling sideways a little so he can turn over. 

She’s still asleep. Noah scrubs a hand over his face, heaving out a deep sigh. His head is already thudding painfully when he sits up, but the sight of her sleeping soundly beside him magnifies it a hundred-fold. 

Fuck. 

Again.

Noah stares at her helplessly. This wasn't supposed to happen. He's sure he…Noah frowns, rubbing his eyes in irritation when the memories fail to come. He's sure he tried to end it with her last night, but her presence in his bed tells him he apparently hadn't tried hard enough.

Grimacing, he slides from the bed, pulling on some sweatpants before he picks up his phone and staggers toward his bedroom door. She doesn’t stir at all, and he lets out a breath as he slips out into the hallway and closes the door behind him. 

The house is quiet. He’s the first up; a glance at the clock on the wall as he steps down into the living room tells him they probably won’t be up for a while. 

Water. He needs water desperately. And a piss. 

Grimacing, Noah pulls a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way to the downstairs bathroom. He turns the corner into the hallway and almost runs straight into Jolly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as if waiting for him. 

“What the fuuuuu– bro! Jolly, what the hell?!” 

Jolly takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He doesn’t move, just stares at Noah. If he’s amused by his prank, he doesn’t show it. 

“Have you checked your phone this morning?” 

Noah frowns, fishing in his sweatpants pocket for the device. “No, not yet,” he replies, “I was just gonna…” He points behind Jolly at the bathroom. Jolly steps to the side, gestures for him to pass. 

“Do that,” he snaps, “then check your phone. You fucked up, Noah.” 

With that, he stalks away, thumping up the stairs back to his room. Noah jumps when he hears the door slam, and he swallows thickly, his skin starting to crawl. Jolly doesn’t slam doors. He doesn’t stomp. 

Jolly is pissed. 

Noah jumps when his phone buzzes to life in his hand. Ignoring his desperate need to urinate, he thumbs at the screen and opens the message. 

Jolly: I got this from Ed this morning. 

There’s a picture beneath the text. A screenshot of the group chat. An image of Mikey, holding up a beer. He’s in the background. She's kissing him. He's kissing her back. Then his stomach drops and his legs almost give out from beneath his body. 

Under the picture is a list of people who've seen the image. In it is her name: his housemate, the woman he’s sleeping with, tagged in the picture of him kissing a woman who is not her. 

Another message arrives. 

Jolly: I know you’re fucking both of them. I knew it the second I saw you turn up with her at the party in La Jolla. You’re a stupid fucking idiot and now she knows it. 

Noah drops the bottle of water and takes off at a run. He thunders up the stairs two at a time, bursting through Jolly’s bedroom door seconds later. Jolly glances up at him coldly then goes back to watching television without saying a word. Noah pauses, getting his breath back as he quietly closes the bedroom door and leans against it. 

“What am I gonna do?” he breathes, desperation rising into his throat. 

Jolly sighs loudly, sitting up. He clicks off the television and rolls onto his side. 

“I don’t know,” he says seriously. “It’s not my dick on the chopping block, man.” 

Noah slumps into the desk chair, rubbing his hands over his face. “I…I don’t…this is just a fling, it means nothing, me and…” He gestures in the direction of his room. “She said she’d tell her father and I’m worried–” 

Jolly snorts in amusement. “Of course you’re worried, he’s the other name on the recording contract you signed. I’m just glad mine isn’t on there, too.” 

Noah rolls his eyes, makes a face. “Thanks, some friend–” 

“Oh fuck you,” Jolly snaps, sitting up on his elbow. “Do you love her?” 

“What?” 

“Do you. Love her?” Jolly repeats himself, slower this time. “You said it’s just a fling but do you want it to be more?”

Noah opens his mouth, then closes it again, frowning. 

“No, it’s just…it’s just fun,” he confesses, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t love her.”

“Okay then, what about…” 

Noah breathes her name. The taste of her comes unbidden to his tongue, and he closes his eyes against the sudden onslaught of sensation that floods his mind: the feeling of her beneath him, the softness of her skin, the smell of her shampoo. Every morning, the smell of her body lotion, the perfume she uses. The click-clack of her heels as she stepped inside and up the tiles toward him every evening. The feeling of her lips on his… 

Noah starts as Jolly snaps his fingers in front of his face. 

“Hey, idiot, I asked you a question.” Noah looks up. Jolly raises his eyebrows. 

“Do you love her? Do you love your housemate?” 

He does. He really fucking does. 

Oh God…

Noah blinks, unable to form words. So he just swallows, nods his head. 

“Are you upset right now because you’ve hurt her, or are you upset because you’ve been caught out?” Jolly’s voice is low, his tone serious.

Noah opens his mouth again, but slams it closed when the door behind him pushes open and she walks in. Her eyes are cold and her face is stormy and Noah knows immediately that she’s heard everything. 

“Go on,” she snarls, “answer him.” 

He just stares at her helplessly. “I…I’m sorry…” 

Jolly rolls out of bed in time to throw himself between them, wrapping his arms around her waist as she lunges at Noah. She screams obscenities at him as he flees the room and the last thing Noah hears before he slams his bedroom door closed is Jolly’s voice booming over hers as he tries to calm her down. 

Noah stares around his trashed room. His duffel bag is upended on the floor at the end of his bed. He blinks at it blankly for a few seconds before something crashes in the hallway outside and he knows he’s got to get out of there. 

He’s got to get back to San Diego. 

Back to her. 

It’s the longest three hours of his life. 

Noah’s got no idea what Jolly said to her but after forty minutes of her blowing up his phone Noah blocks her number and tosses his phone in the backseat. He knows it’s over. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna cop shit for this from all angles - the band, management, his friends - but at that moment the only thing he can think about is getting back to San Diego and salvaging what he can. 

For a while his mind races with speeches and excuses, explanations and conciliations, until the realization hits him that it’s pointless trying to figure this out until he stands in front of her. He’s got no idea what she knows, how much she knows, who she’s spoken to, if she’s even going to want to see him, let alone entertain the idea of letting him speak a word in her direction. 

He’s not above begging.

He stops for gas at a place filled to bursting with Humvees and guys in military duds. He keeps his head down, ignores the banter that fills him with a sudden longing for home and the friends he barely sees these days except through a phone screen. One of them points at his neck as he holds his credit card against the terminal, compliments his tattoos, but Noah can muster little more than a curt nod, a muttered ‘thanks’ before turning on his heels and bolting from the store, feeling sick to the stomach. 

He’s not sure if it’s the beginnings of a hangover or an autonomic response to his heart hammering a million miles an hour like a drum in his chest, but it doesn’t really matter either way because the next second he’s yanking the wheel, sending the car off into the shoulder, puking bile and the remains of the water he thought to grab as he exited the house into the gravel as he leans out the car door. 

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Noah leans back, clutching white-knuckled at the steering wheel as he tries to find some modicum of control. His hands shake violently, spots starring his vision fiercely enough that he has to squeeze his eyes closed against the rush of vertigo. 

God, he wishes she were here. She was always so good at helping when he felt like this, when the only thing he can hear is the thudding of blood in his ears and the uncontrollable drumming of his heart that feels like a bird fluttering violently against the walls of his chest. How she’d put her hand on his, speak in her her calm, quiet tone, the way her eyes stayed on his like they were the only people in the world. 

Noah lets out a sharp noise as he forces air into his lungs, banging his hands on the steering wheel. 

Somewhere in the backseat his phone blares to life and it’s like an anchor he clings to that stops him from spinning off the earth. Noah reaches back into the foot well, circling his hand around until he finds it. 

“H-hello?”

“Where are you?” Jolly demands. 

“On my way back to San Diego,” Noah replies, clearing his throat. 

Jolly groans. “Man, you’re probably still drunk,” he exclaims, “what are you fucking doing?” 

“I’m going to get her back,” Noah says firmly, tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he shifts the car back into gear and flicks on the indicator. “I have to try, Jolly.” 

“No, you have to pull over the car and sleep it off,” Jolly snaps. There’s talking in the background, and Noah thinks he can hear Mikey and Davis but his ears are still ringing so he can’t be sure. 

“Davis said he can come get you.” 

Noah shakes his head. “No, I gotta do this, man,” he replies, pushing the gas pedal down hard. “She’s–she’s everything to me, Jolly. I gotta fix this.” 

There’s silence down the line and Noah has to glance down at the screen to make sure the connection is still good before he puts the car into cruise. But then he hears Jolly sigh and mutter something Noah can’t understand but is pretty sure is a string of Swedish curse words. 

“Okay, fine, but if you get a DUI I ain’t bailing you out.” 

There’s more talking in the background and Jolly covers the handset for a second, his own voice muffled to Noah’s ears. 

“Mikey said he tried to call her but her phone is off,” Jolly relays. More background conversation. “He said Eddie called him, told him to tell you not to go looking for her.” 

“What does he mean ‘go looking for her’, Jolly,” Noah demands, forehead furrowing deeply. “Is she not at home? Where is she? What is he talking about?” He can feel the panic rising again as his tone goes up in pitch with it. 

“I don’t know, Mike doesn’t know,” Jolly exclaims, “Just get home safe, sleep off the three days of binge drinking, give her a few days to cool down before you go getting on your knees and kissing her ass. And have a fucking shower, too, before you go out in public again. You fucking stink.” 

This time the line does disconnect. Noah lets out a groan, tosses it on the passenger seat before he scrubs a hand through his hair, glancing at the overhead sign as he passes below it. 

Not far. But still too far. 

You wake with a thumping headache. Sighing, you sit up, reaching for the water bottle you’d set on your bedside table the night before. 

A shower makes you feel better but the cold lump in the pit of your stomach won’t budge, not even as you try to burn it out with hot water. 

Every single piece of clothing you pull out of your suitcase has a memory of him attached to it so you toss it all back on the bed and just stay encased in the fluffy robe you found on the back of the bathroom door. 

The sea breeze settles your insides a little more as you sit down on the comfortable sofa on the back deck, setting your coffee down on the glass table as you turn your phone back on. It doesn’t take long for it to start buzzing. You sigh, feeling the heat rising up your neck into your ears as you start to sort through the notifications.

Patrice: Got your voicemail. No need to go into details, honey, it’s fine. Take all the time you need. Call me if you need anything. Meghan will handle your files while you’re away so if there’s anything she needs to know send it direct to her. 

You heave another sigh, this time in relief. Meghan is Patrice’s 2IC; you don’t have to worry about work at least. 

There’s an assortment of emails from clients, some DMs from social media that you couldn’t give two hoots about right now. Muting the group chat, you feel an immediate weight start to lift from your shoulders. There’s still a burning anger though, nestled between your shoulder blades, and you know it’s only a matter of time before it bubbles to the surface. But maybe, just maybe, this isn’t going to be as hard as you thought. 

You’re reaching for your coffee as another message pops up on the screen. 

Eddie: Hey knucklehead, hope you’re okay. Just wanted to let you know that Mike says Noah’s on his way back to San Diego. He’s rung me three times already. I won’t tell him where you are unless you want me to. Love you xxx

You toss the phone away, making an angry, disgusted noise. 

Spoke too soon. 

Noah almost trips over his own feet as he bursts through the front door of the apartment. He calls your name over and over as he rushes from room to room, looking for you. Finally, he falls through your bedroom door, then stops dead. 

“Oh God, no…fucking please, no…” 

The room is empty. Bare of everything, not even a picture on the wall. Like you’ve never even been there, a figment of his imagination. 

Noah steps inside, flicking on the light as he does so, stopping in the middle of the room, turning in place. There’s not a single thing left, not even the floral fringed chintzy light shade you put up over the globe that swings above his head. 

He swears, crushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. 

He’s too late. 

The prick of tears starts behind Noah’s eyes, desperation welling up in his throat. He’s about to shut off the light when something on the carpet in the corner of the room sparkles and catches his eye, and he stops, frown growing on his face as he goes to it. Crouching, he picks up the small, delicate gold necklace, his heart leaping into his throat. 

It’s your nonna’s necklace. The one you cherish with all your heart, the only thing you have left of her. Noah holds it up to the light, lets the little locket dangle in front of his face as it spins gently on the chain. 

Then he gets to his feet and goes to his room. 

Noah: Ed. She’s gone. 

Eddie: I know dude. Just…give her space. Please. 

Noah: You know I can’t, man. I need to talk to her. Tell her. 

Eddie: There’s nothing to say, Noah. You fucked up. Just leave her be. 

Noah: I have some of her stuff. Some important things I know she’d want. 

Eddie: In a few days. Let me talk to her. 

Her favorite coffee mug is still in the cupboard. He pulls it out Sunday night and just stares at it for an hour as it rests on the counter in front of him, as if he can will her into existence with only the power of his mind. He leaves it out on purpose, an act of self-loathing that he wallows in late into the night until he falls asleep on the sofa. 

Monday morning, Noah wakes with a headache splitting through his frontal lobe. He’s barely slept since getting back to San Diego, and he feels every second of the restless slumber he has managed to snatch from the hands of loneliness and guilt.

He hasn’t heard from either her or Eddie by Monday afternoon. His impatience gets the better of him as he’s waiting for DoorDash to deliver his dinner. 

Noah: What did she say? Please Eddie, I really need to explain myself to her. 

Eddie: She said she’d think about it. 

Noah’s heart does a flip flop in his chest and he allows a sliver of hope to permeate its rough exterior. 

Noah: Please, Ed. Please. Just ask her for fifteen minutes. I know I don’t deserve it or her, I know I fucked this up badly but I swear I just need fifteen minutes. 

His phone goes silent for another hour. Noah’s chest grows tighter with anxiety the longer it goes on, but he doesn’t dare push his luck on this. He’s known Ed for as long as he’s been in LA, probably longer. There’s a part of him that wants to be stubborn, be annoying until he gets what he wants, but there’s a smaller, more logical part of his mind that tells him to sit down and shut the fuck up for once, that he’s done enough to mess this up, and that poking until he gets a reaction just isn’t going to cut it this time. This time, there’s more at stake than just getting his own way. 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to wear a path in the carpet with the amount of pacing he’s doing, but he’s not sure how else to pass the time. Normally he’d pull out the guitar and start strumming, letting his emotions take the wheel, but all inspiration has fled to the deepest darkest recesses of his mind and locked the doors behind it. It’s a new feeling, unsettling, and Noah starts to dwell on the lack of music in his mind: his blood feels dead, flat, with none of the usual beat that ebbs and flows like waves through his body. But as he flops into his bed to wallow in darkness he hears the vibration of his phone on his desk, and he lunges for it. 

Eddie: Tomorrow, 10:30am. I’ll pick you up. She wants me to bring you. 

Noah can’t swallow back the lump that rises in his throat, or the smile that comes with it. 

Noah: Thank you. 

Eddie: Don’t thank me yet. 

Eddie doesn’t pull him in for a hug, the way he normally does. Noah doesn’t offer either. He just gets into the passenger seat while Eddie climbs in behind the steering wheel; Noah fidgets with the envelope in his hands as he waits for Eddie to start the car, the necklace inside tinking from one corner to the other, a tiny shot of courage to his flip-flopping stomach. When he glances over at his friend he sees him tapping the screen rapidly, then pausing as if waiting for a reply. 

“I’m just letting her know we’re on our way,” Eddie says quietly, not looking up. Noah lets the rush of petulance pass and the pissy comment about being chaperoned like a teenager fade from his tongue before he just nods, sets his gaze forward through the windscreen. 

“She’s waiting for us.”

Noah breathes deeply as the car pulls away from the curb. 

He’s surprised she’s so far out of the city; as long as he’s known her she’s been a child of the concrete jungle. He never asked her but he supposed it was because she grew up in the desert, surrounded by not much of anything and miles from anyone. The further they get from the city the more Noah starts to get the feeling that he’s really outdone himself this time, that this is unfixable if she’s run this far because of him, and the bigger the knot in his stomach grows.

As the car pulls up behind the beach house, Noah glances up at the windows on the second floor as movement catches his eye. It’s nothing really, just the shifting of linen against glass, and it could be her but it might also be the wind, too, but it sets his heart racing nonetheless. 

He sits for a moment, unsure of what to do. His feet twitch; God, how he wants to run to her, to throw himself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, but there’s a part of him that’s afraid the second his feet hit the ground his legs will take him in the opposite direction, his mind feeding him lies like poison.

“Well, I got you this far.” Eddie’s voice makes Noah jump. “The rest is up to you, man.” 

Noah nods, swallowing hard as he steps out of the car.

The movement of the ocean over the beach below is hypnotic. You’ve been there since the sun came up, drinking cup after cup of coffee interspersed with your usual water as you sit engrossed in your book. 

Eddie’s message the night before has you on edge still and, not for the first time since you woke up, do you contemplate calling him and telling him to stay home. But you have questions - so many questions - and you’re not above demanding answers. 

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway sends your heart racing again. The hammering in your chest is almost unbearable and it brings tears to your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Angrily, you snap the book closed and toss it onto the table. 

It’s a long time before you hear the door open and close inside. His footsteps are so familiar to you now, the comfort so instant that your first instinct is that of calm, your second and indignant flare of anger at the way he still holds this power over you, even now. 

You anchor your gaze on the horizon as the sliding door opens, stubbornly refusing to look at him. His gaze is heavy on you, and you can’t help it: you look up at him finally. 

He looks awful. Dark circles line his eyes, his skin sallow and dull. He hasn’t washed his hair and it’s pulled back messily from his face. Noah rounds the table cautiously, keeping his eyes on you; you see him swallow hard as he shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, lingering awkwardly, as if unsure if he’s allowed to come any closer. You’re not sure if you want him to. 

Glancing away, you sigh tiredly, gesturing at the other chairs.

“You can sit.” 

He jumps at the sound of your voice but does as he’s told, taking the seat a few spaces over from you. The pair of you stare out to sea for a long time; when Noah clears his throat as if to speak, you get in first. 

“I do not want to hear you say you’re sorry.” 

His jaw closes with an audible snap. You’re surprised when he meets your eyes without wavering. 

“I just want to know why.” You manage to keep your voice level when your insides are in turmoil. You're not sure if you want to throw yourself into his arms or beat him to a bloody pulp.

“I…” Noah looks down then, fingers twisting together as he picks at his nail. “...I don’t know. I thought…I think you’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re real–”

“Stow the crap, it’s not gonna work,” you interrupt him sharply. “I don’t want to know why you wanted to sleep with me, Noah. I want to know why you thought you could do it while you had a girlfriend.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” 

Your eyes narrow and you clench your jaw, ready to unleash the swift retort that rises to your tongue, but there’s a fire in his gaze that makes you pause. 

“She’s not…” He stops, takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I met her when I went to a record label meeting in LA about a year ago, maybe. She’s the daughter of the man who signs my pay checks sometimes…it’s complicated. We’re not exclusive. Yes, we…have sex sometimes when…when we feel like it. But it’s not serious, not even close. She’s…she’s not interested in me for that.” 

His cheeks color, and you can see the confession is difficult. 

“So why didn’t you tell me about her?” You try to keep your tone neutral but you can’t help the sliver of accusation that sharpens the edges of your question.

“Because I didn’t think this–” He gestures between the two of you “–would go this far!” 

“Does she know about me?” 

Noah gets up, goes to the balcony railing to stare out to sea for a few moments. When he turns back to you, he nods. “Yes,” he replies quietly. “She heard us – Jolly and me – talking about you Sunday morning.”

“And?” 

“And she blew a fuse at me.” 

“Seems like she maybe did want you for more than just sex, Noah,” you state bluntly, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he mutters. “I blocked her number. I don’t want to be with her. We’re done.”

A quiet satisfaction simmers up into your chest. You sit back, crossing your arms. Saying nothing, though, you stare out into the bright sky until it makes your eyes water and you have to close them against the glare. 

“I made that bet with you because I was – I am – attracted to you,” Noah continues, his voice firm. “And I thought you were attracted to me, too.”

You laugh bitterly. “I am, Noah. I am attracted to you. You’d have to have been dumber than a box of rocks to not feel the attraction between us.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets again as he comes to sit back down in front of you. 

“I would have ended it with her,” he says firmly. “I know what I want, who I want–”

“Why don’t I believe you?” you burst out, interrupting him. To him, it probably isn’t a lie, but to you, it feels like an absolute hail mary pass. “I think you would have happily kept fucking her if we got together. It’s what you musician types do, isn’t it? A girl in every port?”

He makes a face at you and throws his hands in the air. “Oh, fuck off, it’s not like that–”

You let out a laugh, loud this time, and there’s a hint of mockery that you hope he recognises. 

“How stupid do you think I am? I know you, Noah Davis, I know you love this new life you have, all the attention. Really boosts the ego, doesn’t it? Feels good to have the girls all gagging for it whenever you step outside or open your mou–”

“I don’t want all those girls!” he exclaims, getting to his feet. “God! Don’t you get it?! I want you! I love you!”

The harsh words and insults die on your tongue as you stare at him, open-mouthed. His eyes are red, and for a split second you see the tremor of his jaw, before he jams the heels of his hands into his eyes and gets to his feet, turning away from you. 

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and you vaguely register the sound of a car door closing somewhere nearby, right before you hear the front door of the beach house open. Noah hears it too, turning to glance at the door. 

“Look, my time is almost up, I don’t want to waste any more of your time, or mine,” he says with a sigh. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry it worked out like this. I never meant to hurt you. I fucking mean it when I say that I think we could have been something great. I hate myself for ruining that.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see him walk toward you and set something down on the table. You glance up quickly; it’s your favorite coffee mug, the one with the Dalmatian dog on it, and there’s an envelope sticking out of it. 

“I found your nonna’s necklace in your room,” he mutters, gesturing at it absently, “you must have dropped it when you were packing your things. You said that your nonno gave it to her before he left for the war, and that it’s all you have left of hers, so I figured you’d want it back.” 

The sliding door opens but you can only hear it now, your eyes filling with tears. 

“Time’s up,” you hear Eddie say. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Noah says quietly. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really, truly, am sorry. For everything. Look after yourself, Edgelord.” 

You drop your face into your hands as you listen to his footsteps retreat away toward the door. You can’t hold back the sobs any longer and they hurt as they escape your chest. The pain in his voice cuts your skin, and the little nickname pokes at the wound. Your tears feel like blood.

“Noah, wait.” 

Wiping your eyes with your sleeve, you sit up, turning in your seat to face him as he stands paused, halfway through the door. Eddie stands inside and you reassure him with a nod before you turn your gaze back to Noah. 

“Why do you remember all that?” 

Noah’s brow furrows as he steps back outside and closes the door behind him. “You told me about your family and how they came to the States, that night we got that super hot Malaysian takeout–”

“From down on the waterfront, I remember.” The laugh you let out is wet and your voice shakes. “But I didn't ask when, I asked why. Why do you remember that?” 

“Because…because it’s you? It’s your life, your family. Because it seemed important to you.” Noah shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”

Leaning forward, you pick the envelope up and make a little tear in the corner, letting the necklace fall from it into the palm of your hand. You look between it and Noah, and something in your chest swells a little bigger. 

Without a word, you shuffle over on the wide sofa, and pat the seat beside you. You keep your eyes trained on your nonna’s necklace in your palm, but you feel the sofa dip as Noah sits carefully down beside you, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares down at his hands. 

Sighing, you tuck the locket in your pocket and sit back, staring out at the ocean. Noah does the same, bringing his legs up to cross them beneath him. 

“Have you eaten?” you ask quietly, glancing at him. He shakes his head. 

“Haven’t really felt like it,” he murmurs, a shy smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. “See there’s this girl I like…I hurt her real bad, and I’ve felt sick ever since…” 

You roll your eyes at him, but say nothing. Instead, you reach out and curl your fingers through his; he sits up straighter, clearing his throat. 

“Do you wanna maybe get lunch?” he asks softly. “You and me?” 

“What, like a proper date?” 

Noah huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, like a proper date. Call a do-over.” 

You can’t help but let the small spark of hope in your chest break through into a quiet smile that gently turns up the corners of your mouth. 

“I think I’d like that, Noah Davis,” you reply softly. “You’re buying though.” 

He laughs again, squeezing your hand. “I think I can live with that,” he murmurs.

~ The End ~

Post Script:

The response to this fic has been overwhelming to me, to say the least. Thank you all sincerely for reading, commenting and sharing. Who knows...maybe we might see these two idiots pop up again later on.

Anything's possible.

~ Illy x

Masterpost for this fic here. Masterlist of fic here.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

There are so many tears. I adore this fic with my entire chest. 😭

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Devil's Prayer Book - Part Seven || Bad Omens

Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: “If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stake, and the quitting time.” He's a part time housemate, full time pain in the ass. But after losing a game of poker you find yourself completely at his mercy for one whole week. Sounds simple? Not quite. It never is.

A.N.: thanks be to @throwingmetothelions, @the-way-of-words and @ladyveronikawrites for being the best cheerleaders. ILUSFM. There is a change of POV in this fic, so we finally see a little bit of this from Noah's POV. Please remember this is fiction and doesn't represent him in any way except as a fictional character.

CW: Language, negotiation of sexual relationships, free use sex arrangement and inexperienced Dom/sub relationship. Smut. Gosh, there's a bit in this: oral (fem rec), p in v sex, mind restraint kink, mild choking kink. Voyeurism if you squint. Dirty talk. But also shitty men doing shitty things, angst up the whazoo this chapter I'm so sorry. Also anger issues and panic attacks, anxiety and some really stupid man stuff. Content warnings are on a chapter by chapter basis so please read each time to see if it's for you

This is a work of fiction based on real people. If that's not your jam, please press the back button.

Masterlist here.

Tag Team: @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @bluechalcedony @mixxymess @thesazzb @collapsedglasshouses @thescarlettvvitch @jakekiszkasguitarpick @blackveilomens @jungleflowerz @catj422

Part Seven

It surprises you when you wake and find yourself alone. You’re not a light sleeper but still. Something about the night before had made you think the situation had changed between yourself and Noah, but now you were back in no man’s land, alone and uncertain. 

Sitting up, you look around Noah’s room: his boots are gone, the jeans and hoodie that were thrown over the back of his desk chair are also missing. When you pad quietly down the hall, you see his keys and wallet, always set on the hall table when he’s home, are also missing. As you sip from a glass of water in the dim first-light in the kitchen, you see your phone on the dining table flashing the tiny light that tells you that you have unread notifications. 

Noah: Hey, had to go to the studio. Back later. Dinner?

Timestamped 5:56am. You glance at the microwave. An hour ago. 

You let the phone clatter down onto the table again, forehead wrinkling in a mish-mash of emotions. Your mind begins to run through increasingly apocalyptic scenarios as you potter around the house doing mindless chores until you finally toss on your gym clothes, grab your running shoes and your drink bottle, and head for the basement to run out your frustration on the treadmill.

By the time you return to the apartment you’ve managed to talk yourself into a state of anger: anger at yourself for falling for his stupid games again. Anger at Noah for playing with your emotions again. Anger at the world for putting this man in your life and making him so damn irresistible. Anger at the sink that splashes your fresh shirt, anger at the lifted corner of carpet that catches on your toe and almost sends you ass over through the living room. You feel anxious and on edge as well as angry now, hesitant to do anything except go back to bed and sulk.

Thankfully, a friend from out of town calls as you’re washing your breakfast bowl and you take the out gladly, heading out a few hours later for a catch up lunch downtown at one of your favorite restaurants on the waterfront.

You probably have too much to drink. It’s warm in the salty sea air and the company is good; for a few hours you manage to forget about Noah, catching up on news from home and all the gossip you wouldn’t normally really give two shits about. Suddenly it’s riveting. It doesn’t escape your notice that you’re stalling going home but you push the accusing voice in your head away with sauvignon blanc until it quietens sufficiently once more. 

It still feels too early to go home when you part ways with your friends, so you get off the trolley a few stops early and walk the rest of the way, enjoying the weekend bustle of your neighborhood, the voices of people who sound nothing like him and the echo of music that doesn’t remind you of it. 

You feel almost sober by the time you reach your floor; stepping out of the elevator and into the corridor, you heave a deep sigh as you pull out your keys. His car hadn’t been parked in the garage so you’re pretty sure he’s not home; the silence of the apartment when you pause inside the door for a moment confirms it. 

Sighing, you push off the door and head for your bedroom and the soothing warmth of your hoodie and gym shorts.

It’s clear by half-past nine that Noah has forgotten the text from this morning. You’re not hungry anyway: a mix of the dull thud of a hangover and a full belly from lunch that's soured further by the sting of his apparent rejection and your own complicated feelings about it, have you settling on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea. It’s almost half-past ten when you finally hear the sound of the elevator rumbling up to your floor, but you also hear Noah before he even gets inside the front door. 

“...don’t fucking do this, seriously…no, that’s not even fucking close, are you out of your fucking mind?! Why are you fucking like this? Do you like causing me mental anguish?! You do, don’t you?” 

He sounds pissed. Not just annoyed, but angry, wildly pissed. The way he sounds when someone is pulling at the loose ends of his temper deliberately. 

You sit up, folding the corner of your book as you set your now-cool cup of tea down on the coffee table. Your body starts instinctively when the apartment door flies open and rebounds off the wall. 

“No…no. That’s not– okay, no, I didn’t– Jesus fucking Christ, will you let me finish a fucking sentence for once?!” 

One boot hits the ground at the end of the hallway, bouncing into view as he kicks it off. It’s followed quickly by the other one, then the sound of footsteps as Noah walks toward the kitchen. 

“This is honestly the biggest waste of my time– oh, really? Is that right? What are you gonna fucking do? I could stick a fork in this right fucking now and you wouldn’t be able to do shit about fuck–” 

He pauses by the hall stand to empty his pockets. From the side you can see how he closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath, shoulders rising and falling as he listens to whomever is on the other end of the line speak. His jaw clenches, lips pursing together as he exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You and I both know this will end really, really fucking badly if you do that… why?! Why?! You fucking know why! No, don’t you– you do that and we’re both fucked. You don’t care!? What do you mean you don’t care!? I fucking care! This is my livelihood you’re fucking with!” 

Noah turns around then and stops dead. 

He meets your eyes across the room and all the breath leaves your chest. You can hear someone yelling down the phone at him but his focus is entirely, one-hundred-percent on you. His mouth opens and closes like a fish and it would almost be comical except for the wild panic that burns in his wide eyes. Your phone chooses that moment to vibrate an incoming notification, the shrill sound against the glass jolting you out of your trance. You glance down at it automatically, breaking eye contact, and that’s all Noah needs. 

When you look up again he’s gone, disappearing back down the hallway toward his bedroom. You jump when the door slams closed. Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you get to your feet and hurry to your own room. 

You don’t like this. This feels…dangerous. There’s an anger radiating from him that seeps through the walls, something you’ve never felt before, and your heart rate rises, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. 

Then something smashes against the wall of his bedroom and you jump in fright again. You want to go to him but you can’t make your body move. He terrifies you. There’s another crash, a scream of anguish, and something else thuds hard against the wall, rebounding over the ground, and your body once again makes your mind up for you. 

Opening your bedroom door, it only takes you a few strides to bring you to Noah’s room. It’s closed tight but unlocked; the handle turns when you gingerly wrap your fingers around it, pushing it open. Your eyes widen as you take in the scene inside, lit up only by the light coming from the hallway behind you, and you’re sure it would probably look worse in daylight.

His phone lies on the end of his bed, the screen shattered, electronic wires and circuitry  hanging from its mangled casing. His bureau has been wiped clear of the trinkets and photos and his desk upended on its side, contents strewn across the floor; you can see from your place in the doorway the laptop on the ground by the bathroom door, screen shattered and hanging from one hinge. The potted plant from his side table lies strewn amid dirt and broken ceramic below a crack in the drywall by the window and your chest tightens; you’d bought that for him when you’d first moved in together.

“Noah?” 

The room is quiet so when you step inside and onto broken glass it cracks beneath your slippers and echoes like a gunshot. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what it is: the lamp has been ripped from the wall, its mangled remains pushed out of the way by the bedroom door as you open it. 

You can’t see him anywhere. But then your vision clears a little and you see the smear of blood on the bathroom door frame, and panic rises in your chest. 

“Noah?” you call again quietly. “Noah?!”

“...I’m in here.” 

The bathroom door opens and the light goes out, but not before you see the bandage on his hand. Eyes widening, you step toward him instinctively in the dark, holding out your hands. 

“Do you need me to–”

“It’s fine,” he replies. In the darkness you can hear him stepping across the debris strewn across the floor. You lose track of him but then the warmth of his body brushes past you. 

“Noah–” 

You turn to follow him as he shrugs off your hand on his arm and stalks down the hallway toward the kitchen. He paces back and forth restlessly as if unsure of what to do first.

“Just–I can’t,” he mutters, “I need to– we need to–”

You stop and watch helplessly as he tugs a clean shirt on and slips his bare feet into joggers. For the first time you see how pale he is, the heaving of his chest as he tries to force air into lungs that refuse to cooperate, the panicked, drawn expression on his face and the tightness of his jaw. 

You take a step toward him. 

“Noah, wait, please don’t go out like this–”

The keys slip from his shaking hand and hit the ground a second before his fist hits the wall. The plaster cracks but doesn’t give.

“Stop it,” he spits, turning to you with his clenched fist held close to his chest. There’s blood on one knuckle and it drips down his finger, flying off when he shakes his hand. “Just stop it. Stop pretending you fucking care, because you don’t.” 

The flare of your own anger takes you by surprise. “Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me,” he snarls, bending to pick up the keys from the ground before he tosses them on the table and goes to the sink, flicking on the tap before shoving his hand under it. 

You breathe a little easier, knowing he’s changed his mind, but you can still see anxiety coursing through him and it piques your concern, the same as it did the night before. You’re not sure how to handle this, so you choose the softest way you know.

“You really think that?” Your voice is quiet. “You really think I don’t care? About you?” 

He scoffs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stares at you, shrugging. “You’re just like all the rest of them, right? Just another emote on your Twitter profile, something to gossip about with the other groupies?” 

That statement stops you in your tracks. Crossing your arms, you narrow your eyes at him, all sympathy gone as your anger rushes back. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Am I?” he exclaims, turning off the tap and throwing his hands in the air. “You tell me!” 

“Fuck you!” you retort, screwing up your face. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who started this dumb fucking game, asshole? You’re the one who suggested it, you’re the one who said you wanted my body with no strings attached! You’re the one who kept pushing and refusing to let it go–” 

“You could have said no!” he yells. 

“I fucking tried!” you exclaim, “Lord knows I fucking tried. But that was before I–”

You catch yourself before the words slip out but he’s quick, a mile ahead of you in every direction, and he figures you out even as you stand in silence in front of him, just staring at each other. 

“Finish that sentence.” Noah murmurs, eyes narrowing, never leaving yours. You shake your head. 

Tearing your eyes from his, you drop your gaze to the ground between the pair of you, covering your mouth with your fingers as everything wells up in your throat, choking your breath and making your eyes sting with tears that you try to force away in sheer desperate determination.  

You glance at the bandaged hand that comes to rest on your shoulder as he stops in front of you. 

“Please finish that sentence. Please…” 

You’re not doing this. Not here. Not like this. 

Shaking your head, you step backward, but you don’t get far. Your back hits the wall but still you look down at your feet, ignoring the way his fingers push your hair back from your face, the careful way his fingertips move over your skin. Closing your eyes against the feeling of his breath mingling with yours as he presses his forehead against yours and it makes you sigh despite yourself. 

“Before you what?” His words are barely more than a whisper but you hear them so very clearly. There’s a calm hopefulness in his tone that breaks your heart wide open, and when you glance up into Noah’s face you see it written there, too. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes as you reply:

“Before…before I fell in love with you.” 

For a second you think that this is it, you’ve messed everything up. That he’s going to run and you’ll never see him again. Everything you have, your friendship, your home, your safe place – everything – gone in seven simple words. 

Noah stares down at you, his face unreadable. But then he dips his head to press his lips to yours and everything stops. 

All the air leaves your body. You could have passed from this world and not cared in the slightest. Noah huffs a small noise when you open your mouth to him, letting his tongue in to curl over your own. It’s a desperate kiss, something feral that tugs at the edges of your control, and it’s only a second before you find yourself answering back in kind. 

“I don’t know what it is about you that drives me so fucking crazy,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt up off over your head. “Why do you stay, huh?” 

Your skull thunks against the wall, your fingers embedding themselves into his shoulders when his teeth scrap over the curve of your throat, little bites he soothes with a swirl of his tongue. It makes your body arc up into his, your fingers flex and bite into his skin, and the low groan that echoes through him takes your breath away. 

“You know why.” You hate the way your voice shakes. Noah tilts his head, brow creasing as he studies you. 

“You’re the best thing in my life,” he mutters, nudging his nose over yours, “and you’re not even mine.”

“I thought I was.” Your chin rises in defiance. “Or at least for a week.” 

His mouth covers yours, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips again until you let him in again. You don’t fight him when his fingers encircle your wrist and he lifts your arms above your head. 

He holds you there with one hand, his weight against you as he ruts his rock hard length against your thigh, and the pair of you move in unison: your body flexes into him, a vicious give and take that sets your insides alight, and you almost sob when he ducks his head to take your nipple in his mouth. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” you moan, and the defiance rises in you once more. The desperate need to cling to him has you fighting his grip but he holds you still, shoving his free hand down the front of your gym shorts. 

“God, fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, fingertips slipping through the slick mess of your folds. You can only nod, eyes squeezed closed as he slides two fingers inside you unhindered, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. You bite down against your lower lip as his fingers curl inside you. You’re already on the edge and it would be shameful, how much you want it, except it’s Noah and nothing else in the world matters except this.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he whispers, face buried in the mess of sweaty hair that falls from your ponytail. Nothing comes out when you go to reply, your throat dry and useless from the short, shallow breaths currently keeping you conscious, so you simply nod again, reveling in the bloom of heat in your core that Noah’s fingers begin to drag loose. He doesn’t let up, pumping them into you relentlessly until your thighs start to quiver and weaken, and you cum with a loud cry of his name. 

“There’s my girl, good girl,” he whispers, and you can feel the curve of his smile against your neck, the gentle huff of breath as he pulls his fingers from you; you can smell yourself, feel the stickiness on his fingers as he holds your chin and pulls down your jaw, crushing his lips to yours again. 

You kick off your shorts when Noah pushes them down your thighs. Your arms are numb now, still pinned above your head, but you can’t concentrate on that because then he lifts you off the ground, his hips pressing into yours. You desperately wish you had use of your hands, to feel the weight of him, the softness of his skin, to guide him into you when he shuffles his sweats down over his hips, but then the pressure of the head of his cock presses against your slick entrance, and every single thought flees your mind. 

Noah lifts his head from your shoulder, staring down at you. His forehead is furrowed, his fingers embedded in the flesh of your thigh. You nod, breathless, voice failing again. 

His mouth falls open as he rocks his hips forward and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you when he slides his cock inside you for the first time. The first gentle roll of his hips steals your breath again as he drives himself deeper and deeper with each thrust, but the hiccupping sob you let out makes him pause. 

He cups your face silently, staring at you, and he’s beautiful like this: pupils blown wide with lust, breath coming fast against your skin, cheeks flushed with the heat that you’re sure colors your own heated face. His name slips from your lips before you can stop it and instead of feeling like a mistake it just feels…normal. Natural.

Like it should always have been like this.  

Your mouths slam together at the same time as he thrusts up into you. You think you might hear him say your name but between the sound of your blood rushing in your ears and the gasping breaths, the noises you both let out, you can’t be sure. When he lets go of your wrists you drop your arms around his neck tightly, fingers twisting in his hair until you feel it taut from his scalp; Noah hisses through his teeth, hips stuttering, fingers tightening in the flesh of your waist. 

“Ffff…oh fuck, girl…”

You just nod, forehead furrowing as you bite your lip and keen high in your throat. You don’t need words. All you need is this, the way you’ve craved Noah for months now: his hands on you, clutching desperately at your skin as he holds you up against the wall, the sweet ache of your inner walls around his length. It’s not gentle anymore, it’s a need that begs to be satisfied, that won’t stop until it is, and you’re not sure if it’s his or yours or the sum of parts greater which is stronger, but it hurts, this desperation you feel, and you’re sure Noah feels it too. 

“Fuck, gonna, please…can I?” Noah rushes out between shallow breaths.

You tighten your legs around his waist because you want him buried in you when he cums, a primal urge to be filled, owned by him. You can only nod frantically, whimpering into the curve of his neck as he swears and doubles down, driving himself into you relentlessly. God, you’ve fucking dreamt of this but nothing your mind could invent even approaches how good this feels, how fucking perfect each sharp roll of his hips aches so sweetly, how each thrust hits a spot inside you that makes you cry out his name. 

You cum again with a scream you muffle against the side of his face, and you’re sure it must deafen him how you wail out each wave of pleasure that breaks over you. Somewhere between the spasms and jerks of your body you hear the deep groan that explodes from his chest, the sting of his fingernails as he holds you still against him, so tight they cut half-moons into your skin and set bruises into your flesh. You feel his cock pulse and empty into you, the heady, musky scent of your mixed fluids rising as he fucks you through the aftershocks. 

Your bed is only half made when he lays you gently down on it. Breathing hard, you stare at the ceiling as Noah returns to you with a damp cloth in hand, wiping you down gently. It feels strangely awkward, like nothing’s changed, except everything’s changed and you can’t get past this, not now. You’re about to sit up on your elbows and speak when you feel his breath against your cunt, how he pushes one knee up and out, licking into you with a groan. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers against your oversensitive folds and it makes you shiver, bare tits puckering proud as you stare down at him between your legs. “I fucking told you before, I can’t get enough of you…” 

Your body folds up, hands burying deep in his hair flush with his skull as you grind against his face, crying out his name. When two fingers slide into you again it aches so good, a muscle memory of him only minutes ago breaking you apart, and it doesn’t take long for him to have you clenching around his knuckles again. 

His cock is hard against your thigh when he sits up and grasps at your waist, turning you over onto your stomach, and for a brief moment you sing silent praises for virile young men and non-existent refractory periods. Bracing yourself up on your hands and knees, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the floor to ceiling mirror of your wardrobe: you’re a mess, hair everywhere and face flushed, make-up running down your cheeks, lips kiss swollen pink to match his. 

Noah meets your gaze in the reflection and pauses, running his hands up your back, over each bump of your spine; he lets out a satisfied sigh. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, a lopsided grin quirking up one corner of his mouth. You gasp as he twists his hand in your hair and tugs your head back viciously, your back arching as he sinks into your wet heat again. Your body screams at you as he keeps pulling until you rise onto your knees, your back coming to rest against his chest.

“Watch,” he says firmly. 

With wide eyes you look on as his hands roam over your body, dipping between your legs before rising to cup your tits. The slow, steady thrust of his cock rocks your body back and forth but he holds you tightly in place with one arm wrapped low over your hips. It doesn’t feel real, what you see, but it sure as fuck feels it. You can see the movement of his cock in and out of your pussy, the glisten of slick soaked skin…everything about this threatens to send you into sensory overload. It’s too much and not enough, all at once.

It’s perfect.

The dark lines of his tattoos contrast against your bare skin, inked fingers spread wide across your belly, and you watch in silence as his other hand sneaks up over your chest, coming to rest at the base of your throat. You meet his eyes in the lewd reflection; Noah gives a gentle squeeze of your neck, hips stuttering and his mouth falling open when you lift your chin and bare your neck a little more for him, nodding briefly your assent. 

You close your eyes as his fingers tighten around your neck, falling back a little against him as the burst of pleasure rises up the back of your thighs once more. A sob hiccups up into your throat as the head of his cock nudges something sublime inside you, and your eyes roll back in their sockets.

“Oh God,” Noah whines, “oh fuck, are you cumming again? You gonna cum for me again, oh fuck, oh shit, baby…cum on my cock, that’s it…”

You gulp in a lungful of air as Noah loosens his grip on your throat, thighs giving out with the strength of your orgasm. Your body quakes against his and there’s a wild, breathless sound that echoes around you that mixes with the purr of praise he whispers against your ear, and with a start you realize the sound is coming from your dry, tortured throat as you scream through your climax. 

The next thing you feel is the softness of your sheets beneath your chest and the heavy weight of Noah falling over your back, the harsh snap of his cock into you a few more times before he stills and groans out his end into the back of your neck, breath hot and fast in your hair.

It’s a long time before you can bring yourself to disentangle your limbs from his. Your body feels sated, boneless, and you’re hot, your throat parched, but still you’re loath to move from his embrace. Not that he lets you; each time you try his arms tighten around your waist, a heavy thigh rising to rest over yours, weighing you down until you eventually give in. 

“Imma pee on you if you don’t let me up,” you mutter. There’s a snort of amusement from behind you but his grip loosens nonetheless. Turning in his arms, you find his mouth with yours, kissing along his jaw until you can slot your lips against his. 

Noah kisses you slow now, lazy open-mouthed kisses that have your toes curling and heat pooling fast in your belly. He says nothing but he doesn’t have to: the tired, satisfied smile you feel in reply to your own, the soft, quiet way his hands move over the dips and rises of your body, speak volumes more than any words could. 

You wake in the middle of the night to a mouth on your belly as he pushes you onto your back. Your cunt aches but still you let him push your legs open and bury his face in your slick folds, and you sob out your climax to the ceiling, fingers twisted in tortured sheets until Noah pries them loose to curl around his as he pushes his hard length into you once more. 

You’re sure he leaves bruises on your thighs when he cums, face pressed into your hair, and you think you hear him whisper ‘I love you’ as you drift off to sleep again but dreams come easy and lies are just as eloquent, so you can’t be sure. 

It’s a strange thing, coming back into consciousness out of a deep sleep. Or he’s always thought so, anyway. 

The smell of her reaches him first, all shampoo and body lotion, sweat and the heady scent of sex. Noah groans quietly, his cock stirring with interest. Rolling over onto his side, he blinks sleepily, trying to focus. 

It’s still dark, and she’s still just a motionless form in the darkness beside him. But as his vision clears he sees how her back rises and falls steadily with each breath, how she shifts in her sleep, and how her hair falls from her neck when he reaches out and trails a fingertip over her shoulder, how she doesn’t wake but still reaches back for him unconsciously. 

The panic that rises in his chest takes Noah by surprise. He sits up, trying to force air into his lungs; he freezes as she rolls over to face him, a deep sigh leaving her body as she settles back into sleep, but he can’t take his eyes from her face. 

She’s fucking beautiful. 

“Fuck…fuck.” 

Noah scrubs a hand over his face and scrambles as carefully as he can from the bed, trying not to wake her in his haste. 

This is a mess. A huge, goddamn fucking mess. Cold, terrifying anxiety rushes through him as he stares down at her. Sweat drips down his spine and he feels hot, too hot, even though he’s naked as the day he was born. Noah cards a hand through his hair as he steps backward toward her bedroom door. 

This stupid fucking bet. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, a way to blow off steam while he was here. His stupid goddamn ego to think he could keep it simple, that feelings wouldn’t come into it. Of course they would. Those feelings had always been there, ever since the first time he set eyes on her all those months ago, just beneath the surface, bubbling away until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. 

Until last night. Until he lost control of everything. 

Noah slips out of her room and quietly pulls the door closed behind him. 

His room is still a bomb site, shit strewn from one end to the other, but he ignores it, going straight to the bathroom where he flicks on the shower and dives under it, not even bothering to let the water warm up. She feels embedded in his skin, sunken between the cells of his very being, and he scrubs hard with the loofah, trying to dig her out. He shivers in the cold water but it’s like an absolution for the multitude of sins he can feel rippling beneath his skin so he just scrubs harder. 

He pauses at the end of his bed when he dumps his duffel bag on the end of it, picking up the remains of his phone. Turning it over in his hands, he finds the SIM card and pulls it out. There’s another phone in his wardrobe so he gets it, shoves the little rectangle of plastic inside and turns it on. He heaves a sigh of relief when the screen lights up and notifications start to flood in. But there’s only one he’s interested in. 

Call me when you get this. We need to talk.  

Noah almost laughs aloud in relief. He can still save this. 

It only takes him a few minutes to shove some of his belongings in his duffel, find his jeans and a shirt, tugging an old hoodie over his head as he makes his way quietly out to find his boots where he’d left them discarded in the living room. Noah pauses by her door as he goes to leave, his hand on the door handle, but he can’t make himself open it. 

Fucking coward. 

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the cold wood, clenching his jaw against the voice in his head that screams at him not to let this go, fighting the wave of nausea that rises in his throat. 

Gritting his teeth, Noah pushes off the wall. He’s out the door quickly, down into the parking lot quickly before the guilt takes over. The screaming in his head is deafening now; turning the key, he’s grateful for the sounds of the SUV, the loud music that bursts forth from the speakers to drown everything out. Plugging his phone into the cradle on the dash, Noah puts the car in reverse. 

The sun is just rising as he hits the 5, pushing his foot to the floor. The car answers immediately leaping forward as the engine roars. It’s only just gone six o’clock in the morning but Noah dials anyway. 

“Hey.” 

He flinches at her voice. “Hi,” he replies. “So um…about last night.” 

She laughs and he feels foolish, grits his teeth against his pride. 

“I’m on my way home,” he continues, “just leaving San Diego now.” 

“A day early?” 

“Yeah,” Noah replies quickly, clearing his throat. “I…I have some groveling to do. I was an ass to someone important and–”

“You sure fucking were,” she retorts scornfully. “Take me out to dinner tonight? Make it up to me?” 

“Dinner and dessert,” he says quickly, relief flooding through his chest. “Look, you, um…you didn’t, you know…?”

He can almost hear the way her eyes roll back into her skull. He’s a fucking simp for her and they both know it. 

“No I didn’t say shit, dad doesn’t know,” she replies, “your record deal is safe. Just…Noah?” 

“Hm?” He flicks the indicator and puts the boot in again, gliding out across the lanes to overtake a slower car.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that again, okay?” 

She hangs up on him and Noah heaves a sigh of relief. The uneasiness he feels doesn’t give though, settling in his gut like a rock, but he ignores it, focuses on the road and pushes all thoughts of the night before from his mind.

Somehow, you’re not surprised when you wake up alone. It’s only been three days and it’s become your new normal. You roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling for a second, cataloging the places you can still feel him on your skin. Your core aches sweetly, and when you press your fingers into your hip you can feel the sharp bite of bruises left beneath your surface. Your pillows smell of him. 

Sighing, you sit up in bed, stretching out your limbs before you get up in search of coffee. 

While the press brews on the stovetop, you find your phone still on the coffee table with your book and the remains of your cup of tea from the night before. You pick up your phone and the tea, tossing the tea down the drain as you flick the screen of your phone, frowning when you find it quiet with no trace of him. 

Sighing, you flip through to your messages, pulling up Noah’s contact.

Hey, you off to the studio early again?

Your phone rings almost immediately. 

Noah. 

You answer as you pour your coffee. 

“Hey you.” 

“Hey! Hi! Good morning!” 

You smile at the sound of his voice. It’s instinctual. 

“In answer to your question I’m taking off early back to LA. Some…stuff has come up.”

Something loosens in your chest, the last remaining claws of anxiety letting go of your heart. Your brain clicks into gear and you recognise the road noise in the background of the call, and it further assuages your restless mind.

“Oh, okay, I was just checking–” 

His laughter is light. “Sorry, it was last minute, I missed a call from the label last night while we were…you know…” 

Heat rises to your face and you smile. “It’s fine, I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you are okay. You seemed really angry when you came in last night.” 

There’s a pause and you wonder briefly if you’ve misstepped by bringing it up again. 

“I–I’m fine, thank you,” he sighs, “it was a misunderstanding. I’m headed back to deal with it. I’m…I’m sorry if I scared you, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No, no it’s okay,” you reassure him hastily. “Are we still on for the Padres game on Sunday night?” you ask cautiously, not wanting to seem pushy. “It’s okay if you have to cancel–”

“Absolutely,” Noah replies quickly, “I’ll be back Sunday after lunch. Look, I gotta go, I’m about to hit the hills…” 

“It’s okay, drive safe, and say happy birthday to Mikey for me,” you tell him, bidding him goodbye before hanging up the call. 

You sit for a while on the balcony, staring off into space as you sip your coffee slowly. It feels surreal, like you might have dreamed the whole sordid thing, but every time you close your eyes all you see is him. The memory of his hands over your skin is so fresh he could be right there with you, the taste of him heavy on your tongue. So many feelings rush through you as you think back over the past six days, some of them not so great, but the majority of them coalescing together to sink and pool in your belly warmly. 

Six days. 

By the time he gets back, your agreement will be over. You wish he were here, so you could hash this out and figure out where you both stand, if this is just something you both need to get out of your system or if it’s something more, but the last thing you want to do is bother him with something like this when he’s so clearly tied up with important record label things. 

The band always comes first. Always. 

He’s always said that and you’ve never questioned it, not once, except now you’ve been left hanging, unsure of where you stand, and you’re not sure if you’re overthinking it or not thinking about it enough. There’s a creeping uncertainty that rises up your spine the more you go over things and in the end you have to push it to the back of your mind, certain your thoughts would spiral if you let them. 

It doesn’t take you long to straighten his room. You place all of the broken items in a box and set them atop his desk when you have it upright again. The plant you take into your bathroom, setting it in a small tub of water to try and nurse it back to life; you’ll find a new pot for it another time, you figure.

By the time you’ve righted the furniture and vacuumed up all the debris and glass, it’s after lunch time. As you sit down with some leftover spanakopita you find yourself scanning through social media. The party is already in full swing, you see, judging by the flood of Snapchats, Instagram stories and messages that flood your feeds. These boys don’t do things by halves, you know, and you giggle at the apparent drunkenness already on display.

The rest of your day runs away from you and before you know it you’re at the airport picking up the client you have booked in for a site visit for the following day. Dinner is a quiet affair at a fancy restaurant, easy conversation that takes your mind off of missing him. 

Occasionally though your mind wanders back to him, or something reminds you of him and you drift away, caught in a daydream of a memory that makes your cheeks color and your thighs clench together. It drives you to distraction and you know your professionalism is slipping a little as you glance at your phone discreetly again, only to find it blank. Again. You pour another glass of wine as the dark thoughts and doubt begins to creep back in.

Your boss shares a taxi home with you. As you’re stopped to wait for a red light, she glances at you, putting a hand on your knee. Miles away, lost in thought, you jump and look up, startled. 

“How long’s it been since you had time off?” she asks gently. 

The question throws you for a loop, but then your brain clicks into gear. “I had a half day on Tuesday,” you reply, but she just chuckles, shakes her head at that. 

“I mean a proper holiday,” she clarifies, smiling fondly at you. “With that boyfriend of yours.” 

“He’s not–” 

You stop speaking mid-sentence as you realize what she’s doing. She’s not the boss because she’s stupid. 

“So he lets you live in his house, buys you expensive gifts, takes you out to parties, but he’s…not your boyfriend?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “It’s my job to know what’s going on with my staff,” she says pointedly, and you feel your ears heat up a little as you wonder momentarily how much she’s seen or heard. 

“I–” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I pay rent. I–I’m not sure what we are, Patrice,” you finish with a sigh. You’re clutching at straws and both of you know it. 

She lets go of your knee, but not before she squeezes it briefly. Turning her head, she stares out the window for a moment before looking back at you, her expression serious. 

“You’re a smart woman, honey,” she says quietly, “and I know you’re not the kind of person to let a man walk all over you. But if he’s not willing to call a spade a spade, wouldn’t you rather hit him with a fucking shovel before he breaks your heart?” 

You look at her for a few moments, dumbfounded, before turning your gaze down into your lap, picking at the skin around your fingernails. You remain quiet until the car pulls to a stop in front of your apartment building. Patrice presses a kiss to your cheek and squeezes your shoulder but says nothing, just offers a quiet reassuring smile before you step from the car and head inside. 

Your phone dings as you step into the elevator and you fish it out of your purse quickly, hopefully, but it’s just Patrice, telling you to take the following week off, or else. You thumb the message away and are about to shove the phone back in your pocket when it goes off again, twice in quick succession. 

Noah: They’re making me dress up tomorrow. 

Noah: Fucking save me. Please. 

You snort in amusement

I have to work, sorry bud, no can do. 

The three little dots bounce for a long time, long enough for you to get up to your apartment and inside the front door. You’re tossing your keys onto the hall stand and kicking off your heels when your phone bursts to life with an incoming call. 

Noah. 

You answer but pull the phone back from your ear immediately when the line connects and the staticky boom of extremely loud music screeches from the handset. 

“H-hello?” He says your name and you immediately recognise the unsteadiness in his tone: he’s absolutely wasted. 

“Hey! Everything okay?” you reply, switching to speaker phone. It’s marginally better. 

“Yes! Hi! Hello!” Noah exclaims. “Everything– yes, everything’s fine, just–just lemme just– fuck, excuse me dude…” 

The sound of music fades and you realize he’s either stepped outside or into another room; you hear clearly when he takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. 

“God, they’re fucking annoying…” he starts, and you giggle. 

“Noah, are you drunk?” 

He laughs self-consciously, letting out a small belch. “Yup,” he replies. “Sorry, I just…just wanted to…God, I’m sorry…” 

You giggle. “Sorry for what?” you ask, grinning as you flick on the kettle. 

“It’s late and I…” He breathes in deeply again, sighing as he lets it out. “I miss you,” he murmurs breathlessly. “Just wanted to, I don’t know, hear your voice or s’mthing.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat and warmth spreads across your chest. 

“Where are you?” you ask, quietly avoiding his statement. 

“M’in a store room or something, I don’t know,” he slurs, and you can hear the stupid grin that raises the corners of his mouth. “We went out after dinner, they’re…somewhere. What’re you doing?” 

“I just got home from a work dinner,” you tell him, setting the phone down on the counter to pour water into your tea. “I’m about to take my cup of tea and go to bed.” 

“Bed sounds…bed sounds really good right now…” He lets out a groan that turns into a yawn and you can picture him: arms up-stretched, a sliver of tattooed belly visible, in the way he always does when he’s trying to find that last bit of energy to finish off whatever he’s doing. 

“Hm, yeah it does,” you admit, pushing open your bedroom door. “I, uh, I cleaned up your room, I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want you cutting your foot or whatever when you came home and–” 

“What would I fucking do without you?” he murmurs, and you huff a laugh at that one as you settle into your bedsheets. 

“Probably starve and live in squalor,” you retort sassily. “I’ll send you the bill.” 

“What are you wearing?” 

The question makes you pause for a second but then you roll your eyes. “Go back to the party, Noah. I’ll see you Sunday.” 

“Spoil sport,” he huffs haughtily, but there’s a sharp edge of cheekiness to his tone that makes you giggle quietly. 

“Good night, Noah,” you tell him. 

“G’night,” he groans, and you hear the music grow louder as he opens the door to wherever he is. 

“Noah?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not wearing anything,” you tell him, before you end the call and set your phone down on your side table. It cheeps a message almost straight away, and you snort in amusement when you pick it up again and read it. 

Noah: Cruel. 

Deserved. 

Noah: Yeah I know x 

You wake early to a flood of group chat messages and social media posts that make you laugh out loud as you run through them while preparing your breakfast. There are a lot of blurry selfies, even more clips of exceptionally bad skateboarding in the dark and some very out of tune singing as they try to hail a cab down amid crowds of other bodies. It looks wild, just like old times, and your heart pangs a little. You miss your friends in LA a lot. 

Glancing at the time stamps, you’re not surprised at all to see that the last few were sent barely two hours ago but you flick off a quick message anyway. 

Let me know you’re all alive when you get this. 

You’re heading up the front steps in your heels two hours later, unlocking the front doors to the new building for the owner when you finally feel your phone vibrate an incoming text message in reply. You know exactly who it’s from; it’s Saturday and you’re the only one at work. All of your friends are down in LA at the party. 

Holding open the door, you gesture your client inside with a smile, telling him you will be with him in a moment. Then, following him inside, you pull out your phone and open the message, watching absently as the suited man takes in the newly renovated interior, designed by you. 

Noah: I’m dying. 

Grinning, you fire off a reply: Self inflicted. Zero sympathy. 

The little dots bounce to life. 

Noah: I still have twelve hours of this. Please give me an alibi so I can come home. 

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Suck it up. Go eat and shower, you’ll feel better. 

Noah: A hug would make me feel better. 

You pause before replying, enjoying the warmth his insinuation brings to your core. 

Define ‘hug’. 

He doesn’t reply immediately and you’re about to tuck your phone away and return to your client when the dots begin to bounce once more.

Noah: Can I call you later? 

After two. Ttyl x

Your client welcomes you back with a reassuring smile a mile wide, and you click into work mode immediately. 

Your client takes you out for dinner, he’s a pleasant man, reminds you of your dad. You find you have a lot in common. He tells you that you remind him of his daughter, and you sit there long after dinner, talking about life and growing up in rural California. He seems…lonely, grateful for the chance to just sit and chat without business getting in the way. 

You can relate.

It’s late when you finally head home, and it comes as no surprise that you get a text message from your boss soon after you walk in the door telling you that you have just landed three more sites with this client. It’s only an hour later that a gift basket arrives from her, with a note telling you that you have the whole of the next week off.

Noah doesn’t call. It doesn’t bother you in the least; you figure with all the hustle and bustle of the party he’s gotten caught up, and the steady stream of group chat messages reassures you. You can see him online and in the chat so you know he’s up and awake, hangover banished for the moment. It makes you smile, but you also feel the pang of jealousy, because he’s always been good at backing up after a night out whereas yourself? Useless. 

The glow of success settles in your chest as you kick back on the balcony with a wine in the late evening air, watching the last vestiges of orange fade from the horizon. Your phone chirps regular updates and you sit in the group chat for a while, talking with friends. They’re really getting into it and the photos get more and more unhinged until you’re giggling at the sight of two grown ass, shirtless men lugging a keg in through the front door. 

You shake your head, yawning. It’s definitely past your bedtime. So, after leaving a voice message for Mikey wishing him happy birthday, you haul your ass off the deck chair and make your way inside. As you’re washing your glass and setting it on the dish drain to dry, you get a reply from the birthday boy, but as soon as you open it your blood runs cold. 

The glass slips from your hand, cracking as it hits the edge of the sink. Setting your phone down calmly on the countertop, you back away from it. 

Numb. 

You feel nothing for a few seconds. But then you feel vomit rise to your throat and you lurch toward the sink, clutching the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled grip because your thighs grow shaky in time with your hands as you bring up your dinner into the basin. 

Clutching a clammy hand to your forehead, you close your eyes against the dizziness, swallowing down another wave of nausea before taking a deep breath and reaching for your phone again. 

You have to look again. You have to be sure. 

You are sure. Tears immediately prick your eyes and the phone slips from your grip again, thudding onto the counter. But when it lands you look down at the picture still on the screen, and you can’t help the sob that escapes you. 

It’s an innocent photo: a Snapchat screenshot of Mikey holding up a beer, the words ‘wish you were here’ across the text line. But it’s the background that holds your attention in all its heart-breaking, soul-crushing reality. Because in the background you see Noah, kissing another woman. 

The next part will be the final part of this story.

Thank you for reading. Part Eight coming soon.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

I am fucking SOBBING. Absolutely disgusting snotty sobbing. My fucking SOUL has been ripped out.

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Devil's Prayer Book - Chapter Six || Bad Omens

Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: “If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stake, and the quitting time.” He's a part time housemate but after losing a game of poker you find yourself completely at his mercy for one whole week. Sounds simple? Not quite. It never is.

CW: Language, negotiation of sexual relationships, free use sex arrangement and inexperienced Dom/sub relationship. Dirty talk, very mild high protocol kink (outfitting), f/f sexual situations: oral f/f, fingering and hand riding, voyeurism, sex in public, mutual masturbation, cum kink (pearl necklaces). Sub!Noah. If it's not your thing maybe wait for the next chapter. Content warnings will be on a chapter by chapter basis. Please let me know if you think that I've missed something. Also, y'all. Sex clubs. We need to have that discussion. Use protection, even if you're doing oral. Do your due diligence and be smart, be safe.

A.N.: title from a proverb "a stack of cards is the devil's prayer book". I am forever indebted to to @ladyveronikawrites and @the-way-of-words and @celticthroughandthrough for their assistance, expertise, editing and beta-ing help, cheerleading and handholding. This is a long chapter, yo. I thought about making it two parts but Tumblr has evolved and copes with it as one part so that's how you're getting it.

Tag Team: @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @bluechalcedony @mixxymess @thesazzb @collapsedglasshouses @thescarlettvvitch @jakekiszkasguitarpick @blackveilomens @jungleflowerz

Please DM me or comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Some of the tags have stopped working sorry, if you think you should be tagged and aren't.

Find Part One here Part Two here Part Three here Part Four here Part Five here

It’s still dark when you slip out the front door the next morning. You take the long way to work, walking a few blocks to catch the Orange Line downtown instead. Courthouse Station is full by the time you get out and as you walk the rest of the way along West Broadway to your office, your mind is on anything but work. 

Noah’s door was closed when you’d emerged from your room in search of morning coffee. You hadn’t contemplated knocking and asking if he wanted one, your anger at him still at fever-pitch. You hadn’t even bothered with breakfast. Filling a mug, you’d returned to your room and gotten ready for work without being disturbed, or disturbing him, it seemed; his door remained closed, the space inside quiet. 

Outwardly, you remained calm, although the urge to bang cupboards and slam doors weighed heavily on your consciousness. Inwardly, though, you were in turmoil, a whirlwind of emotions, only a handful of which you felt capable of acknowledging yet. 

You had to call an end to this. Bet or no, this had to stop. As fun as it was, as good as he made you feel physically, the mental toll was starting to weigh on you. There were too many unanswered questions, too much uncertainty, and far, far too many feelings taking root in your heart. 

You were falling for him. 

The realization hits you like a brick as you wait for the pedestrian lights to turn green so you can cross the street. Your vision blurs and you try to swallow down the choking  lump in your throat but it won’t budge. Heaving a sigh, you stare down at your feet, willing away the tears that threaten to fall. 

You pushed away the intrusive thoughts one at a time as they invaded your carefully constructed calm. You felt stupid for falling for him, for letting your emotions get the better of you once again; you’d been sure he felt at least something of what you did, that perhaps if you went along with it he’d show you he felt the same way. You felt used, chewed up and spat out, an object simply gathered for his sick, sexual pleasure, and your stomach rolled with the thought of who he’s told, who he’s laughed at you with, who else might know of this whole sordid situation. 

And so your traitorous mind tells you lie after lie with each step you take along the crowded street, so by the time you walk through the big revolving door into the plaza you're almost on the verge of tears again. 

The elevator ride gives you a chance to gather yourself, switching into work mode. You have always been good at compartmentalizing, packing the bad shit up into neat little boxes you could stow in the back of your mind and ignore until a more convenient time. Today was no different. Three quarters of an hour into a brain-storming meeting with your team and you’ve all but forgotten about Noah and this complicated situation you’ve somehow found yourself in. 

That is, until lunch time, when a courier arrives at the front desk with a parcel. You watch curiously to see where it was going to be delivered, your brow furrowing when the delivery man hands it to you over the divider, along with a small handheld device which he asked you to sign. 

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” you tell him as you hand the device back. He chuckles. 

“No one ever is,” he replies, tipping his ball cap. “Have a nice afternoon.” 

You almost don’t want to open it but after ten minutes of staring at it out of the corner of your eye you sigh and push away the report you’re trying to annotate, pulling the box in front of you. It’s a lush, dark chocolate brown color, thick and clearly well made, not a simple packing box from a warehouse. There’s nothing on the outside, not even a shop insignia. Cutting the tape carefully, you peel back the lid. 

It takes you almost a full minute to dial your brain in as you stare down at the contents of the box. You’re so floored you don’t even look at your phone when it rings, bringing it to your ear and saying your name without reading the number. 

“The SMS notification I just got says you got my delivery.” 

A sour taste rises to the back of your tongue.

“I did,” you reply. “Good…” You check your watch. “...afternoon, Noah. I didn’t see you this morning.”

“That’s because you left at the ass crack of dawn,” Noah retorts, “I was still sleeping.” 

You pick at the tissue paper that covers the delicate fabric inside the box. “Hm, being an asshole must be pretty exhausting.”

He huffs a laugh. “Touché.” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Look, Noah, I got a lot I gotta do today so if you don’t–” 

“I have a label thing to go to tonight,” he says, cutting you off. “You’re my plus one. Everything you need to be ready is in the box that just got delivered. The car will be there to pick you up at six.” 

You hoot a loud laugh. “Okay one, no, I’m not going to be your plus one. Two, you can stick your gifts where the sun don’t shine, I don’t want them. I don’t need them. And three: if you think I’m stupid enough to get into a car with you on the basis of you needing a plus one for a label thing, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Okay so you’re still mad…” 

“Mad? Mad!? Noah, you haven’t seen mad.” You spread your free hand out on the desk in front of you, trying to quell the shaking that threatens to spread through you.  "I stopped being mad when you called me 'babe'. I'm furious now."

There's silence down the end of the line. 

He breathes out your name. “I…I can’t…undo anything. I can’t…take back anything I’ve said or done in the last few days, I just…let me try and make this up to you. Give me a chance to make this better.” 

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Noah–”

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

You pause, curbing your anger to consider his question. “I am,” you reply with a sigh. “I like…I like it when you…you know…” The smile that quirks your mouth is genuine. 

“When I what?” His voice drops quiet and teasing. “Tell me.” 

You roll your eyes. “Not here, I’m at work.” 

“I’ll tell you what I like, do you wanna hear that?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

You’re powerless against his voice. Every word has your thighs clenching together tighter and tighter, and your fingers spread wide on the table as you try to control your breathing. 

“I liked watching you walk away from me yesterday in that outfit, knowing I picked it out and you put it on. I liked watching you get dressed, the way you run your fingers under the strap of your bra to straighten it…How you put your foot up on your desk chair to pull up your stockings, and how your hair fell over your face when you leaned forward. God, woman, you have no idea how beautiful you are like that…” 

“Shut up.”

His laughter is light, his usual self-deprecating chortle, and you can see in your mind’s eye the blush of color that rises to his cheeks and makes his freckles stand out a little, how he averts his gaze from yours and hides his eyes behind his bangs. 

“No, I mean it,” he continues. “I…I like how you blush when I tell you what I wanna do to you, how you twist your hands into the sheets when I touch you just right. I like how you say my name, right when you’re about to–”

“Okay I’m hanging up now,” you interrupt him, clearing your throat. 

“Six pm, don’t be late,” he replies, laughing. The line goes dead and you put your phone down on your desk, sinking your head into your hands as your mind starts to whir a hundred miles an hour again. 

It’s only you and the receptionist left when you pick up the box and head for the rest room to change. Clara looks up as you emerge, whistling between her teeth as her eyes widen. 

“Wow,” she exclaims. “Green is definitely your color.” 

Smoothing your hands over your thighs, you glance down at yourself. “Yeah, apparently so,” you reply. “Wait with me?” 

She nods, coming out from behind the desk. Her reassuring hand on your arm, the smile she gives you…you wish you had her confidence. 

“Nervous?” 

You nod. “Yeah, a little.” 

She reaches out, runs her finger over the gold earring that dangles from your lobe. “Let me just grab my coat, we’ll wait in the lobby together.” 

A gray sedan pulls up in front of the building at exactly six pm. The driver gets out, opens the rear door for you, gesturing silently. You glance at Clara who gives you an encouraging smile and waves, starting off down the street toward the MTS station. You pause, watching her go, but a voice interrupts your thoughts a few seconds later. 

“Are you changing your mind?” 

Bending, you look inside the car. Noah sits at the other end of the bench seat, looking at you with concern. Shaking your head, you slip in beside him and let the driver close the door behind you. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your dress that sits tight now over your thighs. 

“You look gorgeous.” 

“Thank you, so do you.” And he does: black slacks, black silk button down that’s open at the neck and folded up his forearms. You’ve never seen him dressed like this and it sends a shiver through you to see him so elegant. 

“I hate these things,” he says quietly, staring out the window as the car stops at a set of lights. “I appreciate you agreeing to come along.” 

You shrug, pulling the bolero you wear forward a little more over your shoulders. “It’s fine, not like I had anything to do tonight, anyway.” 

Noah snorts in amusement but doesn’t bite. His hand lands on your knee and it makes you jump; you watch as his fingers tighten momentarily before sliding up your thigh. You shift, turning your head away so he can’t see your expression; you close your eyes as he pushes your dress up your leg, his fingers catching on the lace edge of the pantyhose held up by the forest green suspenders that fit snug to your leg. 

“You wore it all,” he whispers, and you nod, glancing at him before turning back to the window.

“Of course I did,” you reply softly, “that was the deal, right?” 

His touch disappears from your leg and you clear your throat, shifting again in your seat. 

“Thank you. And I mean it: you look beautiful in green.” 

“Thank you. And you’re welcome.” 

You ride in silence most of the way. The driver takes the 5 out past Mission Bay, and you watch the sunset over the water as the car turns off onto Grand Avenue. 

“Where are we going, anyway?” 

“La Jolla,” Noah replies, “Big boss’s summer house, he’s throwing a party for everyone who pulled a platinum release this year. Which includes us, apparently. Hooray for us.” 

You look up in surprise when he lets out a sigh. 

“You made platinum? That’s huge! When?”

You don’t miss the way the tips of his ears color a little pinker, the quietly proud smile that tugs at his mouth. “Couple months ago.”

“You’re not proud of that? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

He grins, glancing at you. “Yeah, I am, we deserve it, we worked fucking hard on that record and I don’t think we’ve stopped touring since it dropped.”

“What’s the problem then?” 

“I just…I have other things to do than go to these kinds of things.” Another sigh. 

“What, like sit in the apartment with me and eat takeout food, watch shitty movies?” 

Noah huffs a small laugh. “I would most definitely rather be doing that than making small talk with coked-up record executives who are only interested in keeping us listed so they can upgrade from a Ferrari to a fucking Maserati next year.” 

“You’re aware we’re in an Audi right now?” You don’t bother trying to keep the amusement from your tone.

“Not my car, you know I can’t afford a fucking Audi.” 

“Well, I know it doesn’t mean much from me, but congratulations.” You take his hand where it lies between the two of you on the leather seat. His long fingers curl around yours immediately and he squeezes your hand, looking down.

“It does mean a lot, coming from you,” he says, voice quiet. “Thank you for coming tonight.” 

He doesn’t let go of your hand until the car pulls into a driveway at the top of a long cul de sac, waiting as the big, black iron gate swings slowly open. 

“You ready?” 

You nod, climbing out after him. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t the sedate, formal dinner you were presented with. Within seconds of entering the lobby of the big house you are greeted by a tall, long haired man whom Noah introduced to you as Joakim; you stare blankly at him for a moment before it clicks. 

“Oh! Jolly! The guitarist!” You hold out your hand and he takes it, pulling you forward to peck a kiss on your cheek. “Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jolly raises his eyebrows at Noah. “Oh, really?” 

“I’m sure it goes both ways,” you reassure him, grinning. “I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.” 

Jolly taps his nose and winks at you. You try not to let it bother you but the prickle of wariness up the back of your neck that he knows more than he says doesn’t go away for the rest of the night.  

The woman seated on your right is sweet, pleasant and attentive, and you warm to her quickly; Sadie, her name is, and she is an executive assistant to someone whose name you forget within two seconds of hearing. Nonetheless, you find you have a lot in common and quickly hit it off.

The wine is good, the food exceptional, and you are pleased to see that Noah’s tense shoulders have lowered a little, the tightness in his jaw almost gone, now that he sits in quiet conversation with Jolly. You’d almost think he was ignoring you except for the tight grip he has on your thigh.

You don’t question it. The slight shake of his hand that quietens underneath your palm when you cover it tells you he needs this, that there’s something more to this invitation than simply the deal between the two of you. Neither of you have ever discussed anything so personal as health issues or mental health struggles and you know now is neither the time ,nor the place, so you just let him keep a tether on you and stow it away as something to talk about at a later date. 

Gradually though, as you meander your way through the courses, the volume of the music goes up and the conversation becomes rowdier. You feel his hand on your leg less often, and hear his laughter more. You feel tipsy yourself; the pour of wine into glasses sloppier and deeper, and more than once you smile tightly and shake your head, putting your hand over your glass to curb an overzealous waiter. 

The party disperses throughout the house and you find yourself on the vast patio discussing your job with Sadie and a few other women. The night is warm and still, and there’s a buzz of night-time insects in the air that reminds you that you’re not in the city anymore. 

The conversation is easy and you find you have a lot in common with them: long days and tireless anticipatory tasks that often go thankless. She travels a lot, and you compare stories of your favorite resorts. It’s not long though, until the conversation turns more personal. 

“So, you and Noah,” one of the women - Esther - starts, and Sadie puts a hand on your arm. 

“No, for real though, we thought he was gay,” she says, her voice low, eyes wide. “We never see him with anyone.” 

You laugh, probably louder than is necessary. “No, it’s not like that,” you chuckle, “we’re just housemates. We met through mutual friends. I needed a place to live, he needed someone who could look after the place while he was in LA. It worked out really well actually.” 

Esther raises her eyebrows, sipping from the straw in her glass. “You mean you’re not…you’ve never…?” 

“Not even once,” you lie outright. “And he’s not gay, by the way.” 

“Well that’s a relief,” the third woman - Bella - breathes out, her hand on her chest. “I was going to slip him my number later.” 

Sadie throws her head back with a hoot of laughter and the conversation descends into tawdry discussion of their sexual escapades with various people whose names you vaguely recognise from some of Noah’s music magazines, so you excuse yourself and go in search of the restroom. Making your way carefully up the stairs and down the hall, you stop suddenly when you hear Noah’s voice. 

“Yeah, I’m still coming, don’t worry, I’ll be home on the weekend…I know I said tomorrow but plans changed and I– no, I didn’t say that at all. Come on, don’t be like that…I said I’d still go to Mikey’s birthday dinner and– I didn’t say that, fuck off, don’t put words in my mouth…”

You flatten yourself against the wall in the bathroom enclave as you hear his footsteps coming up the hallway; the phone is still pressed to his ear as he passes by you, heading back to the party. 

“No, I promise, I’m still coming…you’re wearing a costume?! No, no way, no costumes for me. Jesse says he’s bringing one for me? Well you can tell him to suck my dick– Oh? Is that so? Well, I’ll definitely have to be there to see that…Alright, okay. Okay, I will. Night.” 

He hangs up the call as he steps down into the staircase, but you step out of the shadows and say his name. He stops, mid-step, almost toppling over as he spins around. You narrow your eyes at him; the thought that perhaps he’s drunker than you think lingers on the tip of your tongue. 

“I have a gift for Mike,” you tell him instead with a smile, “don’t let me forget to give it to you before you head back.” 

Noah grins, stepping back up onto the landing toward you. “I can do that. It’s a dumb costume party, I don’t even want to go but everyone else is so…why not, I guess. Could be fun.” 

“I’m sure you’ll make enough mischief for the rest of them,” you sass back, smoothing your hands over his shirt pockets. Noah’s gaze is heated as he stares down at you. 

“What are you doing anyway, lurking in the shadows up here?” he murmurs, sliding a hand around your waist. 

“Ladies room,” you reply quickly, “too much wine.” 

The way his fingertips linger along the outline of your thong beneath your dress steals your breath. 

“Hm. I’m almost ready to blow this place,” he says softly, eyes on yours. 

“I’m pretty much done,” you agree, nodding. He gazes down at you for a few more beats before he steps back and pulls out his phone again, thumb flying across the keyboard. 

“I just called the car up,” he murmurs, “go get in, I just gotta go say bye to Jolly.” 

He trots down the stairs two at a time, and it’s a few minutes before you can command your legs to follow. 

The car interior is warm and pleasant, soft music plays from a speaker in the center console. There’s a privacy barrier down now where previously you could see the driver and when Noah slips into the car beside you, you’re suddenly acutely aware of it. 

“Thank you. Again.” 

You turn to Noah when he speaks. 

“You’re welcome, it was fun being rich and famous for a hot minute.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh, turning his head to stare out the window. 

“I meant it, when I said you looked beautiful in that,” he says quietly. 

“Thank you.” Your cheeks heat up as you accept the compliment, and you’re not sure if it’s the wine or the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second before he looks away, but when that heat drops into your belly, pooling like molten lava to throb in your cunt, you don’t think to question it. You know where this is going, the only unanswered question is how you’re getting there. 

But when you look up at him again something gives you pause. He looks tired now, as if he’s peeled a mask from his skin, and when he scrubs a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, your forehead furrows in concern and you can’t stop the curious part of you that creeps forward. 

“So, um, what was that all about at dinner?” you ask carefully. 

“What was what about?” 

“You kept…reaching for me. As if you were making sure I was still there.” 

Noah doesn’t answer right away and when he does, his words are halting, hesitant. 

“I…don’t like things like this, especially when there are lots of…people I don’t know,” he murmurs. 

“Do you get that often?” 

He shrugs. “It’s gotten worse over the years, but I’m managing it. It comes and goes.”

You study his face: he’s a closed book, unreadable, and some of the tension has come back into his shoulders. 

“But you get up on stage in front of thousands of strangers.” 

He huffs a laugh, glancing at you with a grin. “That’s very different.”

“How?” 

He takes a deep breath before he replies. “Well, for one, there are security guards between them and me…us. And they’re not there to talk to me. We play for them and that’s where it ends.” 

“You’re prepared, you know what you’re going to do, you have back up plans,” you add, and he nods. 

“There’s nothing we can’t handle when we’re up there. Matt has contingencies on top of contingencies, and Nick and Folio and Jolly…they’ve all got techs that can handle shit quickly when it goes wrong.”

“But you were on your own tonight,” you observe. Noah says nothing, just stares out the window again, so you leave it be, thankful for the insight he’s given you.   

“Did I hurt you?” 

“Pardon me?” When you turn your head, he’s staring at you intently, concern written all over his tired and drawn face. 

“When I grabbed your leg,” he clarifies. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you reply. “I’m going to have some nice bruises tomorrow though.” 

“I’m just…I’m so tired.” He huffs a quiet laugh but it’s barely there, more derisive than humorous. “When I get panicked like that sometimes I can’t…sometimes it’s hard to stop–”

“Noah…” You reach for him, putting a hand on his leg, concerned. “Look at me.” 

There’s a manic, spark in his eye that belies the way his shoulders drop low and the way he slumps in his seat, so you squeeze his thigh, trying to get his attention focused on you. 

“I’m here, I can help you,” you tell him softly. “What do you need me to do?” 

“I don’t…I don’t know, I just…” His hand closes over yours so you turn your hand over, twining your fingers through his; you’re relieved when he lets out a long, deep breath.

“There you go, just breathe,” you whisper, scooching closer to him until your thigh touches his. The noise he lets out when your leg comes to rest against his could be a sigh but it sounds like sweet relief, his grip on your hand tightening, and all of a sudden you know what you have to do. 

Noah jumps when your hands slide along his legs, his body straightening to give you room as you settle in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, forearms on his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” He threads his arms around your waist, letting out a soft noise against your throat as you lean in closer. 

“I felt how your hands shook tonight,” you whisper, carding a hand through his hair, flexing your fingernails into his scalp. His head tips back, his eyes falling closed as he lets out a happy noise. “I saw how your knuckles were white holding onto me so hard.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

“You didn’t hurt me, I already said that.” 

His palms move up your thighs, pushing your dress up higher and higher until it barely covers your hips. His fingers go straight to the lace edge of your stockings, his thumbs running over the little gold clasps. He says nothing, avoids your gaze.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” You pause, considering your words, “but, sometimes I wonder if you try to control too much in your life.”

“You and my therapist been trading notes?” 

You chuckle, digging your fingertips into his scalp a little as you gently comb them through his hair. 

“No, not at all,” you whisper, tracing your thumb over the lines on his forehead. “It’s very obvious to the people who spend a lot of time around you.” 

“It’s…I’m working on it.” The sigh he lets out as you massage over his temples drags another layer of tension from the flesh beneath your hands. 

“Have you thought about letting someone else take charge for a bit?” 

His eyes spring open and he raises his head, studying you with narrowed eyes. When he doesn’t reply, anxiety bubbles in your belly and you wonder if you’ve misjudged, but then he heaves another big sigh and lets his head roll back against the headrest once more. His grip on your thighs loosen, and a flare of satisfaction rises in your core because you have your answer now. You know exactly what he needs. 

“I could…help,” you murmur, leaning forward to ghost your mouth over his ear. “If you would like me to?” 

“Are you asking my permission to trade roles?” 

“This is your game,” you whisper, tipping his head back further with a finger pressed to his chin. He groans, a deep rumble in his chest that reverberates through his throat against your hand. “You call the shots.” 

“Yes…” he murmurs, voice catching in a moan as your tongue flickers out to taste him. “You have my permission.” 

It doesn’t take much to tilt your hips forward, pressing your heated core to the bulge of his cock, hard and prominent in the front of his slacks. He curses, hands flying to your hips to hold you there as your hands tighten in his hair and pull his head back from where it’s come to rest on your collarbone.

“I…don’t want to go home yet,” he says softly. His eyes are wide now, focused and trained on yours.

“Neither do I,” you reply when you can find your voice. 

His thumb traces over your lower lip, dragging it down. You take hold of his wrist, opening your mouth to allow him to press down on your tongue. His eyes lower to your mouth and he lets out a needy noise when your lips close around his finger. 

“Fuck…you have such a pretty mouth,” he murmurs, watching as you let him go a little, letting him draw the digit out, your tongue curling over the curve of it. “Goddamn, you make me wanna…” 

“Wanna what?” You sit up and his hands go straight to your ass, pushing your dress up until it’s high on your waist. Noah lets out a groan as he palms your ass cheeks hard, squeezing them together as his fingers dip into the cleft between. You huff out a moan against his cheek, eyes falling closed, and you can feel his gasping breaths in your ear. 

“I wanna…” Again, his voice gives out, but one hand curls around the back of your head, tangling in your hair, and you let out a hiss when he tightens his hands amid your strands. 

“Do we need new rules?” you murmur, holding eye contact firmly. 

“Probably.”

You’re almost ashamed of the noise that escapes your throat when his tongue teases at the bud of your top lip. Your eyes fall closed. You can taste him, smell the tang of tequila and citrus on his breath.

“We can’t take this back,” he whispers, the words ghosting over your lips. 

“I know.” 

When you open your eyes all you see are his, and in the split second it takes you to focus your gaze, you’re sure you see in him the fear that echoes like a drum beat in your own chest. But then he leans forward to set his lips over yours and all of a sudden nothing else matters except this. 

He plucks at your lips, barely-there caresses that melt away whatever remains of your ability to resist. You’re putty in his hands and there’s not a thing you can do about it. The curl of his tongue against your lips as he begs entry to your mouth feels like heaven and you let him in without hesitation. 

It’s a slow kiss but it feels like you’re drowning in him, and even when you break free to gulp air he doesn’t let you go far, his forehead pressed to yours as he clings to you, as if he’s afraid if he lets go completely you’ll disappear. When you open your eyes and meet his gaze, the grip Noah has on your hair lessens, his hands smoothing down over your shoulders as he licks his lips, now pink and wet and kiss swollen. 

“I meant it, when I said I didn’t want to go home,” he whispers. “I know a place we can…do whatever you need to do. If you trust me to take you there.” 

His words make you pause. You lean back a bit, studying his face. He’s never given you reason to not trust him, despite all your reservations, and this sudden development in your relationship has you riding on a high of endorphins that does, indeed, make you feel a little more trusting of him. 

So you nod. “I trust you,” you whisper in reply, basking in the glow of the wide smile that breaks across his face like a sunrise, letting him pull you in for another kiss. 

His hands dwarf your face as he holds you still, kissing you breathless before lifting you out of his lap to scoot forward and slap his hand a couple times on the privacy panel. The panel drops, and Noah leans forward, murmuring a conversation with the driver, who nods and taps an address into his sat nav. 

Then, with a deep sigh, Noah settles back into the seat beside you. Glancing out the window, you see the driver take an exit you’re not familiar with, piloting the car down into the suburbs.

“Where are we going?” 

“A friend’s club.” 

“What like a bar club or a dance club…or some kind of other club that I’m not gonna wanna write home to momma about.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins mischievously. 

“All of the above? You still game?” 

The laugh he lets out sends a shiver up your spine and you glare at him a moment, raising an eyebrow. 

“What, you think I’ve never been to strip clubs before?” 

“This isn’t a strip club,” he chuckles, and you narrow your eyes at him, tilting your head quizzically. 

“Are you mocking me, Davis?” 

“No, I’m–” His words choke off with a quiet noise as you slide a hand along the inside of his thigh. 

“Noah, I’d just like to take a moment to remind you that we’ve not known each other that long.” You catch his hand as he reaches for you, setting it gently down on the seat beside his leg before resuming your quiet exploration of his inner thigh. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that I think this is going to get interesting.”  

The car pulls into an underground car park about ten minutes later. It’s an old part of town but one you recognize. It’s been a long time since you were in this neighborhood. Noah pushes open the car door and goes to get out, but your hand on his arm stops him. 

“I said we needed some new rules.” 

He stops, looks back at you for a moment, then climbs back in, pulling the car door closed behind him. Outside the tinted window you can see the driver waiting patiently but for the moment your attention is bound to Noah’s eager face. 

“For the next few hours, I want you to remember that you are not to do anything without my permission, understand?” 

Noah nods, swallowing. “What do I…how do I refer to you?” 

Your insides warm as he leans into your hand when you cup his cheek. You smile. 

“My name is fine,” you murmur. “I like hearing you say my name.” 

You both glance out the window as the elevator doors on the other side of the parking lot open and a group of people emerge to tumble into a limousine that idles in wait. They’re not wearing much at all and hands roam freely over skin amid laughter and quiet conversation. 

“I’ve been here before,” you tell him quietly, and his eyes snap up to meet yours in surprise. You laugh at his expression. “I told you, you don’t know me very well. Have you? Been here?”

“Only once,” he replies, his eyes on the limo as it pulls away from the elevator doors, now closed. “There was an album release after party here and it was…pretty wild.” He huffs a laugh, eyes widening at the recollection. 

“Well, if you see anything you like…just ask, okay? This visit is my treat.” 

Again, his eyes return to you sharply and you don’t miss the way his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, how his teeth graze over them as he stares at you, as if imagining what your words might mean. 

“Shall we go?”

The music is deafening as the elevator doors open to reveal the inside of the club. You take a deep breath as you step out into the throngs of people; it smells of smoke and sex and a cacophony of aftershaves and perfume, and it sets your heart racing the second it hits your lungs as your body starts to remember. 

You reach out, taking Noah’s hand as you start toward the bar. He holds tightly, standing behind you as you wait to catch the barkeeper’s attention. 

“Two vodka sodas,” you order, handing over your card. “Are there any booths free?” 

The barkeep nods and punches something into the til, holding up five fingers. Booth five. You nod, taking the little ‘occupied’ table note he hands you. Then, taking Noah’s hand again, you thread your way back through the people and along the wall until you find the alcove you’re looking for. It’s a good spot: facing the dance floor, it’s enough out of the way to be a little private but still enough to be able to see most of the club.

You gesture Noah inside as a waiter appears with a tray of drinks, setting them down on the low table in the middle of the circle of seats. Thanking him, you slip in after Noah settling beside him, your hand coming to rest immediately on his thigh. 

“You okay?” you whisper against his ear, and he nods, turning his face to yours. Tracing a finger along his jaw, you nudge your nose over his cheek. “Do you want to dance or just sit for a bit?” 

You feel him swallow as you trail your fingers up his thigh. “There are people having sex in the next booth,” he notes, and his slightly disbelieving tone makes you giggle despite yourself. 

“Yes there is,” you reply. “You okay with that?” 

He glances over at the wall between the two spaces; you can’t hear a thing because of the music but there’s a hand braced on the frosted glass of the divider, and you can see the outline of bodies moving. He nods, and when he leans in to speak you can feel his breath hot and fast on your skin.

“Will you fuck me like that here?” 

The sheer thought of finally going there with him has you tightening your thighs in an attempt to quell the throbbing between your legs, but you shake your head. “No, I have other plans for you,” you tell him, and the little laugh he lets out is slightly manic.  

“Then I think I’d like to dance,” he replies, leaning in to rest his head against yours. “With you.” 

Nodding, you drain your glass and set it down on the table, taking Noah by the hand and pulling him to his feet again. 

It’s good music, heavy industrial drum and bass that gets your body moving as soon as you get near the dancefloor. It doesn’t take you long to get into the groove, your eyes closing as you feel Noah settle in behind you; taking his hands, you set them on your hips, your body swaying in time to the music. 

He’s an okay dancer, nothing that blows you away, but he lets you lead and that’s just fine by you as you grind and sway against his steady form. He keeps his body close to yours but his hands stay glued to your hips until you finally take matters into your own hands. 

“Please don’t hold back,” you tell him, mouth against his ear to be heard. “You can touch me. I want you to.” 

Tangling your fingers into the short, sweaty locks at the base of his skull, you huff a silent moan as his hands slide over your ass, fingers clenching in the flesh of your cheeks as he pulls your hips into his. His cock is hard, you can feel it through his slacks pressed against your mound, and it makes your mouth go dry, but you try to ignore it.

The beat changes and you turn your back to him, dipping low. His body follows yours, his hands spreading wide on your thighs to drag your dress up when he straightens with you; you can hear his breath ragged in your ear when you lean your head back on his shoulder, feel the rumble of a moan when his hands rise to roam across your tits.

“That’s it, give them a show,” you murmur; his mouth curves up in a smile against your neck. 

“Look at her.” Your eyes open at Noah’s voice, and you look where he points: a woman in a purple dress dances on a podium, her skin shimmering all shades of iridescence. She’s short with thick thighs and an ass to die for, her hair is messy drawn up on top of her head and she’s lost in the music. She has a strong dancer’s body covered in the softness of women’s flesh that makes your mouth water and your pussy wet. 

You turn to Noah, smoothing your hands over his chest. He leans down when you gesture at him with one finger.

“Go talk to her,” you tell him, “I’ll meet you back at the booth.” 

The laugh he lets out has a hint of hysteria, and you pause, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Whatever she asks for, just say yes,” you tell him, meeting his gaze firmly. He stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head and steps around you. You detour via the bar and order fresh drinks, including a non-alcoholic soda for your soon-to-be new friend. Glancing over your shoulder at the dance floor, you see the dancer no longer dancing, instead crouched on the podium, deep in conversation with Noah, who’s smile and flushed cheeks you can see even through the masses of moving bodies. 

You slip into the booth and sit down to wait. It doesn’t take long. 

“Hello.” 

You glance up as she slips into the booth beside you. She’s even prettier up close; you take a sip and then hand her the same drink as Noah slides carefully into the booth behind her. 

“It’s non-alcoholic,” you tell her and you don’t miss the way she discreetly dips a long painted fingernail into the liquid; she’s smart, checking for spiked drinks. You like her even more. You smile, holding out your hand as you give her your name. 

“Marielle,” she says, leaning in a little. “Your boy says you’re in charge?” 

“Tonight I am, yes,” you nod once, acknowledging her statement. You take a deep breath as she shuffles closer to you on the bench, shifting to face her more. 

“He’s very well trained,” Marielle says with a little giggle, and behind her you see Noah’s face flush red some more. You smile reassuringly at him and Marielle glances back over her shoulder. “What are the rules? Can I play with him, too?” 

“No, he only gets to watch,” you whisper. 

“Shame. But can I touch you?” 

You nod, and her hand when it moves up your leg is warm, softly squeezing your thigh as she moves closer. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You hear Noah swear under his breath when you nod again and lean in to curl a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her toward you. Her hands roam over your body as she kisses you, and it’s not long before she starts to thread her hands beneath your dress seeking skin. 

“Do you want me to take this off?” you ask, and she nods, reaching for the zipper of her own dress as you slide the clasp free and lower the tight fabric down over your hips. As you help her free of her own dress, you see Noah lean back, quietly watching, but you don’t miss the way he presses a hand over the hard bulge of his cock in his pants. 

“Don’t do that.” 

Noah’s hand snaps away from his crotch so fast it makes you giggle, and Marielle covers her mouth to hide her own light laugh. He bites his lower lip and groans, letting his head tip back against the dark wood of the booth divider. 

“You’re goddamn cruel,” he groans, but you just shrug in reply and say nothing. Satisfied he knows his place, you turn your attentions back to Marielle. 

She feels fucking incredible under your hands, all soft, sweet smelling skin that yields to your touch easily. The noises she makes as you explore her body bring heat to your core and a maddening throb to your cunt, and when you slide two fingers beneath the lace edge of her thong to stroke the length of her slit you find her soaked already. She moans into your mouth as you part her folds, seeking her clit. Her body arcs when you find it, her head falling back, a graceful curve that you can’t help but put your mouth to.

“God, I’m gonna cum so fast if you keep doing that,” she moans, “you have fucking magic hands…” 

“Do it then,” you command, meeting Noah’s eyes over her shoulder. His hands are flat on his thighs, gripping his legs tight as he watches you. She gives a quiet shudder, her breath hiccupping in her throat as she rides your fingers, harder and faster as she approaches her peak. 

She cums with a deep groan, her whole body seizing for a moment before she bucks and writhes against your hand. You kiss her through it, stroking her face as she comes down. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” you hear Noah groan from his place in the corner of the booth, squirming as he fights the urge to touch himself. Marielle glances back at him, grinning, breathless still as her body twitches with aftershocks. She has a wicked grin on her face when she turns back to you. 

“Can I break his brain?” she asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Can I eat you out?” 

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask,” you retort, and she laughs, pushing you onto your back. 

She makes you cum three times before you remember he’s there, looking up over her shoulder to clock the absolute dire desperation in his eyes. His hands are dangerously close to his crotch, squeezing and rubbing at his thighs, and he can’t take his eyes off the way she buries her face between your legs to lick into you once more, sending your back arching and your head back into the seat cushion hard. 

With shaking hands, you pull her up over you to kiss her once she’s done. Licking the taste of yourself from her lips, you brush her hair from her forehead as you sit up, spending a little more time just running your hands over her, kissing her. Teasing him. 

Eventually though, you sigh, sitting back from her.   

“I think I need to take the poor baby home,” you murmur, glancing at Noah once again. He looks utterly feral, his eyes wide as he shifts in his seat for the hundredth time. Marielle rolls her eyes as she turns back to you, grinning nonetheless. 

“You won’t make it out of the parking lot before he mauls you,” she replies, giggling. You snort in amusement, before holding out her dress to help her climb into it. 

“Noah, sweet boy, will you call the driver?” 

Marielle stands, handing you a card as she leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Let me know if you’re coming back,” she whispers, “we enjoy nice respectful couples here.” 

And with that, she’s gone, trailing a hand over Noah’s arm as she walks by him. 

He’s silent as he stands beside you in the elevator. The ride home is quiet also, and by the time you step from the car at your apartment building and follow him up the stairs to the lobby your mind is racing. 

You can’t read his expression. His face is blank, eyes turned down at his feet as he walks. You begin to wonder if you crossed some kind of boundary you don’t know about, but then you step inside the door of your apartment and everything changes. 

Your back hits the front door the second it closes. Noah kisses you like he’s dying, gasping breaths against your lips, deep moans as he ruts against your thigh. 

“Fuck, I need to cum, please let me,” he begs, one hand tangling in your hair as the other cups your breast, pulling down the fabric of your dress to find skin. You can’t speak, breathless now, so you just nod, reaching for the button of his slacks. 

“No, no, let me, just…stay there,” he hisses, covering your mouth with his again. His tongue is rough against yours, the relieved groan he lets out as he wraps his hand around his shaft and pulls his cock out makes your pussy throb and clench against nothing. 

“Fuck, fuck, oh God…” he groans, hand already moving fast. “Talk to me…Tell me I can…” 

Your chest clenches as you watch his face: his eyes are squeezed closed, his forehead furrowed and his mouth slack. He’s so lost in the feel of his hand moving over his own cock he jerks when you start to speak.

“Did you like watching us that much, huh?” you whisper, stroking his cheek with one fingernail. “Like watching her eat my pussy? God, it felt so good, so fucking good. Do you want to cum now? Here? With me?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Please let me cum…” 

“Where do you want to cum? I know you like my ass… want me to bend over and give you that?” 

You’re surprised when he tugs down the rest of your dress, exposing your tits before he puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes down. You understand immediately and it sends your mouth dry. 

“You wanna cum on my tits, honey?” 

He nods, biting his lip fiercely, pushing down on your shoulder again. So you let him move you, let him put you where he wants, sinking to your knees. Crossing your arms below your breasts, you let your head drop back against the door as you crouch in front of him, presenting your tits. 

“I’m gonna– please!”

“You can cum, baby, go on, do it,” you purr, watching as his strokes become sloppy and uneven, the groans from above you growing louder until he stills, cock angled into your cleavage as he pulses in his own hand, painting ropes of hot cum over your chest. 

You feel him slump against the door as he lets go, the deep groan echoing through you as your cunt spasms and you drop a hand to your clit. A few quick, harsh moves of your fingers and you're cumming too, riding your high out with a sharp moan as he quivers above you.

You can't help but let out the hysterical little giggle that rises in your throat as you come down. You put a hand to his leg, glancing up at his face. You can’t see his eyes but the grin he gives you when you ask if he’s okay, the thumbs up, causes your giggle to grow into a full-blown hoot of laughter that he answers with his own deep chuckle. 

“Oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard,” he pants between breaths, “you’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye.” 

Sliding out from beneath him, you straighten, tugging off the remains of your dress and wiping his spend from your skin. 

“Good thing I don’t like this dress,” you mutter. Noah makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

“I’m kidding, idiot,” you tell him, still giggling as you walk away. “Lemme run a shower.”

You flip the taps in his bathroom, listening as he undresses and kicks his shoes into the wall before joining you in the bathroom. He makes a disgruntled sound when you turn to go, and you pause, leaning on the door frame as you stare back at him. 

“You’re not hopping in?” he asks, forehead furrowed. 

Again, something in his tone makes you stop, studying his face. Tonight has been exhausting and you crave the soft warmth of your own bed, the comfort of your own space. You shake your head, holding your ruined dress in front of your chest self-consciously, as if you hadn’t just presented yourself for him to blow a load over. 

“I’m gonna shower quickly in my own room, turn in,” you tell him, not meeting his gaze. “I’m beat.” 

“Oh, okay…” You can’t reconcile his tone. His eyes darken a little and he turns away, and you wonder briefly if this was still part of the game and you’d just broken one of the rules by turning him down. But you’re too tired for games. 

“Is this…is this an order?” you ask quietly. Noah frowns. 

“Do I need to make it one?” he replies, looking at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Maybe.” You cross your arms. You don’t bother to try and hide the petulance you feel. 

Noah stays silent, and the pair of you just glare at each other for a moment, before he crooks a finger at you and beckons you closer. 

Sighing, you set the dress down on the counter and peel off your stockings, kicking off the high heels that make your feet ache. Then, only a little reluctantly, you take his hand and step into the shower. 

The warmth makes you groan in relief; if you could drop to the floor and lie down under the curtain of water, you would. Instead, you lean into him, letting him encase you in his arms, and the two of you stand there in silence until the water starts to run cool. A few times you feel him take a deep breath and clear his throat, as if he wants to speak, but then he doesn’t and the realization that you might not have the answers he wants or needs makes you glad for that. 

You’re towelling your hair dry, standing at the end of his bed, when you feel Noah’s hands on your thighs, the gentle pressure of him pulling you closer. Turning to him, you let him wrap his arms around your hips, and when he rests his head against your belly you card a hand through his hair gently.

“Noah–” you start with a sigh. 

“I’m so fucking lonely.” His whole body lifts and falls with the deep sigh he lets out. “Will you stay here tonight? Please? Just tonight…” 

You hate how easy it is for you to say yes to him. How simple it is to throw on a shirt you find discarded in the sheets, one that smells of him and sets your senses alight as the soft, old cotton settles on your skin. It feels so goddamn normal to slip beneath the sheets and curl your body into his, to fall into his arms, lulled off to sleep by the gentle rhythm of his breath against your neck. 

Thank you for reading! Chapter Seven coming soon.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

Dude I just left a three year relationship and this was the best gift I’ve ever received. 🥵

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Broken Place - Part Two || Bad Omens

This is a fic spawned by THIS HERE prompt. Sweet Lips Nonnie, you've yet to come forward to claim the prompt, and I really hope you do because it was a corker and I adored writing every second of this. I hope you enjoy this. There will be two parts. Title from a quote by Hemingway: The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. Thank you so, so much to @kingdomof-omens for assistance with firearms knowledge. You're honestly the best of us. Also thank you to @the-way-of-words for help storyboarding and handholding. Legend status.

I've also made a playlist for this, which you can find HERE.

Noah Sebastian x ofc (unnamed) - Hitman AU

Summary: All's fair in love and war.

CW: bad language, threats and violence, gore, death, use of heavy arms/artillery/military grade weaponry. Knife play/knife kink, blood kink if you squint. Smut: p in v, oral (m & f receiving), hand jobs, fingering. Big feels, many angst. MAIN CHARACTER INJURY AND DEATH. Mentions of loss of a parent. Drug and alcohol abuse, self-medication of mental illness, self-destructive behaviours, psychological trauma. Shit talking about Cuba. I don't hate Cuba, promise. Would love to go there. Heavy use of cultural stereotypes because bro is fucking pissed. Any and all opinions shared by characters herein are not the opinions of the author. Don't listen to him, he's an psychologically traumatised, mouthy douchebag.

Tag Team: I don't know if anyone wants to be tagged in this but I'll tag my usual suspects, but if you want on or off, please don't hesitate to DM me @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @blackveilomens

Part One here || Part Two here

Part Two

July 22nd, 2023

Chicago, Illinois

If you asked Noah, the worst possible thing about being stuck in a room in a vacant building with three of his best friends is the constant shit talking. The mindless chatter of the three voices he knows awake and in his sleep, back to front and upside down. Their intricacies, their quirks and intonations, voices he can tell truth or fiction within, voices whose tone belies something underhanded they think he won’t pick up on but always does.

Voices that just never. Seem. To fucking. 

Stop.  

Yapping.

Sometimes, he wonders if it’s because they can’t stand the sound of silence, or the idea of being alone with the thoughts in their own minds. Or perhaps they just like the sound of their own voices. Either way, someone’s always talking, or singing, or reciting scenes from a television show, or simply recounting a story that’s been told a thousand times before, and it’s times like this that Noah wishes for death’s sweet release. 

He grits his teeth and leans back a little further in his chair, focusing every single ounce of his attention on the book in front of him, trying to ignore the discussion going on across the room. He glances at his watch.

Sixteen hours, thirty-two minutes, forty-eight seconds. 

It’s twenty-one hundred, give or take a few. He’d hoped there’d have been at least a sighting by now but this mark was slippery. He’d evaded them once already, and this time wasn’t looking great as a score leveler. 

It’s hot, and he’s itchy from the building dust that coats every single fucking surface in this joint. The stupid overalls he wears stink of the paint Matt splashed over them “to help them blend in”, and Noah’s pretty sure he’s been high from the fumes since about midday. 

“Heads up, we got movement.” 

Three sets of eyes snap to attention, zeroing in on Nicholas. He lies on his belly on a table peering through the sight of an M24 that’s trained on the building opposite. Jolly takes the far window, Folio the one to Noah’s right, his TAC-50 already set up on the table beside him. 

“Whatcha got for me, Nick?” 

“Curtain’s shifted in the master bedroom window, your ten,” Nicholas murmurs in reply. 

“Any bodies, Jolly?” 

“Negative,” Jolly replies quickly, scanning his thermals across the building. “Wait–” He pauses, and Noah joins him at the window. 

“Where?”

“What the hot damn hillbilly fuck?!” 

Again, three sets of eyes converge on Nicholas’ figure. 

“What? What is it?” Noah joins him at the center window, lying down awkwardly as Nicholas gets up to let him gaze through the scope. 

“You’re fucking kidding me…” Noah murmurs. 

“Is that…?” 

Noah can do nothing except stare in shock as she looks him dead in the eye and grins, waving. 

“Motherfucking sonofabitch, I’m gonna fucking–”

“Noah, No!” 

The window shatters as he pulls the trigger, and the window in the building across explodes in reply. 

“Fuck, goddamn, we gotta get out of here,” Folio snaps, his fingers moving a million miles an hour over his rifle, stripping it back. Nicholas swears under his breath, pushing Noah clean off the table before he starts to do the same. 

“Jolly, get the bivs from the other room, hurry the fuck up,” Nicholas exclaims. “We got approximately…” 

The phone at his hip starts ringing and he rolls his eyes as he answers it, holding it away from his ear as Matt’s angry voice explodes from the handset.

“What the fucking fuck is fucking going on up there? What are you fucking doing? No one called in a fucking shot!” 

Noah stares petulantly up at Nicholas, who just purses his lips and takes a deep breath before answering. 

“Someone had a rush of blood to the head,” he replies. “We’re, um, we’re gonna need a little help getting outta here without extra attention.” 

“I’ll say, the fucking police are already on their way, what the fuck, dude, what the deep fried kentucky fuck.” 

“Matt, I need you to hold them off.” Nicholas slams the lid closed on his rifle case, tucking it into his bag. 

“No can do, got no eyes on the ground there, this was only supposed to be a fucking recon mission,” Matt retorts. “You’ll have to do it on your own, you’ll have hit the tunnels.” 

Jolly groans and swears, pointing a finger in Noah’s face as he shoves by him, heading for the stairwell. 

“I’m going to end your fucking life for this,” he snarls. “It took me three months to get the smell of shit out of my fucking boots last time.” 

“Look if you don’t get your asses moving it won’t matter what your fucking boots smell like because you’ll be in fucking federal prison, Jesus fucking Christ,” Matt yells, cutting him off. There’s a burst of chatter in the background down the line before he resumes. 

“You got about…four and three-quarter minutes to drop ten floors to the basement and find the boiler room before our buddies in blue get there,” he snaps. “Grab your shit and run, I’ll text you directions from there to the extraction point in…thirty seconds.” 

“Roger, wilco.” Nicholas ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket, hoisting his bag onto his back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

The ride back to the studio is quiet. Noah silently seethes as he closes his eyes and tries to ignore everyone else in the vehicle. There’s no point talking about it now, he knows it. They know it. He isn’t even really sure if what he saw was real or if he was simply dreaming; he’s pretty sure the footage from the cam on Nicholas’ sight will tell the truth better than he ever could, anyway. 

All he knows is that if it wasn’t a dream, if she’s back, if she’s alive after all this time, he’s absolutely, completely, totally fucked. 

July 23rd, 2023

Los Angeles, California

His shoulder aches. He’s certain it’s his body punishing him for being a fucking idiot. 

It’s been almost four years. He’d been certain she was dead, rolled over in a gutter somewhere in a hit gone wrong, a Jane Doe in a morgue, middle of nowhere, Fuckbutt, Idaho or wherever. Not popping up in the sight of a rifle in Chicago to scare the living shit out of him like he’s seen a ghost or something, just waving at him like she’s passing him on the 5 on the way to work. 

Noah scrubs a hand over his face wearily. He feels old. His bones hurt. Existing hurts. 

The sliding door to the patio grates quietly open; Noah glances up as Nicholas steps out, holding two beers and a pizza box balanced on his arm as he kicks the door closed. Noah takes his feet down off the table and accepts one of the beers. 

“So…” 

“She’s back.” Noah opens the pizza box with a sigh, taking a slice and tearing into it with gusto, as if stuffing a whole ass supreme pizza with half and half extra pepperoni and mushroom into his face will take away his ability to answer any and all questions fired at him in the foreseeable future. 

“How’s that make you feel?” 

Noah grunts, chewing harder. 

“She tried to kill you–”

“She fucking didn’t, she just stole a quarter million bucks from me by shooting me in the fucking arm and running off with my guys finger,” Noah retorts around a mouthful of pizza. “Don’t be a drama queen.” 

Nicholas chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls a slice out of the box. “You’re still in love with her.” 

Noah makes a face, stuffing more pizza into his mouth. 

It’s late by the time Noah drags his ass to bed. He tosses the leftover pizza in the fridge on his way past, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa to throw over Nicholas’ sleeping form before he makes his way upstairs. Tugging his shirt over his head, he yawns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the gentle breeze flowing through the open door to his balcony that brings goose pimples to his skin.

He freezes. 

Every single nerve ending in his body comes alive. His heart hammers in his chest and he wills the sound of blood thundering in his ears down to a decibel level he can function with as he reaches for the bowie knife under his pillow, because that door wasn’t open when he left his bedroom four hours ago. 

The blade when it settles against his neck is cold. 

“Hello, lover.” 

Her breath is warm against his skin. She smells like salt water and sunscreen, like she’s just got out of the ocean, and Noah jerks involuntarily, his brain supplying him with half a memory of her warm body against his in the surf as the waves break around their legs. Her hand slides down his arm and under the pillow, plucking the knife from beneath his fingers and tossing it away. 

“You won’t be needing that,” she murmurs. 

“Hm, beg to differ,” he retorts, throwing his head back suddenly, clocking her in the face with the back of his skull before he rolls sideways, kicking the knife from her hand as he goes; it hits the wall on the other side of the room and come to rest in the shadows somewhere out of view.

“Well that wasn’t very nice, was it?” 

“Nice?” he spits, scowling as he glares up at her. “You wanna talk nice? How nice is it to tell a guy you love him, then shoot him, and then just…fuck off with a quarter million of his hard earned cash?” 

“That was business, darling, no hard feelings…” She sniffs. “I think you fractured my cheekbone, you little shit.” 

Noah grins to himself as he gets to his hands and knees. “Call it payback,” he snarls. Pushing himself to his feet, he’s about to make a run for the door when he hears her move behind him and a pair of arms wrap around his knees, knocking him sideways once more. 

“God, you’re so fucking annoying!” he grits out through clenched teeth, kicking and bucking his legs to try and free himself from her grasp, except then he feels her twist her body and the heel of a boot connect with his stomach, all the air leaving his lungs in a rush. 

“You always did say I fight like a girl,” she grins, getting to her feet, staring down at him in amusement with her hands on her hips. Noah coughs, writhes in pain, trying to suck air into reluctant lungs. “But I’m not mean enough to kick you in the balls.” 

“Thanks…” Noah manages painfully, grimacing. He coughs, rolling onto his hands and knees. He can hear her footsteps behind him as she searches for her knife, but as she moves the curtain on the window Noah catches a glimpse of his own blade out of the corner of his eye. Under the bed now, it’s just within reach, so he lunges for it, ignoring his screaming, spasming chest. 

The lamp beside his bed explodes in a shower of sparks as her knife sails through it, and the room goes black, just as his own knife leaves his hand. He hears it sink uselessly into the drywall. No thick, dull thud of metal hitting flesh, not even a glancing blow. 

Noah hits the deck on the other side of his bed. 

“I take it you didn’t come armed?” he calls to her. 

“What makes you think that?” she retort breezily. “You know I always come prepared.” 

He snorts in amusement. “If you wanted me dead I’d be a leaking blood bag on the floor by now.” 

There are footsteps to his ten, and Noah sees the shadow of her in the bathroom mirror as she slips into his en suite. 

“Maybe I just want to have some fun before I stick you,” she says quietly. 

Noah pushes himself to his feet silently, glad for his preference for bare feet in his own abode. There’s something in her tone that sets his blood on fire, and he’s sure it’s deliberate. 

“I know what your kind of fun entails,” he replies, yanking his knife from the wall, “and I know we’re both wearing far too many clothes.”

Her laughter is light and soft. He recognises the heat in it; he grins, walking on tiptoes toward his bathroom. Pressing his back to the wall beside the doorway, he hears the shower turn on. Shaking his head, he laughs to himself quietly. 

“Just make yourself at home,” he calls to her. 

“Oh I will, love,” she retorts. 

“Want anything?” he asks, “I can get you some toast. I’ll bring the whole toaster to you, whattaya say?” 

“I’d rather just you get in here, if it’s all the same.” The shower door slides open, but doesn’t close. “I need someone to scrub my back, not electrocute me.” 

Setting his knife down on the bureau, Noah shoves his shorts down his legs before his brain catches up with his body, along with his trunks. Then, picking up the wide, heavy blade, he steps into the bathroom. 

Her back is to him. Noah stops, head tilting sideways as he takes her in, every single inch of her coming back to him in a sudden, vivid technicolor explosion against his retinas. The deep curve of her waist, the width of her hips and the strength in her thick, tattooed thighs. God, he still remembers the night she wrestled him to the ground over the last packet of fucking Doritos. How she climbed on top of him and sat on his chest, squeezing his head with her legs, threatening to smother him…

He swallows thickly, pushing away the memory. There’s a new tattoo on her left hip, a twining dragon that winds down over her ass and onto the aforementioned thighs. As he steps into the shower behind her and brings the knife up to her neck, he runs his hand over the new ink, squeezing her flesh firmly. Her head tips back with a sigh, hitting his chest. Her eyes are closed but there’s a smile on her face, and it brings one to his, too. 

Fuck, she’s a sick, twisted little individual. 

Fuck, he always loved it. 

Still loves it. 

“Nice ink,” he whispers, hating the way his throat is dry and his voice hoarse. When she swallows he feels the blade press deeper into her skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way his body lights up in reply to the feel of her arcing against him, her ass pushing back into his half-hard cock. 

“Thank you, I got it ages ago…” she whispers, and he nods, a quiet noise escaping his throat when she reaches back and clenches her fingers into his hips. “I noticed you had some new pretties, too.”

“It has been a while.” Noah rests his forehead against the back of her head. “I’ve missed you.” The words slip out before he can catch them but he’s too tired to feel any kind of way about it, so he lets it go.

“You always miss me, love,” she teases him, “you’re a terrible shot.” 

“Hey now, be nice,” he scolds her gently. “You’re insulting the person holding the knife to your throat, remember.”

Trailing his hand down over the softness of her belly, he works by feel alone; he could never forget this body. How could he: all those places that make her sigh and shiver, the ones that have her gasping his name, her thighs tight around his waist? Every moment with her committed to memory. How could he forget? 

He can’t. He tried to forget but her hooks were too deep and all he felt was pain and regret and anger. 

“Where’d you go?” he murmurs, feeling her lean into the edge of the blade, listening to the way she sighs as he dips his fingers through the curl of hair at her apex of her thighs. 

There’s a sadistic part of him that wants to just cut her throat and then his own, put them both out of their misery. If she was the last thing he saw as he bled out it would be an…acceptable death. Not ideal but for the sake of his crew it sure beat the hell out of an open firefight or a bullet to the brain at the end of a sniper rifle. 

Everyone is someone’s mark and he knows it. 

“Hm…here and there.”

His grip on the knife at his throat doesn’t waver when he slides his fingers down through her center, parting her folds to find her clit. She makes a pleased noise, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile as her eyelashes flutter closed. 

“I thought you were…” He swallows again, his throat going dry. 

As much as he would have happily done it himself with his own bare hands a few years ago, to utter it now feels…too much. His anger is now tempered with something akin to regret, a product of too many sleepless nights and not enough therapy sessions that weren’t substance or sex related, and it sits bitter in his gut like poison. 

 “You’d have known if I was dead,” she whispers, breath catching as he starts to circle the swollen little bud hidden between her legs.

 "How's that?" He pivots the knife and lets the tip rest against the dip in the base of her throat. 

"I have…plans…you'd know…" 

Her back arches sharply, caught between his hand rubbing her sex and the knife at her throat, and Noah can't help the groan that leaves him as her ass presses back into his cock. The warm water that flows down between them lets him slide along the cleft of her ass smoothly, unhindered by the catch of skin against skin, and he swears under his breath.

“I should kill you,” he murmurs, watching himself slip between the mounds of her cheeks. “All the fucking trouble you’ve caused me since you…fuck…”

She says nothing, just huffs a disagreeable noise that fades out into a moan as Noah presses his fingers deeper into her folds. 

“You deserve it, for all the money and time and damage to our – my – fucking reputation.”

The flare of anger in his chest makes his fingers clench white-knuckled around the knife handle momentarily, and she sucks in a deep breath, her body going rigid beneath him as her hands come up to brace herself against the wall. She tips her head back, baring her throat to him.  

“Do it,” she whispers. “If you want to do it, just do it. End this now.” 

Noah huffs a laugh, leaning into her. He can see where his knife has nicked the thin skin covering her collarbone, how the water splatters the droplets to nothing, running pink down her chest. 

“I fucking can’t.” The words hiss from his clenched teeth like a threat when they’re anything but. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last four years but now you’re here all I want to do is just…”

Her eyes are wide, her breath shallow and fast, and when he circles his fingers around her throat, high up under her chin, he watches her pupils dilate even more. His chest swells; it feels powerful to be in control of her like this, this woman who has haunted his dreams and his nightmares since the moment she disappeared from his life, and he’s acutely aware of the swell of satisfaction that lurks in his own shadows if he were to do as she asks. But he knows what horrors lurk in the wake of such a deed, and Noah isn’t sure he wants to go back there again. 

“What are you thinking?” 

His eyes dart to hers, the furrows between his eyebrows deepening. He feels the sting of tears behind his eyes but he’d never tell her, nor would he let them fall in front of her. He grits his teeth, blinking as he swallows the acidic lump in his throat.

“I’m thinking that I should kill you, but that can’t bring myself to do it,” he mutters, “and how weak that must make me look. How it’s easier to hate myself for that than it is to hate you for…all the other stuff.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m thinking how I want you to kiss me,” he finishes softly.

“I can’t kiss you when you have a knife to my throat,” she whispers, nostrils flaring in the way he knows they do when he has her cornered, and Noah feels the answering rush of heat that scorches through his own veins.

He lets go. 

The knife clatters to the ground at the same time as his mouth crashes into hers. He gives no quarter and neither does she: her kisses are harsh, all tongue and teeth and ragged breath, giving way to gasping moans when Noah twists her hair around his hand and pulls her back into his arms. 

"We're not doing this here," he mutters, twisting the taps off before he bends to wrap his arms around her waist. She gasps, curling her as around his neck, and Noah almost passes out then and there because her tits are pressed to his face and if this is how he's supposed to die he has exactly zero complaints. 

She hits the bed firmly when he upends her on it, all shiny wet skin, damp hair and warm flesh; he sucks the droplets from the surface of her starting at her calves as he kneels on the end of the bed. 

"That tickles," she whispers, giggling, a sound that fades to silent moans the higher he gets, and it's beautiful to him, the way she writhes and arches off the mattress, hard, pert nipples dark against her skin, plumping more with the shiver that rolls through her body as he kisses the inside of her knees, pushing them gently open.

Her fingers tangle in the short lengths of his hair when he parts her folds with his thumbs. 

"Oh fuck, baby, I missed this, I missed your pretty mouth on me…" Her hips roll slowly against Noah's face, coating his lips in her slick until he feels like he could drown in her.

She quivers as he sucks her clit into his mouth, playing over the soft nub with the tip of his tongue until it's too much and she pushes at his head in desperation. 

"Need more," she moans, "need you inside me." 

Noah grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pressing soft kisses over her sticky folds. 

"Be patient and you'll get what you need," he whispers, licking his thumb and bringing it up to rub gently at her clit before dipping to press a finger against her entrance. 

"Please…" she keeps, barely audible now above the sound of her breath gasping in her throat.

"This?" Noah presses into her, slipping through her soaked entrance easily. She huffs a tiny moan, and when Noah rises on his elbow to rest his head on her hip, he sees the gentle furrow between her brows, the way she bites her lower lip viciously when he adds a second finger to her slick cunt.

He feels the moment she falls apart for him. It's a muscle memory outside of his own consciousness, the feeling of her tightness around him, the rhythmic squeeze and release she gives him as she coats him with her juices. 

There's no forgetting the way her thighs snap up around his head when he leans in and suckles at her clit, sending her straight into a second orgasm, the sharp cry of his name a distant echo of a time when a supplication of forgiveness was owed less than a simple moment of pleasure.

Noah settles breathless into the cradle of her thighs, the taste of her still sharp on his tongue when he ducks to claim her mouth. Her legs hook up over his hips, her heels an insistent beat against his ass as she drags him down into her warmth, and Noah has to close his eyes against the way desperation rises in his throat, choking the air from his lungs, as the head of his cock notches inside her.

"Oh fuuuuuck…" he groans out, drawing the noise out to mingle with the moan she loosens, and he has to take a second to remember how breathing works. Her wet heat envelops him as he sinks into her cunt, her fingernails sharp against his shoulders when he bottoms out.

He has to stop, catch his breath, will back the tidal wave that threatens to end this all too quickly; she stares up at him with wide eyes, perfect mouth parted as she breathes hard. 

"You okay?" he whispers, nudging his nose over here. She nods, pressing a kiss to his lips, then the corner of his mouth, then his chin, the whisper of his name settling in his bones until he feels older than time itself, unable to untangle himself from her clutches.

Her forehead crinkles against his when he pulls back and rolls his hips gently into her and it feels like heaven, sounds like coming home, and for a second Noah isn't sure which part of it he has missed the most.

But it's not until he falls, the split second before he crashes through the last vestiges of his control and spills out his end deep inside her, it's not until that moment that Noah realizes he's missed everything.

He's not sure why he entertained the thought she might be there when he woke up. 

He finds her panties twisted around the handle of his knife on the bathroom basin counter. He huffs a bitter little laugh as he tucks the knife back under his pillow, the panties in his bottom drawer with all the other painful memories he can't bear to relive without the dulling brace of copious amounts of alcohol. 

He waits up for her that night, and the night after that, and the night after that, too, seeing in the first streaks of light on the horizon before he faces the reality of her returning absence and instead of falling apart this time, Noah just falls into bed.

Life goes on. 

They tour, they make music. They take jobs here and there but none of them really have the taste for it now that the music thing is taking off for them, and the risks of a single flopping are significantly more palatable to his weary mind and body than the risks of a job going sideways. Dead in the charts versus dead in the morgue. It's a no-brainer.

At first it stings almost as bad as the first time. Noah buries himself in work, pouring himself into lyrics and rhythms and tunes and beats, telling himself he’s pulling universal experiences from the collective human ether instead of bleeding his own heartbreak out onto eight-track like a terminal case. 

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s older now, but he thinks he’s pretty experienced at this psychological trauma shit enough to know that healing isn’t found at the bottom of a bottle or in the bed of any number of nameless girls he could try to replace her with.

So he just keeps his head down and their tour miles up, until the time between the crashing lows of missing her becomes longer, until he goes so long between moments thinking about her that he wonders if he’d even recognise her anymore. 

November 6th, 2023

Los Angeles, California 

They’re unpacking the truck into the warehouse when Noah looks up, wipes the sweat from his forehead, watching as the unfamiliar figure walks across the carpark toward them. 

“Who’s that?” Matt asks, frowning. Noah shrugs, pulling off his gloves, stepping off the curb to walk toward the stranger. 

“Hey,” he greets him, stopping and holding out his hand. “This is private property. Can I help you?”

The man shakes Noah’s hand firmly, before he sticks out his other hand. Noah looks down at it; the man holds a large orange manila envelope out to him. 

“You’re Noah Davis, yeah?” he asks, and Noah isn’t sure if it’s a statement or a question. He nods, taking the envelope from the man’s hands. 

“What’s this about?” 

“She asked me to give you this if…” He trails off, carding a hand through his thick black hair. “Look, I’m sorry. This is for you.” 

Then he turns and walks away without another word and for the first time in a long time, Noah feels the sinking of his guts into his boots. Swallowing thickly, he rips open the envelope.

A keycard falls to the ground, jingling pleasantly in the afternoon quiet. Noah bends to pick it up, turning it over and over, frowning, noting the Bank of America insignia on the front of it and on the key tag that dangles from its corner. He shoves it in his pocket as he peers into the envelope again, pulling out the carefully folded piece of paper. 

Lover,

If you’ve received this envelope it means I’m missing, presumed deceased. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want it to be this way…

As his ass hits the asphalt Noah hears the sound of running footsteps across the parking lot behind him through the roaring of his blood in his ears. Nicholas drops to the ground beside him, plucking the piece of paper from his hands, and Noah’s ears register the the sound of someone screaming. It’s not until he buries his face in the familiar warmth of Nicholas’s shirt that he realizes the screaming is coming from his own mouth. 

November 30th, 2023

Bank of America, Los Angeles central

“Noah Davis?” 

Noah looks up slowly. The bank attendant leans out of her office, her eyebrows raised pleasantly as she gestures him forward. Noah jumps when Nicholas’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. 

“Ready?” his friend asks gently, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze. Noah pauses, just staring off into space for a moment, before he heaves a deep sigh and nods, getting to his feet. 

The key is for a safety deposit box, the bank attendant tells them, one of their larger ones. She clicks away at her computer for a long time before she folds her hands and clears her throat. 

“There are…very clear instructions on this file,” she says softly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Noah stares down at his hands, folded in his lap. He sees how his knuckles go white as he clutches them together, how the splits in his nail beds from his insistent, anxious picking open again with the pressure; he presses sweaty palms against the wounds, feeling the sting of salt, willing the pain to keep him grounded.

“I just need to see some identification,” she says, taking a deep breath. She moves quietly around her office, pulling papers from a few filing cabinets before returning to her seat in front of them. “I will need you to fill these forms out and then I will get the bank manager to sign the boxes over to you. I shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to get you access to your belongings.”

“Her belongings,” Noah says abruptly. “The things belong to her, not me.” 

The attendant nods, looking down at the papers in her hands. “Of course,” she says softly. Noah feels the sting of guilt, but it’s nothing compared to the gaping hole in his chest that bleeds like a busted pipe, but brings no sweet relief of death. 

“Please follow me,” she says, opening the door. “I will take you to a place where you can fill these forms out in private.” 

Noah nods, getting to his feet. He glances up at Nicholas; there’s a haze in his friend’s eyes, worry lines on his forehead that weren’t there a week ago. Noah hates that they’re there because of him. 

He’s tried to work through this like a motherfucking adult but there’s nothing in the manual of traumatized childhood that could have prepared him for this. This time it’s so very very different. This isn’t his past. This was a future he could have had…that they could have had if they’d just stopped being so fucking stupid and stubborn, if they’d both just stopped chasing the rush of adrenaline and piles of quick cash.

Forty-five minutes later, the bank manager leads them down a brightly lit corridor toward a pair of glass doors. There’s a security guard that lets them in, scanning in the keycard Noah holds out to him before leading them along rows and rows of silver squares that run from floor to ceiling. 

“This is yours,” the bank manager finally says, stopping in front of a stack of ten. They’re large, tall rectangles, and vaguely resemble something that looks like it would be more at home in a morgue freezer. 

“Please take all the time you need,” the bank manager says, “there are tables and chairs in the room there, if you require somewhere to sit. Please don’t hesitate to ask security if you require anything further.” 

Noah nods, waiting for him to exit through the double doors and the security guard to return to his post before he turns to Nicholas and holds up the key. 

The box he pulls out from the locker is old and beaten up, rusty in places. It’s heavy as shit, and it’s not until he pulls it out and sets it on the ground that he realizes there are two of them, one in front of the other; he reaches in for the second, frowning. 

“Maybe she left you all her unpaid bills,” Nick mutters, and Noah huffs a quiet laugh, because yeah, it would be just like her to pull some kinda shit like that. “You take that one, I got this,” Nick says, picking up the box from the floor.

They set them down on the table and Noah steps back, folding his arms. He feels the rush of something in his chest that he’s acutely familiar with, but this time the panic that rises is filled with sadness and he’s not sure which is worse. His hands tremor and he shoves them under his armpits, sucking in a deep breath, letting it out shakily as the ugly bitter lump chokes in his throat. 

“Need to sit?” Nick asks quietly, but Noah shakes his head, huffing a deep breath in and out like he’s about to take the stage. It’s oddly calming, so he goes with it, flipping the latch on the first box before he can change his mind. Nicholas whistles under his breath as Noah lifts the lid. 

The box is filled to the brim with stacks of cold, hard cash. 

“Dude…” Nicholas picks up one of the stacks and flips through it. “They’re hundred dollar bills. There’s gotta be hundreds of thousands of dollars in here.” 

Noah blinks at the sight before him, gaping wordlessly. “Okay, now I need to sit down,” he mutters, and Nicholas catches him as he goes to sit on nothing, directing him sideways into one of the seats. 

“Want me to open the other one?” Nicholas asks, and Noah nods, trying to calm his breathing. The reality of the situation dawns on him when Nicholas flips the lid of the other box and they find the same: wads and wads of hundred dollar bills, all sorted and stacked and held together with little rounds of taped paper. 

“Wait, there’s something else in this one,” Nicholas pipes up, holding up a stack of papers, one rolled and tied with a ribbon. He flips through them, huffing a quiet laugh. 

“This is the deed to a house in the hills, man,” he says, eyes zipping back and forth across the pages as he flips each one over. “Also a couple of car registration certificates. One’s an SUV…” He grins, glancing up at Noah, pointing at something scribbled on the edge of one piece of paper. “...she says you can sell them if they’re not cool enough for you.” 

Noah huffs a small noise. He’s sure they’re great cars; she had amazing taste. 

“What’s that thing?” Noah points at the rolled up piece of paper. Nicholas hands it to him, and Noah undoes the ribbon, rolling it out on the table, pinning the top and bottom with his hands. 

“Fuck, that’s a birth certificate,” Nicholas breathes. Noah blinks, not sure what to do. He feels sick as he reads. 

“Date of birth, May 15th 2020…Aimee Nina…” Noah looks up at Nicholas in disbelief. “...Aimee Nina Davis… Nick…” 

He lets go of the paper and watches as it rolls up with a gentle noise, rolling away from him across the table. His ass hits the seat and out of the corner of his eye, right before his vision blurs with tears, he sees Nicholas lean forward over the table, his head hanging forward, face hidden by the cloak of his hair. Neither of them say a word for a long time.

“You got a daughter, Noah,” Nicholas says finally, lifting his head. Noah nods, leaning forward to rest his face in his hands as everything becomes brutally crystal clear. 

“She was taking our marks, cutting our jobs,” he whispers, “because she had a kid to look after. My kid, Nick. She was putting all this away just in case–” His words choke in his throat and he scrubs his hands over his face again, wiping away tears he doesn’t bother to hide now. 

“She was making sure everything was gonna be okay, man,” Nicholas finishes for him. He closes the boxes and sets the paperwork on top before he sits heavily in the chair beside Noah. 

“Nothing’s gonna be okay ever again,” Noah whispers, staring at the pile in front of him. He looks up at Nicholas. “I can’t do this without her, Nick, I can’t do this alone…” 

“Yeah, you can,” Nicholas replies gently. “You aren’t alone, you got us. Me and Jolly and Folio and Matt and Dani and Vince… everyone… you’re not alone in this.”

Noah drops his face into his hands again, forcing a deep shuddering breath into his lungs. 

“Hey…” Nicholas’s hand falls on his arm and Noah looks up. Nicholas smiles widely. “Wanna blow this joint? Go tell the others the good news? We got some plans to make." 

We. 

Noah blinks wordlessly, mind running a million miles an hour. 

"She wants you in your daughter's life, Noah." Nicholas states gently but firmly. "This is what she wants. There’s a note here that says Aimee's living with her uncle and aunt in Santa Barbara; there’s a phone number, too.” He pauses, then shrugs. “No doubt she’s made them aware of what’s happened. They’re probably expecting this.” 

It’s another three weeks before Noah can pick up the phone and make that call, another five before he can bring himself to let Jolly load him into a car and make the drive up the coast to Santa Barbara. 

He’s not sure what he’s gonna do. They have tour starting in a month. He knows it’s not as simple as just picking her up and bringing her back to LA. The thought of raising a kid still makes his breath come fast, his heart hammer dangerously fast in his chest. He knows nothing about this is going to be straightforward, or simple, or easy. 

But as he watches the little girl playing on the swings with the woman in the blue shirt, Noah feels a swell of something in his chest that he’s never felt before, and like pieces of a puzzle, it all clicks into place. 

“Need me to hold your hand?” Jolly asks him, breaking through the morass of his thoughts. Noah glances up, chuckles and shakes his head, pushing the car door open. 

Perhaps he can do this.

Thank you for reading!

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Broken Place - Part One || Bad Omens

This is a fic spawned by THIS HERE prompt. Sweet Lips Nonnie, you've yet to come forward to claim the prompt, and I really hope you do because it was a corker and I adored writing every second of this. I hope you enjoy this. There will be two parts. Title from a quote by Hemingway: The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

I've also made a playlist for this, which you can find HERE.

Noah Sebastian x ofc (unnamed) - Hitman AU

Summary: All's fair in love and war.

CW: bad language, threats and violence, gore, death, use of heavy arms/artillery/military grade weaponry. Knife play/knife kink, blood kink if you squint. Smut: p in v, oral (m & f receiving), hand jobs, fingering. Big feels, many angst. MAIN CHARACTER INJURY AND DEATH. Drug and alcohol abuse, self-medication of mental illness, self-destructive behaviours, psychological trauma. Shit talking about Cuba. I don't hate Cuba, promise. Would love to go there. Heavy use of cultural stereotypes because bro is fucking pissed. Any and all opinions shared by characters herein are not the opinions of the author. Don't listen to him, he's an psychologically traumatised, mouthy douchebag.

Tag Team: I don't know if anyone wants to be tagged in this but I'll tag my usual suspects, but if you want on or off, please don't hesitate to DM me @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @blackveilomens

Part One here || Part Two here

Part One

September 3rd, 2019

New York City, New York

It’s nights like this that really steal the fucking jelly from his donut. Truth be told, he probably should have seen it coming. 

They say before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes. But in the seconds before the bullet hits his arm Noah just sees all the red flags he should have noticed but didn’t. Or maybe he did see them but didn’t want to acknowledge them on account of the fact that the blood flow in his body was, for the most part, aimed a little south of where it probably should have been, given the circumstances. 

But none of that matters now. He hears the click of the safety and spins around, eyes wide, right as she pulls the trigger. 

He drops like a sack of shit, the gun in his hand skittering across the floor and out of reach. 

Grimacing, clutching a hand to his arm, Noah stares up at her in disbelief. It’s a through-and-through, no major pipe damage by his quick assessment, but he’s painfully, acutely aware it could have been much more if she’d wanted it to be. 

“You fucking shot me!” he exclaims incredulously.

“Relax, it’s just a scratch. You’d do well to stay there where you are or I’ll put a bullet in the other one.” 

She picks up his gun. Slipping the clip out and into her pocket, she tosses it out the window; it lands in the alley below with a dull clatter. He stares at her, dumbfounded.

“You’re really gonna do this?”

Forehead furrowed in concentration, she uses a little pig sticker of a knife to remove the dead man’s left hand. “Looks like,” she mutters. 

“I thought we had a deal!”

She snorts in amusement. “Baby, you’re so sweet and innocent, it almost makes me feel bad. But yes, I am.” 

His stomach turns as he watches her tuck the hand into a plastic ziploc bag. She really is gonna do this. Glancing around, Noah considers his options. He could still get up and fix this but he’s tired, dead-dog exhausted, and she’s got a draw on her like a motherfucker, quicker than anyone he’s seen and he doesn’t have a death wish. 

Not yet, anyway. 

He still has to front back at the office and explain all this to Matt though, so dying bloody is still a distinct probability in his immediate future. 

“Baby, I got bills of my own to pay, and only half this asshole’s price ain’t gonna cut it. No hard feelings but I gotta jet.” 

Irritation flares in his chest, white-hot and painful. He rolls his eyes. “No hard feelings, but when I find you–”

Her laughter is a pleasant sound, one he quite enjoys. Or he did, before she put a hole in him. 

“You won’t find me, Davis,” she says, grinning. “Don’t kid yourself.” 

Noah lets his head loll back against the wall with a thud as he watches her take off silently out the door. He pushes himself to his feet, grimacing as pain shoots up his shoulder and a fresh ooze of blood darkens his shirt. 

His other fist dents the dry wall as he smashes it backward in frustration. He can’t go after her, not like this. Not with his blood still spattered to the four corners. Anger begins to simmer low in his gut, mixing with a growing pool of acrid anxiety as he looks at the mess around him, the magnitude of this fuck-up beginning to become apparent.

His backpack is gone. Everything is fucking gone. Their mark is dead on the floor minus the proof of death. Their payday is fucking gone. 

When he finds her…clenching his jaw, Noah closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

He belts the wall again for good measure, not for anything other than to make himself feel better about inflicting damage on something. He’d prefer it were her but if ifs and buts were chips and putts, Noah Sebastian Davis would be Tiger Woods, and this is most certainly no longer the hole in one job it was fifteen minutes ago. 

He gets to work. 

He’s not sure how much time he has. He’s pretty sure she’s probably going to give him at least some time to get out before she calls the authorities but he was also pretty sure she was trustworthy enough to share a job with and look how that turned out…

His shirt becomes a sacrifice as he yanks it over his head awkwardly and wraps it around his arm to cover the bullet hole in his flesh. Then, peeling his belt from his waist, he twists it around as high as he can get it, tourniqueting the wound below. 

He realizes suddenly that this has gone beyond his ability to clean up. His blood is everywhere, he’s wounded, and there’s a dead body in an apartment building full of sleeping people. This has gone so sideways it’s beyond FUBAR. 

Gingerly, he makes his way carefully down into the street, keeping to the shadows. There’s a payphone in front of the gas station a block away. He pulls his jacket around him snuggly, tries to walk as normally as he can with a bullet wound to his left shoulder. Which is, apparently, not very fast. 

When he reaches the phone booth, he dials the number he knows by heart. It’s not ideal – public phones can be traced easily – but it’s his only option at this point, in a stack of rapidly diminishing options. 

“Omens Crematorium, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em.” 

“Bro, shut the fuck up, we fucking got a code fucking black.” 

There’s scrambling and swearing on the other end of the line. Opening and closing doors.

“Joker’s on his way,” Folio says quietly. “You okay? Wizard wants to know if you need him?” 

“No I’m fucking fine,” Noah grits out through his teeth, listening to the rapid fire voices in the background on the other end of the line. “FFA has been applied. My fucking pride is DOA though.” 

There’s yelling, and a crash as someone slams a car door. An engine fires to life; it could be Folio’s van, but he can’t be sure. There’s a foggy white noise starting to take over his hearing; Noah squeezes the bridge of his nose as his head begins to ache.

“We’re coming to get you,” Folio tells him and Noah nods, to whom he’s not sure. There’s a pique of pain up his arm once more, stronger this time, and he feels faint now, lightheaded. 

“I’d send you extraction details but, uh…”

“No worries bro, we gotch you, just hang tight. Jolly’s almost there. We’re right behind, ETA in like…four minutes.” 

The line goes dead and Noah feels the handset fall from his grasp, his fingers going numb. His legs go out from under his body, the glass wall of the payphone booth catching him as he slips to his ass on the sticky floor. He closes his eyes. 

In the distance he can hear a car approaching and he hopes, prays, as his world goes dark that it’s the right one. 

October 27th, 2020

Café Arcangel, Havana, Cuba

There’s only one window seat in the café; it’s out in the open and exposed but he’d rather that than get caught blind in the dinky narrow courtyard out back and have to shoot his way out. 

Noah sips his milky coffee, grimacing; this godforsaken place couldn’t do a straight-up black coffee if it fucking tried. Sighing, he turns the page on the newspaper, staring blankly at the page, not taking a single thing in. A rudimentary middle-school level Spanish is barely enough to get by here. He should know more after a handful of years in Los Angeles but what the fuck ever. 

He fucking hates this place. 

It’s too hot. They’ve been here for a week and the mark had eluded them like the slippery fucking grubby little snake he is. It has pissed Noah off enough to the point he thinks he just might sink to Nixon levels of petty and just drop a nuke on the whole damn country and be done with it. The rapid fire mish-mash of Spanish dialects, the way the buildings are all crammed together to within an inch of their life. The constant power outages, the storms that blow in off the Caribbean Sea like clockwork every fucking afternoon, drenching him so he stands out like a drowned fucking rat on a ship’s deck, ripe for the picking. 

He fucking hates it so much. 

A waitress sets a bagel down on the table in front of him but Noah all but ignores her, glancing up and muttering his thanks before turning back to the jumble of blurry words on the page in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her frown, purse her pretty red pout and tuck the wayward curl of dark hair behind her ear before she turns on her heel in a huff and stalks back to her place behind the counter. He knows he’s being an asshole, and he feels a tiny pang of guilt stab a hole in the dark, ugly morass of anxiety and fear and anger that churns in his gut. 

Two days ago he smiled at her, flirted shamelessly with her in front of her father while her mother looked on from the kitchen. He probably could have taken her out for dinner, had her underneath him before midnight, fucked her senseless and enjoyed the promised delights of this forbidden ex-Commie paradise, but right now all he can think about is getting the fuck out of there. 

“Everything okay, bud?” 

Nicholas’s calm voice in his ear jolts him from his thoughts. Noah shrugs, looking around aimlessly as he tries to ignore the extra thirty-five beats a minute his heart rate is suddenly pacing. 

“You’re not looking very cash money there, King, you good?” 

Picking up a napkin, Noah pretends to wipe his nose. “Negative, Wizard,” he mutters. As he draws the coarse paper over his pale, sweaty face he can feel the shake of his hands, how they tremor, and it makes his stomach turn. He hooks a finger under the scarf covering his tattooed neck and swipes it around, trying to free his throat so he can suck air into his reluctant lungs.

“What do you need me to do, King?” Nicholas’s voice drops half an octave as he loses the upbeat, easy-going swagger he usually possesses. Noah takes a deep breath, closing his eyes; he’s glad for once of his friends insistence at a full fucking cover disguise, even though the post was inside. 

“Hey! Noah, bud, I’m right here…focus on my voice.” 

“I–” Noah stammers. “I’m– I can’t–”

“Listen carefully, man, here’s what you’re gonna do: I need you to finish that coffee and fold the paper over, leave it on the other side of the table. Don’t have to worry about fingerprints here the cops are two sandwiches short of a fucking picnic, okay, so put that out of your head, alright?” 

Noah takes a deep breath, doing as he’s told. The coffee is cloyingly sweet but he barely notices as he forces it down. When he reaches over the table he sets the porcelain cup down awkwardly, and it tetters loudly on the saucer. It’s probably barely audible over the loud Cuban jazz that echoes in the tiled room, but his heart leaps into his throat as he freezes still regardless, watching breathlessly as it settles. 

“It’s fine, man, the cup's fine, you’re good, I got you.” Nicholas’s quiet voice says. “Where’s your wallet? You find that and open it up for me, will ya, bud?” 

Noah nods, swallowing hard. He pulls out a couple of folded bills, tosses them on the table as he stands up. 

“There you go, you got this,” Nicholas praises him quietly. “Now all you gotta do is get out that door and turn right, you hear?”

Noah nods, tipping his hat at the old man who watches him with narrowed eyes. Behind him he sees the old man’s daughter flip him the bird and once again the bitter sting of regret clutches at his heart. She would have been a fun time, he’s sure of it.  

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as his foot hits the uneven cobbles of the street outside, turning right and heading up Concordia toward Armistad where he knows lies safety. There’s someone with a familiar, turned-out gait up ahead but his vision is too blurry to see clearly, his mind too panicked now to find the rest of the memory in his brain, so he just listens to the voice in his ear and keeps walking.

“Doin’ great, dude,” Nicholas pipes up gently, “careful steps, one foot in front of the other toward me, that’s it…” 

He crosses the street and the next second a hand falls on his arm as he passes a doorway, almost yanking him off his feet. 

Noah tries to yell but the same heavily-tattooed hand clamps across his mouth, pushes him up against the cold uneven bricks. Panic rises in his chest and he bucks beneath his captor, unable to see as sweat stings his eyes. 

“Settle down, Noah, just…fucking–ow!” 

Noah sinks his teeth into the finger that presses between his lips but they don’t let go of him, even though he tastes the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He blinks hard to try and clear his vision but the face he sees when it finally does is familiar, calming, and his body lets go immediately, like a reflex. Clear green eyes stare back at him incredulously.

“You savage motherfucking little sonofabitch, you fucking bit me?!”

Nicholas makes a face at him, pressing him back hard into the wall, giving Noah’s body a solid shake in disbelief. 

“What the deep fried fuck, dude?” he hisses under his breath. “If I need to go find a fucking doctor and get a fucking tetanus shot, Matt is gonna fucking have kittens, dude! We don’t have the fucking insurance to cover a fucking hospital vis– Oh shit, bro…” 

Nicholas catches him as he slumps forward, all the fight leaving Noah’s body at once. His knees begin to shake, his thighs losing strength as he starts to lose his battle with gravity, his vision whiting out at the edges. 

“It’s alright, man, I got you, stay with me–Jolly, dude, we got a problem, where you at?” 

Above the cacophony of noise in his head Noah hears the faint whisper of a familiar, accented voice he can’t quite put a name or a face to as they answer Nicholas’s pleading call for help. He hears Nicholas reply with an address before his head falls forward and everything goes blissfully quiet and dark. 

He knows this beach. Or at least he thinks he does. There’s sand between his toes and the sound of the waves as they ebb and flow gently up and down the shore, a quiet breeze that brings with it the smell of flowers and something cooking in the cabin behind him that makes his stomach growl. 

“You should rest.” 

Noah opens his eyes, stares up at her. A lock of her hair falls in his face and he bats at it, making her giggle. She bends, presses her lips carefully to his. 

“I mean it,” she whispers. Her finger on his jaw makes his chest hurt with its tenderness. She’s never been like this. 

She sits back as he pushes himself up from her lap and turns to her, frowning. 

“I don’t want to rest,” he states. She reaches out to touch him but his fingers close around her wrist automatically, stopping her in her tracks. 

‘Let me go,” she hisses, but Noah just laughs at her, smirking. 

“You first,” he snaps, staring down at the knife she has embedded in his chest. 

The rumble of distant thunder stirs Noah from his sleep. He sits up, peering into the darkness as he leans back on his hands and tries to right himself within this quiet, still place. He glances at the alarm clock on the lamp table at his bedside: it’s a little after eleven. Still early. 

Throwing back the bedsheet he swings his legs out of bed, pausing for a second to let the momentary dizziness pass before he stands, picking up his jeans from where they lie discarded at the end of the bed. 

The rest of the casa is quiet as he slides on his boots and a jacket; he can hear Jolly snoring lightly in the next room. Fuck knows where Nicholas is, doesn’t really matter at this point, because come hell or high water Noah knows he’s going to finish what he started this morning, with or without their help. 

Gritting his teeth, Noah quietly picks up his backpack and Jolly’s baseball cap, shoving it on his head as he slips away into the night. 

One of the benefits of being tall is the ability to be able to scale fences easily and quickly with little more than a jump and a scrabble of feet. Noah sends his body up and over the stone wall with ease, toes finding purchase in the nooks and crannies of the uneven surface to help his way. The alleyway is deserted, so with a final glance in both directions he drops down into the little courtyard onto quiet feet. 

He cringes as the door creaks a little, again when the old wooden floor beneath his feet does the same. But the staircase is blessedly quiet so he takes the win with the minor loss and carries on up to the second floor, emerging out onto the long, open corridor to make his way along in the shadows until he finds the room he’s looking for. 

211. 

Putting his ear to the door’s bright blue surface, Noah can hear the tinny chirp of a small television but no movement. He waits, listens some more, pulls out his little lock pick set when he hears nothing of note. 

His heart sinks when the door pushes open beneath his hands, unaided, the lock shattered to a million pieces and non-existent. 

He smells the body before he sees it. He grimaces, covering his nose as he steps inside carefully. The old man sits in the armchair in front of the television, his chest and stomach bathed in the dark red sticky mess of blood that flowed from his severed carotid arteries. 

“Fuck…” Noah curses, breathing heavily. 

They’re too late. He’s too late. 

“Oh Jesus–” 

Noah whirls around, heart pounding, staring at Nicholas as he stands in the doorway, his forearm clamped to his face. 

“Someone fucking beat us to it,” he hisses, pointing at the way the corpse’s entire forearm has been removed. The one with the prominent cobra tattoo. The one they were supposed to bring as proof of death. 

“Come on dude, we gotta get out of here,” Nicholas mutters, backing toward the door again. “You didn’t touch anything did you?” 

Noah shakes his head, takes one more look at the corpse and turns to follow. 

He says nothing, following Nicholas down into the courtyard and back over the brick wall into the alley way. Nicholas takes off at a run, not bothering to hide anymore, and it’s not until they emerge out onto the street under the lights does Noah see how his friends hands tremble so hard he has to shove them into his pockets. 

“Who the fuck else knows about this guy, Nick?” Noah demands, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. 

Nicholas shrugs, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. “No one else, guy came straight to us for this job, we were the only ones.” There’s a little orange flare as he flicks the lighter and sucks the cigarette in his mouth to life. “Or so he said. Maybe he had a back up plan, maybe he thought we weren’t gonna come through–”

“Nah, fuck that shit, we’re the fucking best,” Noah retorts, pushing open the door to the Casa Mariela, holding it open while Nicholas steps inside. “Why would anyone need a back-up plan?”

“Three months ago, I would have agreed with you.” Nicholas pulls out their room key. Jolly is already packed and ready to go, sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, his leg bouncing anxiously. He jumps to his feet, holding out his hands when he sees both of them empty handed. 

“Tell me you got him?” he pleads, folding his hands together. Nicholas glances at Noah who just shrugs and turns away, picking up his belongings scattered across the room and shoving it into his backpack. Out of the corner of his eye, Noah sees Jolly’s eyes go wide, the way he stares silently at Nicholas and then throws his hands in the air before stalking from the room. 

Grinding his teeth, Noah says nothing, just shoves his hoodie over his head, pulls his packed backpack onto his back and follows Jolly out the door. 

August 2nd, 2021

Los Angeles, California

God, his head hurts. 

The explosion of pain in his brain is the first thing Noah notices as he finds consciousness. The second thing he notices is how fucking bright it is; he squints through the haze. The sun is already high in the sky. Then he notices the body in the bed beside him. He sits up gently, leaning on his elbows as he tries to figure out how he got…here, wherever here is. Blinking, he looks around; with a start he realizes it’s the downstairs bedroom, their guestroom. 

The sleeping body beside him stirs, turning toward him, still fast asleep. He stares down at her. She’s gorgeous. Not his usual type but still. His dick stirs as pieces of the night before start to fade back into view: some record label function, lots of drinks, a buttload of weed. A taxi ride across town to a club. More drinks, more weed, women. Lots of women. Lots of women wearing…not much. 

He crushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, groaning as he gets to his feet in search of hydration. 

Her. 

Her on her knees in the club restrooms, his cock down her throat. Another taxi ride. Her on her stomach beneath him, his hands twisted in her hair. The sound of sharp breaths, moans, his muttered encouragement as she fucked back onto his cock like a champion. 

Noah grunts, wrapping his hand around his shaft as he twists the taps on, letting the water come in scalding hot before he steps under it, turning his face up, opening his mouth, grimacing. He feels like he’s been gargling asphalt. He pumps his cock faster, leaning on his arm against the wall. It isn’t this one’s name that falls from his lips when he cums a few minutes later, that’s for sure.

She’s still asleep when he emerges half an hour later, so he tugs on a pair of sweats and pads barefoot out to the kitchen. Jolly glances up at him from his seat at the island bench; Noah can feel his friend’s eyes follow him around the room as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” Jolly pipes up. “Sleep well?”

Noah turns around, mouth open as he starts to speak but then he sees Matt lift his head from the sofa across the living space. 

“...that’s it baby, ride my cock, fuck yeah baby girl that’s it…” 

Matt punctuates his sentence with a series of high pitched moans before he makes a face at Noah and then lies back down. The volume on the television goes up a few notches but it doesn’t cover the sound of Jolly chuckling into his mug, his eyes firmly trained on the book in front of him.

Nicholas chooses that moment to step down into the kitchen, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to stare in surprise at Noah’s upright, conscious form. 

“Good morning.” He takes the cup from Noah’s hand as he walks by, joining Matt on the sofa. “Didn’t expect to see you awake this early.”

Noah doesn’t bother gracing that with a response; he knows what Nick is hinting at. Instead he stays silent as he makes another pot of coffee. He’s about to skulk silently up to his room when the guest room door opens quietly and she slips out, turning awkwardly to face them. 

“Hey, you.” Nicholas’s voice is sickly sweet, and Noah wants to throttle him before he lets the earth open up and swallow him whole, so he doesn’t have to do…whatever this fresh hell is. 

She gives Nicholas a stiff wave before she glances at Noah and steps toward the front door. 

“So, uh, thanks,” she mutters, tucking hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah, thanks, um, Kelly.” 

She doesn’t bother hiding the roll of her eyes as she turns and clacks away on four inch heels toward the front door. Noah glances up at Nicholas who appears at his side, resting his head against Noah’s shoulder. 

“Her name was Cailin,” Nicholas tells him pleasantly. He looks down into his mug before he turns and walks away. “This is good coffee…” 

February 15th, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Noah makes a face as the metal step beneath his foot creaks and groans and shifts. Matt should have fixed that by now; one day it was gonna give out and send whomever hurtling down into the control room face-first. 

Truth be told, it would probably be him. He’s the only one with footfalls like a fucking elephant, the only one without active duty time logs, the only one without sniper training. The only one who really didn’t give a fuck if the staircase actually did give out and send him head first into a certain broken neck. At least if he had the added bonus of forward momentum it might do a proper job and finish him off for good. 

Nicholas looks up, bleary eyed, rubbing his face as he accepts the coffee mug from Noah’s hands. 

“Why hasn’t Matt fixed the fucking steps yet?” 

Nicholas glances up at his housemate with a grin. “Because you’re riding our asses too hard on this case right now, man, come on, cut him some slack.” 

“It’ll take five fucking minutes–”

“Hey, if it’s not that difficult how about you pick up a wrench and a hammer?” Nick leans forward, squinting as he clicks back and forth through frames. “Or are you worried you might break a nail?” 

“I’ll break your fucking face,” Noah mutters, leaning back against the sofa cushions with a sour look on his face. 

“Settle down, Fred Durst– hey check this out, is it just me or is there someone hiding in those shadows there?” 

Noah sits forward with a sigh as he stares at where Nicholas’s finger hovers over the computer screen. Squinting, his forehead furrows and he leans closer. 

“I–I don’t know, maybe,” he murmurs. “Can you refine the image? Clean it up a little?” 

He shoves Nicholas’s hands off the mouse. 

“Hey–”

“Just gimme a second…” Noah mutters, scowl deepening. His fingers fly across the keyboard, clicking wildly at the mouse; the image on the screen starts to lighten and change color. “Where’s the–fuck, there it is…” Noah clicks through and the whole image turns a kaleidoscope of green shades. 

“Oh fuck me, will you look at that.” Nicholas leans forward, hitting the print button. 

Noah grins, leaning back. “There’s definitely someone in the shadows there, look they’ve got a phone, too. Lights up under heat sig like a fucking Christmas tree.” 

Nicholas swears and reaches for his phone. “I bet that was who called the fucking cops last week, too– Hey, Matt, sending you something, you’re not gonna fucking believe this shit, dude…” 

As he gets up and walks away, Noah moves into his seat, clicking a few more buttons, trying to clean up the image a little more. He squints, scowling, rubbing his face before he looks back at the screen. 

It’s too late in the night for this kind of shit. 

There had been too many jobs gone begging lately and it wasn’t for lack of preparation or experience. It seemed like just simple stone-cold ordinary bad luck, a seemingly never-ending series of apparent dodgy ju-ju that had resulted in lost revenue, a dip in their Yelp rating and an uncomfortable night in lock-up for Jolly, leaving Noah questioning if one of them had run over a black cat or broken a mirror at some stage and not realized it. 

But as he stares at the hazy figure on the computer screen in front of him he wonders if perhaps it wasn’t that at all. 

Thank you for reading! Part Two here

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

[aquareegia]

👋😊 (source)

[the-brokenyouth-deactivated2023]

I’m gonna eat glass

[signs-of-ill-portent]

Fic: The Devil's Prayer Book - Part Five || Bad Omens

Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: “If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stake, and the quitting time.” He's a part time housemate but after losing a game of poker you find yourself completely at his mercy for one whole week. Sounds simple? Not quite. It never is.

CW: Language, negotiation of sexual relationships, free use sex arrangement and inexperienced Dom/sub relationship. Dirty talk, very mild high protocol kink (outfitting), use of sex toys, masturbation in public settings, impact play/kink: spanking and punishment. Still with the mixed signals because Noah is the king of terrible communicators. PSA: don't fuck with impact play and spanking unless you're prepared to communicate openly and honestly. Don't let anyone hit you if you don't trust them. As always, aftercare is essential and very very sexy. Look after each other. Content warnings will be on a chapter by chapter basis.

A.N.: title from a proverb "a stack of cards is the devil's prayer book". I am forever indebted to to @ladyveronikawrites and @the-way-of-words and @celticthroughandthrough for their assistance, expertise, editing and beta-ing help, cheerleading and handholding.

Tag Team: @kingdomof-omens @cncohshit @hopelessromantic17 @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @strawberryruffilo @ladyveronikawrites @badnoahmens @bluegarrett @itsvictoriaarose @thebadchic @chels3a-smile @theoneandonlykymberlee @bluechalcedony @mixxymess @thesazzb @thatswhatgaysaid  @collapsedglasshouses @thescarlettvvitch

Please DM me or comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list

Find Part One here Part Two here Part Three here Part Four here

The beeping of your alarm wakes you at six am. Sitting up, you smack at your phone, picking it up and swiping the icon to turn off the shrieking device. 

"What in the hell…?" Noah groans and scowls, opening one eye to squint sleepily at you.

"I have to go into the office today," you mutter, searching for your robe in the mess of the bed covers. Noah makes a displeased sound, yawning as his eyes start to flutter closed again. You pause, drawing the covers up to your chin, watching him drift between the worlds. 

If asked, you wouldn’t have lied: it had startled you to wake up with him still beside you; you were sure he’d have snuck off at some point in the night. But he hadn’t, and you hadn’t woken to question why or settle elsewhere, and so here you were, waking up to see him lying in your bed, his sleeping face relaxed and guileless with no hint of the tense, unpredictable man from the night before. 

You long to slide back under the covers, curl yourself around him, and drift back to sleep. While you watch he stirs, spreading his long limbs out across the bed and pulling a pillow further under his head so he can wrap his arms around it snuggly. You grin despite the residuum of disquiet in the back of your mind, the lingering ghosts of questions unanswered. 

Carefully so as not to disturb him further, you slip from bed and into the bathroom.

Your bed is empty when you emerge. You can hear him pottering around in the kitchen, noisily opening and closing cabinets as he searches for something. Throwing on your gym shorts and an oversized shirt, you pull a brush through your hair and shove on your glasses, making your way out to find him. 

“Now why the fuck are you up and awake at this hou–” You stop mid-sentence when Noah shoves a mug of fresh coffee under your nose. Your eyes almost cross at the rich, bitter smell and you let out a pleased sound, taking it from him, sitting down immediately on the bar stool by the counter.

“Some might say you’re a goblin,” you announce, “and I may have once called you a righteous pain in the ass–” Noah snorts in amusement, sliding a fried egg onto a bed of chopped greens before handing you the plate. “I –thank you– I, however, may have to downgrade this classification to ‘minor inconvenience to my person’.”

He smirks, leaning against the counter as he sips from his own mug. “You’re welcome, Edgelord.” His head tilts to the side as he looks you up and down. “You’re not wearing that to work, are you?” 

You make a face at him. “Of course not,” you scoff, shoveling the last of the greens into your mouth with a bite of toast. Your chewing slows when you see the look on his face, the dark shadow that passes over his eyes, and the way he leans forward on his elbows on the countertop. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you sit up straight. 

“Will you let me find you something to wear?” he asks quietly. Your eyes narrow and Noah rolls his eyes. “From your wardrobe,” he clarifies, enunciating the word exaggeratedly. “I’m not going to send you to the office in a fucking latex body suit and a gimp mask, what do you think this is, Bang Brothers?” 

That makes you smile, despite yourself. “Fine,” you retort, getting to your feet.

He follows you into your room, whistling through his teeth as you fling open your wardrobe sliding doors. 

“Wow, nice threads.” He plays with the hem of one of your dresses. “Why don’t I see you in half this stuff?” 

You snort in amusement. “Because I have no reason to wear this stuff around you,” you reply, grinning. “Go on, hurry up or I’m going to be late.” 

He hands you his breakfast bowl, grinning before he starts to rummage around. 

You watch him pull a few pieces out, holding them out then back together, tossing a few on the bed and returning others to the rack. Finally, he makes a triumphant sound and pulls out a black blouse that buttons high on your neck, holding it out with a ruched, black pencil skirt. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“You got a teacher kink or something?” you quip, earning yourself a roll of his eyes skyward. 

“Fuck off, no I just like this look on you,” he retorts, making a face at you. “Where’s your lingerie?” 

You point at a drawer, watching as he pulls it open and starts digging around in there, too. When he straightens holding a matching red lace set, this time it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Bro, you are nothing if not predictable,” you mutter, snatching them from his hands. He smiles widely. 

“I’m a simple man with simple tastes.” 

“You got the simple part right,” you mutter to yourself. 

“I heard that.” 

“You were supposed to.” 

He finds you a set of thigh high stockings and some heels in the shoe rack as well. You dress while he waits, leaning against the wardrobe door with his arms crossed as he watches you in silence.

“Wait, there’s one more thing,” he says suddenly as you slip on the heels. He disappears out the door and down to his room; you can hear him rummaging around in his closet and you strain to listen, even though you know it will be pointless; sitting down on the bed you take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. 

“Here!” Noah reappears in the doorway. He holds up a wrapped box with a grin. “This is for you.” 

You take it from him with shaking hands, pulling the bow. This is the second gift he’s bought you and, truth be told, the first one was a bit of a shock to you so to say you’re nervous unwrapping this one is an understatement. 

Your concern is justified when you peel back the wrapping to find an egg vibrator. Remote controlled. Swallowing hard, you raise your eyes to meet Noah’s. 

“I want you to wear this today,” he murmurs, taking the box from your hands and lifting the lid. “Come here.” 

“But I have–” 

“Text me your schedule,” he cuts you off, “I won’t turn it on when you’re in the boardroom. Pinky swear.” He grins, holding up his pinky finger and wiggling it in front of your face. “The rest of the day…? You are mine.” 

You eyeball the small, pink egg he holds up in front of you, its long, silicone tail dangling limply. Noah takes a step toward you. 

“Is it your first time using one of these?” There’s a tiny hint of incredulity in his tone, a dark spark in his wide brown eyes that brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks. You nod. 

“I– I’ve never trusted anyone enough,” you admit quietly, averting your eyes from his face. He says nothing to that, but a finger crooks under your chin, lifting your face up. 

“Look at me,” he says, low and firm. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, dragging it down along with your jaw. “You can trust me. I won’t break your rules.” 

His face is tender, soft and warm, and when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, your breath catches in your throat. “You told me about your ex-boyfriend once, remember? And I said if I ever saw him I’d–” 

“You’d break his face,” you finish for him, grinning. “I remember.” 

“I also said you were my people, and that I’d never let another guy betray your trust like that, didn’t I?” His eyebrows rise when you say nothing. “You can include me in that. I’d never break your trust.” He leans in, his mouth close to your cheek. “I just want to make you feel good.” 

How can you say no? Your thighs clench involuntarily and you shiver, even though the heat from his body so close makes your skin sheen with perspiration. 

“Fine,” you whisper, swallowing thickly; clearing your throat. “But I will send you my schedule and block out my meeting, and my site visit I have scheduled.” 

The smile that spreads across his face could be the sun coming out from behind a cloud. You squeal as he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you onto your desk, his muttered “up” echoing off your neck as you wrap your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Don’t you need to charge it first?” you whisper. 

“Already done,” comes his reply, and you can hear the smug satisfaction in his tone. “Washed it, too. I got you.” 

His palm is warm against your thigh as he presses your legs wide enough to fit between them. Your skirt rides up, moving further up your leg as his hand slides higher. His touch is gentle. He doesn’t say a single word, save for the small huff of happiness he lets out when his fingertips find the edge of your panties. 

“Noah…” You breathe his name without thinking, your back arching as he slips his fingers beneath the elastic to push them to the side. 

“It’s okay, I said I got you,” he whispers. You let out a gasp as one finger runs the length of your slit. “You’re so damn wet already.” 

His other hand moves from where it rests on your other thigh, and you hiss a little at the coolness of the silicone egg as it presses against your damp folds. Noah twists the tip of it, pressing it against you a little more, and your outer lips give way to it easily. It feels huge, like there’s no way it will fit, but then Noah’s thumb brushes over your clit and you gasp, canting your hips forward with a jolt. The egg slips past your entrance and Noah urges it into you with one finger until it sits snug inside. 

“There’s my good girl,” Noah murmurs, leaning back to catch your gaze. “That feel okay?” 

Your eyes are wide now but you nod. You feel full, not uncomfortably so, but when you shift you can definitely feel it in there, pressing against something that sets your core molten. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, wiping his hands on his shorts before he smooths them over your hair to cup your cheeks. “So brave.” 

The praise makes your insides purr. “It’s not as big as I thought it would feel,” you breathe, staring up at him. His eyes are wide and dark, void-like, his jaw loose as he breathes fast and shallow. It’s only this close you see him like this, and it sends a heat through you that aches when it settles deep and low in your belly. 

He doesn’t move. For a moment you think he might lean down and kiss you but you jump when your phone beeps an alert for the Trolley line you usually catch to work, Noah clears his throat, turns away and lets you climb down from the desk. You smooth your skirt down, straightening your blouse. 

“You should go,” he mutters, picking up the box and its wrapping. “Don’t want to be late for work.” 

Nodding, you reach for your bag. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

He nods, clearly distracted, turning a piece of paper over in his fingers, something that looks like an instruction manual. Sighing, you turn and leave the room. Your hand is on the door handle when your insides light up, the sudden gentle buzz inside your pussy making you squeak and jolt forward, grabbing onto the door frame. 

“It works then.” 

Eyes wide, you turn to Noah, who stands in the hall entrance, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hands and a broad, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You take a deep breath and say nothing as you open the door and slip from your apartment. 

It was going to be a very, very long day. 

True to his word, Noah leaves you alone during your meetings. If you knew better, you’d think he’d gotten distracted in the studio and forgotten about it and you; there’s not a hint of movement inside you the whole ride to work, and the first hour at the office as you spend time catching up with staff on their various projects and client portfolios. It feels good to be back among them, although the temp desk you take in the corner cubicle is drab, dry, and impersonal. 

You’d not sat down for fifteen minutes after your meeting when a text comes through.

Noah: I forgot to tell you the rules. 

Rules? Rules?! What fucking rules? You swallow, your stomach sinking a little.

Noah: You cannot take it out. Don’t take it out unless you end up in the ER. I’m your emergency contact so I’ll know if that happens. Don’t. Take. It out. 

Okay, that’s fine, you can live with that. It’s only five more hours until you get home, it’s fine. 

You said rules, plural. What’s the others?

Noah: There’s only one more: under no circumstances, at all, are you allowed to orgasm. 

You stare down at your phone screen, blinking. 

Are you serious?

Noah: Like a heart attack. Have a good afternoon. 

Immediately, the little egg inside you buzzes to life. You close your eyes, breathing deeply through it. 

God, it feels good. Light, gentle massaging pulses that caress your walls enough to stoke the fires but not enough to be a problem. Leaning your elbows on your desk, you close your eyes for a second, taking another deep breath. 

Noah: Does that feel good? 

Yeah, you text back quickly with shaking hands.  

You can imagine his face right now: smug smirk tugging the corners of his mouth up gently, warm brown eyes shimmering  with mischief. You let out a tiny moan when the vibration goes up a notch, and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Your eyes pop open at the voice. Your head snaps up, startled, and you see your colleague staring at you over the cubicle divider, concern in her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just feeling a little woozy, is all,” you reply quickly, putting a hand to your face. “I think I went too hard in the gym this morn–iiiing.” Your voice hikes up when the rhythm of the vibrator changes from a steady buzz to a rising and falling pulse that sets an immediate rocket of pleasure through you. You gather yourself quickly, reaching for your water bottle. “I’m probably dehydrated.”

Your colleague stares at you for a second longer, then grins. “You're trying to impress that housemate of yours, aren’t you?” She points at you, then taps her nose. “Get all fit and stuff. Go girl, about time you got a little somethin’ somethin’. You work too hard.” 

She disappears again, and as the pulsing vibe rises to another level you let out the deep, shaky breath that you were holding, putting your head in your hands. 

If only she knew. 

I am going to fucking end your life, you quickly type out but then delete. You know provoking him, letting him know he’s getting to you, will only make it worse. So you pull out the first report in the pile on your desk and will down the arousal that is pooling low in your gut, trying to ignore the way the pressure of the vibe sits at exactly the right place inside you, nudging against your g-spot when you even so much as shift to reach for something. 

The egg switches off suddenly and you breathe a sigh of relief, even though the tension in your body starts to rise immediately. When will it go back on? How hard? For how long? Can you withstand it? 

You almost have your breathing back under control, managing a few pages of notes, before it kicks on again, a quiet, low hum that is barely enough to touch the edges of your pleasure, but enough to keep you focused on the fact that you have absolutely no control of this.

Noah: remember, don’t cum, princess. Only nasty, disobedient girls cum when they’re told not to. 

You rock your hips back and forward, almost without conscious thought. God, it feels fucking amazing. Intense. Forbidden and dirty. You close your eyes, biting your lip, enjoying for just a few moments the faint bloom of intense pleasure that spreads out like honey in your lower limbs. 

You grasp at the edge of the desk when the vibration becomes stronger suddenly, and the pulsing rhythm rises and falls inside you. You’re dangerously close now.

Please. Stop, you send to him.

Noah: No. You can take it. 

The pulsing vibration goes on and on. It doesn’t let up. Noah doesn’t let up. You bite down on your knuckles when the rhythm pulses up high and then drops low, only to rise again a few seconds later. You’re so close now. One touch is all it would take to have you falling apart. But then the vibe stops altogether and you suck in a deep breath, getting to your feet. 

You make a beeline to the restroom while you have the chance. 

There’s a seat in the spacious unisex room. Your boss doesn’t fuck with shitty linoleum and bland porcelain; your heels clack over the tiles as you quickly lock the door and hurry to the basin, leaning over to splash cold water over your face from the gentle stream that ghosts from the tap. Your ass has barely hit the fabric of the boudoir seat before the egg inside you rumbles to life again and immediately rises to an unbearable level.

It’s right at that moment that you realize you’ve left your phone at your desk. 

The vibe rises higher and higher, along with your guilt, but you’re too far gone now to care, so close to cumming that you can’t help the gasping moan that escapes as you let your hand slide slowly along your inner thigh, the need to touch yourself almost unbearable. 

If you’re going to break the rules, you figure you might as well do it properly. 

Squeezing your eyes closed, you conjure the image of him lying above you from the other night, the feeling of his cock, hard and leaking at the tip, sliding through the mess he’s made of you. You gasp, imagining what it would feel like splitting you open, the taste of him on your tongue, mingling with your own juices that linger on his skin. 

“Fuck…” 

The egg surges and dips, climbing higher and higher, dropping away seconds before you fall over the precipice each time, a maddening series of edges that have you clenching your jaw and cursing him over and over. You sob aloud when it happens for the fifth time. It’s too much. You need to cum. You slip your fingers inside your panties, sliding through the soaking wet mess of your folds to find your own clit. 

This time when the vibration drops away you keep going, finding a perfect pressure and rhythm that immediately tips you over into orgasm and you cum with a strangled cry, only just managing to bite off the sound before it bursts forth from your throat. 

Your body seizes and shudders, riding wave after wave of pleasure. You can feel your juices slipping down to soak the chair and you’d feel revolted, except you reach into your memory for the groan Noah made when he came all over your ass the night before, and the image is dirtier than anything else reality could conjure right now.  

The vibe goes up and down until it settles back into a gentle background rumble, before turning off altogether. You pray the battery has gone flat, but you know you could only be so lucky.

It takes you a long time to compose yourself. Forcing air into your lungs on wobbly legs, you make your way to the basin to stare at your reflection in the mirror. 

Your make-up is a mess, your face shiny with perspiration. There’s a single line of mascara down one cheek and you’re glad you grabbed your handbag because you look like you’ve been fucked six ways from Saturday, and you feel it, too. 

Fixing your make-up takes time and you’re glad for the time alone to compose yourself. By the time you return to your cubicle, you feel calmer, more determined to see out this ridiculous game of his, but the residual guilt that you’ve broken the rules lurks in the shadows of your mind now, just out of view, and it stings. 

He’s right. You’re a sore loser and you fucking know it.

Your phone rings as you sit down and open your laptop again. As you answer you see there are seven missed calls on the screen, all from the same number. Noah’s number. 

“Where were you?” No greeting, just the prickle of annoyance. 

“On another call.” You answer his attitude with your own. 

“While I was doing that to you? And you kept your cool? Without verbally abusing me?” He whistles through his teeth. “I’m impressed.” 

You scowl, making a disgruntled noise. “I’m capable of many things you’re unaware of,” you retort. “Goodbye Noah.” 

You hang up, sending the phone across your desk with a clatter. 

He leaves you alone for a while after that, the only sign of the egg's presence inside you; a brief blip of vibration as you walk through the door into your first site inspection. You contemplate sending him a threatening message but decide that giving him the satisfaction of a biting retort isn’t worth your effort.

But the second the time flicks three o’clock you feel the sudden, strong pulsing sensation return with a vengeance, and you curse his name to the sun.

You grit your teeth, standing up suddenly as you ponder running for the restrooms again. Right as you’re about to grab your phone and make a run for it, it rings. You jerk in surprise, letting out a small noise. 

Noah.

Your ass hits the seat at the same time as you answer, just as the egg in your cunt begins to vibe harder, hitting a whole new level of sensation. All you can do is breathe down the line at him. 

“That bad, huh?” 

You make a noise, something between indignance and desperate helplessness. He laughs, low and quiet and mocking. 

“My sweet girl is struggling,” he observes. You breathe a sigh of relief when the vibration lowers in intensity, dropping out to a dull, barely-there fizzing deep inside of you. 

“I am going to–” you hiss out, only to be cut off by an explosion of sensation against your g-spot that steals your breath and has you gripping the desk, white-knuckled and shaking. 

“You’re going to what?” Noah’s voice is low and menacing. “You don’t sound very capable of anything right now.” 

He’s right. You’re probably incapable of remembering your own name right now, let alone enacting any revenge-based violence on his person, verbal or otherwise. 

“Tell you what, I will let you bend the rules a little,” Noah continues, nonchalantly. “Is there somewhere…private where we can…talk?” 

The vibe dies down to nothing, stilling inside you, and you suck in a deep breath. “Conference room,” you manage to hiss at him. It’s in the corner of the building, next to the board room. Almost completely soundproof. You glance at the office booking board; mercifully, it’s free for the rest of the day. Most of the office is out already, gone home for the day like you should be thinking about doing. 

“Can you go there?” 

“Yes.” Picking up your meeting notes folder, you get to your feet and make your way toward it, trying to walk calmly on shaky legs. 

“Good, let me know when you are there.” 

You don’t even have to say a word. The second the door clicks closed behind you the vibe bursts to life inside your cunt, and you have to brace yourself against the door. 

“Noah, I fucking–”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “I’m going to let you cum, okay? Just this once.”

Keening under your breath, you sit down behind the desk, setting your phone down in the hands-free cradle in front of you. 

“You always sound so pretty when you’re desperate,” he murmurs, “when you’re on the edge and you’re begging for it. Will you beg now?” 

Your forehead hits your arms as you slump forward, riding the wave of pleasure that the vibe’s sudden undulating pattern brings. This one is new, and it’s glorious. 

“Noah, please,” you sob, barely more than a whisper. 

“Please what? Pretty girl, you can do better than that.” 

There’s rustling down the phone line, then a slight moan catches your ear and you know exactly what’s going on. He’s jerking himself off now, getting off on torturing you like this, and God, if it doesn’t go a long way to pushing you over the edge. 

“Please, Noah, baby, let me cum,” you breathe. 

“God, I wish I could watch you like this, I bet you’re almost crying aren’t you?” 

A sob rises in your chest and you nod, even though you know he can’t see it. “Yeah…feels too much.” 

Noah groans, letting out a string of curses. “Baby girl, what I wouldn’t give to fuck your mouth while you’re like this, feel your moans around my cock, see your pretty face all messy, mascara running…fuck you’re so beautiful like that…” 

“I need you,” you choke out, “Noah I need you here, I need you to touch me…” 

“Oh, baby girl, I’m here,” he coos at you, and there’s a hint of possessiveness in his tone that sends a shiver up your spine. “I’m here with you.” 

“But you’re not and–” 

“What is it you need?” he asks quietly, soft and gentle now. “Do you need more? I can give you more…” 

You yelp when the egg’s vibration rises once again, and your hips cant forward, pressing the silicone orb right into the soft, spongy part of your inner walls that sends you off into space every single time. 

“...or do you need me to talk you through it?” 

“Talk to me,” you whisper, “tell me everything.” 

“Everything?” He groans down the line. “Fuck, girl, I’d give you everything…this cock is so hard right now just thinking about you, about how you taste, the way you fucking feel when you fall apart, just for me…God, baby girl, are you close?” 

“Yeah, I’m so close,” you breathe, hiccupping as you try to take a breath around your words. 

“I’m so close, too, baby girl,” he hisses down the line to you, “Will you touch yourself for me, pretend that’s my cock inside you? Go on…” 

You can barely move, so overstimulated and needy, but you manage to wriggle your skirt up your thighs again, slipping your hand inside your soaked panties once again. You let out a quiet moan when your fingers slide over your clit. 

“That’s my girl,” Noah murmurs, “that’s it, close your eyes and fuck yourself on your fingers, imagine it’s me there, you’re my pretty girl, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah…” Your voice fades out as you slide two fingers into your cunt, prodding at the egg. 

“Say it,” he demands, and you can hear how wrecked he sounds, seconds from his own end.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, and it’s enough. As your mind whites out, you hear the groan on the other end of the line as Noah falls apart in time with you. 

The sun is setting when you get home, bathing the building hall in an orange glow as you walk down the corridor toward your apartment. It’s a corner apartment and you often stop to stare out the window at the end of the corridor; it looks out over the ocean in the distance. Someone’s put a potted palm beneath it and the small plant grows quickly, strong and happy in the sunny spot. You run your hands over the fronds. It’s a thing you do often, a ritual, almost as if to say, ‘I’m alive, too, little guy’; you have few other chances to ‘touch grass’ as the kids say. You feel exhausted, bone-weary, and you find yourself drifting off in your thoughts: what to have for dinner, maybe try that new Thai place a block over, that party you’ve been invited to on the weekend…

“Hey.” 

Noah’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn abruptly. He stands in the doorway to your shared space, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. 

“Hey.”

The way he stares at you makes your skin prickle, and hairs rise on your neck; like he wants to devour you alive, one piece of you at a time. 

“Gonna stand out there all night?” 

“Hm, thinking about it,” you reply absently, running your hands over the palm again. “I think we should get a plant…” 

Noah huffs a laugh, pushing the door open and standing to the side so you can walk past him into the apartment. You’re stopped abruptly in your tracks when Noah grabs you by the arm as you walk by, and your stomach lurches as you stop dead, raising your gaze slowly to meet his. 

“Let me take your bag,” he murmurs. Slowly, you let him take the satchel bag from where it rests on your shoulder, your cardigan, too, slung over your forearm. Then, with one last glance at you, he heads off toward the kitchen and you follow, suddenly on full alert. 

“I was thinking we get takeout,” he calls back to you, “that new Thai place.” 

“Sounds good,” you reply. You watch as he stops at the counter, leaning on his elbows as he flips through a magazine in front of him. “I’m…I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Do you still have it inside you?” 

Pausing, you nod when he looks up at you pointedly; he pushes off the  counter, coming to stand in front of you. 

“You played the game well today,” he says softly, voice full of affection as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, “but I have one question… did you cum, other than that one time we broke the rules together?” 

Your mind goes immediately back to the bathroom, and you feel the flush of heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it or turn away. You turn your head, trying to avoid his gaze but you know immediately that he’s seen you and he knows. 

He knows. 

“You did, didn’t you?” The amusement is rife in his voice. “You did, you dirty little whore.” 

“You know damn well I couldn’t help it,” you snap, irritated at his insinuation of weakness. “You know what you were doing to me.” 

Noah leans in, lets his nose nudge into your hair. “You’ve redone your make-up, I can tell,” he whispers. “I can smell your cleanser and moisturizer.”

“I looked like a fucking disaster,” you hiss, thoroughly sick of his shit. You turn to leave but he grabs you by the wrist. 

“No, you stay,” he says firmly. “You broke the rules. Time for your punishment.” 

You stare at him deadpan. “Fuck off, Noah. I’m not kidding. It’s been a long day and—”

You squeak as your body hits his, his sharp tug of your arm pulling you in close. 

“Are you telling me you don’t want to play anymore?” he whispers, his hands sliding around your waist. You can feel the hardness in his jeans rut against your hip and it makes your mouth dry. “Are you backing out of the agreement we have? Is that what you’re saying? You can’t mean that, we’re having so much fun…” 

God, he’s so warm; you can feel him radiating through your blouse, and he smells like sex and the remnants of cologne that tightens in your chest as it brings back memories of his hands on you in real time. You close your eyes, your mouth falling open a little as you gasp, the ghost of his lips along your jaw has you clenching your thighs together in anticipation. 

“No, I’m not backing out,” you murmur, “I’m not scared of your stupid game.” 

His chuckle is borderline evil. He lets you go with one last pointed look, turning his back to you as he goes to sit down on the sofa. 

“Undress.” 

You pause, glaring at him, but then you realize there’s no way out of this. You did break the rules, deliberately and with abandon. Huffing a bratty sigh, you begin to undo the buttons of your blouse. 

“That’ll be an extra one, for being a brat,” Noah pipes up. 

“An extra what?” you snarl, undoing the zipper of your skirt and pushing it down your thighs. 

“An extra strike—no, leave those on.” 

You pause, about to undo the ankle strap on one of your heels. “Strike?” Lowering your foot to the ground again, you swallow hard. Noah grins, nodding. 

“Come.” He pats his knee. “Lie down.”

It suddenly dawns on you what this is. You kneel carefully next to him in just your bra and thong and heels, placing yourself face down in his lap. He sighs deeply as soon as you come to a stop, his hands immediately running the length of your body. You shiver; his touch is warm and comforting, and it immediately quells some of the tension in your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Noah murmurs, gliding a hand down over your bare ass, fingers slipping down between your thighs; you push your legs open a little for him and he makes a pleased sound. “I wish I’d been there today, to help you.” 

You arch your back as his fingers dip to circle your neck, his palm warm against your throat. His fingers tighten a little over your pulse and it makes your eyelids flutter closed. You wish he’d been there, too.

“I’m going to take the vibrator out first, okay?” 

“Okay,” you reply quietly, letting your head drop to the cushions when he lets go. You push your thighs apart more, raising your ass into the air a little. There’s a pressure inside your body as you feel him tug on the silicone tail of the egg, then a gentle release as it slips out from inside you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, breathing out a sigh. 

“You’re welcome,” Noah murmurs in reply. “How many strikes do you think you deserve? For breaking the rules? Remember, this isn’t the first time, you’re making quite the habit of being disobedient.” 

His fingertips drum on the fleshy mound of your ass cheek, and it makes you jump. 

“I don’t know…six, maybe?” 

Noah makes a non-committal noise. “Six is a good number,” he replies. “But you get an extra for being a brat just now, so that’s seven. Are you ready?” 

You nod, but his fingers tap insistently against your skin. “Words,” he demands gently, “I need you to say it.” 

“Yes, I’m ready,” you tell him, but you’re not, you’re really not, because a second later when his palm falls sharply on your left ass cheek, you squeal, skin immediately burning with pain. 

“One,” he says sharply. 

His hand strikes your right ass cheek hard, and the pain blooms once more, bringing tears to your eyes. 

“Two…” 

You squirm, squeaking a pained sound as strikes three and four fall in quick succession. Through the thudding of your blood in your ears, you can hear Noah’s soothing words, feel his hand gentle over your inflamed skin. 

“Two more, my sweet girl,” he whispers, “can you take it?” 

“Y—yes,” you grit out through clenched teeth. 

“Are you okay?” 

His hand runs over the back of your head, smoothing across your hair. You lift your face off the cushions, almost purring in response to his soft contact. 

“Yes, I’m green,” you whisper, nodding. 

“You’re so good for me…” His hand runs up your back, pressing down a little between your shoulder blades. The movement sends you off balance a little, and your ass rises. You brace your knees beneath yourself just in time, right as Noah brings his hand down on your burning skin once more. 

“Five…” 

You yelp, squirming, but he holds you firm, dropping the last two strikes hard and fast on your left cheek. 

“Six and seven. And you’re done, my sweet girl…” Noah curls an arm under your chest, lifting you up to cradle you in his lap. You let out a sob, curling your arms around his neck. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin, and you’re not sure why, what you’re even doing thanking him, but there’s a pleasant buzz in your brain that dulls out everything else as he stands up with you in his arms, carrying you into your bathroom. 

He flicks on the shower and sets you down gently on a towel on the edge of the bath. You watch in silence as he undoes your shoes and slips them from your feet, peeling the thigh highs from your legs and the thong down over your hips. The gentle buzz in your body dulls everything so it feels like you’re in a dream state. For the first time in days, your brain is deliciously numb. 

“Turn,” he mutters; he carefully unclasps your bra and slides it down your arms before he gently maneuvers you into the shower, following soon after. 

You cling to him silently as he guides you into the stream of water, soaping over every inch of your skin. Your chest thumps when he lifts your chin, using the little round pad to remove all your make-up carefully. You watch him with hooded eyes, half-asleep already.

It’s electric when his eyes meet yours. It makes your stomach clench and liquid fire rage through your veins. His eyes drop to your mouth when you lick your lips, and you see his pupils grow wide instinctively. You know he feels this, too. You lean into him, willing his lips into yours with everything you have. 

Nothing. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispers into your hair instead, enveloping you in his arms, and if you weren’t half-gone, you’d stop and ask why but the feeling of his skin against yours dulls away any protest. Leaning into him, you wrap your arms around his chest and close your eyes. 

When the water starts to run cold you let Noah flick off the taps and wrap you in a towel, moving you out of the shower and into your bedroom. He lays you down on the covers, running a hand over your back. 

“Is your butt still sore?” he asks quietly, and you nod. 

“Not too bad but you got me good a couple times,” you reply, grinning lazily. He leans in to bump his head against yours. 

“I got something for that,” he murmurs, standing up. “Lemme get it.” 

He disappears, returning a few moments later with a small bottle. Peeling back the towel, he runs a hand over your red, angry skin, and a few seconds later you feel the coolness of lotion across your rear as he smooths it on. 

“That should help.” He covers you up again, helping you under the sheets before he goes to leave. “I’ll get some dinner,” he says, leaning on the doorframe. “You want the usual?”

You nod, already dozing. Your eyes start to cross and fade closed, but you don’t miss the way he just watches you, something quietly unreadable in his gaze that sets your chest warmly simmering as you fall asleep.

It’s late when dinner arrives. You wake, alone in bed, when the buzzer goes off for the door and you lie there, listening to Noah converse with the delivery man via the intercom. You hear him slip out and disappear down the hall, his heavy footfalls so familiar to you now. He returns soon after, the rustling of paper takeout bags telling you he’s returned with food. Your stomach rumbles. 

Throwing on your robe, you rise from bed, padding wearily out into the lounge. 

“Hey sleepyhead,” he greets you. “Grub’s up.” 

“I’m starving,” you grumble, throwing yourself down next to him on the sofa, crossing a leg beneath you before you accept the plate of food Noah hands you.

You eat in silence, only half watching the movie playing on the screen. Noah’s hand rests on your thigh, his fingertips rubbing circles on the inside of your knee when he’s not shoveling food into his face.

It’s so instinctive, so…boyfriend. The longer it goes on the more you notice it, and the more it gets under your skin until you can’t stand it anymore. 

“Why won’t you kiss me?” 

He looks up at you, mid-chew, and you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” you retort, letting some of your frustration come to the surface. “Why won’t you kiss me? We do everything else, why not that?”

“I—” Noah puts his plate down, swallowing his mouthful. 

“Why won’t you fuck me?” You try another of the five million questions that circulate in your mind. “Why haven’t we fucked? You said you wanted access to my body, whenever, wherever, and I thought that meant—” 

“I haven’t done those things because they aren’t part of the game yet.” 

You stare at him incredulously. “What?” 

“Am I speaking Urdu? Because I thought I was speaking English—” 

“Oh, fuck you, man,” you spit, pushing his hand away from your leg, getting to your feet.  

“Babe,” Noah protests, but you flip him your middle finger and make a face. 

“No, you don’t get to call me that,” you yell at him, and he goes quiet immediately. “Not anymore. Go fuck yourself, Noah, if you can be bothered.”

Retreating to your bedroom, you fling yourself onto your bed, screaming tears into your pillow in frustration until you fall asleep.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Six coming soon.

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

Screaming, crying, having major fucking thoughts. 😭😭😭

[theoneandonlykymberlee]

I’m never going to stop sobbing at the noise that just left my fucking body over the notification of one of my favorite fics. 😭😂 what the fuck is wrong with me.

[hedonistblegh-deactivated202310]

Noah’s gonna keep doing that little breath after those horny ass lyrics and he’s gonna accidentally MOAN if he doesn’t stop…. Actually don’t stop keep going 🤭🤭🤭