mothman-writes

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Seven: Offers - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Seven days, four cities, and a thousand moments later, Talia Merrin watches Noah Sebastian transform — from guarded to unrestrained, from distant to deeply present. As the tour pulses onward through snowy streets and blazing stages, they navigate the fragile space between casual and something far more. Between stolen kisses in record shops and quiet confessions in worn dressing rooms, they find the courage to stop pretending, to own what’s real, and to claim each other in every stolen moment. But when the show ends and the backstage lights dim, it’s not just a performance anymore — it’s a surrender.

Warnings: Tour life, mutual pining, the guys are kinda chaotic, fluff, a little angst if you squint, smut, first time, fingering (f! recieving), dressing room sex, emotional intimacy, defining the relationship, Noah is kinda dommy, praise, no more pretending.

Word Count: 6,288

Taglist: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Seven: Offers

One

Talia Merrin

November 27th, 2022

Seven days and four cities later, Talia finally understands what it means to capture a transformation in real time. 

It starts with the way Noah starts to carry himself — straighter, full of confidence as though he’s no longer afraid to be seen. It slips into the way he performs — the carefully constructed mask dropped, how he pours himself into the music now, the way his fingers curl around the mic stand, sensual and unguarded, sends chills down Talia’s spine.

He’s become, somehow, more affectionate with her. Just the other night, he’d pulled her close in another green room, Nick and Folio mid-conversation three feet away, and kissed her like the world was ending — desperate and claiming and completely unashamed. Her heart still flutters remembering how she’d melted into it, kissing him back with the same reckless abandon as his bandmates had whooped and hollered behind them.

Noah was alive again. She could see it in the way he threw his head back when he laughed, in the way he reached for her hand in a room full of people, how he no longer seemed to ask permission to exist in a space. 

Talia had come alive like this once too — in twenty-nineteen, on the Threesome tour. She’d blossomed with the chance to work with one of her teenhood heroes, Kellin Quinn. She’d laughed for the first time in years, smiled like a child, done some of her best work.

And now, watching Noah come alive in his way, on his terms, she felt it too. 

Talia Merrin was living again. 

Two

Toronto, Ontario. Fresh snow crunches underfoot as Talia walks alongside Noah through the streets of the city. The cold in Denver is nothing compared to the bone-deep chill of Toronto. It slices through the wool of her coat, and she tucks her nose into the material. It already smells of winter and the coffee from the hotel lobby. 

“Are you sure we’re going the right way, Noe?” She asks, tugging on his hand to catch his attention.

Noah looks down at her, offering her a lopsided smile, “I’m sure. Just a few more blocks, I promise.”

Noah had lured her out into the cold with promises of kisses and good music just after breakfast. She’d agreed — begrudgingly — after he’d given her a puppy dog look with those big brown eyes of his. So far, she’d received neither. 

“I’m going to sue,” She teases, letting him pull her along, “I’m going to freeze to death due to false advertising.” 

“Good things come to those who don’t whine about frostbite.”

Noah pulls her around a corner and then ducks under a little snow-covered awning, pulling her into him. Talia stares up at him in wonder, suddenly breathless. All that exists is them, in this moment — the muffled sounds of the city, the snowflakes caught in his dark hair like tiny stars, the warmth radiating from his chest. 

Leaning down, he brushes their lips together before closing the gap. One hand goes to cup her cheek, and she melts. She always does. 

A warmth blooms through her, head to toe, even as he pulls away.

“Kisses.” Noah says simply, pulling the door of the shop open with a soft jingle. “And now, good music.” 

Talia steps inside and is immediately met with the early sounds of The Cure. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she realizes he brought them to a record shop.

She turns to him, pressed against her back now like he belongs there, and looks up at him, “Take me to your favorite corner.”

Noah takes her hand, lacing their fingers together before gently guiding her backwards. When he turns her around, it’s with a careful hand at her waist as he leads her through the shelves and vertical storage bins. 

When they get to the section that feels most like Noah — old metal cross sectioned with metalcore, Talia lets go, stepping back to watch him as he flips through old records with unbridled enthusiasm. 

It’s only then that she allows herself to appreciate the shop fully. Watery light filters through the windows, catching dust motes flying through the air. It smells of vinyl and lukewarm coffee, oddly soothing when she remembers the cut of the air outside. 

As Talia watches Noah, she finds herself wishing she’d brought her camera. This is too good not to capture — Noah’s hands in light, holding the edges of a sleeve, ink perfectly illuminated against his skin. 

“You’re staring,” Noah says without looking up, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m appreciating.” She corrects, stepping closer until she’s close enough to see the album covers he’s flipping through —some bands she recognizes, some she doesn’t, all of them somehow fitting the person she’s coming to know.

Noah pulls out a record then, clearly proud of himself for finding it. It’s something with a dark, moody cover that she doesn’t recognize. He holds it up like an offering. The sleeve is worn at the edges, well-loved.

“This one’s for you,” He says, turning to face her fully. There’s something almost shy in his expression, like he’s offering her a piece of himself.

Talia takes it from him, their fingers brushing as she studies the cover, “What is this?”

“Trust me,” He says, that lopsided smile returning. “You’ll like it. And if you don’t…” He shrugs, already moving towards the counter. “Well, you’ll  have something to remember Toronto by either way.” 

The casual way he says it — like buying her music is the most natural thing in the world, the most natural thing to them, like he’s already thinking about her listening to it later, thinking of him — makes something warm unfurl inside her.

And when they step back out into the cold, she doesn’t flinch away. She welcomes it.

Because she has everything she needs to keep warm right beside her. 

Three

The scent of coffee and vinyl still clings to Talia's coat when they push through the doors of the hotel lobby. Snow is coming down in heavy sheets outside now, the wind howling against the glass like something desperate to get in. In the back of her mind, she wonders if they'll have to cancel tonight’s show due to weather.

There's something different about Noah as they approach the elevator. He keeps running his hand through his hair, fidgeting with his sleeve in that specific way she's only seen once before. Her stomach does a little flip.

It strikes her that he might be getting ready to ask her on an actual date, though that seems a little odd considering they've been... whatever this is. She lets herself imagine it anyway — him, stumbling over his words nervously. Her accepting, trying to play it cool while her heart hammers against her ribs. Getting whisked away by someone so devastatingly handsome it makes her chest ache, with wine and candlelight and the night ending with her gasping his name against his mouth.

As they step into the elevator, she catches his hand in hers, threading their fingers together. "I like sushi, by the way."

"Noted," Noah says, and there's that lopsided grin again, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes this time.

But even as they make their way down the carpeted hallway, he still doesn't ask. Just keeps glancing at her like he's working up the courage to say something earth-shattering, his free hand tapping restlessly against his thigh.

What the hell was going on?

Noah swipes the key card and pushes the door open for her. The sounds of animated arguing spill out immediately, along with the competing scents of Chinese takeout and someone's spilled energy drink.

"—absolutely not, we watched your pick last time and it was three hours of explosions and zero plot—"

"That's literally what makes a good movie, Jolly—"

Nick is sprawled across one of the beds, thumb flying across his phone screen. Folio and Jolly are squared off in front of the TV like they're about to settle this with fists, the remote held hostage between them.

Talia can't help but smile, something warm and familiar spreading through her chest. This chaos, this easy intimacy — it feels like coming home.

"There she is!" Folio breaks away from his standoff to beam at her, "How'd you survive the full Noah Sebastian Toronto experience? Did he make you visit every record store in the city?"

"Just one," Talia laughs, unwrapping herself from her coat, "but Jesus, it's arctic out there. I think my eyelashes actually froze."

She drops down onto the floor beside Jolly's chair, immediately reaching over to snag a piece of his sesame chicken. He swats at her hand halfheartedly.

"Did you talk to her?" Nick asks suddenly, finally looking up from his phone. His tone is casual, but there's something underneath it that makes Talia's stomach tighten.

Noah shoots him a look that could melt steel. "Not yet."

"Bro," Nick sits up, exasperation bleeding into his voice, "you literally said you would on the way back from the venue."

"He was too busy playing boyfriend," Folio chimes in with a shit-eating grin, "probably stopped every five minutes to make out under awnings."

Heat floods Talia's cheeks, but she's more focused on the way all four of them are suddenly looking anywhere but directly at her. The easy atmosphere shifts, becomes charged with something she can't name.

She waves her hand in the air like she's trying to flag down a taxi. "Um, hello? I'm sitting right here." When she has their attention, she continues, "Talk to me about what, exactly?"

The silence that follows is deafening. The guys all exchange looks — some complex communication happening that she's not privy to — and dread shoots through her like ice water.

She bites down on her lip and starts picking at the carpet fibers, suddenly unable to meet anyone's eyes. Part of her brain is already spiraling, imagining all the ways this could go wrong. Maybe they're tired of her being around. Maybe whatever's happening between her and Noah is making things weird for everyone else. Maybe —

"We want you to come to Europe with us."

Noah's voice cuts through her spiral, shaky but determined. So that's why he was nervous. That's why he was fidgeting, why Nick was being cryptic, why everyone's been acting like they're harboring state secrets.

Talia's head snaps up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash. "What?"

"For the European leg," Jolly adds quickly, that crooked grin of his tinged with something almost vulnerable. "As our photographer. If you want to, that is."

"We talked about it after the show last night," Nick jumps in, "and we're all in agreement. You're fucking brilliant at what you do, Tal."

"Plus," Folio adds with a waggle of his eyebrows, "someone's gotta keep Noah from moping around European cities by himself."

Talia feels like she's been hit by a truck. A really good truck. The kind of truck that changes your entire life trajectory.

"Sorry," she breathes out, pressing her palms against her temples, "I just... I wasn't expecting that. At all. Sorry."

The room goes quiet again, but this time it's expectant rather than tense. Four pairs of eyes watching her, waiting.

And then, her voice barely above a whisper, like speaking too loudly might shatter this perfect moment: "Of course I want to go."

The whole room lets out a collective exhale, like they've all been underwater and finally broke the surface. The tension snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly everyone's grinning like idiots — Folio actually whoops and pumps his fist in the air, Nick falls back against the pillows with a dramatic "Thank fuck," and Jolly's smile is so wide it looks like it might split his face in half.

Noah drops down onto the floor beside her, close enough that their knees bump, and the relief in his eyes is so palpable it makes her chest tight. "Really?"

"Really," she laughs, and the sound is breathless and giddy, "though I can't believe you were all so nervous about asking. Did you really think I'd say no?"

"Well," Folio starts, "you could've had actual plans, or a life, or—"

"Fuck off," Talia grins, throwing a fortune cookie at his head.

Just then, the door swings open and Matt appears, looking slightly windblown and carrying an ice bucket that's seen better days. He takes one look at the room — everyone practically glowing with excitement, Talia still sitting on the floor grinning like Christmas morning — and raises an eyebrow.

"What'd I miss? Did someone win the lottery, or did Noah finally work up the balls to—"

"She said yes!" Noah interrupts, practically bouncing out of his skin now, turning to face Matt so fast he nearly topples over.

Matt's face goes through about seventeen different expressions in the span of two seconds before landing on pure delight. He sets the ice bucket down with a decisive thunk and crosses the room in three long strides.

"You said yes?" he asks, looking down at Talia with the kind of hopeful expression usually reserved for puppies and Christmas wishes.

"About thirty seconds ago," she confirms, and before she can say anything else, Matt's hauling her to her feet and gripping her shoulders like he's afraid she might disappear.

His grin is infectious, the kind that makes everyone else smile just by proximity. "Welcome to the team, Talia Merrin. Permanently this time."

Four

"Your own dressing room," Talia says when she steps through the door, her voice carrying a teasing lilt that doesn't quite mask her genuine awe, "fancy."

Noah looks up from his notebook — the battered leather one he's had since high school, pages now soft with wear — and the moment his eyes catch hers, his whole face transforms. The smile starts small, tugging at one corner of his mouth, then spreads until his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes her heart skip a beat, then stumble over itself entirely.

"I may have pulled some strings," he says, voice cool and casual, but there's pride there too as he shrugs one shoulder. The gesture is almost boyish, like he's showing off his first apartment to his parents.

Talia takes in the room with fresh eyes — the mustard-yellow shag carpet that's seen better decades, the worn leather couch with its angry tears exposing foam stuffing, the mirror ringed with harsh fluorescent bulbs that hum slightly off-key. And him, in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on that ridiculous carpet, practically glowing in the unflattering light like he carries his own warmth.

She crosses the room in three quick steps, her sneakers silent on the thick carpet. Without ceremony, she moves his notebook — still warm from his lap, the pages filled with his messy scrawl — and settles herself in its place. Noah's arms come around her waist before she's even fully settled, automatic and sure, like muscle memory. His hands span her lower back, solid and safe and real.

She wraps an arm around his neck, her fingers finding the soft hair at his nape, and nuzzles her face into his hair. He smells like the green tea shampoo from craft services and something distinctly him — cedar and clean cotton and the faint ghost of stage lights.

A sound escapes her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, pure contentment made audible. "Hi baby."

Noah's arms tighten around her, pulling her closer until there's no space left between them, and he lets out a soft exhale against her collarbone — like he's been holding his breath all day, waiting to hear those two words from her lips.

"Hi baby," he echoes, his voice rough around the edges with something that might be relief.

The admission tumbles out before she can second-guess it: "I'm glad we're here. I've been wanting some alone time." Her fingers trace the line of his shoulder blade through his t-shirt. "Craving it, actually."

"I've been wanting to talk to you." His words are careful, measured. "About us."

But the sentence doesn't send ice through her veins, not like it should. Not like it would have a month ago, or even a week ago. She's been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever — since the first time he kissed her, since the first time she woke up with his arm flung across her ribs, since the first time she caught herself looking for him in every crowd.

Noah continues, his voice gaining strength as he takes her hand and presses it flat against his chest, right over his heart. She can feel it beating, steady but quick, like a bird's wings. "I'm not going to pretend that I know what I'm doing here, that I have some master plan or that I know exactly what I want. But I need you to know — whatever this is between us? I'm going to give it everything I have. We said no half-measures, and I meant that. Even if we're calling it 'casual' right now."

The word lands wrong, jarring against the warmth of the moment. "You think we're doing 'casual?'" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her brows draw together before she can stop them, and she pulls back just enough to search his face.

"Only for now," Noah says quickly, and there it is—panic flickering across his features like a candle flame in wind. His hands tighten on her waist, anchoring. "Since we're on tour and everything is... complicated. The way I figure it, if we want to explore what this could look like — really look like — after tour wraps, we can. When we're not living in each other's pockets and performing every night and —"

He stops himself, jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't know how to say.

Talia watches the war play out across his face — the careful way he's trying to protect both of them, the fear of saying too much too soon, the weight of whatever he's holding back. She shifts in his lap, bringing her other hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing across the slight stubble there.

"Noah." His name is soft on her lips, a question and an answer all at once. "What are you not saying?"

He leans into her touch, eyes closing for just a moment like he's drawing strength from it. When he opens them again, they're darker, more honest.

"I'm scared," he admits, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm scared that if we call this what it feels like — what it is  — everything will change. The music, the tour, the way we work together. I'm scared that wanting you this much will mess everything up." His voice drops to almost a whisper. "And I'm terrified that it won't."

The confession hangs in the air between them, raw and real. Talia feels something shift in her chest, like a lock clicking open.

"You think I don't know?" she asks, her voice gentle but steady. "You think I haven't been lying awake at three AM wondering the same things?" She traces the line of his jaw with her fingertip. "But here's what I've figured out — we're already changed, Noah. We changed the first time you handed me your earbuds. We changed the second I started really only watching you on stage.”

He's watching her now, hanging on every word.

"So maybe casual isn't what this is," she continues, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Maybe it never was. Maybe we've been fooling ourselves thinking we could keep this small and manageable and safe."

"Maybe we have," he agrees, and there's something like wonder in his voice.

She leans forward until their foreheads touch, sharing the same breath, the same space. "So what do we do about it?"

Noah's hands slide up her back, steady and sure. "We stop pretending," he says simply. "We stop calling it casual when it feels like coming home. We stop being scared of ruining something that's already the best thing that's happened to either of us."

The smile that spreads across Talia's face is unstoppable, bright enough to rival the harsh dressing room lights. "Is that what this is? The best thing?"

"Baby," Noah says, pulling her closer until she can feel his smile against her temple, "it's not even close."

And when he kisses her — soft and sure and full of promise —the ugly carpet and torn couch and humming lights fade away until there's nothing left but this: them, finally honest, finally brave enough to call it what it is.

Five

Just an hour ago, Noah's hands were on her waist, warm and possessive against the small of her back; now, she's watching through her viewfinder as those same hands — long fingers she knows the texture of — curl around the microphone stand on stage like he's holding onto something precious. Red lights pulse behind him in waves, washing the stage in crimson, and the massive graphic screen flickers with hypnotic loops of fire that seem to lick at the edges of his silhouette.

The pit is a furnace of bodies and sweat, the crowd pressed so tight against the barrier that Talia can feel the collective intake of breath when the lights dim. She adjusts her grip on her camera, the familiar weight of it grounding her as audience members jostle for position around her. The metal barrier digs into her ribs, but she barely notices — her world has narrowed to the man on stage and the way the red light turns his dark hair almost burgundy.

He's just stepped back on stage for the encores, boots heavy on the wooden planks, and while Talia knows this moment comes every night — has photographed it a dozen times before — tonight feels different. The air itself seems to vibrate with something more than just bass lines and drum beats. More charged with electricity, somehow. Heavier, like the moment before lightning strikes.

As the opening beat drops — that slow, hypnotic pulse that makes hearts sync to its rhythm — Noah's eyes find her in the chaos of the pit with laser precision. Even with the stage lights blazing and the crowd screaming, his gaze cuts through everything else like he's got some internal GPS that leads straight to her. His eyes flash, bright with adrenaline and something deeper, more intimate, as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile that's meant just for her.

Talia's finger hovers over the shutter, but she forgets to press it. She forgets about f-stops and ISO settings and the perfect shot. She forgets she's working.

And then his expression shifts, transforms, his gaze turning molten as he leans into the microphone. The smile disappears, replaced by something darker, hungrier. When he opens his mouth to sing, his voice is velvet over gravel, intimate despite the thousands of people hanging on every word:

"I made another mistake, thought I could change, thought I could make it out. Promises break, need to hear you say 'you're gonna keep it now.'"

The words hit her like a physical touch, and she realizes with startling clarity that he's not just performing the song — he's performing it for her. Every syllable is deliberate, weighted with the conversation they had in that shabby dressing room, with promises made and fears confessed. The red lights paint him in shades of desire and danger, and when he grips the mic stand tighter, she can almost feel those fingers against her skin again.

Her camera finally clicks, capturing the exact moment his eyes find hers again, but she knows no photograph could ever hold what passes between them in that look — raw and electric and entirely too intimate for a crowd of thousands to witness.

“I miss the way you say my name. The way you bend, the way you break. Your makeup running down your face. The way you touch, the way you taste.”

The next verse spills from his lips like a confession, each word dripping with intention. This song — God, this song has never failed to get under her skin, its lyrics weaving heat through her veins until she's dizzy with it. But having Noah sing it directly to her, his voice rough with want and his eyes never leaving hers?

Holy shit.

Talia presses her thighs together instinctively, suddenly hyperaware of every choice she made getting dressed tonight — the black mini skirt that seemed like a good idea in the dressing room, the way the stage lights make her feel exposed despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. Heat coils low in her stomach, spreading through her limbs like warm honey. She's burning up now, flushed from more than just the crush of bodies around her.

“When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive? It wasn’t hard to realize, love’s the death of peace of mind.” 

Her finger finds the shutter again, muscle memory taking over, but her hands are less steady now. Through the viewfinder, Noah looks like sin incarnate — all sharp angles and dangerous smiles, the red lights casting shadows that make his cheekbones look carved from marble. When he reaches the bridge, his voice drops to something barely above a whisper, intimate despite the amplification, and somehow she hears every word like he's breathing them against her ear.

The crowd sways around her, lost in their own interpretation of the song, but Talia feels like she's drowning in the space between her and the stage. Every note he sings seems designed to remind her of skin against skin, of whispered promises in dim rooms, of the weight of his hands and the taste of his name on her tongue.

When the final chord rings out and the stage lights fade to black, the roar of the crowd crashes over her like a wave. But in that moment before the house lights come up, in that pocket of darkness between performance and reality, Talia sees Noah's silhouette turn toward her one more time.

Even from forty feet away, even with thousands of people between them, she can feel the promise in that look — a continuation of everything that started in the dressing room, everything they've finally stopped pretending isn't real.

Her camera hangs forgotten around her neck as she realizes she's not just documenting the show anymore. She's living in it, drowning in it, completely and utterly his.

Six

The second the house lights cut to pitch black for the final time, Talia is moving. She doesn't think, doesn't plan — just pushes through the crush of bodies still swaying to phantom melodies, her camera bouncing against her hip as she weaves between couples and groups of friends reluctant to let the night end. The crowd parts around her like water, everyone too lost in their post-show euphoria to notice one photographer slipping away.

She's driven by something primal, something that's been building since the first note of that song, since the moment his eyes found hers in the pit and turned her blood to fire. Her pulse hammers in her throat, and she can still feel the phantom weight of his gaze on her skin, the way his voice had wrapped around those lyrics like a promise.

The backstage entrance looms ahead, security waving her through with barely a glance at her press pass. But the moment she steps into the controlled chaos of the backstage area — roadies breaking down equipment, band members toweling off sweat, the familiar smell of amplifiers cooling down — Noah is there.

His fingers circle her wrist before she even sees him coming, warm and slightly damp from the stage lights, and the contact sends electricity straight up her arm. She turns to him on pure instinct, muscle memory from a dozen stolen moments, and he pulls her close enough that she can smell the salt on his skin, see the way his pupils are still blown wide from the adrenaline rush.

"You're wearing that fucking skirt again," he whispers, his voice rough with something that might be restraint or might be its complete absence. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear, and she can feel the words as much as hear them.

Fuck.

A chill runs down Talia's spine like ice water, followed immediately by heat that pools low in her belly. Her knees go weak, and she almost melts into a puddle right there on the industrial carpet, surrounded by the organized chaos of a tour in motion. She isn't given the chance to dissolve, isn't even given a chance to blink or breathe or think, before Noah's hand slides from her wrist to her palm and he's pulling her down the narrow hallway.

His grip is firm, possessive, and there's a hunger in the way he moves — all barely leashed energy and intent. His stage clothes stick to his skin with sweat, his hair is wild from the performance, and Talia can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenches into a fist at his side like he's fighting every instinct he has.

She knows that look. She's seen it before in quiet moments, in stolen glances across hotel rooms and green rooms and cramped backstage areas. This is Noah without his careful control, without his gentle restraint, without all the ways he usually holds himself back from taking what he wants. This is a man who won't hold back, can't hold back, unless she really asks him to.

But Talia won't. God, she won't. She wants him to give in, to stop being so damn careful with her like she's made of glass. She wants him to stop treating her like she might break, like she might run, like she might regret whatever's about to happen between them.

Just for tonight, she wants him to take what he wants. What they both want.

The dressing room door appears ahead of them, and Talia's heart pounds so hard she's sure he can hear it echoing off the narrow walls.

They step in together, and within a beat of the door closing she’s pressed up against it. She hears the lock click as his mouth finds hers — hungry, possessive, claiming.

She melts into it, whimpering against him. He presses into her, and she can feel how hard he is, how much he aches for her. 

Talia tears away from this kiss reluctantly, “Couch, please.”

She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him in that direction. He sinks into the cushions a moment later, probably expecting her to land in his lap. But she sinks to her knees in front of him.

Noah’s breath hitches audibly, and she takes it as permission to trail her hand up his thigh, feeling him shudder underneath her touch. 

When she reaches his hard length, she palms him through the material of his pants — just enough pressure to make him groan. She quickly replaces her hand with her mouth, ghosting her lips over him. His hips roll up into her, and his fingers slip into her curls. 

But then his hand stills, and before she can actually touch him, he’s pulling her head up gently.

Noah shakes his head once, firm. “Not tonight. Get up here.”

Talia lets out a soft whimper, pouting a little. His other hand reaches out to trace the pad of his thumb against her lower lip.

“Another night, baby.” He coos, and then pulls her hair a little. A clear signal: get up.

Talia stands and is immediately pulled into Noah’s lap, his chest pressing against her back. She’s aware of the sweat sticking to his skin, aware of the heat radiating off him. His arm snakes around her waist, his hand coming to rest against the pale skin of her upper thigh.

It’s one of the only places on her body that doesn’t have tattoos, so to see his inked hand there mesmerizes her for a second. She wishes she could take a picture of this. 

Noah’s fingers tug up the hem of her skirt a little, revealing more skin. His knuckles graze against it.

“What are you doing?” She manages, voice a little distant.

Noah’s lips brush the shell of her ear as he leans in, “What I should have done in Denver.”

And suddenly, her skirt is pushed all the way up, exposing the black cotton panties she’d picked out to wear tonight. They’re soaked through, and Talia tries not to be embarrassed by that. 

Noah’s fingers slide the panties to the side with expert ease, and she leans into him as his fingers ghost over her clit for just a moment.

“Can I —” 

“Please,” Talia begs, spreading her legs for him. 

With just enough pressure to make her squirm, he begins to rub quick circles against her clit. Soft moans escape her lips, and Noah begins to trail open mouthed kisses along her neck.

“You sound so pretty for me, babygirl.” He murmurs against her skin, voice rough with want. He presses his hips up into her, rolling them slightly.

Talia nearly falls apart right there. 

She wants more, needs more, so she spreads her legs further. An invitation.

Noah takes it without question, slipping a finger through her folds and into her. She gasps at the stretch, but he moves her through it with slow, gentle strokes. He begins to roll his hips at the same maddening pace, letting out breathy groans against her skin.

“Fuck,” She whimpers, rolling her hips into his hand. He presses his palm into her, grinding it against her clit as he continues to finger her. 

Noah adds a second finger, “Just like that, baby..”

She’s all but fucking his hand now, lost in the bliss of fullness and dirty talk. Noah’s hips move at a faster speed now, and he’s shuddering beneath her. 

The thought of him getting off to her like this sends a chill down Talia’s spine. She can feel her release building, tight and hot in her stomach.

“Noah,” She moans out, leaning back into him, “don’t stop.”

He takes it as a cue to speed up, his fingers moving inside her at a brutal pace now. He curls his fingers slightly, and that’s all it takes to send Talia over the edge.

Her eyes flutter shut and she begins to roll her hips through the waves of her orgasm. Noah’s hips stutter below her, but she doesn’t notice. 

When it comes crashing down, she slumps into Noah, boneless and trembling, her skin slick with perspiration. The dressing room feels smaller now, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with its shabby dimensions and everything to do with the way they're breathing in sync, hearts hammering against each other through sweat-dampened fabric.

Noah nips gently at her collarbone before slipping his fingers out of her, the loss making her shiver. His touch is reverent now, fingers trailing soft patterns on her thigh as she comes back to herself.

"You good?" he asks quietly, breathlessly, his voice still rough around the edges but softer now, concerned. His free hand smooths her hair back from her face, fingers gentle against her temple.

Talia turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, and the expression she finds there nearly undoes her all over again. His pupils are still blown wide, his cheeks flushed, but there's something achingly tender in the way he's watching her—like she's something precious he's afraid he might have handled too roughly.

"More than good," she manages, her voice hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with screaming over concert crowds. She shifts in his lap, feeling the evidence of his own need pressing against her, and reaches back to cup his face. "But what about you?"

Noah catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm that's so gentle it makes her chest tight. "Tonight was about you," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Noah—"

"Shh." He pulls her closer, if that's even possible, his arms encircling her completely. "Let me just... hold you for a minute."

So she does. She lets herself melt back against his chest, lets herself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers trace absent patterns on her skin. The ugly fluorescent lights hum overhead, but they might as well be stars for how peaceful this moment feels.

"We should probably get cleaned up," Talia murmurs eventually, though she makes no move to leave his lap. "People will be looking for you."

"Let them look," Noah says against her hair, and there's something fierce in his voice that makes her believe he means it. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

Outside, she can hear the distant sounds of the venue emptying, equipment being loaded, the organized chaos of a tour moving on to the next city. But in here, in this moment, with his arms around her and his heart beating steady against her back, the rest of the world can wait.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Talia isn't thinking about what comes next, isn't worrying about complications or consequences or keeping things casual. She's just here, just his, just exactly where she belongs.

"Hey," Noah whispers, his lips brushing her ear.

"Yeah?"

"No more pretending, right?"

Talia turns in his arms until she can see his face, can read the vulnerability there alongside the satisfaction and the lingering heat. She reaches up to trace the line of his jaw, marveling at how someone can look so completely wrecked and so beautiful at the same time.

"No more pretending," she agrees, sealing the promise with a kiss that tastes like forever.

---

This chapter...how we feeling? This is the first smut scene I've ever written (I know) so I hope you enjoy it!

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Please feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Six II | Chapter Eight

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

[mothman-writes]

Nutmeg Chapter Eleven

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4273

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 12

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @ami--gami @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse @cheyyyyr @respectfulrebel @hskcut-blog

WARNINGS: Some fluff, oral, piv, fingering, overstimulation, horny Noah, aftercare, talking about sex toys, 'panties'.

Noah enters your house quietly, locks the door, washes his hands in the kitchen sink, and walks right over to you, drops down on his knees in front of you and grabs your face.  ‘Hi,’ he says and then he pulls you close to him and kisses you. 

You were surprised, but not unpleasantly so and you match his fervour quickly.  His hands slowly travel down over your arms and then rests around your waist, like all he wanted was to hug you closer.  You wrapped your arms around his neck.  He was making sounds at the back of his throat, small little grunts and moans and you were sure that he had no control over them.

His mouth was insatiable.  He kissed like he could not get enough.  Like he has been waiting for years to run his tongue along the roof of your mouth.  His hips were pushed against yours and you felt that he was so hard, but it was like he didn’t even know. 

He stopped kissing long enough to rip his hoodie and shirt off at the same time, carelessly tossing them back towards the couch.  Then he pulls you against him and you gasp at the skin-to-skin contact.  Feeling the heat of his body. 

He pushes you backwards with his body, almost crowding you, until you do what he wants.  When he has helped you lay down, carefully with his hand behind your head, he continues to kiss you. 

Suddenly, he stops and looks down at you, his eyes hardly focusing, out of breath.  Then he walks back on his knees so he can settle between your legs.  You spread for him, he didn’t have to ask. 

He runs a finger over the little bow on the dark purple pair of panties you have on and smiles briefly, before he pulls the fabric to the side with one hand and pushes your one leg back with his other hand.  He puts his mouth against your pussy like he was kissing you a moment before.  His lips and tongue working together to take as much from you as he possible could, like he would starve without it.

The desire that was radiating from him was intoxicating.  Your head was completely empty except for the small part that was processing the delicious pleasure of where he was in contact with you.  It didn’t take long at all, before you were so close you had to break the silence. 

‘Holy shit, Noah, I am so close, I am going to cum, please may I cum?’  You get it out barely coherent. 

He hums and you buck your hips up against his face in all consuming bliss, your hands gripping onto his hair a lot tighter than you meant to.  He finally lets up after way too long and looks up at you from between your thighs with a devilish grin on his face.  ‘Good girl.’

He holds a hand out and helps you sit up again so you can get back into your kneeling position for him and he looks on appreciatively.  You notice his eyes were on your breasts often.  Most of the time, Noah was very good at controlling his eyes and body’s and urges around you.  Sometimes having full conversation with you completely naked and it sometimes felt like he didn’t notice.  Not today.

You look at him when you say, ‘Hi.’

He laughs.  ‘How are you?’ he sits in front of you on the floor. 

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ you laugh too.  ‘And you?’

‘Christ, I’m horny as fuck,’ he is still smiling.

You nod.  ‘Yeah, you are.’

‘I have not had an orgasm for the whole week, Peach.  I am going crazy,’ he says.  ‘Please relax your arms, I want to hold your hands.’

You bring your arms to your sides and reach out for him.  ‘You were doing homework with me?’  you ask. 

‘I tried last week, you remember I told you?  But I actually did it this week,’ he said very proud of himself.

‘Did you touch?’ you asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.  ‘Now I understand what I have been putting you through,’

‘I’m getting better at it,’ you say softly.

‘I have been getting boners at the most inconvenient times, and sometimes it just won’t go down.  I just stay hard for so long,’ he says and he looks down at himself, where you could see the outline of a bulge.

‘I hope you plan on taking it out on me,’ you say almost managing not to blush to the tips of your ears.

He smiles with soft eyes at you.  ‘Oh baby, this is all for you.’

‘Do you want me to take care of you?’ you ask.

‘In a moment,’ he says.  ‘We need to talk first.  Because your words have been haunting me non-stop.  You have no idea what it did to me.’

His face is serious when he says this.  ‘What did I say?’ you ask worried.

‘When you said that you were willing to try new things if it’s with me,’ he says that little frown back between his eyebrows.

‘Oh, yes,’ you say remembering.

‘You ticked a lot of things on that list, Peach,’ he says his eyes wide.

You think a moment before you speak.  You squeeze his hands.  ‘Initially when I was applying at the agency, I was given that list and it all seemed like so much and it was scary.  It seemed crazy to say yes to some of those things.’

‘You were labelled as ‘very vanilla’ on your profile,’ he says softly.

You raise your eyebrows.  ‘Really?’  Then you think.  And your brain goes in all directions at once.  ‘Wait.  You accepted my application because I was very vanilla, or in spite of being very vanilla?’

He smiles a little bit.  ‘I think because of it.’ 

‘And now I’ve ruined it because I ticked too many things?’ you ask him, feeling the disappointment already spreading through you.

‘No, not at all,’ he shakes his head.  ‘Look at me, please.’

You look him in the eye. 

‘You didn’t ruin anything.  Will you let me just explain without thinking a hundred miles ahead?’ he says while he weaves your fingers together.  ‘Please?’

‘Okay.  I’m sorry.’

He kisses your knuckles.  ‘Initially, I was nervous and unsure of myself, and I looked at some applications and they intimidated the hell out of me.  There were women who wanted things I had to google to know what it was.’  You saw the borderline fear on his face when he says this.  ‘So, I wanted someone inexperienced with being submissive, so I could learn too.  Your list was one that didn’t scare the crap out of me.’

You nod to show that you were paying attention.  Instead of thinking too much, you tried to picture Noah sitting on his grey couch in his neat room, sweating while going through applications, google open on his phone. 

‘But now,’ he stretches out the word ‘now’ and takes a deep breath.  ‘I feel the same as you.  I am willing to try if I know it’s with you.  I would be honoured to try and lead you through these things.  Jesus Christ, you had me almost in tears when you said you wanted to learn with me.’

‘Why in tears?’  you ask.

‘That you trust me that much?’  he asks.  ‘Goddamn, it made me weak.’

‘So, we are okay?’ you ask. 

He nods with a small smile.  ‘We are.’

‘Good,’ you exhale.  ‘I don’t need everything on the list, I want to be clear.  I just thought that if you maybe wanted to try some of those things, I would be okay with it.  I know you wouldn’t push me too far.’

‘I understand,’ he says his brown eyes so soft when he looks at you.  ‘And it means we will have conversations, and discuss everything before we try anything.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ you add. 

‘Let me go get my backpack,’ he gets up and takes such big steps to reach it where it was by the door.  ‘I went to a sex shop, my god, I tried to be an adult about it, you know.  But I was blushing and shy.’

You laugh softly.  ‘Next time, order something online.’

‘I was in a hurry,’ he said in explanation.  ‘But next time, yes.’

‘What did you get?’ you ask feeling just a slight bit nervous. 

‘Come sit here with me,’ he says and he sits on the couch. 

You get up and join him, relieved.  This conversation shouldn’t be rushed, but your knees were not in the mood for a thorough talk.

‘Don’t freak out about anything.  These are ideas only,’ he says putting his hands up like he was proving his innocence. 

‘I won’t freak out,’ you say.  You turn to sit sideways on the couch so you could see what he had and see him.

‘I only got three things,’ he starts off. 

He looks at you and he looks so nervous that you scoot closer towards the backpack between the two of you and with a big smile say, ’Show me.’

‘Alright,’ he exhales.  ‘First one,’ he takes out a small black drawstring bag. 

You open it and shake it out into your hand.  Inside was the tiniest little butt plug.  It had a blue gemstone-looking thing at the end, really pretty.  ‘It’s so small.’

‘I took the smallest.  Some of those things are scary.  We can always go bigger later,’ he says. 

‘Small is perfect.  Good choice,’ you say as you hold it between your fingers. 

‘Then I got this,’ he handed you another black bag.

When you get it out, you frown a little bit.  ‘What does this do?  Or shall I say, where does it go?’

He snorts.  ‘It’s a cock ring,’ he takes it from you.  ‘This part goes around the base of my cock and then this part,’ he points at a something like an attachment.  ‘This is supposed to stimulate your clit while I’m inside.’

‘Oooh,’ you take it back.  ‘That is clever.’

‘And then I got this,’ he hands it to you.  ‘Some fancy-looking lube. I don’t know,’ he shrugs.

You twirl it around in your hands and only now do you feel just a little nervous too.  ‘Looks like a good choice.’

‘Alright so, we are not doing these tonight.  We have a week to think and decide what we want,’ he says. 

You feel a sense of relief.  ‘Thank you.  Some warning time would be appreciated.’

‘So here is what I was thinking we can do tonight,’ he says, taking the lube from your hands and putting all of the things to the side.  ‘Some overstimulation?’

‘What do you mean?’ you ask. 

‘I just make you cum as many times as I possibly can,’ he says simply. 

With your eyes wide you say, ‘How many times?’

‘I don’t know yet.  We will see how many you can take,’ he shrugs.

‘Okay,’ you say your voice small. 

‘You don’t have to worry,’ he says.  ‘You know the rules.’

‘I do know the rules,’ you confirm. 

‘Because you are my good girl,’ he smiles looking at you from under his hair.

 ‘Can I please take your pretty cock out now?’

‘Oh my god, thank you, yes,’ he leans back and two of you get his pants off. 

His cock is bulging obscenely and horizontally in the boxer briefs covered in peach emojis, trying to look for space.  ‘These look amazing on you,’ you say with a giggle. 

‘Thank you, I think so too.  Um, before you take me out, can we please go to your room?’ he asks. 

‘Of course we can,’ you get up and he takes your hands for the short walk. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and spreads his legs where you stand between his thighs and then, with his hands on your waist, he starts kissing your breasts sweetly.  His kisses start leaving little wet spots as he parts his lips.  He makes the little sounds again, his eyes are gently closed.  You lift a hand to run your fingers through his hair slowly, while you couldn’t keep your eyes off his lips.

He cups one breast with his hand and then sucks on a nipple gently, taking time to also run his tongue in circles and then suck again.  He seems like he has forgotten the rest of the world.  Your breaths are becoming shallower.  ‘Fuck, I love these tits,’ he almost moans out as he switches to the other one.

Before you had too much time to process what he was doing, he pulled you onto the bed next to him and he swiftly rolls over until he is hovering over you.  He works his knees between your knees and then opens your legs with his.  He pulls his boxers down just enough that his cock is free and then he is pressing the tip against you after pulling your underwear to the side again.

‘Is this alright?’ he asks, his voice ragged with need.

‘Of course,’ you say as you pull your knees back for him.

As he slowly pushes inside of you and his mouth falls open.  ‘This little cunt is so tight.  Do you feel how I stretch you?’

You just moan an affirmative.  He thrusts slowly, agonisingly slow.  ‘You are so deep,’ you choke out.

‘Do you feel me against your cervix, baby?’ he whispers to you.

‘Yes,’ you say and you start to rock your hips up into him. 

‘Does it hurt?’  he asks.

‘Just a little,’ you say, knowing that hurt is not really the word you would use, but you do not have the time to explain it now.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks. 

‘No,’ you answer immediately.  ‘Please don’t.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

‘I’m sure,’ you say, your hands grab onto his hips.  His eyes go back and forth between your face and right where his cock is thrusting into you. 

‘I love watching my cock disappear into you,’ he sighs, his hair falling forward. 

‘I really wanted to taste you again,’ you say softly.

‘You will, baby, don’t worry,’ he says, still moving so slow.  ‘Peach, I want you to touch your clit as lightly as possible to help you cum.’

You reach a hand down.

‘Are you still listening?’ he asks.

‘I am,’ you say looking him in the eye. 

‘When you start getting close, you need to touch even lighter.  I want my cock to get you through the orgasm, not your fingers.  Do you understand?’

‘I think so,’ you say, touching lightly.  ‘Can you go a little faster,’ you ask in desperation. 

‘A little bit,’ he says as his hips pick up speed.  ‘I want to you feel me.’

You start concentrating, and wondering how light you were supposed to touch and deciding at what point would be best to stop when he interrupts your thoughts.

‘Stop thinking, baby,’ he drops a kiss on your lips.  ‘Let your body feel, stop analysing.  Your body knows what to do.’

‘Yes, okay,’ you agree and you take a deep breath and try to let it all go.  You circle your clit lightly, but you try to focus on Noah inside you.  Feeling the way your body accommodates him every time he thrusts.  Feeling how he slows down just a little before he is all the way in so that he does not hurt you.  Feeling how he rolls his hips against yours.  Hearing his fast breath and growls of pleasure every time he hits home.  That is what gets you – realising that you were also making him feel good. 

‘Are you getting closer,’ he pants.  ‘I can feel you clenching on me.’

‘Mmm, it’s beginning to build,’ you reply.

‘Focus on me,’ he says.  ‘Please cum on my cock, Peach.  Please, all over me.’

‘May I?’ you ask.

‘Yes, please, my good girl,’ he says.  ‘I need you to join me, I am not going to last much longer.’

His thrusts become just a little harsher into you and you try to balance the point where you need to stop touching yourself.  You stop right when it starts, when the pleasure makes you buck your hips against Noah and you grab onto his arm.  He fucks you right through it, deep and steady. 

‘Keep going,’ he whispers to you as his hips does not stop.  ‘God, I am cumming,’ he chokes out again and then loudly groans as he stays inside you, pulsing.  He collapses almost immediately on top of you and you waste no time hugging him to you. 

It’s quiet for a moment with the only sounds in the room is both of you trying to catch your breath.  ‘That was different,’ you say. 

‘Your orgasm?’ he asks. 

‘Yeah, just a little,’ you say.  ‘I can’t really explain it.’

‘That’s alright,’ he sighs.  ‘But, baby, you made a mess all over me,’ he says as he pulls out of you.  ‘Will you clean it for me?’ he asks as he falls to the side of you on his back. 

You move to get on your stomach near him.  ‘So shiny,’ you say as you touch him lightly. 

‘You taste sweeter after you’ve cummed,’ he says.  ‘See if you notice.’

You lick up his length a few times.  His length that is still hard and stiff under your tongue.  You put the head of his cock in your mouth and work your tongue into the little slit and Noah throws his head back with a hiss.  ‘Are you still sensitive?’ you ask.

‘Mmm, very,’ he rasps. 

‘Sorry, baby,’ you say as you get back to licking slowly and gently. 

‘It’s alright,’ he says through his teeth.  ‘But I think I need you to spread your legs for me again, baby.  On your knees, please.’

He is up and behind you faster than you can get ready and his hands couldn’t wait to get on your body.  ‘I’m sensitive too, please be gentle,’ you ask with a small voice.

‘I know you’re sensitive, but I need you to take me.  I’ll go slow, alright?’ he says with a sweet voice.  ‘Tell me if it’s too much, but I want you to try.’

‘I’m trying,’ you say as he pushes inside again. 

‘I can feel you are a little swollen, already,’ he says slowly thrusting, keeping his body close to yours.  ‘I’ll go slow until you tell me you want me to go faster.’

‘Just give me a minute,’ you say as your forehead rests on your hands. 

‘Remember, focus on the good feelings, don’t think too much,’ he says, rocking into you steadily. 

It felt like too much for a short time, but before long the need for more pleasure and more Noah inside of you overtook all your senses and you were very willing to ignore the slight sore feeling. 

‘Baby?  Baby, oh fuck that feels so fucking good,’ he sobs out.  ‘These hips fucking me back?  Oh my god.’

‘Noah, can you please go faster?’  your voice sounds like you are begging. 

He grabs your hips with a firm grip and fucks you faster and harder and his grunts become louder.  ‘Tell me if it’s too much,’ he manages to get out.

‘No, just like that.  Please,’ you groan out.  ‘I am so close already.’

‘Already?’ he says and you hear the smile in his voice. 

‘Yes,’ you cry.  ‘You feel too good.  Please may I cum?’

‘Please do,’ he is breathless.

He keeps hitting something inside of you that you barely need to touch yourself before you clench around him so tightly that you feel he has a hard time thrusting. 

‘Holy shit,’ he says, stopping while he is deep inside, staying there while he kisses along your spine. 

You feel like all you can do is collapse and breathe.  The familiar emotional overload hits you afterwards and it surprises you a little.  You just let it happen.  You let yourself have a little cry while Noah is holding you and kissing you and whispering how proud he is of you, while still being inside you.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks after a while. 

‘Boneless,’ you say. 

‘Is it alright if I pull out?’ he asks. 

‘Mmm, yeah,’ you groan.  ‘Please do it slowly.’

He does as you ask.  You feel the sticky mess, a mixture of you and his cum from the previous round.  ‘Such a beautiful little mess,’ he whispers. 

‘Can it please be my turn now?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he says.  ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you in my mouth, please?’ you ask shyly, not looking at him.

‘Of course, Peach,’ he says as he lays down. 

You made yourself as comfortable as you could and then started off with licking him clean again.  You had to stop thinking about it too much.  But you had to admit that the idea of tasting the combination of the two of you together was sexy, almost regardless of what it tasted like, the idea was enough.  Then you started with his head again, focusing on the slit with your tongue, but just taking that perfectly shaped dome into your mouth and giving it attention.

You kept your grip on him firm with one hand and then started sinking down again.  Little by little taking him slightly deeper each time you tried.  He moaned loudly every time you gagged on him, like it turned him on a lot.  You had to take a break after each gag to catch your breath and make sure the reflex faded before you went again. 

You could tell that he was trying really hard to keep his hips still.  You could feel his desire to fuck up into your mouth held back. 

‘I am close, baby,’ he warns you, and you keep going.  When you were taking him as deep as you could he stuttered out a ‘fuck’ and pulsed inside your mouth.  You tried to swallow his cum with as much dignity as possible, savouring him for a moment. 

He opens his arms for you and you climb up to get next to him and he strokes your hair so sweetly. 

‘That felt amazing,’ he sighs.  ‘I loved that.’

You felt sleepy.  ‘I’m glad,’ you barely get out.

‘Don’t sleep, baby,’ he says.  ‘You are going to give me one more.’

You hide your face in his shoulder.  ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Of course you can,’ he says.  ‘I believe in you.’

You let out a lazy giggle.  ‘I’m sore, though.’

‘I know you are,’ he soothes you.  ‘I will be careful.’

‘You can try,’ you concede. 

He kisses your forehead and then mumbles against you, ‘I will clean you up afterwards and hold you and cuddle you.’

‘Oh, that sounds kinda good,’ you smile.

‘Spread your legs for me?’ he asks softly. 

He stays beside you and his hand sneaks down between your legs where his fingers gently touch like he was gauging your reaction.  He works two fingers into you, curls them a little and slowly starts working into you, building up speed. 

‘Oh, Noah,’ you cry out.  ‘Are you trying to make me squirt?’

He laughs.  ‘Not necessarily.  It would be cool if you do, but I just want you to cum.’  He places his free hand on your lower belly.  ‘I’m going to go faster, you ready?’

You grab his arm to hold on to something.  ‘Yes?’

He speeds up, moving so fast your body is vibrating with his movements inside you.  ‘Come for me?  Please?’

‘Oh, I’m going to,’ you say. 

‘That’s my girl,’ he says as you start to convulse.  ‘Keep your legs spread. That’s my good girl.’

‘Holy shit,’ you pant.  It’s intense and fast and your body feel completely out of your control for a few seconds, but you grip onto Noah’s arm for your life.

He pulls his fingers out and softly touches you through the aftershocks and spasms.  ‘I think you squirted a little.’

‘No, I did not,’ you say still breathless.

‘There was a little gush,’ he smiles as he explains.

‘Is it a mess?’ you ask.

‘You were a mess before, but it’s fine.  I’ll be right back,’ he drops a kiss right on your pubic bone and hops off the bed, completely naked. 

You have barely caught your breath before he comes back into the bedroom.  ‘I came four times,’ you say with disbelief.

‘Yeah, you did,’ he confirms, and then he is easing your legs apart again.  Then he is cleaning you with a warm washcloth, so gently, taking care to treat you so carefully. 

‘That feels so nice,’ you admit, feeling a little embarrassed.

‘You were so good,’ he says with pride in his voice.  ‘I am so proud of you.’

‘I can do that myself,’ you offer.

He looks at you with a frown.  ‘I know you can, but I want to take care of my Peach.’

‘Okay,’ you say.  ‘Can we go shower in a little while?  I want to wash your back for you.’

‘Of course we can,’ he says.  ‘I’d love that.’

‘Please come kiss me?’ you ask him, and he leans in without hesitation.  He tosses the washcloth to the side and then lies down next to you, brushes your hair back and then kisses you like you are the most precious thing he has ever known – and that makes your heart swell with good feelings.  But it also breaks your heart just a little.

Chapter 12

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Six II: Revealed - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Description: Denver wraps itself around Noah and Talia like a snowy blanket — full of dark confessions and hopeful revelations.

Warnings: Drinking mentions, alcohol mentions, found family vibes, no smut just tension, angst, trauma, abuse mentions, fluff, Noah is seen, big reveals.

Word Count: 3,536

Tag list: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Six II: Revealed

Six

Noah Sebastian

November 19th, 2022

Later, when conversation dies down and the others move on to their own things — bed, video games — Noah grabs the other bottle. He turns to Talia, who stares up at him with mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Come with me.” He says, reaching out for her hand.

 She takes it without hesitation. 

They manage to find some empty, low-lit lounge somewhere in the hotel. They tuck themselves into a corner booth, overstuffed but comfortable. Noah leans against the backrest, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it to Talia. 

She takes a drink, looks at him for a beat, and then takes another drink.

Talia hesitates, running her thumb along the condensation on the bottle before looking up at him, “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re thinking.” Noah says, taking the bottle. “That’s dangerous.”

And then, after a beat, “Go ahead.”

Talia looks at him cautiously, like it costs her everything to ask this, “Who is she? The one you wrote the album about?”

All of the air is sucked out of Noah’s lungs. He can hear himself inhale sharply, but he’s too focused on how the room shrinks around him. His shaking hands raise the bottle to his lips and he drinks. He drinks and drinks until he feels like he can’t swallow it all.

The bottle is placed on the table with a soft thud. 

“You don’t have to answer —” 

But he does, because the truth is already slipping off his tongue and spilling into the space between them.

“Her name is Lydia. We were together for…god, years. Things were good — or maybe they weren’t, not really — but then they got twisted. She was…controlling. Possessive. I’m pretty sure she was cheating on me? But, uh, that’s not the point. The point is I left. And then I wrote an entire album to process everything.”

Noah doesn’t look at her. He can’t bear to, because he’s not sure what he’ll find. He swallows thickly, staring at the table in front of him.

Talia reaches out and takes the hand that’s still holding the glass like a lifeline. She laces her fingers into his, brings his hand up to her lips, and presses a gentle kiss there.

He completely unravels, a confession already falling from his lips.

“The night I left, she said something that I can’t get out of my head. She said she ‘made me.’ It’s been two years and I can still hear her voice. ‘I made you.’ Sometimes, I think she was right.” He admits. 

He just barely catches her breath hitching over the thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Within seconds, Noah’s face is in both Talia’s hands and he’s staring in to her eyes.

“Listen to me, Noah,” She says, her voice shaking, “She didn’t make you.”

“But what if she did?”

Talia swallows hard and shakes her head before pressing their foreheads together.

“You made you. Every brilliant, shining part. And I’m fucking furious that she made you think otherwise.”

Noah feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He blinks, and suddenly they’re both teary. 

They sit like this for a few moments, both desperately trying not to cry. Eventually, Noah pulls back a little.

“My turn,” He manages roughly.

She throws him a cautious glance, sniffling a little, “Go on.”

“The music thing,” He takes her hand in his, “you’re ashamed of it.”

“That’s not a question.” 

Noah rolls his eyes at her playfully, leaning in to press a kiss at the corner of her lips.

“Why?” He asks.

Talia shrugs a little, “I’m not ashamed…it’s more like, self-conscious? I don’t really like actual musicians to find out, because it’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t really do anything with it other than writing music in my bedroom.”

“So you write?” Noah asks, excitement edging his voice, “Can I hear sometime?”

“That’s three questions,” Talia laughs out, “but yeah, I do. And maybe, some day.”

Noah leans back against the booth, his hand still wrapped around hers. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, “you don’t have to be anything but exactly what you are. You’re already kind of extraordinary.”

Talia exhales like she’s been holding her breath, her fingers tightening just slightly around his. “You really think so?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

For a while, they just sit there, knees brushing under the table, the tequila bottle forgotten between them. Outside, the wind howls against the hotel windows, snow piling up in soft drifts — but here, in this quiet, low-lit bubble, it feels like the world has paused for them.

Eventually, Talia leans her head on his shoulder. “I think I needed to hear that tonight,” she murmurs.

Noah rests his cheek against the top of her hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

And they stay like that for a long time, until Talia reaches for the bottle. She takes a drink, locking eyes with Noah. There’s something electric behind them, something wanting. Noah feels it stirring in himself as he watches her swallow. She licks her bottom lip when she pulls the bottle away, and then hands it to him. He takes a drink, then sets it aside.

Their lips crash together in heat and hunger. Talia parts her lips for him and he eagerly explores her mouth, his hand coming to rest on the side of her neck. 

When they pull away, they’re panting. Noah pulls her closer, almost so she’s in his lap, and slides his hand in a slow trail down her body. She watches him, eyes granting him silent, pleading permission. He stops at her waist, curling his inked fingers carefully around the swell of her hip. 

“Not here.” His voice is low and ragged with desire. 

Talia nods in agreement, “Okay.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the space just below her ear. When she whimpers — a soft, beautiful sound that makes him ache in the best way — he moves down her neck with feather light kisses until he reaches the crook of her neck, where he bites and sucks and teases it with his tongue. 

Talia lets out a soft moan at this, encouraging him.

He coos softly at her, “Babygirl, you have to be quiet.” 

“Noah,” Talia pleads, reaching up to thread her fingers in his hair, “I want you.” 

Noah pulls back just enough to look at her, his breath still coming in short bursts. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with want, and the sight of her like this — vulnerable and trusting and completely his in this moment — makes his chest tight with something deeper than desire.

"Come on," he whispers against her ear, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

He helps her slide out of the booth, their movements careful and deliberate, like they're afraid sudden motion might break whatever spell has settled over them. The bottle of tequila sits abandoned on the table, forgotten in favor of something infinitely more intoxicating.

Noah takes her hand, threading their fingers together as they make their way back to his room. The alcohol and emotional exhaustion hit them both the moment they cross the threshold — the weight of confessions shared, of walls torn down, of hearts laid bare.

They collapse onto the bed together, still fully clothed, Noah's arms wrapping around her as she curls into his chest. Her breathing evens out first, soft and steady against his collarbone, and he finds himself stroking her hair as sleep pulls at the edges of his consciousness.

"Thank you," she murmurs into the darkness, barely audible.

"For what?" he whispers back.

But she's already asleep, warm and safe in his arms, and Noah lets himself follow her into that quiet peace — two people who found exactly what they needed in each other, even if it wasn't what they thought they wanted.

Seven

November 20th, 2022

From backstage, the venue hums with life — a living, breathing thing that pulses through the walls and into Noah's chest. There's something different in the air here, and not just because of the altitude. The energy feels sharper, more electric. There's a sense that something has changed, just a little.

Noah stands just off stage, waiting to go on. He rolls his shoulders, moves his neck side to side, cracks his knuckles — the same ritual he's performed dozens of times on this tour. But tonight feels different. The familiar pre-show nerves are there, but underneath them sits something steadier. Something solid.

He's ready. More ready than he has been this whole tour.

Because tonight, this isn't Lydia's story.

It's his.

The crowd's anticipation bleeds through the curtain like heat from a fire. He can feel their energy, their hunger for what's coming. Summit Music Hall has always been intimate — the kind of venue where you can see individual faces in the crowd, where every breath and heartbeat becomes part of the collective rhythm.

A few minutes later, he steps onto stage, lit only by the ethereal glow of the graphic screen behind him. The crowd erupts — a wall of sound that hits him like a physical force. Their roar ripples through the room like wildfire, igniting something deep in his chest.

He wraps his hand around the microphone, the metal warm and familiar against his palm, and begins the opening verse: "Can you see yourself, through the bruises when the makeup melts?"

His voice cuts through the darkness, raw and clear. Noah is bathed in red light that transforms him into something otherworldly, painting shadows across his face that make him look both vulnerable and fierce.

As he continues, he slowly scans the crowd for Talia. She said she'd be there tonight, taking photos. That this was important for her to shoot. For both of them.

Talia had admitted — amidst their rounds of confessions over the bottle last night — that she had grown up going to this venue. She took some of her first photos from this very room, learning to capture light and movement in the spaces between heartbeats.

Behind him, Folio settles behind his kit with the fluid grace of someone who's done this a thousand times. The drums join Noah's voice, building the foundation as the song grows. Nick and Jolly step into their positions on either side of him, the four of them becoming a single organism, perfectly in sync.

When the song finishes, streamers and confetti rain down into the audience like celebratory snow. The crowd's cheers wash over him as he ducks off stage to grab the mask.

Talia is standing there in the wings, camera slung around her neck like armor, holding the mask out for him. She shoots him a small, shy smile that somehow cuts through all the chaos around them.

"Wanted to wish you luck. Not that you need it," she admits, her words almost lost in the thunder of the crowd calling for more.

Noah leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, tasting the salt of nervous excitement on her skin. "You got this," he says — though whether he's talking to her or himself, he's not entirely sure.

With that, he pulls on the mask, the familiar weight settling over his features like a second skin. He steps back onto stage just as the opening notes of ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE begin to slice through the air.

He grabs the microphone, steps onto the risers, and feels the crowd's energy coil beneath him like a spring waiting to release.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, JUMP!"

The music explodes — drums and bass and guitar colliding in perfect chaos. The crowd erupts with him, hundreds of bodies launching into the air as one. Pillars of steam shoot up across the front of the stage, creating a wall of white that catches the strobing lights.

He crashes down with force. With confidence. With the bone-deep certainty that every word he's about to sing, every note that's about to tear from his throat, belongs to him and no one else.

The mask may hide his face, but it can't hide the truth blazing behind his eyes: this is his story now.

Behind him, red and green lights begin to strobe like a digital heartbeat, painting the stage in alternating waves of fire and poison. The colors slice through the steam and sweat-thick air as he launches into the first verse, his voice cutting through the chaos with surgical precision.

"Soaked in the neon glows, silver-forked tongues talking to you in the digital snow. A glitch in the chain, a loop in the brain that you wanted to break, but you still wanna play the game."

Each word lands like a physical blow, the crowd absorbing them and throwing the energy back tenfold. Bodies surge forward against the barricade, hands reaching toward the stage like they're trying to touch something sacred and dangerous.

And then he catches a glimpse of Talia. She's weaving her way through the crowd at one side of the stage, camera in hand, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knows how to navigate chaos without disturbing it. When she reaches the barricade, their eyes meet across the strobing madness. He nods in her direction — a small acknowledgment that sends electricity shooting down his spine.

As the second verse begins, he crouches low and creeps toward her side of the stage like a predator stalking prey. The crowd screams louder, sensing the shift in his energy. "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Lightin' molotovs for the broken youth."

The words taste like rebellion and gasoline on his tongue. Talia raises her camera, the lens catching fragments of colored light as she frames the shot. The moment stretches between them — performer and observer, artist and muse — until the shutter clicks and captures something indefinable.

Their eyes lock through her viewfinder for a heartbeat that feels like eternity. In that split second, he sees himself reflected in her gaze: not broken, not manufactured, but whole. Burning bright with his own light.

He moves back toward the center of the risers as the verse builds to its crescendo, the crowd's energy pulling him like a tide.

"Can you hear me through the white noise? Can you hear me through the white noi— "

Noah cuts off mid-word, throwing his head back and his arms out wide like he's embracing the entire universe. White light floods down from above, transforming him into a figure carved from pure energy. The music stops — drums, bass, guitar all cutting out in perfect synchronization — and the room falls into a silence so complete it feels like the world has stopped breathing.

In that suspended moment, he can feel everything: the heat radiating from the crowd, the sweat cooling on his skin, the weight of the mask against his face. And underneath it all, the soft mechanical whisper of Talia's shutter capturing this instant of perfect vulnerability.

He welcomes it. Welcomes being seen.

The music crashes back in like a dam bursting, and the spell breaks into a thousand pieces of sound and light.

The rest of the set unfolds like a fever dream — song bleeding into song, the crowd and the band locked in perfect communion. The room pulses with shared breath, shared heartbeats, shared euphoria that seems to lift the ceiling and push against the walls. Bodies move as one organism, voices joining Noah's until the distinction between performer and audience dissolves entirely.

Through it all, Noah catches glimpses of Talia weaving through the crowd like a ghost with a camera, capturing moments he'll never see but somehow feels in real time. The click of her shutter becomes part of the rhythm, another instrument in their chaotic symphony.

Summit Music Hall has seen thousands of shows, but tonight feels different. The air itself seems charged with possibility, thick with the kind of electricity that only comes when something fundamental shifts. The venue that shaped Talia's early vision now witnesses Noah's transformation — two artists finding themselves in the same sacred space, years apart but somehow perfectly aligned.

As the final song builds to its crescendo, Noah's voice soars above the instruments, above the crowd, carrying all the weight of confession and release. The words are his now, completely and utterly his, and every person in this room feels the truth of it.

When the lights finally dim and the last note fades into the rafters, the silence that follows is different from before — not empty, but full. Pregnant with everything that's been said and sung and shared.

The crowd erupts in applause that seems to shake the foundations, but Noah's eyes are already searching. Through the haze of stage lights and adrenaline, he finds her — Talia, camera lowered, watching him with something like wonder in her eyes.

Their gazes lock across the chaos of the dispersing crowd, and in that moment, everything else falls away. The noise, the lights, the lingering high of performance — all of it fades until there's just this: the promise of reconnection, the anticipation of what comes next, and the certainty that whatever they built in that hotel lounge last night has only grown stronger under these stage lights.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she smiles — bright and real and just for him.

The rest can wait. But not for long.

Eight

When he finds her, Talia's already in the green room, the post-show chaos of the venue muffled by concrete walls and a closed door. She hasn't sat down yet — still riding the adrenaline high that comes from capturing lightning in a bottle. Her laptop balances precariously in her hands, and she's got her brow furrowed in that particular kind of focus that means she's seeing something the rest of the world hasn't caught up to yet.

The room smells like stale beer and years of cigarette smoke that no amount of cleaning can fully erase, but there's something else in the air now — anticipation, electricity, the lingering magic of what just happened on that stage.

Noah knocks on the door frame, his knuckles rapping against the metal with a sharp sound that cuts through the silence easily.

She looks up at him, and her entire face transforms — like someone just turned on a light behind her eyes. "Come here, I want to show you something."

There's something breathless in her voice, something that makes his chest tighten with possibility. Noah closes the door with a faint click that seems to seal them off from the rest of the world, before crossing the room in four long strides. His body is still humming with performance energy, sweat cooling on his skin, the ghost of stage lights still dancing behind his eyelids.

He pulls her gently toward the couch, the worn leather creaking under their combined weight as he settles back with her in his lap. She fits against him perfectly, like they were made for each other.

He leans in and nuzzles the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "Show me," he murmurs against her skin, his voice still rough from singing.

Talia inhales shakily, like whatever she's about to reveal makes her nervous in the best possible way. Her hands tremble — just barely, but he feels it where her fingers brush his arm. It's the kind of vulnerability that makes his heart skip.

Slowly, deliberately, she clicks something open on her laptop. An album appears on the screen, simply titled The Sound of You in clean, minimalist font.

The album contains a dozen pictures, all of Noah. But these aren't the Noah he sees in mirrors or promotional shots or the candid photos that float around social media. These are something else entirely. He barely recognizes the figure on screen, but knows with bone-deep certainty that it's him — the version that exists only in Talia's eyes.

He clicks through them one by one, each image hitting him like a physical blow:

A closeup of his gloved hand wrapped around the microphone, fingers tense with the effort of holding onto something precious. The lighting catches every crease in the leather, every white knuckle, transforming a simple grip into something that looks like prayer.

His eyes closed during the bridge of Just Pretend, face tilted toward invisible light, expression so open and raw it makes his chest ache to look at. He remembers this moment — the vulnerability of that song, the way it always threatens to break him open. But in Talia's frame, it doesn't look like breaking. It looks like becoming.

Him on his knees center stage, bathed in red and white light like it was something holy to witness. His arms are spread wide, head thrown back, and there's something almost transcendent in the image — like she caught the exact moment he stopped performing and started communing.

Each photograph is a revelation, showing him not as the damaged thing Lydia's voice whispers he is, but as something powerful, something worth witnessing, something that deserves to take up space in the world.

Noah's breath catches in his throat, words sticking like honey. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah," Talia admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to show you how I see you. Wanted to show you that you deserve to be seen."

The laptop gets set aside carefully, like it contains something too precious to risk damaging. He pulls her impossibly closer instead, until there's no space left between their bodies, until he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. Talia turns toward him slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder.

The sob that escapes him is broken and raw and completely beyond his control — two years of Lydia's poison working its way out of his system all at once.

Because Noah's never felt so seen before.

Not like this. Not by someone who looked at him and saw art instead of damage, strength instead of weakness, light instead of all the dark spaces he's been carrying around.

Not by someone like her.

And somehow, it's everything.

Nine

Before the tears get a chance to stop flowing, reality bursts in. It starts with a rapid, sharp knock on the door — three staccato raps that cut through the quiet like gunshots. Seconds later, the guys are piling into the room, a tangle of limbs and laughter that dies the moment they cross the threshold.

"I hope you two are fully clothed!" Folio teases, making a show of covering his eyes with his hands, his voice still carrying the remnants of whatever joke had them laughing in the hallway.

Talia responds by throwing him a sharp glare that could cut glass, her jaw clenched tight. Nick catches the tension immediately, his elbow finding Folio's ribs with enough force to make him grunt.

Noah can just barely make out Nick's hissed warning over his own ragged sobs, "Dude, read the room."

The shift in atmosphere is instant and jarring. Folio's hands drop from his face like dead weights, his easy grin dissolving as he takes in Noah's tear-streaked face, the way Talia's protective arm tightens around his shoulders. His own shoulders droop, the color draining from his cheeks. He says nothing — a rare occurrence — only crosses the room with careful, measured steps and gently moves the laptop aside to sit beside them. The couch dips under his weight, springs creaking softly.

Nick joins them next, his sneakers squeaking against the hotel carpet as he crouches in front of Noah like he's cautiously approaching a wounded animal. His dark eyes are wide with concern, searching Noah's face for answers. Jolly takes the arm of the couch, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. The man who always knows what to say sits frozen, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Noah knows why. They haven't seen him cry like this since he left Lydia — not these gut-wrenching sobs that shake his entire frame, not this raw, broken sound that seems to tear from somewhere deep in his chest. It's like watching something fundamental crack, and not knowing what caused the fracture.

"What happened?" Nick asks eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing is holding Noah together.

Talia nods toward her laptop, its screen still glowing on the coffee table. Nick's hands shake slightly as he swipes it up, the device warm from use. The room falls silent except for the soft clicking of keys and Noah's uneven breathing. When Nick's done reading, he looks up at them with tears already spilling over his lower lashes, his face a mirror of the devastation they're all feeling.

"Jesus," Nick breathes, setting the laptop aside with shaking hands. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, not bothering to hide his tears.

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable — it's the kind of quiet that comes when words feel inadequate, when the only thing that matters is being present. Folio settles fully onto the couch beside Noah, close enough that their shoulders touch. Jolly remains perched on the arm, one hand coming to rest gently on Noah's back.

They stay like that for a long time, the five of them creating a protective circle around something fragile and precious. Noah's sobs gradually quiet to occasional shuddering breaths, Talia's fingers never leaving his hair, and slowly the room fills with the steady rhythm of shared breathing.

"We're here," Nick says finally, his voice rough with emotion. "Whatever this is, whatever you need — we're here."

Noah nods against Talia's shoulder, unable to trust his voice yet. But he doesn't need to say anything. The weight of his friends surrounding him, the warmth of Talia's arms, the unspoken promise that he doesn't have to face this alone — it's enough. For now, it's more than enough.

Outside, the world continues spinning, but in this room, time has slowed to accommodate grief, to make space for healing, to hold them all exactly as they are.

---

Part two is here! I hope it felt like a satisfying enough chapter.

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Six I | Chapter Seven

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

[mothman-writes]

Coincidence… I Think Not

pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem reader x Nick Folio word count: 7.2k warnings: fdom/msub dynamics. sexual content. sending nsfw pictures over text. phone sex. mutual masturbation. orgasm denial (m). panty stealing. oral (m receiving). Nick is a bit of a voyeur. he walks in on you twice. Nick shotguns smoke from a joint into your mouth while you and Noah are having sex. multiple orgasms (m). a smidge of overstim. Nick jerking off into reader’s panties. hinting at a future poly relationship. the following work is rpf. reader discretion is advised. 18+ author’s note: hi hi hi it’s @somebodyels3 here posting on my main blog because guess what?... my side blog is still shadowbanned 😖 but never fear because the second installment of my poly au is here!!!!! little do you know we’re just getting started!!! thanks @concretejunglefm for being one of my biggest cheerleaders when it comes to them <3 mentally already at their wedding

and, as always, kisses for my beloved wifey and beta @broken0mens xoxo 🩷 you encourage me to keep writing 

part 1 (room 308)

5 months later…

<Fish Boy> Just to clarify, Noah’s not allowed to touch himself without your permission, right?

you know Folio knows full well he’s not. texting you out of the blue like this only means he’s looking to stir up trouble.

the most you’ve messaged back and forth is a happy birthday here, a ‘congrats on the album’ there. your last text was almost two months ago. 

<you> have a good tour. keep an eye on Noah for me.

<Fish Boy> thx. will do

but you suppose everything changed the night you and Noah got together. you saw the way he looked at you the next morning, with rapt fascination, the curiosity of someone who had seen a door crack open and couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to step through.

<you> right…

<Fish Boy> Does he have your permission right now? Because he just excused himself to the bathroom and I’m pretty sure he’s jorking it. 

you’d just sent Noah some rather revealing photos in the new lingerie you’d bought, and you fight a smile knowing they had the desired effect.

it wasn’t even just about the way it made you look; it was about how it made you feel. powerful. sexy. 

it was as if in wearing it you unlocked a side of yourself—the confident, badass woman who knew exactly what she wanted. she had always been there, but it was Noah who helped you fully embrace her, and you couldn’t wait to show her off. 

you knew he was out to dinner with the guys, it being one of their off days, but you’d pressed send on the pictures anyway.

you’d watched the bubbles appear, how he seemed to be typing for an eternity before they dropped away leaving one word: read. his lack of a response can only mean one thing. you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

<you> are you trying to get him in trouble?

<Fish Boy> I don’t know what you mean. 

…

but, hypothetically… if he were in trouble, what would happen?

<you> hypothetically, he’d have to be punished. he knows the rules. and what happens if he breaks them.

he’s already got his cock in hand when your name pops up on his screen.

<you> hi, sweet boy. you staying out of trouble?

fuck. 

you knew. 

of course you knew.

not that he was trying to hide it. not really.

he would’ve told you anyway. he always does. it wasn’t about getting away with it.

he never really wanted to. sooner or later, he’d end up handing over the leash, giving himself up to you like he always does.

<Sweet Boy> I’m guessing you know the answer to that question. 

a second later you’re requesting to FaceTime him, and he knows better than to ignore it. he’ll only be in deeper shit if he doesn’t answer.

when he picks up, he’s practically panting, breathing heavily over the phone, cheeks flushed a suspicious shade of pink. you don’t have to wonder what he was up to; he knows just how guilty he looks. 

and yet, even through the screen, and as many times as you’ve called in the time he’s been gone, the sight of him still hits you hard. you feel a sharp pang of longing knowing he’s on the other side of the ocean right now. 

the only thing keeping you from being there with him, from having accompanied them on the European leg of their tour, is your job, and it only allows enough time off to join them when they’re in the states.

“I was going to tell you,” he murmurs breathlessly.

you know he was without him needing to say it—you know him better than anyone—but you play dumb, letting him contemplate the consequences of his actions long enough to begin to regret them. knowing him, more so the consequences than the actions, the good boy vying with the brat in him. “I guess we’ll never know.” you cock your head like you’re deciding what, exactly, to do with him. “I’m judging you have enough privacy if you thought you could sneak away to disobey me.”

Noah’s face falls. he hates being in the dog house.

you continue before he can even try to defend himself. “did the pictures I sent you get you all hot and bothered?” your lips curl knowingly. you’re not actually upset, far from it.

it’s all a facade. you’re flattered. it’s exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

“by all means, don’t stop on my account. I’ve been worked up all day thinking about you and what we’d be doing if you were here right now to see this in person. almost debated keeping my new purchase a secret, but where’s the fun in that?

“go ahead, baby,” you croon. “touch yourself. I know you want to.” your voice is so syrupy sweet that he finds himself wondering if you’re guiding him into a trap. still, he drifts closer, a willing fly into your spider’s web.

“I bet your tip’s leaking.” you practically salivate at the thought. at the mess you’ve made of him. “show me.”

he knows it’s not that easy. you’re not one to forget disobedience so quickly. there must be a catch, but the thought falls to the back of his mind as the sight of you in baby pink silk pushes to the forefront.

he shyly meets your gaze through the phone as he balances it on the bathroom counter, allowing you a magnificent view of his perfectly hard cock, barely freed from the confines of his boxers pushed haphazardly down around his thighs and already glistening at the tip.

you delight in the fact that it’s because of you. you did this to him.

“I miss that pretty cock,” you murmur forlornly, and it practically twitches in response, as if echoing your sentiment.

“tease it for me.” the command has him hurrying to do as you say. “there you go, tease all the precum out. you know how I touch you, milk every drop.”

he squeezes around the tip like your own hand has so many times, head falling back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, hard. you always set an almost torturous pace, and having to adhere to it takes a tremendous amount of discipline on his part, but his efforts are rewarded with a beautiful, shining bead of precum.

“you’re so quiet,” you pout. “what? you don’t want anyone to hear what a lovely little slut you are for me?” 

he lets out a soft whine at that, subtly shifting his hips.

“I miss your sounds, too,” you remark wistfully.

“shit. are you touching yourself?” Noah groans as your wet sounds echo through the phone. 

“they’re not as good as yours, but…”

you angle the camera downward toward where your fingers have sunk inside you to the knuckle, panties pushed to the side. he gets an eyeful of the lingerie that started this whole thing, and it leaves very little to the imagination, not that he hasn’t seen it all before. fallen to his knees and cherished every detail.

“fuck, you’re still wearing it,” he whines loudly, his eyes raking over every inch visible to him with blatant, palpable hunger that warms every bit it touches. 

“you like it?”

understatement of the year. 

“you look like a goddess.”

“feel like one too.” you grin giddily, like the cat that caught the canary. “if you were here, I’d have you take it off with your teeth.”

more precum dribbles down from his slit, and he uses the slickness of it to lubricate his length as he settles his hand at the base, trying to stave off his orgasm temporarily. 

“fuck.”

he’s trembling. 

“Noah. puppy.” you hear his rapid breathing as he resumes. “are you gonna come?”

you can tell he’s close by the way he not only speeds up his movements but also fucks into his hand. as if his hand could ever be a substitute for your cunt clenching down around him.

“shit,” he hisses.

you tsk. “I didn’t say you could. stop,” you bark, startling him into obediently dropping his cock. precum clings to his thigh in a lustrous string. meanwhile, you have a front row seat to his quivering stomach and shaky legs.

“please? can I?” he begs, hoping the sound of his desperation will sway you. 

“so now you know how to ask permission?” and Noah knows you’re not referring to just now, but when he slipped into the bathroom with the intention of rubbing one out. 

“please, I’m sorry, I was going to tell you—”

“after you came? ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission’? baby, you know the rules, and I told you you weren’t allowed to touch yourself. no exceptions. now you’re gonna edge yourself twice more for me.”

he bows his head. “yes, baby.”

his pretty, inked hand is in such contrast with his swollen, purple-pink cock as he obeys, fucking his fist right up to but withholding that sweet release. 

both times he begs.

both times you deny him. 

“I see you in less than a week,” you remind him, voice sweet but firm. “no touching yourself, no coming. I know you still know how to follow instructions.”

a beat passes.

“hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about my favorite pair of panties going missing, would you?” he knows the ones: black with the pink bow. 

he shakes his head. 

“okay. I love you, baby. be good.”

“I’m always good.” 

you shoot him a look through the phone. 

“best behavior, I swear,” he holds up his pinkie in a promise to the camera before his expression softens into something yearning. “I miss you.”

“six days.”

you blow him a kiss and end the call, and he rests on his arms against the counter, taking a moment to try and compose himself. to think about anything other than the way that fabric hugged your every curve as he wills his erection to go down. 

when he finally shoulders the door open, he practically takes out Folio in the process. 

Nick barely sidesteps in time, hands raised in mock defense.

“are you fucking kidding me, man?” Noah hisses, just loud enough for him to hear. “you ratted me out?” 

he doesn’t wait for a response. “you like what you heard?” he taunts, a knowing smirk ghosting across his lips.

he leans in, close enough that Nick can feel the heat of him. “watch your back, man.”

he’s gone a second later, brushing past like nothing happened.

neither you nor Noah wastes any time the moment you have a second alone on the tour bus. it’s been over a month since you’ve last seen each other, the coast is finally clear, and you’re falling into the back living room area of the tour bus, closing the door behind you with hushed giggles.

you’re practically glued to each other the instant it shuts, Noah’s arms wrapping tightly around you and pulling you flush to him. “god, I’ve missed you,” he whispers. 

he leans in and buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. you smell like the same body wash he’s been using for weeks now, stolen straight from your shower and stowed away in his tour bag without a word. the same body wash you always reached for during aftercare when you showered together, your hands gently caressing his skin and claiming him as yours. 

he’d started using it to feel closer to you, a tether to home when you were miles apart, but, god, if it doesn’t smell so much better on you.

“I hate being on the road.”

“you don’t mean that, silly,” you murmur.

“I do,” he says, lifting his head to look at you, a slight frown on his face. “I mean, I love getting to perform and make music, but I hate being away from you. I miss waking up next to you in the morning, I miss cuddling with you at night... you have no idea how much I’ve thought about you while I’ve been gone.”

“I think I have a little idea,” you allude knowingly, fingers tracing down his clothed chest. “have you been good for me?”

he presses a soft kiss to your neck. “I’ve been keeping my hands to myself, just like you told me to.”

you shoot him a look that says if he’s lying… but he just says, “I swear, baby.”

“well, then you deserve a reward.”

your hands push the hem of his shirt up, revealing his heavily tattooed chest as you kiss your way down it. Noah lets out a low groan at the feeling of your lips, and hands, trailing lower, but helps shuck the tee to the side as you pull down his sweats next.

“I missed you, too, you know.” 

you snap the band of his boxers teasingly, eliciting a hiss from him that soon turns into a gasp when you kiss the skin just below his navel. your fingertips skim the edge of the fabric, teasing, before dipping lower, palming him, and then withdrawing entirely. 

his whine of protest is cut off when you mouth over his cock in his boxers, your tongue dragging lazily over the fabric, tracing the outline of him as it strains against the cotton.

soon they too come off, his perfect length standing proud in all its glory, and Noah’s eyes glaze over as your tongue swirls around his tip, sucking lightly before taking him deeper, lids fluttering shut at the velvet warmth of your mouth welcoming him in.

it’s bliss until the sound of the door opening shatters it, Noah’s eyes snapping open as Folio stops dead halfway in the frame. 

so much for drinks… coast so not fucking clear…

his gaze flicks back and forth between the two of you, alight with curiosity as it hones in on Noah’s hands, which he currently keeps firmly behind his back until told otherwise, Noah’s hand gripping his own wrist as he leans his weight on them. a good fucking boy who knows to let you have your fun and doesn’t need to be restrained.

“jesus christ, you couldn’t wait the two fucking seconds to get a room?”

“what do you call this?” Noah manages to retort, even as dazed as he is given how you continue to devote your full attention to sucking his cock so he sees god [is a woman, aka you]. 

his slow blink through heavy lashes makes him look downright wrecked. add the soft ‘o’ of his parted lips, and he’s the picture of undone.

Nick bats away the passing thought that he doesn’t know whose position he envies more.

“you mind?” Noah grits out. “either join or get out.”

Nick startles like he’s been slapped, and he backs out fast, muttering something that might’ve been ‘sorry’ or ‘shit’, he’s not even sure, but he doesn’t make it far.

he stops just past the door as he slides it shut, heart hammering, flip-flopping between panic and lust. he shouldn’t listen. he knows that.

and still…

against his better judgment, he stays, back pressed to the wall, pulse roaring in his ears. the sharp edge of your voice carries through the door, low and commanding, followed by Noah… begging.

“fuck. please. I’ve been good. I haven’t touched myself. I haven’t come, just like you told me.” all punctuated by an unmistakably high-pitched falsetto whine. “please.”

he tells himself he shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t want this.

but maybe the whole point is for him to hear.

and, fuck, he does.

he hears everything.

he hears you finally grant him permission. he hears you coaxing him to go ahead and come for you with sweet praises of ‘good boy’ as you talk him through it. he hears the rustling of fabric as you encourage him to paint your tits in great, long spurts with his cum, accompanied by Noah’s broken whimper as he obeys, still concerned with your pleasure and how he can reciprocate. 

in fact, he can almost hear the smirk in Noah’s voice when he says, “I think I know where your underwear went.”

shit. 

Noah finds you in the green room after the show that night, full of excess adrenaline that needs out and the afterglow of a successful performance still coursing through his veins. normally he’ll take a cold shower—even if it’s only a temporary fix, a band aid—but you’re here, really here, and now that he’s got you in front of him, he doesn’t want to cool off. he wants to burn until he can’t any longer. 

the only relief he wants tonight is the kind you’ll give him.

he’s practically vibrating—flushed, overstimulated,.... one look at him and you know what he needs, even without those soulful brown eyes of his pinning yours and the hint of wildness behind them communicating the restlessness that needs to be quieted. that needs you to quiet it. 

“you need somewhere to put that energy, don’t you?” 

he nods, his gaze once again asking permission as if trying to wordlessly get you to understand the unbridled need pulsing through him. 

“then come here, and show me how good you can be for me.” you arch your neck as if directing him, and he follows, picking up on your cue. 

his touch is surprisingly gentle when he firmly presses you with your back against the wall, layers feverishly shed, successfully pinning you as he positions himself at your entrance.

you cling to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him in closer, and he slides his hands down to grip your thighs as you eagerly hook your legs around his waist, supporting your weight.

when he sinks inside you, Noah sighs into the crook of your neck like he’s just now able to breathe freely for the first time, rocking instinctively and angling his thrusts until you’re crying out at how full you feel. 

“there you go, baby,” you coax him with ragged breaths into his shoulder. “get it all out.”

would you believe Nick walks in on you for the second time today?

“for fuck’s sake,” Noah exhales, hot against your neck. “do you ever knock?”

“be nice.” your fingers tangle in Noah’s silver chain necklace, tugging gently.

“my bad. didn’t realize the fucking green room was off limits,” Nick retorts snarkily. “did you ever think about locking the door?” he twirls a drumstick mindlessly in his hand, fidgeting as he mumbles, “thought you’d at least make it to the hotel room this time.”

“yeah yeah… you gonna stick around?” Noah challenges. “because you know if you’re planning on listening in… you might as well watch too.”

Nick stands frozen in place, his face pinkening at Noah’s words, looking caught. he doesn’t miss the way Noah’s body is still caging you up against the wall, or that he’s still inside you, his hips pressed flushed to yours. 

Nick’s presence is a surprise, sure, but nothing about Noah’s tone makes him feel unwelcome.

what he doesn’t know is you’ve talked about this scenario since seeing his reaction at the breakfast buffet, and you’re both okay with it. when you and Noah lock eyes, his small nod is all the confirmation you need, the shared understanding passing between you. 

“close the door, Nick.”

Noah cradles you close as he carries you over to the nearby couch and sets you down gently, and you protest when his cock slips from you.

“I thought this would be more comfortable for you,” he murmurs. probably offers a better view for your guest, too, but he doesn’t say that.

his attentiveness makes your heart flutter. he leans over you, braced on his forearms, and you lift your head to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

his body hovers mere inches from yours, his warmth radiating against your skin, and anticipation crackles in the air between you as he closes the gap, filling you up once again. 

Nick thinks he’s gonna need a hit of something if he’s actually going to sit through this. the two of you wrapped up in each other, him just there. watching. feeling like an intruder amidst such… intimacy.

the shot he took before going on stage has long since worn off.

diagonal to you, Nick sinks into the armchair opposite with a sigh, already fishing out a joint. yeah, he definitely needs to mellow the fuck out.

Noah watches as Nick lights up, taking a long drag off the joint, his eyes fixated on the way your hips move in tandem. he lets out a small cloud of smoke, the room filling with the acrid scent of weed.

“you know if you wanna smoke, you have to go outside,” Noah says.

“you gonna snitch on me?”

wrong choice of words. 

Noah scoffs, eyes narrowing. “maybe I should,” he says, clearly still holding a grudge.

“brat.”

“tattle-tale.”

“do I need to separate you two?” you butt in. 

“no,” they both say at the same time.

you shake your head, amused. children. you’re dealing with children. “I need a hit of that. shotgun?”

Nick looks at you, then at Noah, his hesitation clear. “I don’t know—is—”

“she wants a hit, let her have a fucking hit.”

“fuck it,” Nick mutters under his breath, closing the space between you before he can lose his nerve.

Noah’s face stays buried in the curve of your shoulder as Nick kneels beside the couch, cupping your face in his hands as he touches his lips to yours, first feather soft, then firmer as he exhales a slow drag of smoke into your mouth. a chapped, barely there brush of his lips like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to want it.

with what you’re sure is a particularly vengeful thrust, Noah has you gasping into his bandmate’s mouth. your hand fists the collar of Nick’s shirt, and when Noah meets your glare, he at least has the decency to look somewhat chastised as he tries to plaster over his smirk now that Nick is clearly flustered. 

it’s a work in progress. 

god only knows what you’re getting yourself into with these two. 

“one hit isn’t enough,” you mumble, only you’re kissing Nick this time, and you’re not sure if the head rush is from the weed or his lips on yours or Noah, whose gentle thrusts have turned feverish. 

yeah, there’s an itch you need to be scratched.

right. there.

one hand tangles in Nick’s nape, using him to anchor yourself, as your thigh comes up to cradle Noah’s hip, the nails of your other hand clawing Noah’s back when the newfound angle nudges that perfect spot deep inside of you. he grunts at the feeling of your walls bearing down on him. 

even when you let go of Nick to hold Noah tighter, he just rests his head against the side of the armrest, watching you lazily through the haze of smoke. 

“that feel good?” Noah croons in your ear.

you keen in answer. 

“good.” every snap of his hips ignites a spark of pleasure, a hum of electricity that lights you up from the inside out. 

“it’s not too much?”

you can tell he’s still holding back, even now, with your permission. you give a light shake of your head. “give it all to me, baby, it’s okay.” you stroke his hair back from his forehead, which is shining with sweat. a single drop drips from his chain to your chest, and he’s so beautiful, even (and especially) as he abandons all sense of control to fuck you like an animal with thrusts that drag the length of the couch a few inches across the floor.

“you’re making me feel so good,” you praise. “no one makes me feel like you do. fuck, baby.” you tighten around his cock. “want you to put it all on me.”

you tug him down closer until his body is pressed fully against yours, his weight pinning you down, and the feeling of him bracketing you in like this, with strong arms that cage you in on either side, is intoxicating. you arch up, seeking more contact, needing to be even closer, to somehow merge into one, and he responds with a low sound, hips rocking into yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure zinging along your spine. you’re utterly overwhelmed as your hands roam over the firm planes of his back, relishing in the flex of muscle beneath smooth skin as you encourage him to sink further into you. 

he obliges, hands sliding down your thighs to lift your ass so his thrusts hit deeper, nudging up against your cervix, and any trace of coherent thought scatters, pushed aside by pure sensation and the undeniable rightness of his body on yours.

when your fingers circle your clit, it’s all you need to push you over the edge. the pressure coils tighter and tighter in your belly until it detonates in starbursts behind your eyelids as your eyes roll back in your head.

“I was so proud of you tonight,” you gasp as you come, holding him there with your legs locked around him as you ride out the high of your orgasm. he falters for a beat as you spasm around him before resuming his thrusts, grinding down against you lightly to afford you some lovely friction on your clit. “20,000 people…” on a headlining tour…

“and all I cared about was you.” 

you hug his neck. you can’t help the way you know you flutter around him at the sentiment, an immediate dead giveaway that you’re just as crazy for him as he is for you.

“sweet talker.”

“I mean it,” he murmurs lowly, eyes like molten chocolate. 

“I know you do. look at you, turning into such a big sap.” you smile. “I love you, too.” you kiss him, then press your forehead to his. 

you want to see how he unravels for you, take in the look on his face when he comes—when his eyes glaze over and he can’t keep from making all manner of pretty sounds.

you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you, still aching for release. in more ways than one.

all he needs is a little encouragement from you.

“let go for me. want you to give it all to me,” you coax gently. “let Nick see how easy it is for my sweet boy to surrender.”

he comes almost instantaneously like he was waiting for your command, practically collapsing on top of you when he does. the shine in his eyes dulls as he finally gives in to exhaustion, and his racing heartbeat finally slows.

his cock twitches inside you, but he doesn’t pull out right away.

he looks… content. finally able to settle. 

“there he is.” you stroke his cheek. “better?” you ask.

Noah, unmoving, just looks at you with this open, grateful expression, and Nick thinks he won’t ever forget that look of pure appreciation etched upon his face. he doesn’t have to say it, but he does anyway. “thank you.”

you smile down at him and kiss his temple.

“Nick.” Folio’s ears practically perk. “hand me that.” he follows your finger to the water bottle balanced alongside a mess of clutter on a stool that serves as some sort of makeshift end table.

a low hum of approval sounds in your throat as he obeys without thinking, his first step into your gravity. “and that cloth.” he passes both to you. “good boy.” and he thinks he understands what it is that could demand that kind of devotion because, for a fraction of a second, Nick feels it too. the unmistakable desire to please you. a fleeting feeling of pride knowing he had.

you take the water, uncapping it with one hand while the other stays cradling Noah’s head, and he drinks when you press the bottle to his lips. long, slow sips.

all it takes is a gentle push against his stomach for him to take the hint and slip from inside you, perched on his knee between your legs and balancing on his opposite arm as you drag the cloth through your folds. once you’ve cleaned yourself up, you slide the cloth over Noah’s tip, and his breath catches. 

“sensitive, baby?”

Noah nods against your collarbone.

“what do you think about another one?” 

you make another pass and feel Noah tense. 

“you can give me that,” you encourage. “you give me more all the time.”

your palm lays flat against Noah’s chest, reveling in the flex of muscle, the push of his stomach against your hand and the pull away, seeking more at the same time as it feels as if it’s too much. he whines into your shoulder. 

warmth settles in his lower belly at the knowledge that Nick’s witnessing him like this—about to see how obedient he truly is for you—his body more than happy to give in to your wants and desires.

“go ahead, pup.”

his head bows into your shoulder as his hips stutter—short, shuddering spasms—as you work the cloth back and forth over his tip until his cum’s made a mess of it, the fabric sticky against your palm as you collect every drop he’s had to give you.

“how’s your head now?” you whisper, tone adoring.

“quiet.” his eyes are edged with murky bliss, distant. like he’s not entirely there.

you kiss the tip of his nose before his head finds its resting place using your boobs as his pillow, his arms hugging your waist. 

“you gonna take care of that?” you look pointedly at Nick’s boner. 

he flicks his near-finished joint into the ashtray where it smolders, huffing a laugh. “you offering?” he jokes, a boyish smirk tugging at his lips before he adds flippantly, “the weed does that.” 

“just admit you liked what you saw.” 

you’d watched him, too, after all. seen the way his jaw clenched. his pupils blown black with lust.

sure, he could try and chalk it up to being stoned, but that hadn’t just been the weed. that was curiosity. hunger.

the whole thing tasted of more. 

“I would,” Folio grins boyishly, “if I thought he’d ever let me live it down.”

Noah doesn’t even lift his head.

Nick coughs awkwardly. the idea that he’d wanted to jerk off in front of one of his best friends—while he fucked his girlfriend no less—is too much to unpack right now.

so naturally, he changes the subject. classic deflection. he’s practically a pro.

“is it like this every time?”

you study Nick curiously. “like what?”

he gestures vaguely—toward Noah, toward you. “this… intensity… the way he is with you. all of it.”

you shrug. “more or less. he isn’t always on top if that’s what you mean.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “and even when he is, he’s still…”

“submissive?” you offer. “yeah. you saw him. I have all the control because ultimately ​​he gets his satisfaction by giving me mine. there’s a word for it. he’s what you’d call a service top. 

“he may have come to me looking for a way to channel his excess energy, but that doesn’t change the fact that in his mind, his pleasure is second to mine. fucking me is an act of submission because it’s rooted in his desire to serve. does that make sense?”

“I think so, yeah.”

you can tell he’s still working it out in his head. like he’s trying to reconcile the Noah he knows with the one currently in front of him, another facet that up until now has been hidden away.

“what makes ‘this’ work is how we’re so compatible. have been from the start. he found what he needed in me, and I found the same in him.” your tone is fond when you say, “ultimately, it’s me he chose to let his guard down with, and he chooses that over and over again every time.”

you glance down at Noah, who’s practically purring against you, and your heart swells with affection. your fingers move slowly through his hair, relaxing him. “we’ve gotten closer than I ever thought possible. what we have goes beyond just a domme and her sub,” you say. “we were never just looking for someone to scene with. we were holding out hope for a life partner.”

Nick watches you carefully. “and you just… know what he needs?”

“overall, we’re pretty in tune with each other, but you learn to pay attention,” you say. “we talk. a lot. what we have didn’t just happen. it’s built on constant communication. before, during, and after. it’s a combination of reading his body language, listening to what he says, and noticing what he doesn’t. I trust him to tell me when I miss something. and over time, you start to pick up on things—a change in breathing, the way his muscles tense, a shift in his expression. those little cues? they tell me what’s working, what’s too much,…

“but that’s not all. we check in regularly. we use the stoplight system. green for good, yellow to take things slow, red to stop. he also has a safe word. every scene starts with consent, with setting boundaries first. we have regular discussions about what we’re both comfortable with and what we want to try in a session. it’s important to have those conversations so we both know we’re on the same page before we start a scene. that’s what keeps us safe and allows us to have fun together.

“and, you know, being a domme isn’t all male gaze latex and humiliation. that’s what people often associate it with when they watch porn, but submission isn’t one size fits all; it looks different for everyone. different people have different needs and thus play differently.

“submission doesn’t only happen in the bedroom either. what Noah needs from a dominant is a safe place to let go of control both inside the bedroom and out of it.”

Nick looks skeptical. “I just didn’t think ‘submission’ was in his control-freak nature.”

“that’s exactly why it appeals to him,” you reply. “it’s exhausting, being in control all the time. giving that up, even for a little while, can be such a relief. he knows he can come to me when he’s feeling overwhelmed, and I’ll ground him. sometimes that’s all he needs. to just be able to surrender everything to someone he trusts completely.”

and sometimes it’s up to you to approach him. when he’s buried in work, drowning in pressure, worrying about all the small details of a performance, you’ve had to gently pull him back, remind him to breathe, to rest, to take care of himself.

“being Noah’s dominant isn’t all ball gags and bondage.”—in fact, why you would ever deprive yourself of hearing such beautiful sounds is beyond you—“it’s reminding him to take breaks. making decisions when he’s too tired to think. just being a steady hand when his mind starts spinning out of control.

“he’s made a lot of progress with his mental health, but…” you pause, thinking of the softness in his voice when he asks to relinquish control to you, how much he trusts you to carry that weight. “sometimes, he just needs to be reminded that the world as he knows it doesn’t rest solely on his shoulders.”

Nick’s eyes flick to Noah again, still curled up with his head nuzzled into the underside of your boob, boneless and safe. 

he can see the appeal. 

“at the end of the day, we’re just like any other couple. we cook together. we binge our favorite shows cuddled up on the couch. we argue over dumb things like who left dishes in the sink or who didn’t replace the toilet paper roll. and yeah, the power exchange is important to us. it’s meaningful. but so is just lying in bed at the end of the day, talking about everything and nothing. that’s part of it too. the everyday domesticity of getting to live out your days with someone you love.”

“you guys make me sick,” he groans, despite knowing that most people spend their whole lives searching for what the two of you have. he can’t say you haven’t helped him understand exactly what it is he’s missing either. “absolutely nauseating. blink twice if you need me to get you out.”

you chuckle lightly. “whatever you’re thinking, I’m probably the furthest I could possibly be from needing rescuing, so you can put away the white horse, knight.”

he nods, his brown eyes warm with mirth. 

“do you always do this after?” 

“aftercare is non-negotiable,” you explain seriously. “it helps bring him back down. I care for him, check in, make sure he feels safe. plus, he was already riding a high after the show. it carried him through, but it’s wearing off now. exhaustion hits hard once the adrenaline fades,” you say, your voice quiet. “he’s starting to crash.”

you can tell he’s fighting sleep. and losing.

“he’s at his sweetest like this,” you murmur, stroking his scalp. this is your favorite. when your boy is all pliant and clingy, wanting nothing more than to cuddle up with you. eyes half-lidded, nuzzling further into your touch and treating your nipple to teasing kisses and the delicate laving of his tongue. 

“he just needs cuddles right now. he turns into a big baby when he’s this tired. some praise never hurts. he’s got a big ‘ol praise kink.”

you lean down and press a kiss to his hair.

“he’s my good boy,” you whisper.

Noah hums his agreement, goosebumps prickling your skin. 

“I should really get him to the hotel room before he falls asleep and I can’t bear to wake him up,” you say. “c’mon, baby.”

he grumbles in protest when you slip out from beneath him, his hands reaching for you as if trying to stay tucked into your side.

“I know,” you murmur, steadying him, “but you gotta help me.”

despite his initial reluctance, he follows, draping his arms loosely around your neck. his head rests on your shoulder as he leaves a trail of soft, lingering kisses against your skin, one of which he sucks determinedly into a purplish blue bruise of a hickey, asserting his claim on you. you laugh and push his face away, but he comes back and nips the skin, evidently feeling playful before he soothes it with his tongue.

“for your collection.” 

you press a pair of your panties into Nick’s hand, and he tries not to think about the fact that it means currently you’re not wearing any.

he looks sheepish. “I don’t know what Noah told you, but the last pair must’ve gotten mixed up in my laundry.”

“sure they did.” 

you don’t buy a word of it.

“I don’t have a collection.” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck like the semantics of it all could somehow save him.

“sure you don’t.”

you’re enjoying watching him squirm more than you expected.

“you have a boyfriend,” he says as if it’s some kind of defense, a line he shouldn’t be crossing. a line you shouldn’t let him. like he hasn’t just watched the two of you together. like that line hasn’t already been blurred.

“we’re open to the right third.” you pause just long enough to study his face as a flicker of surprise crosses over it, quickly trying to mask thinly veiled interest. “surely you don’t know anyone who might be interested?”

fuck. he’s in way over his head.

lo and behold, the next morning he’s right back to where he started from: hearing Noah’s and your moans in the hotel room next door. 

this feels a little like déjà vu.

what time is it anyway?

Nick groans and pulls the pillow over his face, mind still reeling from yesterday’s events.

fucking rabbits. 

it’s useless. he can still hear your soft cries and Noah’s whimpers, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the occasional creaking of the bed frame echoing in his head. except this time he can picture it. hell, it’s practically burned into his eyelids. he tosses the pillow to the side, his eyes catching on your panties right where he’d left them last night, hanging from the handle of the bedside drawer.

almost without thinking he hooks a finger in the little scrap of fabric, tugging it free as he brings them to his face, inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to cling to the lingering scent of you, your dried arousal, once slick, yet another reminder of last night.

he closes his fist tightly around the fabric, feeling the beginnings of a painful tent in his pants that he needs to do something about.

shit, is he actually considering this?

yes. the answer is yes. 

might as well make use of your thoughtful gift, right?

his free hand moves down his body, disappearing beneath the covers as he gives in to the impulse to wrap a hand around his nearly fully erect cock. 

he can feel whatever it is he needs to about it after. in the meantime, he’ll press the fabric to his nose as he fucks his hand into blissful oblivion. maybe, he naively thinks, he just needs to rub one out and get it out of his system. let it run its course.

if the noise filtering in from next door, if thinking about the way you’d wielded Noah’s submission, gets him there faster, so be it.

he can hear it in every sound that escapes your lips, how close you are. he imagines you in the next room, your body trembling, your hands clutching the sheets, Noah’s shoulders—whatever you can grip—as your back arches and you take Noah with you, whimpering as he struggles to hold himself up. or maybe you’re riding him, perfect tits in his face, and, god, if he were your sub, they’d be in his mouth…

if he were your sub… 

there it is. he’s spilling all over the fabric of your underwear, and he can’t help but wish he were there, in a shared hotel room with you and Noah.

worse yet, he can see how it would go. you, his and Noah’s undoing. he finds himself aching to be a part of it. to find purpose at your feet alongside Noah.

a fucking third. surely you weren’t serious?

only one way to find out.

[mothman-writes]

How do I tell her she’s ethereal and need her to ride my face?

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Six II: Revealed - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Description: Denver wraps itself around Noah and Talia like a snowy blanket — full of dark confessions and hopeful revelations.

Warnings: Drinking mentions, alcohol mentions, found family vibes, no smut just tension, angst, trauma, abuse mentions, fluff, Noah is seen, big reveals.

Word Count: 3,536

Tag list: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Six II: Revealed

Six

Noah Sebastian

November 19th, 2022

Later, when conversation dies down and the others move on to their own things — bed, video games — Noah grabs the other bottle. He turns to Talia, who stares up at him with mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Come with me.” He says, reaching out for her hand.

 She takes it without hesitation. 

They manage to find some empty, low-lit lounge somewhere in the hotel. They tuck themselves into a corner booth, overstuffed but comfortable. Noah leans against the backrest, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it to Talia. 

She takes a drink, looks at him for a beat, and then takes another drink.

Talia hesitates, running her thumb along the condensation on the bottle before looking up at him, “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re thinking.” Noah says, taking the bottle. “That’s dangerous.”

And then, after a beat, “Go ahead.”

Talia looks at him cautiously, like it costs her everything to ask this, “Who is she? The one you wrote the album about?”

All of the air is sucked out of Noah’s lungs. He can hear himself inhale sharply, but he’s too focused on how the room shrinks around him. His shaking hands raise the bottle to his lips and he drinks. He drinks and drinks until he feels like he can’t swallow it all.

The bottle is placed on the table with a soft thud. 

“You don’t have to answer —” 

But he does, because the truth is already slipping off his tongue and spilling into the space between them.

“Her name is Lydia. We were together for…god, years. Things were good — or maybe they weren’t, not really — but then they got twisted. She was…controlling. Possessive. I’m pretty sure she was cheating on me? But, uh, that’s not the point. The point is I left. And then I wrote an entire album to process everything.”

Noah doesn’t look at her. He can’t bear to, because he’s not sure what he’ll find. He swallows thickly, staring at the table in front of him.

Talia reaches out and takes the hand that’s still holding the glass like a lifeline. She laces her fingers into his, brings his hand up to her lips, and presses a gentle kiss there.

He completely unravels, a confession already falling from his lips.

“The night I left, she said something that I can’t get out of my head. She said she ‘made me.’ It’s been two years and I can still hear her voice. ‘I made you.’ Sometimes, I think she was right.” He admits. 

He just barely catches her breath hitching over the thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Within seconds, Noah’s face is in both Talia’s hands and he’s staring in to her eyes.

“Listen to me, Noah,” She says, her voice shaking, “She didn’t make you.”

“But what if she did?”

Talia swallows hard and shakes her head before pressing their foreheads together.

“You made you. Every brilliant, shining part. And I’m fucking furious that she made you think otherwise.”

Noah feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He blinks, and suddenly they’re both teary. 

They sit like this for a few moments, both desperately trying not to cry. Eventually, Noah pulls back a little.

“My turn,” He manages roughly.

She throws him a cautious glance, sniffling a little, “Go on.”

“The music thing,” He takes her hand in his, “you’re ashamed of it.”

“That’s not a question.” 

Noah rolls his eyes at her playfully, leaning in to press a kiss at the corner of her lips.

“Why?” He asks.

Talia shrugs a little, “I’m not ashamed…it’s more like, self-conscious? I don’t really like actual musicians to find out, because it’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t really do anything with it other than writing music in my bedroom.”

“So you write?” Noah asks, excitement edging his voice, “Can I hear sometime?”

“That’s three questions,” Talia laughs out, “but yeah, I do. And maybe, some day.”

Noah leans back against the booth, his hand still wrapped around hers. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, “you don’t have to be anything but exactly what you are. You’re already kind of extraordinary.”

Talia exhales like she’s been holding her breath, her fingers tightening just slightly around his. “You really think so?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

For a while, they just sit there, knees brushing under the table, the tequila bottle forgotten between them. Outside, the wind howls against the hotel windows, snow piling up in soft drifts — but here, in this quiet, low-lit bubble, it feels like the world has paused for them.

Eventually, Talia leans her head on his shoulder. “I think I needed to hear that tonight,” she murmurs.

Noah rests his cheek against the top of her hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

And they stay like that for a long time, until Talia reaches for the bottle. She takes a drink, locking eyes with Noah. There’s something electric behind them, something wanting. Noah feels it stirring in himself as he watches her swallow. She licks her bottom lip when she pulls the bottle away, and then hands it to him. He takes a drink, then sets it aside.

Their lips crash together in heat and hunger. Talia parts her lips for him and he eagerly explores her mouth, his hand coming to rest on the side of her neck. 

When they pull away, they’re panting. Noah pulls her closer, almost so she’s in his lap, and slides his hand in a slow trail down her body. She watches him, eyes granting him silent, pleading permission. He stops at her waist, curling his inked fingers carefully around the swell of her hip. 

“Not here.” His voice is low and ragged with desire. 

Talia nods in agreement, “Okay.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the space just below her ear. When she whimpers — a soft, beautiful sound that makes him ache in the best way — he moves down her neck with feather light kisses until he reaches the crook of her neck, where he bites and sucks and teases it with his tongue. 

Talia lets out a soft moan at this, encouraging him.

He coos softly at her, “Babygirl, you have to be quiet.” 

“Noah,” Talia pleads, reaching up to thread her fingers in his hair, “I want you.” 

Noah pulls back just enough to look at her, his breath still coming in short bursts. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with want, and the sight of her like this — vulnerable and trusting and completely his in this moment — makes his chest tight with something deeper than desire.

"Come on," he whispers against her ear, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

He helps her slide out of the booth, their movements careful and deliberate, like they're afraid sudden motion might break whatever spell has settled over them. The bottle of tequila sits abandoned on the table, forgotten in favor of something infinitely more intoxicating.

Noah takes her hand, threading their fingers together as they make their way back to his room. The alcohol and emotional exhaustion hit them both the moment they cross the threshold — the weight of confessions shared, of walls torn down, of hearts laid bare.

They collapse onto the bed together, still fully clothed, Noah's arms wrapping around her as she curls into his chest. Her breathing evens out first, soft and steady against his collarbone, and he finds himself stroking her hair as sleep pulls at the edges of his consciousness.

"Thank you," she murmurs into the darkness, barely audible.

"For what?" he whispers back.

But she's already asleep, warm and safe in his arms, and Noah lets himself follow her into that quiet peace — two people who found exactly what they needed in each other, even if it wasn't what they thought they wanted.

Seven

November 20th, 2022

From backstage, the venue hums with life — a living, breathing thing that pulses through the walls and into Noah's chest. There's something different in the air here, and not just because of the altitude. The energy feels sharper, more electric. There's a sense that something has changed, just a little.

Noah stands just off stage, waiting to go on. He rolls his shoulders, moves his neck side to side, cracks his knuckles — the same ritual he's performed dozens of times on this tour. But tonight feels different. The familiar pre-show nerves are there, but underneath them sits something steadier. Something solid.

He's ready. More ready than he has been this whole tour.

Because tonight, this isn't Lydia's story.

It's his.

The crowd's anticipation bleeds through the curtain like heat from a fire. He can feel their energy, their hunger for what's coming. Summit Music Hall has always been intimate — the kind of venue where you can see individual faces in the crowd, where every breath and heartbeat becomes part of the collective rhythm.

A few minutes later, he steps onto stage, lit only by the ethereal glow of the graphic screen behind him. The crowd erupts — a wall of sound that hits him like a physical force. Their roar ripples through the room like wildfire, igniting something deep in his chest.

He wraps his hand around the microphone, the metal warm and familiar against his palm, and begins the opening verse: "Can you see yourself, through the bruises when the makeup melts?"

His voice cuts through the darkness, raw and clear. Noah is bathed in red light that transforms him into something otherworldly, painting shadows across his face that make him look both vulnerable and fierce.

As he continues, he slowly scans the crowd for Talia. She said she'd be there tonight, taking photos. That this was important for her to shoot. For both of them.

Talia had admitted — amidst their rounds of confessions over the bottle last night — that she had grown up going to this venue. She took some of her first photos from this very room, learning to capture light and movement in the spaces between heartbeats.

Behind him, Folio settles behind his kit with the fluid grace of someone who's done this a thousand times. The drums join Noah's voice, building the foundation as the song grows. Nick and Jolly step into their positions on either side of him, the four of them becoming a single organism, perfectly in sync.

When the song finishes, streamers and confetti rain down into the audience like celebratory snow. The crowd's cheers wash over him as he ducks off stage to grab the mask.

Talia is standing there in the wings, camera slung around her neck like armor, holding the mask out for him. She shoots him a small, shy smile that somehow cuts through all the chaos around them.

"Wanted to wish you luck. Not that you need it," she admits, her words almost lost in the thunder of the crowd calling for more.

Noah leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, tasting the salt of nervous excitement on her skin. "You got this," he says — though whether he's talking to her or himself, he's not entirely sure.

With that, he pulls on the mask, the familiar weight settling over his features like a second skin. He steps back onto stage just as the opening notes of ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE begin to slice through the air.

He grabs the microphone, steps onto the risers, and feels the crowd's energy coil beneath him like a spring waiting to release.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, JUMP!"

The music explodes — drums and bass and guitar colliding in perfect chaos. The crowd erupts with him, hundreds of bodies launching into the air as one. Pillars of steam shoot up across the front of the stage, creating a wall of white that catches the strobing lights.

He crashes down with force. With confidence. With the bone-deep certainty that every word he's about to sing, every note that's about to tear from his throat, belongs to him and no one else.

The mask may hide his face, but it can't hide the truth blazing behind his eyes: this is his story now.

Behind him, red and green lights begin to strobe like a digital heartbeat, painting the stage in alternating waves of fire and poison. The colors slice through the steam and sweat-thick air as he launches into the first verse, his voice cutting through the chaos with surgical precision.

"Soaked in the neon glows, silver-forked tongues talking to you in the digital snow. A glitch in the chain, a loop in the brain that you wanted to break, but you still wanna play the game."

Each word lands like a physical blow, the crowd absorbing them and throwing the energy back tenfold. Bodies surge forward against the barricade, hands reaching toward the stage like they're trying to touch something sacred and dangerous.

And then he catches a glimpse of Talia. She's weaving her way through the crowd at one side of the stage, camera in hand, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knows how to navigate chaos without disturbing it. When she reaches the barricade, their eyes meet across the strobing madness. He nods in her direction — a small acknowledgment that sends electricity shooting down his spine.

As the second verse begins, he crouches low and creeps toward her side of the stage like a predator stalking prey. The crowd screams louder, sensing the shift in his energy. "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Lightin' molotovs for the broken youth."

The words taste like rebellion and gasoline on his tongue. Talia raises her camera, the lens catching fragments of colored light as she frames the shot. The moment stretches between them — performer and observer, artist and muse — until the shutter clicks and captures something indefinable.

Their eyes lock through her viewfinder for a heartbeat that feels like eternity. In that split second, he sees himself reflected in her gaze: not broken, not manufactured, but whole. Burning bright with his own light.

He moves back toward the center of the risers as the verse builds to its crescendo, the crowd's energy pulling him like a tide.

"Can you hear me through the white noise? Can you hear me through the white noi— "

Noah cuts off mid-word, throwing his head back and his arms out wide like he's embracing the entire universe. White light floods down from above, transforming him into a figure carved from pure energy. The music stops — drums, bass, guitar all cutting out in perfect synchronization — and the room falls into a silence so complete it feels like the world has stopped breathing.

In that suspended moment, he can feel everything: the heat radiating from the crowd, the sweat cooling on his skin, the weight of the mask against his face. And underneath it all, the soft mechanical whisper of Talia's shutter capturing this instant of perfect vulnerability.

He welcomes it. Welcomes being seen.

The music crashes back in like a dam bursting, and the spell breaks into a thousand pieces of sound and light.

The rest of the set unfolds like a fever dream — song bleeding into song, the crowd and the band locked in perfect communion. The room pulses with shared breath, shared heartbeats, shared euphoria that seems to lift the ceiling and push against the walls. Bodies move as one organism, voices joining Noah's until the distinction between performer and audience dissolves entirely.

Through it all, Noah catches glimpses of Talia weaving through the crowd like a ghost with a camera, capturing moments he'll never see but somehow feels in real time. The click of her shutter becomes part of the rhythm, another instrument in their chaotic symphony.

Summit Music Hall has seen thousands of shows, but tonight feels different. The air itself seems charged with possibility, thick with the kind of electricity that only comes when something fundamental shifts. The venue that shaped Talia's early vision now witnesses Noah's transformation — two artists finding themselves in the same sacred space, years apart but somehow perfectly aligned.

As the final song builds to its crescendo, Noah's voice soars above the instruments, above the crowd, carrying all the weight of confession and release. The words are his now, completely and utterly his, and every person in this room feels the truth of it.

When the lights finally dim and the last note fades into the rafters, the silence that follows is different from before — not empty, but full. Pregnant with everything that's been said and sung and shared.

The crowd erupts in applause that seems to shake the foundations, but Noah's eyes are already searching. Through the haze of stage lights and adrenaline, he finds her — Talia, camera lowered, watching him with something like wonder in her eyes.

Their gazes lock across the chaos of the dispersing crowd, and in that moment, everything else falls away. The noise, the lights, the lingering high of performance — all of it fades until there's just this: the promise of reconnection, the anticipation of what comes next, and the certainty that whatever they built in that hotel lounge last night has only grown stronger under these stage lights.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she smiles — bright and real and just for him.

The rest can wait. But not for long.

Eight

When he finds her, Talia's already in the green room, the post-show chaos of the venue muffled by concrete walls and a closed door. She hasn't sat down yet — still riding the adrenaline high that comes from capturing lightning in a bottle. Her laptop balances precariously in her hands, and she's got her brow furrowed in that particular kind of focus that means she's seeing something the rest of the world hasn't caught up to yet.

The room smells like stale beer and years of cigarette smoke that no amount of cleaning can fully erase, but there's something else in the air now — anticipation, electricity, the lingering magic of what just happened on that stage.

Noah knocks on the door frame, his knuckles rapping against the metal with a sharp sound that cuts through the silence easily.

She looks up at him, and her entire face transforms — like someone just turned on a light behind her eyes. "Come here, I want to show you something."

There's something breathless in her voice, something that makes his chest tighten with possibility. Noah closes the door with a faint click that seems to seal them off from the rest of the world, before crossing the room in four long strides. His body is still humming with performance energy, sweat cooling on his skin, the ghost of stage lights still dancing behind his eyelids.

He pulls her gently toward the couch, the worn leather creaking under their combined weight as he settles back with her in his lap. She fits against him perfectly, like they were made for each other.

He leans in and nuzzles the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "Show me," he murmurs against her skin, his voice still rough from singing.

Talia inhales shakily, like whatever she's about to reveal makes her nervous in the best possible way. Her hands tremble — just barely, but he feels it where her fingers brush his arm. It's the kind of vulnerability that makes his heart skip.

Slowly, deliberately, she clicks something open on her laptop. An album appears on the screen, simply titled The Sound of You in clean, minimalist font.

The album contains a dozen pictures, all of Noah. But these aren't the Noah he sees in mirrors or promotional shots or the candid photos that float around social media. These are something else entirely. He barely recognizes the figure on screen, but knows with bone-deep certainty that it's him — the version that exists only in Talia's eyes.

He clicks through them one by one, each image hitting him like a physical blow:

A closeup of his gloved hand wrapped around the microphone, fingers tense with the effort of holding onto something precious. The lighting catches every crease in the leather, every white knuckle, transforming a simple grip into something that looks like prayer.

His eyes closed during the bridge of Just Pretend, face tilted toward invisible light, expression so open and raw it makes his chest ache to look at. He remembers this moment — the vulnerability of that song, the way it always threatens to break him open. But in Talia's frame, it doesn't look like breaking. It looks like becoming.

Him on his knees center stage, bathed in red and white light like it was something holy to witness. His arms are spread wide, head thrown back, and there's something almost transcendent in the image — like she caught the exact moment he stopped performing and started communing.

Each photograph is a revelation, showing him not as the damaged thing Lydia's voice whispers he is, but as something powerful, something worth witnessing, something that deserves to take up space in the world.

Noah's breath catches in his throat, words sticking like honey. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah," Talia admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to show you how I see you. Wanted to show you that you deserve to be seen."

The laptop gets set aside carefully, like it contains something too precious to risk damaging. He pulls her impossibly closer instead, until there's no space left between their bodies, until he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. Talia turns toward him slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder.

The sob that escapes him is broken and raw and completely beyond his control — two years of Lydia's poison working its way out of his system all at once.

Because Noah's never felt so seen before.

Not like this. Not by someone who looked at him and saw art instead of damage, strength instead of weakness, light instead of all the dark spaces he's been carrying around.

Not by someone like her.

And somehow, it's everything.

Nine

Before the tears get a chance to stop flowing, reality bursts in. It starts with a rapid, sharp knock on the door — three staccato raps that cut through the quiet like gunshots. Seconds later, the guys are piling into the room, a tangle of limbs and laughter that dies the moment they cross the threshold.

"I hope you two are fully clothed!" Folio teases, making a show of covering his eyes with his hands, his voice still carrying the remnants of whatever joke had them laughing in the hallway.

Talia responds by throwing him a sharp glare that could cut glass, her jaw clenched tight. Nick catches the tension immediately, his elbow finding Folio's ribs with enough force to make him grunt.

Noah can just barely make out Nick's hissed warning over his own ragged sobs, "Dude, read the room."

The shift in atmosphere is instant and jarring. Folio's hands drop from his face like dead weights, his easy grin dissolving as he takes in Noah's tear-streaked face, the way Talia's protective arm tightens around his shoulders. His own shoulders droop, the color draining from his cheeks. He says nothing — a rare occurrence — only crosses the room with careful, measured steps and gently moves the laptop aside to sit beside them. The couch dips under his weight, springs creaking softly.

Nick joins them next, his sneakers squeaking against the hotel carpet as he crouches in front of Noah like he's cautiously approaching a wounded animal. His dark eyes are wide with concern, searching Noah's face for answers. Jolly takes the arm of the couch, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. The man who always knows what to say sits frozen, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Noah knows why. They haven't seen him cry like this since he left Lydia — not these gut-wrenching sobs that shake his entire frame, not this raw, broken sound that seems to tear from somewhere deep in his chest. It's like watching something fundamental crack, and not knowing what caused the fracture.

"What happened?" Nick asks eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing is holding Noah together.

Talia nods toward her laptop, its screen still glowing on the coffee table. Nick's hands shake slightly as he swipes it up, the device warm from use. The room falls silent except for the soft clicking of keys and Noah's uneven breathing. When Nick's done reading, he looks up at them with tears already spilling over his lower lashes, his face a mirror of the devastation they're all feeling.

"Jesus," Nick breathes, setting the laptop aside with shaking hands. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, not bothering to hide his tears.

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable — it's the kind of quiet that comes when words feel inadequate, when the only thing that matters is being present. Folio settles fully onto the couch beside Noah, close enough that their shoulders touch. Jolly remains perched on the arm, one hand coming to rest gently on Noah's back.

They stay like that for a long time, the five of them creating a protective circle around something fragile and precious. Noah's sobs gradually quiet to occasional shuddering breaths, Talia's fingers never leaving his hair, and slowly the room fills with the steady rhythm of shared breathing.

"We're here," Nick says finally, his voice rough with emotion. "Whatever this is, whatever you need — we're here."

Noah nods against Talia's shoulder, unable to trust his voice yet. But he doesn't need to say anything. The weight of his friends surrounding him, the warmth of Talia's arms, the unspoken promise that he doesn't have to face this alone — it's enough. For now, it's more than enough.

Outside, the world continues spinning, but in this room, time has slowed to accommodate grief, to make space for healing, to hold them all exactly as they are.

---

Part two is here! I hope it felt like a satisfying enough chapter.

As always, thank you to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Six I | Chapter Seven

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

[mothman-writes]

Nutmeg Chapter Ten

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT:

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 11

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @ami--gami @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse @cheyyyyr @respectfulrebel @hskcut-blog

WARNINGS: new location, gifts, fluff, oral, piv, mentions of biting (let me know if I need to add something.)

You are sitting in your car, parked outside of a house that you are pretty sure is the correct one.  The house is plain from the outside, fairly large with a small garden.  Clean and neat. You were not sure why your anxiety was through the roof.  Your stomach in knots.

You take a few breaths and then tell yourself out loud to just do it already.  You grab the small bag you packed and put it on your lap.  You were really not sure what to pack, because you had no idea what to expect.  And even though you wanted to pack and pack and pack everything for every eventuality, you tried your best to be sensible. 

You check your hair in the rearview mirror. 

You grab your phone, wanting to just check the time but you had a message waiting for you.  ‘How long are you going to sit in the car?  Come in.’

You blush all alone in the car.

You get out, taking your bag and lock the car as you head for the front door.  He opens it before you can knock and then leans against the door frame.  ‘How anxious are you right now?’ he asks with a sweet smile on those lips.

‘I don’t know why, but I am very anxious,’ you say honestly as you step closer to him. 

He reaches for you and kisses you before he hugs you right there in the door.  ‘It’s something different, don’t be so hard on yourself.’

He smells so good.  ‘Show me your house,’ you say when the hug ends and he lets you inside and closes the door. 

‘It’s just a house,’ he says.  ‘This is the living room, through there is the kitchen.  Stairs,’ he points and you follow closely behind.  ‘My roommates live upstairs.  In here is the office,’ he makes air quotes with his fingers.  ‘But this is my room,’ he says standing in front of the door with a grin. 

You laugh softly at him.  ‘Please don’t say that this is where the magic happens.’

He snorts.  ‘I would never.’

He opens the door and steps inside and you follow immediately looking around and taking in as much information as you can.  The room was really big, having its own little living room there in the entrance where he had a grey couch and a table with his computer, a mounted TV.  And on the far end was his bed. 

‘This is my bathroom,’ he points to a door to his right.

You walk inside a little further and notice that he has put effort into the space.  ‘My biggest fear was you had a bare mattress on the floor.  With like just a lamp in the corner.’

He laughs loudly.  ‘I have sheets.’

‘Thank god for that,’ you laugh in relief.  He stands with his arms folded as he watches you look. 

His room was extremely neat.  Anime figurines arranged neatly, vinyl records on display.  A keyboard, and many lamps and lights that create a unique and welcoming atmosphere. 

You turn to look at him and he is looking at you with anticipation.  ‘I am very pleasantly surprised.’

He smiles, showing his teeth.  ‘Good.’

‘You are so neat, though,’ you add.

‘Mmm, a bit of a neat freak,’ he shrugs his shoulders.

You pull a face.  ‘Does my place bother you?  Because I am not this neat,’ you gesture to the entirety of the room.

‘It does not bother me,’ he shakes his head.  ‘Put your bag down.’

You place it neatly next to couch, out of the way.  ‘So, where are your roommates?’

‘One of them have gone home to Sweden for a few weeks.  And the other one is on a work trip.  It’s rare that they both are gone at the same time,’ he tells you.

‘Do they not know about…’ you think how to word it.  ‘Your involvement with the agency?’

He drops his head shyly.  ‘No, they don’t.’

‘I also haven’t told anyone in my life,’ you say.

‘Jesse knows about you, though.  It was him I called when you had the migraine.  So, while he does not know exactly what is going on, he knows you exist,’ he says running his hand through his hair a few times. 

‘I don’t know if I should ask this, and feel free to not answer if you don’t want to, but how many times have you been someone’s Dom?’ you ask.

He shyly rubs his hands together.  ‘I have never been someone’s Dom before you.’

‘Really?’ you ask, shocked by what he said.

‘Yeah, really,’ he nods. 

You frown and sit down on his couch.  ‘You are so good at it, though.’

He sits next to you.  ‘I’m not.’

‘Yeah, you are,’ you turn towards him. 

‘I try really hard,’ he says like that is all he can concede.  ‘I want to be a good Dom for you.’

‘Oh, Noah,’ you say and you scoot closer and put your head on his shoulder.  ‘I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky to have a Dom that knew what I needed like you do.’

He tilts his head to rest on yours and there is a comfortable silence between you.  ‘Alright,’ he says after a while, like he was giving in to himself.  ‘I spent so much time thinking about what you said last week.  About how I pushed you gently.’

‘I remember,’ you say. 

‘I am really bad at showing my feelings sometimes, and I don’t want that for us.  So, I just want to tell you that it meant so much to me,’ he says and you could tell that he found it difficult to say.  ‘I have a gift for you.’

You want to say many things, but you couldn’t decide on what before he was literally sitting on the floor in front of you.  He reaches for a small black box on the TV stand and hands it to you. 

‘Before you open it, let me explain,’ he says. 

‘Okay,’ you say and you slip down off the couch to sit with him on the floor.

‘I really hope you don’t think that this is too soon.  But I felt like maybe it was appropriate,’ he starts explaining.

You are still lost about what he was talking about so you just nodded encouragingly, trying to get your expression to say that you are listening.  ‘I trust you.’

He raises his eyebrows and smiles.  ‘Well, that’s the thing.  I trust you, too and this is to symbolize that.  His fingers twist together.  He is nervous.  ‘It’s a symbolic collar,’ he says looking at you shyly.  ‘It is meant to represent trust and respect, I feel we have that.’

You have an immediate image in your head of what the collar could look like.  ‘I completely agree,’ you say softly, wishing you could make him feel less nervous. 

‘So, it’s not really a collar in the traditional sense.  It’s a piece of jewellery that I put way too much thought into.  Something I thought would suit you and would be practical for wearing every day.  Because I would be honoured if you would wear it, at all.’

‘Can I look?’ you ask for permission and he simply nods.  You open the box and inside you see a silver chain.  It takes you a moment to recognise that it’s exactly the same as the chain he wears around his neck.  The difference is that it’s a lot smaller, like it’s meant to be a bracelet.  The clasp is also different.  You are deeply moved by this.  Your chest is already feeling tight with emotion.  ‘This is…’

He leans closer and he takes it out of the box.  ‘The clasp is adjustable, so you can either wear it as a bracelet or around your ankle.  I was thinking that I’ve never really seen you wear jewellery, so I thought an anklet would not annoy you.  But then I thought having something around your wrist could give you something to fidget with if you feel anxious.’

He rambles when he is nervous.  ‘I love it,’ you whisper, already blinking at tears in your eyes.  ‘It’s the same as your chain.’

His hand touches his own chain.  ‘Yes, so we match,’ he says with a blush. 

‘What does the collar mean?  Besides the trust and respect, I mean.’ you ask, wanting to be clear on everything.

‘It means whatever we say it means.  But for me, I guess it’s my way of saying that I am committed to this,’ he stares at you with those brown eyes.

You hold it in your hands and touch it and process his words.  Then you look up at him and hold the bracelet to your heart. 

He smiles softly at you, his whole face just so soft.  ‘Does it mean you’ll accept?’

‘Yes, Noah,’ you say nodding with small movements. 

‘Where do you want it, then I’ll put it on for you?’ he asks.

‘You choose,’ you say.  You quickly wipe at your tears. 

‘I think let’s put it on your wrist for now,’ he says and he carefully clasps it onto you when you hold out your arm and looks at it for a long time.  Then he wipes your tears with his thumbs.  ‘Thank you, my Peach.’

‘I must thank you,’ you say quickly.  ‘This is seriously one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me.  I cannot tell you how much I love it,’ you try to explain.

With his hand still on your cheek, he leans in and kisses you.  And the kiss is deep and needy and makes the oxygen leave your chest.  You feel it even in your toes.  A lot of things are being communicated without words.  You feel his gratefulness at your acceptance and you feel his relief.  You feel the trust and respect that the ‘collar’ around your wrist represents.  You try to tell him how much it meant to you via your lips touching his.

When the kiss ends and you see his face, you are sure you see some wateriness in his eyes too.  You grab his hands and say, ‘I actually have a gift for you too.  But mine is comically stupid now after this,’ you lift your wrist.

He huffs out a laugh.  ‘I’m sure I’ll love it,’ he says his face hopeful.

You give him a look and then crawl over to your bag and open the zip.  Uggggh.  ‘Please don’t judge me too harshly.’

‘I won’t,’ he laughs.  And then you hand him a value pack of three boxer briefs.  He looks for a second or two and then giggles.  You decide that it is one your favourite sounds in the world.  ‘They have peach emojis on them.’

You nod, ‘You will not believe how excited I was when I saw them.  I ordered them right after your birthday, they just took a moment to get here.  So, it’s a belated happy birthday gift.’

‘I love it so much,’ he says as he opens the package and takes one of them out to see the full glory.  ‘Thank you,’ he kisses you. 

You feel a little bashful as he smiles at his gift.  You touch your new adornment around your wrist and is overwhelmed by what it makes you feel. 

‘Are you sure you’re alright with me asking you to stay the night?  It feels risky for you to travel at night.  I don’t know, maybe I’m paranoid, but it makes me feel uneasy,’ he says still playing with the boxers in his hands, but he was looking you in the eye.

‘No, it’s fine, especially now that I’ve seen you have a bed,’ you joke. 

‘You are obviously free to change your mind, but I wanted you to know you’re welcome,’ he gets up from the floor and stands in front of you.  ‘I am going to get some ice from the kitchen for your water.’  He kisses your forehead.  ‘When I come back, you should please be kneeling on the floor right next to the bed.  You’ll see I put a pillow down for your knees.’  He smiles innocently and then he leaves.

You feel a thrill and get up to quickly undress, get your clothes put away in your bag and you head over to kneel next to his bed.  He has grey sheets, everything very tasteful.  You wait for quite long – it shouldn’t take this long to get ice.  But it gave you some time to breathe and settle down.  Where you were gripping your wrists behind your back, you kept feeling the collar. 

You hear him enter and you keep your eyes down.  He takes a few short moments and then he is in front of you, fully naked.  Gloriously naked and beautiful.  You feel his energy while you are looking at his shins.   ‘Tell me what the rules are, Peach.’

He hasn’t made any specific rules for the evening, so you go for the usual.  ‘I have to ask for permission to come.  I am not allowed to feel self-conscious.  I have to tell you if I am not comfortable with something.’

‘Good girl.  Stick out your tongue and look at me, please,’ he says. 

You raise your eyebrows a little at his instruction and do as you are told.  His arms are at his sides and his cock is hard and flexing in front of your face, but you are looking at his eyes. 

He grabs his cock after a few seconds and lightly tap it on your tongue twice.  ‘I don’t want you to do anything, just hold me in your mouth.’  He pushes himself into your mouth about halfway and stops.  You close your lips around him and he stays there, you are focusing on breathing through your nose.  He is heavy and firm on your tongue, twitching a little every now and then.  ‘That’s right.  You listen so well, just hold me there.’

You feel how your whole body responds to him.  You skin feels alive with tingles even though nothing is touching you, your nipples are hard.

‘You have been keeping to the rule of nothing but me goes inside your pussy, right?’ he asks.

You hum in response and try to nod with small movements.

‘Fuck that turns me on so much,’ he says his voice low.  ‘I’m going pull out,’ he slowly moves his hips backwards.  ‘Please use your fingers and show me how wet you are?’

You use two fingers to gather some of the mess you’ve made. 

‘Lovely,’ he says after looking.  ‘Get on the bed, quickly, legs nice and wide.’

You get on the bed and move backwards to make room for him and he gets on his stomach his head between your legs.  But he is touching your inner thighs and kissing at your lower stomach, he gets dangerously close to touching you where you want him, but he doesn’t.  He works his way up.  He is paying attention to your body, touching, stroking, squeezing, kissing.  He is on your stomach, and you bite your tongue through your insecure feelings and let him.

‘This body,’ he groans.  ‘I love this body and how you react when I touch you.’

When he reaches your chest, he takes his time exploring each one with the sweetest kisses and gentlest licks.  He loves to test how his hands fit over your breasts, you’ve noticed.  You are squirming with need underneath him. 

‘Are you alright, baby?’ he asks after a while.

‘Yes, I am just impatient,’ you groan out while struggling to keep still for him.

‘Impatient for what?’ he asks.

‘For you to touch me, I’ve waited so long,’ you say, knowing your voice is bordering on whining.

‘I am touching you,’ he says emphasising his words with a lustful swirl of his tongue around a nipple.

‘I mean inside me.  Inside my pussy,’ your hips cannot stop moving a little.

‘Soon, my sweet,’ he moves upwards and licks at your neck.  Goosebumps explode when his tongue goes inside the shell of your ear.

While you wait for him to give you what you want, you take the opportunity to touch him too.  You loved running your hands over his upper arms, where you could feel the lean muscle and how it connects to his bones in his shoulder.  His skin was smooth.  Your hand in his hair that was always soft and almost fluffy.  You loved running a foot over his leg, where you could feel the hair. 

‘I’m going to enter you now, and you are going to keep very still for me, alright?  No hips,’ he smiles when he waits for you to nod in confirmation that you understood him.

While he guides himself inside you, you watch his face and how he scrunches his eyes shut when the head is inside and you squeeze him.  You watch as his mouth hangs open in pleasure as he works himself deeper and then bites his bottom lip as he sinks all the way home.  You let out a sigh of relief.  ‘Finally,’ you whisper.

He exhales a small laugh.  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says as he rests his head next to yours.  You hear and feel him breathe.  ‘Do you feel how our bodies crave each other?’  he whispers.

‘I feel it,’ you say softly.  ‘Can we move?’

‘No, baby.  Just feel me all the way inside of you,’ he breathes. 

‘I think I can feel you throb,’ you say ready to start begging. 

‘Do you feel how I stretch you open?’ he asks.

‘Yes, it hurts a little bit,’ you say.

He pulls his head back.  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he says.

‘It always hurts a bit at first.  I’ll get used to you again,’ you explain trying to put him at ease. 

‘You’ll tell me if it’s too much?’ he says a frown between his eyebrows.

‘I will,’ you nod.

He leans down and kisses you slowly.  His tongue dragging lazily against yours.  Sucking on your lower lip.   Just so gently taking you apart with the tenderness and care that he conveys with his lips.  All while he is unmoving inside you.  He ends off with kisses on your nose and then forehead.  ‘I’m going to pull out now.’

He slowly pulls out and then sits back on his heels. 

‘Can you come clean my cock, baby?’ he asks.

You are surprised by what he says, but willing.  ‘With my mouth?’

He nods with an encouraging smile. 

So, you get closer and take in the fact that he was shiny and wet, covered in you.  You take his head in your mouth and suck him clean.  It was a strangely appealing mixture of bitter and salty.  He moans and rests his hand on your head in your hair as you concentrate on getting him clean.

‘How do we taste?’  he asks.

‘Good,’ you say looking up at him.

‘Come let me taste,’ he leans down to kiss you, running his tongue across yours like he wanted every bit of the taste he could get.  ‘Alright, now lay back.’

When he buries his face between your legs, the first things he does is push his tongue as deeply into you as he could, wanting to taste.

‘That is so goddamn good,’ he pants.  ‘Perfect combination.’

He spends time circling your clit with his tongue, sucking lightly and just devouring you.

‘I can’t decide what’s my favourite,’ he says as he positions his hips between your legs, holding his cock at the base to press it to your pussy and kind of flick it through your mess of your wetness and his saliva.  ‘Eating your pussy, or being inside your pussy,’ he finishes his sentence.

You try to process his words. 

‘But for now, I want to be inside, because I want to give you my cum.  I want to put it really deep inside of your body,’ as he says this, he pushes inside again slowly.  You are sure he is thinking about how you said it hurts a little.

You tilt your hips to accommodate him, wanting him as deep as what he is saying.  ‘Please just stay inside me.’   You don’t want to say out loud that you feel whole when he is in you.  Like every second without him feels like you are missing an essential part of your puzzle.

He starts thrusting shallowly, like he does when he doesn’t want to leave you, exactly what you need.  You feel him so deep sending sensations through your body that are too much, its all-consuming.  ‘Oh, baby,’ he almost sobs.  ‘You feel so fucking perfect.’

You are grabbing onto him, trying to pull him closer in every sense.  ‘Noah,’ in a whisper is all you can manage. 

‘I want you to try and cum from just me inside,’ he manages to get out a sentence while not faltering in his thrusts.  ‘Can we try?’

‘Yes,’ you moan out. 

‘Good girl,’ he exhales.  ‘Don’t worry about it, though.  There is no pressure.  We are just going to try.’  He comes almost to a stop to say this to you.  He kisses you a few times. 

He speeds up again, and its intense.  You hear your bodies come together and his ragged breathing.  ‘You feel so good,’ you say.  You wanted to try and explain what you did not understand yourself.  ‘I cannot put into words what it feels like when you are pushing into me.’

He slows again, to listen, to pay attention.  ‘It’s alright, baby.’

‘It should make me cum, it really should.  It feels amazing, it’s all over my body.  Its all-consuming,’ you tell him, and it’s all true.

‘You don’t have to explain, baby,’ he is frowning.

‘I want you to understand that it’s not your fault.  It’s not you doing anything wrong,’ you say, desperate for him to understand.

‘Oh, Peach,’ he smiles and kisses you.  ‘Thank you, for saying that.’  He moves a little faster.  ‘Now I need you to stop thinking.  Just feel.  Just concentrate on what you are feeling and stop analysing.’

‘I’ll try,’ and your voice hitches as he puts more energy into his movements again and it does not take long before you are clinging to his shoulders.

‘Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum,’ he grunts out.  His hips slow and his thrusts are so deep and his head had dropped to your shoulder.  ‘I am right against your cervix, do you feel me?’

‘Yes,’ you say, stroking his hair.  ‘I feel you.’

‘I hope I’m not hurting you, are you alright?’ he says out of breath.

You kiss his temple.  ‘No, baby, you’re not hurting me.’ 

‘Like this, we could not get any closer than we are,’ he says softly against your skin.  ‘We belong to each other in this moment.’

‘We do,’ you agree and you try to hold him as close as you can. 

After a few moments of him catching his breath, he starts grinding against you.  ‘I’m still so hard,’ he says. 

The way he moves, it stimulates you differently, not directly on your clit, but you feel something near it, or something you were not sure of.  But it feels so good.  ‘Right there, please.  That feels so nice.’

‘I tried to not touch myself either this last week,’ he admits suddenly.  ‘I have craved you all week.  I am not going anywhere.’

‘What do you mean you tried?’ you ask.

‘I couldn’t control myself one night.  I came my brains out thinking about how badly I wanted to bite you.  Bite your nipples and your clit.  Bite into the flesh of your tummy, your thighs,’ he says.

‘Oh my god,’ you moan.  ‘Tell me more.’

‘It’s after I got the updated list from the agency,’ he says.  ‘You were open to so many things.’

‘Noah, please can I cum?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he grunts.  ‘I’m right behind you.’

The build was beautiful.  You were right on the edge for so long, that when you finally went over, your back arches, your thighs shake.  And Noah was growling into your neck for the second time before you were completely finished.

You felt emotional again to the point where you had to blink tears away.   Noah laid down on top of you and he was breathing against your jaw.  ‘Thank you,’ he says first. 

You hug him close and wait while both of you catch your breaths. 

‘I’m going to get up in a minute,’ he mumbles.

‘You don’t have to,’ you say softly. 

‘I’m going to have to clean you up, I came in you twice,’ he explains. 

‘Don’t worry about that,’ you try to get him to stop worrying.  After a while you say, ‘The list from the agency?  It was so much easier to be open to things if I know it will be you guiding me through them.’

He is quiet for a while.  ‘I cannot tell you what that means to me.’

The two of you shower lazily, later on, quietly washing and touching and kissing under the warm spray.  You get into bed and cuddle close when you fall asleep, and you notice that Noah wants to touch the collar around your arm, like it reminded him that you are his in a way.

The next morning, he cooks you breakfast and you play silly games on his X-box and by the time you get home it was past midday.  You were already looking forward to next week.

Chapter 11

[mothman-writes]

Asking for Help

Hi friends!

Last night I opened Google Docs to find out that my google "cloud" or whatever had no space, and that means that I can no longer edit ANY of my files -- which means I currently cannot create any new content for Through The Lens.

Thankfully, there is a way around it, but it costs money.

I am making this post to ask you to donate to my ko-fi if you are able! My goal is to get at least $20 (us dollars) to get a year of Google One so I can continue backing my work up and working online.

Please only donate if you are able!!

Thank you

X Winnie

[mothman-writes]

Teaser 5 - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

From backstage, the venue hums with life — a living, breathing thing that pulses through the walls and into Noah's chest. There's something different in the air here, and not just because of the altitude. The energy feels sharper, more electric. There's a sense that something has changed, just a little.

Noah stands just off stage, waiting to go on. He rolls his shoulders, moves his neck side to side, cracks his knuckles — the same ritual he's performed dozens of times on this tour. But tonight feels different. The familiar pre-show nerves are there, but underneath them sits something steadier. Something solid.

He's ready. More ready than he has been this whole tour.

Because tonight, this isn't Lydia's story.

It's his.

[mothman-writes]

reblog to kiss a fanfic writer on the mouth

[mothman-writes]

Nutmeg Chapter Nine

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 4216

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 10

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @ami--gami @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse @cheyyyyr @respectfulrebel

WARNINGS: fluff, Noah taking care of you, cuddles, cuddlefuck, outercourse, piv, choking if you squint (please let me know if I need to add something)

Noah walks in the door literal seconds after you knelt down on the pillow.  You were not ready for him.

‘Peach?’ he says confusion clear in his voice.  ‘Everything alright?’

He drops his backpack by the door, like he always does, and walks closer to you.  You were trying to decide how to explain the situation to him. 

‘Baby?’ he asks again, stepping even closer. 

‘Do you remember that we are supposed to tell each other if we are not feeling well, if it will influence our meeting?’  You try to keep calm and keep your voice steady.

‘Of course,’ he says and he is quick to walk right up to you, concern on his face.

You nod a few times.  ‘Okay well, I have had a bad day.  And I don’t think I’m up for this tonight.’

‘That’s alright,’ he says immediately. 

‘I’m really sorry, I still wanted to send you a text to cancel, but the day just ran away with me and when I saw the time, I was too late,’ you explain and you already feel the tightness in your lungs when you try to inhale. 

‘Come here,’ he says softly and he grabs your hands to pull you up and he pulls you closer, his one hand on the back of your head, the other around your body.

Stunned for a second your arms hang limply at your sides, your head against his sternum.  You feel the warmth of his body and you smell that he is freshly showered.  But mostly you feel the peace start to drive away the chaos in your mind. 

‘Breathe with me,’ he whispers and you feel his chest expand and you try your best to follow his instruction.  But while the noise in your head is calming down, the relief you feel is the new emotion to overwhelm your senses and before you knew what happened, your arms were around his waist clinging to him.  You cry into his shirt, unable to stop yourself.

He rubs your back.  And he keeps the rhythm of steady breaths going against you.  He even very gently, with small movements, start rocking from side to side. 

‘It’s alright, baby.  Try to breathe with me,’ he soothes and as you feel calmer, as the tears start to subside you are able to breathe more steadily, and soon he is following your lead again. 

‘I’m okay,’ you mumble after a while.

‘Have you eaten today?’  he asks like he does not believe you.

‘Not really, but I feel a little nauseous,’ you reply.

‘Alright,’ he says.  ‘Let’s sit down and then you tell me what happened today.’  He drags you to the couch and he sits in the corner in such a way that you can still have your face buried in his chest.  ‘I’m listening.’

You tell him about the unpleasant incident at work without going into too much detail, mostly because reliving it too vividly might make you anxious again.  ‘So, later during the day, I had a panic attack or anxiety attack, I’m not sure.  It was to the point where I felt like I couldn’t breathe.’ 

He quietly continues to rub your back and listens. 

‘So, my friend at work, she wanted to call the ambulance, I just had to stop her.  But I did take the rest of the day off and came home and took a calming pill and then I fell asleep, I took the strong one.  I woke up late and I didn’t have time to even change clothes, I didn’t shower or get the candles ready.  And my head is pounding,’ you let it all out. 

He is quiet a little bit, waiting to see if you have more to say.  ‘Have you taken something for the headache?’

‘No,’ you shake your head.

‘Do you have something here?’ he asks. 

‘No, I’ve checked.’

‘I’m going to pick something up for you, get some food, alright?’ he is already getting up.  ‘I’ll be right back.  Is there anything else you need?’

‘You don’t have to do that.  I’ll be okay,’ you protest. 

‘I want you to take a nice warm shower while I’m gone, try to relax,’ ignoring your words, he stands next to the couch looking at you waiting for a response, but you are just staring at him.  ‘Did you hear me?’ he asks.

You nod.

‘Good girl,’ he leans down to kiss you and then turns to leave. 

You watch the door close behind him and hear his car start.  You try to process what just happened, but you found that the effort made your headache worse.  Obediently, you head to the bathroom where you take a shower and stand under the warm spray for a while, letting the heat reach your soul.  When you get out you already feel a bit better.  You always felt better after washing the day off you.

When you were dressed in your most respectable PJs you lay down on your bed, putting a pillow over your eyes to block the light.

After a while Noah is carefully lifting the pillow off your face.  ‘Can you sit up for me?’ he says softly. 

He puts a few pills in your hand and gives you a glass of cold water, and without questioning a thing, you throw the pills into your mouth and swallow with as little water as possible.  You wince at the bitterness in your mouth.  ‘Thank you,’ you say.

‘Don’t you want some more water?’ he asks.

‘I’m too nauseous, I need to keep the pills down,’ you explain. 

‘Alright,’ he says.  ‘Lay back down.  I’ll be right back.’

With the pillow over your eyes again, you don’t know what he is doing, but you hear him.  So, you concentrate on the little sounds of him moving around your house and try not to figure out what he was up to.

‘I think we are ready now,’ he whispers and you feel the bed dip with his weight as he sits down.  ‘It’s been ten minutes since you’ve taken the pill, I need you to eat something.’

‘I can’t,’ you protest. 

‘You don’t have to eat it all.  Two bites are all I ask,’ he negotiates with you.  ‘It’ll make the pills work better.’

You emerge from under the pillow and he holds out half a sandwich to you.  He kept it plain, which was perfect.  You look at his hopeful brown eyes and reluctantly take the bread from him and take a bite.  You chew slowly and swallow.

‘Good,’ he praises.  ‘One more bite.’

You take another bite and do the same.  Then you hand the rest back to him, and he puts it in a little container on the bedside table. 

Then you notice that the lighting was low and instead of the candles he had a small lamp on the bedside table, with the rest of your sandwich and more water.  ‘Now, you come here.’  He helps you climb under the covers and he gets in with you.  ‘Right here,’ he says as he lifts his arm and you climb right into him, snuggle as close as you could get.  ‘Before you get too comfortable, take this,’ he hands you the blindfold, the one you used on your first few meetings.  ‘To block the light.’

The rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of almost-sleep for a long time.  But the peace you felt along with the pills soon had you fast asleep on his chest.

You were a little confused when you woke up and pulled the blindfold down and you blinked repeatedly.  You seemed to have settled right next to Noah with the top of your head kind of in his armpit.  You were warm and comfortable and you breathe a sigh of relief that the pounding in your brain was gone. 

Noah had turned off the lights and he had your tablet balanced on his chest with a pillow, your headphones in his ears.  He was watching Lord of the Rings – you saw how the only light in the room was cast onto his face. 

When you move, Noah immediately takes the headphone from his ear.  ‘Hey.’

‘Hi,’ you smile at him.  ‘I just need the bathroom.’

‘Come back quickly, you are warm,’ he calls after you. 

When you climb back on the bed, he had the movie paused and he was sitting up.  ‘What time is it?’ you asked.

‘Still fairly early,’ he says.  ‘I wasn’t sleepy yet.  So, I went looking which streaming services you have.  I hope you don’t mind.’

You shake your head.  ‘Not at all.’

‘How’s your head?’ he pulls the covers up over both of your laps while you both lean back against the pillows.

‘A lot better,’ you say.  ‘I feel extremely groggy, though.  But, I think it’s the pills.’

‘Yeah, I got you the good stuff,’ he grimaces.  ‘My friend gets migraines all the time, and I called him to hear what he takes.  So, I was confident it would help.’

You think about him, making a call to find out how to best help you.  ‘That’s so nice of you.’

‘Here,’ he reaches over and hands you the rest of the sandwich you didn’t eat.  ‘You are probably hungry now.’

‘I am,’ you take it from him.  ‘Thank you so much.’  You open it, and gratefully take a big bite.

‘Jesse said he also gets nauseous from the pain, and to just let you be.  That you’ll eat when you feel better,’ he explains as he watches you devour the rest of the bread. 

‘Mmm,’ you agree and then swallow.  ‘I even know that eating something makes the medication more effective, but in the moment,’ you shrug.  ‘I guess, I kind of forget.’

‘It’s alright,’ he smiles.  He is quiet while you eat.  ‘Hey, did you get an email from the agency?’

‘I did,’ you nod, thinking of reading through it all and how it made you feel. 

He nods looking unsure.  ‘You don’t have to tell me the details but I am curious, what did they ask?’

‘Um,’ you think for a moment, leaning into him a little.  ‘They mostly asked if you were sticking to the rules.’

He glances at you sideways.  ‘And what did you say?’

‘That you have been a very good boy,’ you nudge his shoulder with yours.

He snorts.  ‘They asked me the same thing.  If you were keeping to the agreement and if I was still happy with the arrangement.’

‘Is it because we were at the two-month mark?’ you ask.

‘Yes, I knew it was coming,’ he confirmed. 

‘They asked me if I have used my safe word with you,’ you say almost shyly. 

‘I was also asked that,’ his voice soft.

‘Is it a bad thing that I haven’t?’ you ask.

He turns his head to look at you fully in the eye.  You think it was to see your face and gauge your emotion.  ‘It’s a good thing.’

‘Really?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he takes a deep breath.  ‘It means you have never felt unsafe with me.  It means that I have never pushed too far.’

You nod, thinking about what he said.  ‘What if I had used it, though?’

You see the thoughts whirl through his brain behind his eyes.  ‘It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.  It is there to be used, after all.  But if you had to use the safe word every time we met, for example, that would be a very bad sign.’

You let your head drop a little, feeling foolish for what you were about to say.  ‘When I read the question, it was the first time I thought about it, with regards to you.  But I must say when I was applying at the agency, I thought safe word use would be common.’

He frowns a little.  ‘Do you feel that I am not pushing you enough?’

You keep your head down.  You choose your words carefully.  ‘I thought the process would be harsher, honestly.  I think I was under the impression that having a Dom was, by definition, going to be harsh.’

The frown does not leave his forehead.  ‘Keep going.’

‘But, instead you pushed me gently.  You took me out of my comfort zone, while holding my hand,’ you want to look at him, but you just couldn’t get your eyes to lift.  ‘I am glad I have never wanted to use the safe word.’

When you finally glance up at him, his eyes were fixed of his hands, where he was playing with the drawstring of his hoodie.  When he glances up at you, his hair hanging in front of his face, he says softly, ‘You deserve to be guided gently to the place where you feel peace.  I really think pushing you too hard would have done more damage than good.’

‘You’re right,’ you agree immediately.  ‘You knew that from the beginning.  Even when I didn’t.’

‘Thank you for saying that,’ his voice barely audible. 

You can almost see that there is more that he wants to say, but he keeps his eyes down a little bit longer and swallows what he wanted to add.  ‘I mean it.  You were exactly what I needed.’

His eyes are still not looking at you and you begin to worry that you have said too much, or maybe said something he didn’t want to hear.  Your brain started whirling with thoughts.

‘Did they also ask you to revise your list of things you are willing to try?’ he says after too long, changing the subject a little. 

‘Yes, they did,’ you confirm with him.  ‘Do they ask you that too?’

‘Yes, but I will receive a list from them on our compatible acts,’ he says and he finally glances up a little.  ‘From there I can make new plans.’  He smiles, while looking pensive.

You decide to change the subject completely to lighten the mood or just get rid of the feeling in your stomach.  ‘So, Lord of the Rings?’ you say in a light tone like you are teasing him a little.

‘Yeah,’ he huffs out a laugh and you see his shoulders relax just a bit.  ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

You nod.  ‘I’ve only seen the movies once a long time ago.  But they were really good.’

‘Do you want to watch with me?’ he asks with such a vulnerable hopefulness on his face.

‘I’d love to,’ you say.  ‘I just need to go brush my teeth.’

He looks a little lost for a moment. 

‘Hey, have you eaten something?’ you ask him. 

He nods.  ‘I made myself a sandwich too.’

You think for a moment.  ‘I have a brand-new toothbrush if you also want to brush yours?’

‘That would be nice,’ he gets up off the bed and follows you into the bathroom. 

He opens the packaging of the bright pink toothbrush and he holds it out to you so you can squeeze some toothpaste onto it after you did your own.  You stand next to each other, stealing glances in the mirror while you are trying to brush with dignity.  Without the toothpaste dripping down your chin. 

When you were getting back to bed he says, ‘Let me get the pillows ready for you.’  He packs them and you lay down on one side of the bed.  You just watch as he executes his plan which ended up with you on your back, the tablet balanced on your thighs on pillows.  Noah cuddles into you, resting his head on your chest with his arm around you, one leg over yours. 

You did not expect it, but it was nice.  So good to feel him hold on to you.  ‘You really don’t have to start the movie from the beginning.  You carry on.  I am going to fall asleep probably anyway.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes after protestations.  ‘One day, we need to watch all of them in full.  While you are not drugged up.’

‘With snacks, please,’ you say.

‘Definitely,’ he agrees, nodding against your body and then he settles in.  His breath is so hot that you feel it through the top you have on.  His foot slowly moving back on forth against your leg.

You feel unsure of what to do.  You end up playing with his hair almost absent-mindedly while trying to pay attention to the movie.  But Noah was being very distracting.  You are pretty sure that he falls asleep before you do.

You are not sure what woke you, but it was either the light of the morning sun or Noah very lightly grinding against you.  You are sure that he is still asleep and that he is doing it without knowing.  His breathing is still so steady and deep.  You let yourself feel the comfort and peace of waking up with him holding your back tightly to his chest.

When he nuzzles into your neck and starts giving you small kisses you knew he was awake and you feel like you can push back a little bit where you can feel how hard he is.

‘Mmm, you feel so good,’ his voice croaks as he softly speaks.  ‘But I need to pee.’

You laugh and turn your head.  ‘Well, hurry, because I do too.’

He kisses right at the nape of your neck and get out of the bed and walks stiffly to the bathroom.  You get up and head to the door for your turn.  Noah did not close the door, so you just politely stand back. 

‘Noah?’ you say after a while.

‘I can’t.  I am hard,’ he says.  ‘I can’t pee when I’m hard.’

‘Can I jump the line?’ you ask.

‘Yeah,’ he tucks himself back in and moves out of the way.  He stays in the room but turns his back.

You don’t have time to think about it.  You feel lighter and better, and wash your hands.  ‘Is there something I can do?’

‘No, you’ll make it worse,’ he winks at you.  ‘Go back to bed and wait for me.  I’ll be there soon.’

You climb back in bed and pull the covers up to get warm and comfy again. 

It’s not long before he climbs in right behind you and wiggles closer to your body.  He meticulously moves your hair over your shoulder so her could have access to your neck where he left lazy kisses.  ‘I hope it’s alright that I stayed the night.  I wanted to be sure you were fine.’  His voice is still gravelly and you find it extremely attractive.

You nod and hold his hand that was resting on your hip.  ‘It’s fine.  Thank you for taking care of me.’  You feel him against you again, hard and very lightly grinding against you. 

‘I love taking care of you,’ he whispers.  His hand works under your top and his fingers touch and squeeze across your belly while he is making his way to your chest.  He pays attention to your nipple by lightly pinching, and touching and he does it so slowly, taking his time.  ‘I also love when your hips do this.’

Then you realise that you are meeting his movements by grinding back into him just a little.  And you feel so relaxed in the moment that you just keep going and don’t feel ashamed about your body’s reaction.  ‘You are so hard,’ you mumble, your breath already faster.

‘Mmm, I am aching to feel you,’ he mumbles back his kisses all over your neck and shoulder still happening.  ‘Can you take your bottoms off for me?  All the way off?’

You hum an affirmative and get yourself bare as quickly as you can manage and you get back against him.  His hand is now all over you newly exposed skin and he growls behind you. 

‘How’s your pussy, Peach?’ his voice is so low.

‘Needy,’ you answer.

‘Are you wet?’  he asks.  ‘Take your fingers and check for me?’

You do what he asks and feel between your legs, you touch and get some on your fingers and then you show him.  He grabs your wrist gently and guides your fingers closer to his mouth.  He sucks them clean. 

‘Mmm, not bad, but you are not ready yet,’ he says.  You feel him move and struggle to get his boxers off.  He hands them to you and you take them and just hold on, not sure what he meant by that.  You feel his cock hard against you and the ache in you grows. 

‘Can you please?’ you ask before you think too much.  Your hips were so desperate to move.

You hear the smile in his voice when he asks, ‘Can I please do what?’

‘Please put it inside me?’ you ask.  ‘I need it.’

‘If you need it, you need to get wetter, Peach,’ he teases you by grinding harder against you.  ‘Lift you one leg a little,’ he instructs.  ‘Push back, arch your back for me, please.’

You do as you are told and you feel as his cock slides between your legs, so close.  ‘Noah,’ you whine.

‘Drop your leg, there you go.  Grip me with your thighs.’  He slowly thrusts himself between your thighs and right up against your pussy.  ‘Now I can feel when you are wet enough.’

‘I’m sure I’m wet enough, Noah,’ you argue. 

‘No, I don’t think so,’ his voice so calm as he disagrees.  He keeps thrusting shallowly.  ‘I’m going to slide easily in a while, as soon as you are wet enough.  Isn’t it amazing that your body can do that?  That your pussy knows what it wants and will get so wet for me?’

You just moan in frustration.

‘Do you want my cock, Peach?’ he asks like he feels sorry for you.

‘Please,’ you beg.

‘Not yet,’ he answers you.  ‘Oh, I think I feel it.  Oh yeah, that’s it.  Oh, Peach.  You are slick is covering my dick.  Do you feel how much easier I can move now?’

You start to lift your leg so he can guide himself inside of you. 

‘No, keep your thighs squeezed together,’ he says as he works his thrusts closer to you pussy and soon he is tucked between your lips sliding up and down the whole length of you.  And then his head pushes right up against your clit with each thrust.

‘Oh my god,’ you moan out reaching back to grab onto his hip.  ‘Right there, Noah.  Please.’

‘Am I getting your clit?’ he asks his mouth near your ear now. 

‘Yes,’ you sob. 

‘So, you don’t need me inside anymore?’ he asks.

‘No, I do,’ you whine. 

‘But then I won’t touch that clit anymore,’ he pouts. 

‘No, please stay right there,’ you ask, fighting your own brain and your body. 

‘I’ll tell you what.  I am staying right here, until you cum for me.  And then I’ll slide into that freshly orgasmed pussy.  Nice and deep,’ his breath is faster and he is thrusting harder and if you squeeze your thighs just right, his cock hits you exactly where it makes pleasure radiate through your body.

His hand comes up again, over your stomach and between your breasts and come to rest at the base of your neck.  Not for a moment were you nervous, you knew he wouldn’t do anything you did not want.  He uses the arm around you to pull you even closer to him.  It felt secure.  It felt safe.  ‘Noah,’ you whisper.  ‘You feel so good.  Please don’t stop.’

‘I won’t,’ he whispers back. 

‘Do I need permission?’ you ask.

‘You do,’ he says.  ‘But you have it, baby.  Cum for me, please.  I can’t wait to get inside you.’

‘I’m so close,’ you say as your hand comes up to grip his that was resting on your neck.  The tingle starts and spreads and then the powerful pleasure pulses throughout your body and while you were still processing how good it felt, he changes his angle and he thrusts into you.

‘Pull you knees up a bit to your chest,’ he pants.  ‘Good girl.’

Overwhelmed by the new sensations that felt incredible on top of the tail end of your orgasm your body is shaking and your head tilts back towards Noah and he wastes no time getting his face next to yours. 

‘Please kiss me?’ he asks.

While he is thrusting into you with fast and firm movements, when you turn your head towards him the kiss you share is so sweet and tender.  He moans into your mouth.  You feel the need in his body communicated by his tongue, those lips against yours.  ‘I love when you are this deep,’ you say quietly.

He smiles.  ‘You are so warm and tight.  It feels like you were made for my cock.  It’s too perfect,’ his eyes are squeezed shut.  ‘I’m not going to last.’

‘It’s okay, baby,’ you try to soothe him.  ‘Cum inside me.’

‘Christ,’ he moans and he pushes in really deep and stays there as he pulses inside you.  ‘Oh Peach,’ he sighs.  ‘My sweet, Peach.’

Chapter 10

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Six I: Revealed - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This Contains 18+ Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: As the band travels to Denver, big secrets come out between playful teasing and heated challenges. Meanwhile, Noah and Talia do their best to steal moments together.

Warnings: Tour life, soft domestic moments, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, subtle touches, found family feels, alcohol mentions, drinking mentions, everyone loves Talia, background Nick and Jolly chaos, emotional intimacy, a little angst if you squint, yearning, they are so soft for each other.

Word Count: 4,784

Tag list: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami-gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Six I: Revealed

One

Noah Sebastian

November 19th, 2022

It’s the absence of Talia that Noah notices first. He’d fallen with her curled safely in his arms. But now? He misses her soft breathing, misses her warmth. 

He stirs, letting out a soft groan as he shifts under the covers. He blinks his eyes open, rubbing at them slightly. And then he begins to search the room for Talia.

When he finally spots her, she’s curled up in the corner chair, smiling wide at her phone. She types something quickly, and then bites her lip. She looks young like this — unguarded, safe, like nothing bad has ever happened to her. 

“Shouldn’t you be cuddling?” Noah asks, sitting up and smiling sweetly at her. 

Talia stands and crosses the room in six steps, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “Well, lover boy, we leave for Denver in thirty minutes.” 

Noah leans up and captures her lips in another kiss, this one designed to tempt her back to bed. He reaches forward and caresses the back of her thigh through her pants.

“Just a little longer?” He murmurs when they pull away. His thumb grazes the flannel material again. “Please?” 

Talia gives in, giving him a playful roll of her eyes before climbing over him and into the bed. She immediately finds her place in his arms, which he wraps around her protectively. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Noah lets out a soft sigh.

"Five more minutes," Noah murmurs against her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with sleep.

Talia hums contentedly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest through his shirt. "Five more minutes and then Nick's going to come banging on the door wondering where we are."

"Let him," Noah says, tightening his arms around her. "I'm not ready to share you with the world yet."

She tilts her head up to look at him, and there's something soft and unguarded in her expression that makes his chest tight. "You don't have to share me. I'm still going to be here when we get to Denver."

"Promise?"

"Promise." She seals it with a kiss, sweet and lingering.

A sharp knock at the door makes them both freeze.

"Yo! Lovebirds!" Nick's voice carries through the door, muffled but unmistakably amused. "Van leaves in ten!"

Talia dissolves into giggles against Noah's chest, and he can't help but laugh too, even as he groans in frustration.

"There's your five minutes," she says, already starting to untangle herself from him.

Noah catches her wrist gently — the injured one that's finally healing — and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. "Denver better be worth it."

Two

They join everyone in the lobby a few minutes later, still in their pajamas, hand in hand. Matt stands in the middle of the room, ticking off a checklist of the entire crew, his voice carrying that efficient tour manager tone that means business. 

When he’s reached the end, he looks up, “Alright everybody, let’s roll.”

Noah leads Talia out to the van, carrying her duffle bag for her. He’s quietly aware of how much he cares for her, how much he looks out for her, but he doesn’t mind. He welcomes it, if anything, because she’s part of what matters. 

They climb in last, fingers still intertwined, intending to sit together. But when they get there, Noah finds that the only two remaining seats are separate — one in the middle row and one in the back.  His heart drops into his stomach.

Beside him, Nick snickers, “Oops.”

Talia presses a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his skin,  “Next time.” 

With easy grace, Talia slips into the back row and into the empty spot between Jolly and Nick. Noah watches her settle in, catching the way Nick immediately shifts to give her more room, how Jolly offers her the good pillow without being asked. His chest tightens with something he can't quite name — pride, maybe, or gratitude that his friends care about her too.

Noah takes his cue and settles into the empty seat in front of her, though he can't shake the feeling that the guys might have orchestrated this on purpose. The knowing looks they'd exchanged while loading their bags certainly suggested as much.

When he's settled, the van rumbling to life beneath them, he pulls out his phone and earbuds. He leans back into the seat, hyper aware of Talia just inches behind him. He can hear her soft laugh at something Jolly says, can smell the faint trace of her perfume.

He pulls up the thread between him and Talia, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Noah: :(

From behind him, he hears her phone buzz against her leg. There's a pause, then he hears her hum once — sad and sympathetic — followed by the soft tap of her fingers against her screen.

Her message pops up seconds later.

Talia <3: I'm sorry :(

Noah's lips twitch despite his disappointment. He scrolls through his music, finding the playlist he'd worked on in stolen moments yesterday — songs that reminded him of her, of them, of the way she made him feel like he was coming alive for the first time. He sends it without a message, then closes out of the thread before he can overthink it.

A moment later, he feels a gentle pressure against the back of his seat. Talia's knees, pressing against the cushion where his back rests. It's subtle enough that no one else would notice, but it sends warmth spreading through his chest.

The van pulls onto the highway, and Noah closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the feeling of her presence just behind him, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch.

About thirty minutes into the drive, Noah has settled into the rhythm of the road — the steady hum of tires on asphalt, the muffled conversations around him, the playlist flowing through his earbuds. Then he feels her reach forward.

Her fingers slip into his hair at the nape of his neck, cool against his warm skin. She starts slow, just barely grazing the shorter hairs there, before her fingers tangle gently into the longer strands. It's such a simple touch, but it sends a shiver down his spine that has nothing to do with the snow that’s falling outside.

Noah fights to keep his breathing steady as she plays with his hair, her fingernails occasionally scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that makes his eyes flutter closed. He can hear faintly over his music that she's talking to Nick, her voice animated and bright.

Curious — and reluctant to miss anything when she sounds this excited — he pulls out one of his earbuds and begins listening in.

"...went to Fort Hayes with us. She's a brilliant artist. I think you'd just adore her," Talia chirps out, clearly proud to be showing off whoever it is. There's something in her tone that Noah's never heard before — a kind of nostalgic affection, like she's sharing a piece of her past that she holds dear.

Nick hums once quickly before responding, "Fort Hayes?"

"Arts school I went to for high school." Talia informs him, and Noah feels her fingers still in his hair for a moment, as if she's suddenly aware she might be giving away more than she intended. "It's where I learned most of what I know about photography."

Noah turns in his seat, twisting around to peer at her with wide eyes. The movement makes her hand fall away from his hair, and he immediately misses the contact. "You went to an arts school?"

Talia blinks at him, looking genuinely surprised. "Did I not tell you that?"

Noah and Nick shake their heads in perfect sync, and Noah watches as Talia lets out a light laugh, a pink blush creeping up her neck like she's a little embarrassed about the fact she'd somehow never mentioned this.

"I went to an arts school," she repeats, waving her free hand in a gesture that's almost dismissive, like it's no big deal. "We could take pathways, so naturally I graduated from the photography pathway with a focus on visual storytelling."

The casual way she says it doesn't fool Noah. He can see the pride in her eyes, the way her shoulders straighten slightly when she talks about it. This matters to her.

Jolly, who's been quietly listening while scrolling through his phone, turns to her with his brows furrowed but a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "You're forgetting the best part, in my opinion."

And then Talia literally shrinks into herself. Her shoulders hunch forward and her eyes cast down to her sneakered feet. 

“I had a secondary pathway in music — particularly music composition.” 

Noah hears himself let out an incredulous laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He had always noticed Talia had a deeper relationship with music than she let on — it showed in the songs she played for them, how she somehow made her photos feel like they were music — but he hadn’t expected that. 

Nick is the one who chimes in next, “You’re just full of surprises, T.” 

“Maybe so,” Talia squeaks out, scrunching her nose up a little. “I like to think I’m a pretty open book, though.” 

Noah can see the discomfort in her eyes, the slight shake in her hands. Whatever this is about, she’s not ready to share — not here, not like this.

“So, Denver.” Noah says, cutting through the silence that’s settled in their corner of the van. He shifts in his seat to face forward again, trying to give Talia room to breathe. “Didn’t you say there was something you wanted to check out Tals?” 

He can practically hear her relax behind him.

“Oh yeah.” Talia’s voice is quiet now but steadier, “There’s this place called Chubby’s I try to go to every time I’m in Denver. It has incredible burritos, they’re seriously life changing.”

Nick perks up at the mention of food, “Life changing? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’ve been eating there for most of my life, you think I’m lying?” Talia teases, and Noah can hear the smile returning to her voice. “They’re not for the faint of heart, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jolly asks, finally looking up from his phone.

“Spicy,” Talia says simply, and there’s something mischievous in her tone that makes Noah grin despite himself.

As the conversation shifts to food and Denver and friendly challenges about spice tolerance, Noah feels a familiar pressure against the back of his seat — Talia's knees again. But this time, there's also the gentle brush of her fingers slipping back into his hair, a quiet thank you that no one else can see.

Noah closes his eyes and lets himself sink back into the feeling of her touch, the crisis averted, the drive stretching out peacefully ahead of them.

Three

Noah shifts in his seat for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to find a position that doesn't make his lower back ache. Two hours of sitting ramrod straight, hyper-aware of every brush of Talia's fingers in his hair, every slight pressure of her knees against his seat back, has left him wound tight as a spring.

His neck is stiff from the awkward angle he's been holding it at, trying to catch glimpses of her in his peripheral vision. His left leg has gone slightly numb from staying in the same position for so long, afraid that any major movement might disrupt the tenuous connection they've maintained throughout the drive.

But it's not just physical discomfort — it's the constant, low-level frustration of wanting to turn around and talk to her properly, to see her face when she laughs, to touch her back in all the small ways that have become natural between them.

When the van starts to slow and he sees the familiar blue and white signs of a gas station ahead, relief floods through him. Not just because he can finally stretch his legs, but because maybe — finally — he can get five minutes alone with her.

The second the van comes to a stop, the entire crew breathes a sigh of relief. The satisfying sound of popping joints and stretching limbs fills the small area as everyone loads out one by one. 

Talia is waiting for him just outside the van when he gets out, already stretching a hand out to him. He takes it and pulls her close to whisper in her ear.

His lips brush against the shell of her ear and he can feel her shiver against him, “Ten minutes, then meet me on the side of the gas station.” 

“Okay.” 

With that, he lets her go. She scrambles towards the front doors, Noah casually following behind. 

Ten minutes later, he finds Talia on the side of the building. She’s leaning against the concrete wall, staring up at the clouds. He sets the bag of snacks — some for him, some for her — beside her feet before caging her in with his arms. She looks at him now, as though he’s the most important thing in this world.

She certainly makes him feel that way.

He’s faintly aware of his voice as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” Talia’s voice is barely above a whisper when she says it. 

Noah leans down, brushing their lips together. Slowly, almost teasingly so, he closes the gap between them. Talia sighs into the kiss, like this is what she’s needed for hours. Like breathing for the first time in days. 

His hand comes up to cup her cheek, hold her there. He silently hopes this kiss holds as much meaning to her as the first, hopes that each kiss to come grows in meaning. 

When they pull away, Talia brushes their noses together before Noah sinks lower. He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling softly. She smells of honey and strawberries. 

Talia’s fingers card through his hair once more, like they were always meant to be there. He sighs into her skin. Relief. 

They stay like that for a long moment — Noah breathing her in, Talia's fingers gentle in his hair, both of them finally able to exist in the same space without pretense or distance. The sounds of the gas station fade into background noise: the hum of traffic, the distant chatter of their bandmates inside, the mechanical beep of gas pumps.

"We should probably get back," Talia murmurs eventually, though her fingers don't stop their movement through his hair.

Noah groans softly against her neck, not ready to let go. "Five more minutes."

She laughs, the sound vibrating against his chest. "They're going to come looking for us."

He knows she's right, but he steals another moment anyway, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear before finally pulling back. When he meets her eyes, they're bright and soft, like she's holding onto this moment too.

"Come on," he says, reaching down to grab the bag of snacks. "But I'm sitting with you for the rest of the drive."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Talia asks, grinning as she pushes off the wall.

"Both," Noah replies, taking her hand and leading her back toward the van.

When they round the corner, they find most of the crew already loading back in. Matt's doing his usual headcount, and Nick catches sight of them approaching.

"There they are," Nick calls out. "Was starting to think you two got lost."

"Just needed some air," Noah says easily, but he doesn't let go of Talia's hand.

As they approach the van, Folio hops out of the back row. "Somebody switch with me," he announces. "My back is killing me, and I need more legroom."

Noah doesn't hesitate. "I'll take the back."

Within minutes, they're settling into the back row together, Talia curling against Noah's side with his arm wrapped around her. The relief of finally being close, of not having to steal touches or settle for brief contact, settles over them both like a warm blanket.

As the van pulls back onto the highway, Noah presses a kiss to the top of Talia's head and feels her smile against his chest.

Four

Hours later, after Noah and Talia have both dozed off, Noah is woken by the jarring screech of brakes and the sudden lurch of the van coming to a stop. His eyes crack open, immediately squinting against the harsh glare of snow-filtered afternoon light streaming through the windows. The familiar sounds of a city filter in — distant traffic, car doors slamming, the muffled voices of people bundled against the cold.

Denver.

Around him, the van comes alive with movement. Seat belts click, joints pop as everyone stretches, and there's already the usual chatter about room assignments — though it rarely ever changes from city to city.

Noah's attention drifts down to Talia, still fast asleep against his shoulder, her breathing deep and even. Her hair has fallen across her face in soft waves, and there's a small crease on her cheek from where it pressed against his shirt. She looks so peaceful that for a brief moment, he considers just carrying her inside, letting her sleep through the chaos of unloading and check-in.

But then he thinks of how disorienting it might be to wake up somewhere completely new, with no memory of how you got there. She'd probably panic.

Gently, he brushes the strands of hair away from her face, his fingertips barely grazing her warm skin. Then he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo.

"Tal, we're here," he murmurs against her skin, his voice still rough with sleep.

Talia's eyes flutter open slowly, like she's swimming up from somewhere deep. When they focus on his face, her brows knit together in confusion.

"Denver?" she asks, her voice thick and drowsy.

"Yeah, baby," Noah confirms, the endearment slipping out before he can stop himself.

For a second, a shock of fear runs through him — maybe it's too much, too soon. They haven't defined anything yet, haven't talked about what they are to each other. But Talia only blushes, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks, and shifts to sit up straighter.

"Alright," she says, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. "Let's do this."

They climb out of the van hand in hand, the Colorado cold hitting them immediately after hours in the heated vehicle. Noah reluctantly lets go of her hand only long enough to shoulder both their bags, then reaches for her again as they follow the others across the snow-dusted parking lot toward the hotel's glass entrance.

The lobby is warm and buzzing with the low hum of travelers, the scent of coffee and something vaguely floral from the front desk arrangements. Matt is already there, quietly chatting with the hotel receptionist as she processes their group check-in, his tour manager efficiency in full swing.

Within minutes, plastic key cards are being distributed and everyone is heading toward the elevators, the familiar dance of another hotel, another city, another show.

The walk through the hallway feels longer than it normally should, their footsteps muffled by worn carpet that's seen too many travelers. Maybe it's because Noah is dreading losing his private world with Talia — that cocoon they've built in stolen moments and shared glances. Out here, they're part of the group again, subject to scrutiny and assumptions.

Noah and Talia join the guys in their shared room upstairs. The room is older, as though it was last renovated in the seventies and left to fade quietly ever since. Shaggy carpet that may have once been a pretty orange lines the floor, now dulled to an indefinable brownish hue. The air smells faintly of old cigarettes and industrial cleaning products. There's a pull-out couch in this room — which means that no one has to sleep on the floor or on a cot.

Nick has already claimed the couch, his duffel bag split open like a mouth across the cushions. He's setting up his things when they enter, and looks up to shoot them a soft smile that suggests he knows exactly what's about to happen.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Folio chimes in first from the bed, his voice carrying that particular brand of mischief that makes Noah's stomach drop.

"We already decided you two would take the other bed," he says, flopping down onto the bed closest to the balcony with a satisfied bounce, "since you're kissing buddies now and everything."

Noah can feel his eyes go wide, and his breath catches in his throat like he's just been sucker-punched. It's one thing that they know — he'd been wondering when they’d say something. It's a whole other thing to hear it so explicitly, stated so simply.

 They haven't even acknowledged it themselves — haven't talked about what any of this means. 

He swallows hard, heat creeping up his neck as the silence stretches.

Because somehow Talia always manages to say the right thing, she chimes in with perfect ease. "Thanks, guys."

Her voice is steady, grateful even, like Folio just offered them extra towels instead of calling out their entire situation. Noah notices how pink her cheeks are despite her composure as she gently leads him to the bed, her fingers warm around his wrist. He's dimly aware that she's pushing him to sit on the edge of the mattress, but he's too caught up in studying the barely contained smile gracing her lips — like she's pleased rather than embarrassed.

Talia leans just enough so their eyes meet, close enough that he can see the gold flecks in her irises. "Earth to Noah."

Noah snaps out of it, shaking his head to clear the screaming thoughts coursing through his head — thoughts about what the guys think, about how easily she accepted it all.

"Yeah," he manages, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "Thanks, guys."

When he looks up, he finds that all the guys are looking at Talia with a kind of awe that he’s never seen before. He knows why, though he hates to admit it — Lydia had never been grateful for something like this. She expected it, and often demanded it. Talia would have slept on the floor — and has — if it meant being in the same room as them. As him. 

Nick offers her a small smile, “If he starts hogging the bed, just let me know and I’ll switch with you.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Talia laughs out, eyes crinkling in the corners.

A warmth floods through him. So this is what acceptance feels like. He isn’t sure what he was expecting — the band, his brothers, had already been so welcoming to Talia, so why wouldn’t they open their arms a little wider?

Jolly speaks up from his spot on the bed, “I was thinking that we’d chill for an hour and then go get Chubby’s and drinks. Sound good to everyone?”

Hums of agreement fill the space, with Talia and Nick claiming in unison that they’re starving. 

Noah could get used to this, this familial ease.

Maybe he will. 

Five

Two hours later, they all reconvene in the hotel room, entering in two groups with the satisfied exhaustion that comes from battling Denver's snow-slicked streets. Jolly, Noah, and Talia arrive first, stamping their boots on the threadbare welcome mat and shaking snow from their hair. The rich, spiced scent of Chubby's burritos fills the stale hotel air immediately — cumin and cilantro and something smoky that makes everyone's mouth water.

Folio and Nick burst through the door ten minutes later, cheeks red from the cold, carrying two bottles of tequila that catch the overhead light like amber glass, and Nick hefting a case of beer under his other arm.

Noah raises his eyebrow when he sees the bottles, a grin tugging at his lips. "Tequila?"

"I figured, 'why not?'" Folio shrugs, unwinding his scarf as he claims the overstuffed suede chair that's seen better decades. The chair wheezes under his weight. "Maybe it'll loosen us up a little. Plus, Nick is an absolute beast at Mario Kart when he's drunk on tequila."

"Is that true?" Talia asks, laughing as she helps Jolly unwrap the foil-wrapped burritos, the steam rising from them like incense. Her cheeks are still pink from the cold, and she's practically glowing with contentment.

They all find seats in a loose circle — some cross-legged on the beds, others sprawled on the carpet like they're kids at story time. The room feels warmer now, filled with the sounds of crinkling foil and satisfied sighs as everyone takes their first bites.

As Folio cracks open the first beer with a satisfying hiss, he and Noah launch into the story of their infamous gaming tournament, their voices overlapping with the comfortable rhythm of old friends retelling a favorite tale.

"—so you'd take a shot every time you won," Noah continues, gesturing with half a burrito, "and by the end of it Nick was so blackout drunk he'd fallen off Rainbow Road for the fifteenth consecutive time." He dissolves into laughter, the sound mixing with everyone else's as they picture it.

Drinks are passed around — some beers, mostly tequila — and conversation begins to flow easily. 

Eventually, after a lull, Jolly turns to Talia.

“So how’d you learn about this place, anyway?” He asks, taking a slow sip of beer. 

Talia swallows a bite before making a face — like she’d rather not answer the question, “My dad’s from Denver. He loves this place.”

“You have a dad?” Folio blurts out, already a little tipsy. He dissolves into giggles, “ “Sorry, that came out weird. It’s just — hard to picture you with, like, a soccer-dad situation.”

Noah’s attention immediately zeroes in on Talia, on how her head dips down and how a soft, embarrassed flush covers her cheeks. She laughs, but it doesn’t carry. Not like it usually does. 

“We haven’t spoken since I was sixteen. He lives out here.” 

Noah stiffens. This story is a little too close to home. He takes a deep swig of his drink and then sets it aside, reaching forward to run his fingers through her hair. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering a little. 

Nick changes the subject with the practiced ease of someone who has had to diffuse countless tense situations, “You ready to get your ass kicked in Mario Kart?”

“Are you even drunk enough?” Talia teases, leaning back against the bed. There’s mischief in her eyes when she says it. 

“Not nearly enough,” Folio objects, standing and crossing the room to dresser that they’ve turned into a makeshift bar, “I think we should do shots.”

The collective groan that follows is theatrical and immediate, but it’s the particular kind of groaning that comes with rolling eyes and barely suppressed smiles — the sound of people who are absolutely about to do the thing their complaining about. Noah catches Talia’s eyes to see his own amused resignation reflected in them. 

Nick stands up from the carpet, helping by gathering glasses — ones they’ve collected through cities. The collection is mostly actual glass, some plastic, one definitely from a gas station, but it tells a story. Shots of tequila are poured — though Folio’s definition of a shot is questionable. 

The shots are passed around in ceremony, each person accepting their glass like they’re being handed either salvation or doom.

Folio raises his glass, his expression serious despite alcohol-flushed cheeks.  “To tour.”

“To tour,” Everyone echoes.

“Seriously,” Jolly chimes in before everyone can raise their glasses to their lips, “this has been a special one.”

“It really has.” Noah agrees, smiling. He catches Talia’s eyes again, and she beams at him. 

Slowly, they raise the glasses to their lips, and as everyone else joins in, they take the shot. When the glasses come down, Talia’s face is scrunched. Jolly coughs, shaking his head a little.

“Hey Folio? Fuck you, man.” Noah laughs out. 

The laughter that follows is immediate and infectious, spreading through the room like wildfire. Folio beams, clearly proud of himself. 

Slowly, the laughter settles down and the burn in their throats fades into a warm glow. There’s a looseness to them now,  a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with this moment, this collection of people who've somehow become family on the road. 

Outside, Denver's snow continues to fall against the hotel window, but inside, wrapped in the golden light of cheap lamps and the comfortable chaos of friendship, everything feels exactly as it should be.

---

Because this is a lengthier chapter, I split it up in to two parts. I hope that's okay. Part two will be out next week, on Friday!

As always, a special thanks to Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they do for the fic.

Feel free to message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Five | Chapter Six II

Masterlist

You can find the offical playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

[mothman-writes]

Teaser 4 - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

They climb in last, fingers still intertwined, intending to sit together. But when they get there, Noah finds that the only two remaining seats are separate — one in the middle row and one in the back.  His heart drops into his stomach.

Beside him, Nick snickers, “Oops.”

Talia presses a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his skin,  “Next time.” 

With easy grace, Talia slips into the back row and into the empty spot between Jolly and Nick. Noah watches her settle in, catching the way Nick immediately shifts to give her more room, how Jolly offers her the good pillow without being asked. His chest tightens with something he can't quite name — pride, maybe, or gratitude that his friends care about her too.

Noah takes his cue and settles into the empty seat in front of her, though he can't shake the feeling that the guys might have orchestrated this on purpose. The knowing looks they'd exchanged while loading their bags certainly suggested as much.

When he's settled, the van rumbling to life beneath them, he pulls out his phone and earbuds. He leans back into the seat, hyper aware of Talia just inches behind him. He can hear her soft laugh at something Jolly says, can smell the faint trace of her perfume.

He pulls up the thread between him and Talia, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Noah: :(

From behind him, he hears her phone buzz against her leg. There's a pause, then he hears her hum once — sad and sympathetic — followed by the soft tap of her fingers against her screen.

Her message pops up seconds later.

Talia <3: I'm sorry :(

Noah's lips twitch despite his disappointment. He scrolls through his music, finding the playlist he'd worked on in stolen moments yesterday — songs that reminded him of her, of them, of the way she made him feel like he was coming alive for the first time. He sends it without a message, then closes out of the thread before he can overthink it.

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Five: Hidden - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This contains 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Salt Lake City brings something different for Talia. Tucked between stolen moments and a screaming ache in her wrist, she experiences the show through her eyes rather than a camera.

Warnings: Slow burn, emotional intimacy, mutual pining turned mutal touching, no smut just tension, consent is sexy, tenderness, comfort, hurt/comfort, tour life, protective Noah, fluff.

Word Count: 4,620

Taglist: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami--gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Five: Hidden

One

Talia Merrin

November 18th, 2022

Three days later, Talia wakes feeling like she got no sleep at all. There’s a sharp ache in her wrist, throbbing and pulsing underneath the brace that kept her wrist stable. The pain has made her restless — she spent most of the night tossing and turning in the hotel bed, dampening the sheets with her sweat.

After their kiss in Portland, when reality had settled in, Noah made her go to urgent care. There, it was determined that she had sprained her wrist. She wouldn’t be able to take pictures for the next week.

And Talia hated that. 

Photography was how she communicated to the world, how she made sense of things. When she was able to get the perfect shot — whether it was an artist under blazing lights or a moment of stillness — everything was right.

The absence of her camera felt like a missing limb. She still went to soundcheck, still hovered around the edges of the venue with her fingers twitching for something to do, but every time she reached instinctively for the camera that wasn’t there, it stung.

The brace didn’t help. It was ugly and clunky and made everything harder — from opening doors to brushing her teeth to tying her boots. And still, the pain persisted, especially at night when everything was quiet and her mind had room to spiral.

She rolls over to face the windows. Pale yellow sunlight leaks through the curtains, painting the sterile-feeling hotel room in white gold. She wishes she could capture the sliver of light that dances across the room.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Noah: How’s the wrist?

Noah: You sleep?

Talia feels a smile tug at the corners of her lips. She props herself up on the pillows carefully before responding.

Talia: Barely. Hurts like hell.

Talia: You?

And then, before she can think better of it.

Talia: Anyone up over there? Want to sneak over?

The message sits on read for three minutes before there’s a knock at the door. Talia barrels out of bed, heading straight to the door and throwing it open.

Noah stands there, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. He’s got an orange hoodie on, but she can see the ink against his skin peeking over the collar. Talia reaches forward and pulls him in, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

The second the door is closed, Noah’s lips are on hers. They’re slightly chapped, like he’s been licking them, but she doesn’t care. Not when the rest of him is soft — the pressure of the kiss, the way he cups her face in his hands, the low groan that rumbles in his chest and lets her know that he’s been aching for her. 

Noah’s fingers graze her jaw before sliding through her hair. He’s careful not to jostle her as he backs her toward the bed. She lets him, legs bumping the edge of the mattress, and only then does the kiss break.

“You should be resting,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers.

Talia exhales a breathless laugh, “And you’re such a good influence.”

Noah smiles — the soft, reluctant one she’s only just earned from him — and pushes her onto the bed. She dissolves into a fit of giggles.

“Get comfortable on the bed,” Noah instructs softly, his tone firm. 

Talia does as instructed, crawling onto the bed with her good hand and settling down onto her side. Noah crawls in beside her, and then hesitates.

“Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Talia hums out, taking his arm and wrapping it around her. “Come closer?”

Noah obliges, and she immediately buries her face in his chest. She inhales his scent — cedar, tobacco, and the faintest hint of leather. 

As they lay there, Talia feels her muscles slowly begin to unclench. The dull, constant throb in her wrist is still there, but somehow it feels easier to bear when she’s pressed against him like this, with the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.

They don’t speak for a while. There’s no need to.

Noah’s thumb brushes slow, lazy circles against her shoulder. His breath is warm against her temple. Talia closes her eyes, lets herself exist in this moment — one that feels stolen, delicate, and impossibly real.

She drifts off thinking of their last stolen moment together.

Two

November 16th, 2022

Two Days Ago

Seattle. The sky was low and grey, and the air smelled of petrichor and exhaust. 

Noah kissed her last night, and she can’t stop thinking about it. Her thoughts are filled with how his lips had felt against hers, how he had kissed her like she was all the oxygen in the world and he was a man starving for air. 

They haven’t talked about it — they haven’t had the chance to. It wasn’t long after the kiss that she had been whisked away to urgent care, and since then, they haven’t had a moment to themselves.

What they have been able to share is small: stolen glances, lingering touches, sitting next to each other in the van. They trade songs like a secret language — so far, it consists of Sleep Token and David Bowie, Fleetwood Mac and The Cure. 

That afternoon, during load-in, Talia slips out the back of the venue. 

A slick sheen coats the asphalt, reflecting the grey of the overcast sky. She presses up against the graffitied brick wall, inhaling sharply.

She just needs a minute to herself. Away from the chaos of crew members rushing to get everything done, away from the ache that throbs in time with her heartbeat. Away from the giant question mark that is Noah. 

She doesn’t expect him to follow. Not when he’s usually so involved in the load-in process. 

Talia hears his footsteps before she sees him.

Noah leans against the wall, facing her. Worry tightens his features — knit brow, eyes a little squinted, his bottom lip between his teeth — but there’s something else there, too. Hesitancy.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“You didn’t say anything this morning,” she murmurs, turning towards him. “About…last night. I know you couldn’t —” 

Noah reaches forward to put his hand on her arm, “I didn’t know if I should.”

Talia’s heart threatens to beat out of her chest. 

“And now?”

His jaw flexes like he’s grinding his teeth, and he looks down. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

Her breath catches in her throat now, and she feels a little dizzy. She steps closer, impossibly closer. 

“I meant it, Talia.” he says. “The kiss.”

Her voice is barely audible when she responds, “I know. Me too.”

Noah’s hand trails up her arm and pushes her hair off her shoulder. It stops at her jaw, his fingers brushing along it tentatively. 

“I want to kiss you again,” his voice is low, barely more than a breath.

She tilts her face up towards his, and he leans down just enough that there’s barely a whisper of space between their lips —

“Yo! Noah!” A voice shouts from the door of the venue.

They both flinch away like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Talia bumps her wrist against the brick, biting back a wince.

“Shit.” He mutters. “That’s Nick.”

Talia’s chest aches with the abrupt absence of him. She shrinks back a little more, giving him a small smile.

“Rain check?”

He exhales a frustrated laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Rain check.”

And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a heavy clang, leaving her behind with want and confusion coursing through her.

Three

November 18th, 2022

Later that morning, they go out as a group to breakfast. One of the roadies — Brett — had found a little brunch spot just down the road from the hotel.

By pure luck, Talia and Noah wind up sitting next to each other, with Nick and Folio on either side of them. Noah gently nudges her knee with his as she sits down.

They order plates of blueberry pancakes and eggs benedict, sip mimosas and coffee that borders on too strong. They pass around inside jokes like trading cards. 

At some point, when the band and crew have begun to feel more like family than co-workers, Noah finds Talia’s hand under the table. His fingers brush gently against the inside of her wrist, drawing her attention. She slips her hand into his, turning to look at him. 

He’s already watching her, but the moment their eyes meet, the noise around them seems to fade. There’s something warm and weightless in the look he gives her — not quite a smile, but something close. Like he’s letting her see the part of him he hides from everyone else.

Her fingers curl tighter around his, and his thumb traces a soft circle into her palm.

Across the table, Nick is launching into some story about a broken guitar string mid-show and Folio is miming the chaos of trying to fix it without skipping a beat. Talia nods along, but her pulse drums louder than the conversation. She doesn’t trust her voice right now, so she just listens — to the rhythm of Noah’s breathing, the quiet clink of forks on plates, the steady thrum of affection blooming in her chest.

Noah leans in just slightly, enough that his shoulder brushes hers. “Your hand’s shaking,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only she can hear it.

Talia huffs a breath of laughter. “Yours isn’t.”

His lips twitch like he wants to grin but thinks better of it. “That’s because I’m trying really hard to look normal while holding your hand under the table like a teenager.”

She smirks, ducking her head. “We are being very subtle.”

“Oh, extremely,” he says, deadpan. “It’s not obvious at all that I’m completely gone for you.”

Talia freezes — not because she’s afraid, but because the words lodge in her chest like a stone skipped across still water. She looks up at him again, and for a heartbeat, the entire room might as well not exist.

And then Nick bangs a spoon against a coffee mug to make a point and everyone bursts into laughter, and the moment breaks — but Noah’s fingers never leave hers.

By the time the plates are cleared, the last of the mimosas finished, the group has sunk into that soft lull that comes after good food and easy conversation.

Folio stretches his arms over his head with a yawn, “I’m gonna walk back. Gotta move or I’m gonna fall asleep.”

A quiet murmur of agreement ripples through the group, accompanied by the sound of chairs scooting along the floor as they gather their things. 

Talia goes to stand, but Noah keeps her hand there. With a gentle squeeze, he gives her a silent ask — wait. She stays in her seat.

“We’ll catch up,” Noah tells the group.

Nick claps a hand on Noah’s shoulder, “Whatever you say, loverboy.”

Talia ducks her head down, trying to hide the growing blush on her cheeks. The bell above the door chimes as the group leaves. The cafe suddenly seems quieter, like the volume’s been turned down on the world. 

Noah doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he runs his thumb over the edge of her knuckles. 

“Come walk with me? Just us?” he asks, eyes shining with hope.

Talia smiles softly and stands, “Lead the way.”

Noah stands up, tossing the rest of the money for the bill onto the table.. He leads her out of the cafe and into the drizzling wet of the outdoors.

It’s not enough to soak them, only enough to make their hair curl. They walk step in step, though Talia can tell Noah is slowing down to keep pace with her. Neither speak.

Talia tucks her bad hand into her jacket pocket. The dull ache is there, but it’s easier to ignore when she’s around Noah.

“I’ve been thinking,” She starts carefully, not meeting his gaze. “About this. About us.”

Noah stops walking. She glances sideways to find he’s looking at her. There’s that familiar intensity in his gaze, the kind that makes her feel stripped bare — but not exposed. Seen. 

“And?” He says slowly, cautiously.

Talia swallows around the lump that’s formed in her throat, “I don’t think we need to hide this. I think everyone already knows.”

She turns to face him fully, taking both his hands in hers now as she continues.

“I don’t want the foundation of our…whatever this is…to be secrecy.”

The word relationship sits heavy on Talia’s tongue. Not because that’s what it is, not because she’s afraid of it, but because she’s worried if she says too much, Noah will pull away again.

The air tightens between them.

“I don’t want to sneak around either,” Noah says, stepping closer to her. There’s barely a breath of space between them now. “I want to be able to kiss you senseless in front of the guys. I want to be able to pull you off into a private corner and have everyone know that we’re tangled together.”

Talia’s breath stutters in her chest. The way he says it — “tangled together” — makes heat bloom low in her stomach.

“You do?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

Noah’s thumb skims over the back of her hand again, slow and reverent. “Yeah. I’ve never wanted something this badly and been this scared of fucking it up at the same time.”

Talia exhales shakily. “You’re not going to.”

“I already kissed you like it was the last time I’d get to. I don’t know how to do this halfway.”

She doesn’t mean to — not entirely — but she sways into him, just enough that her shoulder brushes his chest. His hands settle at her waist like they’ve always belonged there.

“You won’t have to,” she says. “I don’t want halfway, either.”

His eyes search hers for a long moment, like he’s reading her every thought, every scar. Then he leans down — slowly this time — like he’s giving her every opportunity to stop him. But she doesn’t move away. If anything, she leans into the gravity of him.

Their lips meet in a kiss that feels like exhale, like yes, like finally.

It’s softer than the last one, not rushed or desperate — just full of quiet want. His fingers tighten slightly at her waist, grounding her, and when they finally part, Talia rests her forehead against his.

“I’ve never done this on tour,” she murmurs.

“Neither have I.” Noah’s voice is quiet, roughened by the cold and something else — awe, maybe. “But I want to figure it out with you.”

They don’t need to say anything else right then. The rain picks up slightly, misting their cheeks and hair, but neither of them moves. They just stay close, sharing warmth, tethered together in the quiet morning.

Four

They’re in Salt Lake City tonight. The air is thick — raw and electric with anticipation. Around Talia, audience members buzz and shift as though part of a hive. 

Tonight, for the first time, Talia is not a photographer but an audience member. She would experience the full set through her own eyes instead of a camera lens. 

She stands near the side of the barricade, tucked into a corner just out of reach from the overhead lights. Her hands are empty, and she feels lost.

Talia can’t remember the last time she went to a show without her camera strap around her neck, without her camera to her eye. Without the lens to hide behind, she feels exposed. Untethered. She fidgets with the hem of her jacket. 

A girl next to her bounces on her toes, clutching a homemade sign. "I've been waiting three years to see them live," she gushes to her friend. Talia finds herself smiling at the pure joy radiating from her. This is what she's been documenting all these weeks — this raw, unfiltered passion. But tonight, she's not behind the lens. Tonight, she's part of it.

Up on stage, the lights go low — a familiar signal. The room explodes into cheers. And then, one by one, they appear, stepping into smoke like ghosts.

Folio comes on first, hopping behind his kit with unbridled enthusiasm. Nick follows a beat later, his bass hung low. Jolly comes out opposite him, settling behind the risers with guitar in hand. 

Noah is the last to walk on.

The spotlight illuminates him, and Talia’s breath hitches. He’s in all black, like he always is on stage, but tonight it’s different. He looks good enough to devour — black tank top, silver chain, loose black pants. 

So this is what everyone else sees. This is why all the girls on the internet go crazy over him. 

The energy shifts as he opens his mouth to sing. It always does. 

Talia should be watching the angles, the light, the symmetry of motion — but instead, she watches him. 

She watches the way he wraps his hands around the microphone stand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The way he leans into the lyrics, like each one might undo him. She feels the song crawl under her skin, into her chest. And for the first time in a long time, she feels instead of framing.

She remembers that music used to be her first language, before photography ever was. Long before she learned to focus a lens, she was the kid who fell asleep with headphones on, whispering lyrics like a prayer. 

Halfway through ‘Who are you?”, Noah’s eyes scan the crowd. It’s almost imperceptible — a flicker, a sweep — but when his gaze lands on her, she knows.

Noah keeps singing, keeps moving his mouth, but Talia’s sure that he feels what she feels in this moment — their connection, pulled taut but still solid. Invisible to anyone else.

She’s not holding a camera.

But he sees her anyway.

Her heart knocks hard against her ribs, and she forces herself to stay grounded — to stay present. Not behind a lens. Not behind a filter. Just here.

Noah doesn’t miss a beat, but something shifts in his posture, like he’s singing for her now. Like the stage doesn’t quite exist without her watching.

It isn’t until the last chord of the song fades that she realizes her cheeks are damp. She wipes them quickly, half-laughing at herself. She’s used to hiding behind glass. Tonight, there’s nowhere to hide.

And maybe, for once, that’s the point.

Five

That night, after the music has faded and the crew has returned to the hotel, Talia finds herself alone in her room. She’s changed into pajamas — an old tour shirt and loose flannel pants — and settled into bed, but she’s determined to put off sleep for as long as possible.

This is a bad idea, she knows this, because they leave early tomorrow. But if she goes to sleep, then the night ends. And after what she witnessed tonight, she’s not sure she wants it to.

So instead, she’s propped up with her laptop, half-watching a show she’s seen a dozen times. The only other light is the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp, which she has on because it makes her feel a little less lonely. 

Sometime after midnight, her phone buzzes, but she ignores it. And when another buzz sounds thirty minutes later, she ignores it still.

It isn’t until there’s a knock on the door that she pauses the show. She climbs out of bed, heavy-limbed, and goes to open the door. 

Noah stands outside, just as he did hours before. He has a sheepish look on his face now, one Talia’s never seen before — eyes a little squinted, lips twitched into a nervous, crooked smile.

“Did I wake you up?” He asks, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie a little.

Talia shakes her head quickly, “No. I’ve been up.”

“Me too.” He steps forwards, reaching for her. “Can I come in?”

Talia pulls him in gently, closing the door behind them. Without thinking, she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him closer, pressing her face into his chest. His arms wrap around her like it’s already second nature. 

“You okay?”

Talia inhales deeply. He’s showered since the show, clearly, because he smells of soap underneath the cedarwood of his hoodie. “Yeah. I just realized I haven’t seen you — really seen you — since before the show.” 

Noah laughs a little, as if he’s shocked by this revelation.

He leans down enough that his lips graze the shell of her ear, whispering, “Did you miss me?” 

A chill runs up Talia’s spine, and her breath catches in her throat. Her knees feel weak, like any second they’re going to give out on her. She presses further into Noah, giving him a small nod.

“I did. Just a little.”

He exhales sharply, like it knocks all the air out of him just to hear that. His arms tighten around her, and slowly, cautiously, he presses a kiss to her hair. 

“I missed you too.” 

They linger here for a while before Talia remembers what she was doing before Noah came. She pulls away slowly, a wicked grin gracing her lips.

“Come here.” She murmurs, tugging him towards the bed. “Have you ever seen Invincible?” 

She climbs onto the bed, scooting over to make room for Noah. He gets in beside her, pulling the covers over the both of them. 

He thinks about it for a moment. “I can’t say I have.”

Talia lets out a laugh that’s half giggle, half cackle and grabs her laptop. She pulls up the first episode and hits play, setting it to her side and rolling over to face it. Noah follows her, smoothing his palm down her arm. He stops at her wrist, still wrapped in its brace, and cradles gently. 

The episode begins, voices low and familiar in the dim room. But Talia barely registers the opening scene. She’s too aware of the warmth of him behind her, the careful weight of his fingers around her wrist. 

As the show transitions out of a fight scene, Noah’s hand trails up her arm again, brushing her hair off her shoulder and out of the way. His lips ghost over the side of her neck, and he presses into her ever so slightly. 

Talia freezes. Was he making a move on her?

She’s not put off, however. If anything, she’s more pulled in. She tilts her head a little to give him better access.

He takes it like the silent permission is, slowly dragging his lips along the line of her neck, along her pulse. 

As he begins to pepper soft kisses along her jawline, she barely manages to find her voice, “You’re supposed to be paying attention.”

“I am,” Noah murmurs against her skin. He leans in close to her ear again, “just to you.”

Talia’s breath hitches, and she leans into him, letting him trail kisses down her neck. By the time he’s to the collar of her shirt, she’s whimpering under her breath. 

“Roll over, so I can kiss you.” His voice is ragged, low, humming with something dangerous. 

She does exactly as he asks, her lips finding his within seconds. Inked fingers into her hair, pulling her in deep. For the first time, his tongue runs over the seam of her lips. She parts them without hesitation. 

His tongue explores her mouth — cautiously, at first, and then hungrily, claiming. She moans softly into the kiss, reaching between them to press a hand to his chest.

Soon, they break away, breathing heavily. 

Suddenly, panic blooms in Talia’s chest. She’s realized — probably too late — that she doesn’t want their first time to be here, to be now, to be like this. 

She meets Noah’s eyes with urgency, “I don’t want to have sex tonight. Kissing, maybe some heavy petting, sure. But clothes stay on.”

Noah nods like it costs him nothing. Like it didn’t matter, so long as he could have her. A small part of her realizes she had expected him to react differently.

“That’s fine,” He murmurs, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. He moves his hand to rest on her waist.

“Thank you,” Talia squeaks out, feeling small and all too big at the same time. “Just thank you.”

Noah shakes his head, smiling a little. It’s clear what he’s saying: You don’t have to worry, you’re safe.

It almost consumes her — with relief, with comfort, with want. 

She tilts her head and crashes their lips together, the kiss becoming a little hungrier now. Something low hums in Noah’s chest, and it only eggs her on more. 

They pull away and she drags her hand down his chest, down his torso, and stops just above the waistband of his sweatpants. His hand slips under her shirt in response, calloused fingers grazing her hip. 

Talia lets out a soft whimper and melts into his touch, pressing into him. She can feel his erection through his sweatpants, pressing up against her thigh. She resists the urge to palm him. 

Noah’s hand stills, and he pulls back slightly, almost panting. It’s clear that this is taking effort on his part.

His brows knit together, “We have to stop. I can’t — you sound so fuckin’ pretty.” 

“Okay,” Talia nods, swallowing thickly. “Then we’ll stop. We’ll watch the show…we’ll sleep.”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Go ahead.”

Noah climbs out of bed, escaping into the bathroom and leaving Talia alone. She turns off her laptop, placing it on the bed stand. She leaves the light on for Noah before settling down into the covers.

Because her mind is racing, and every nerve ending feels alive, she focuses on her breathing. 

She hears the soft creak of the door as he returns, and then nothing. Sleep takes her before the mattress even dips beneath his weight.

Six

November 19th, 2022

In the morning, Talia stirs before Noah does. It’s still dark outside, but when Talia squints, she can see a faint sliver of sunlight peeking over the horizon. They’ll be leaving soon, which means she has to move fast. 

She’s spurred on by one thing only — the decision she made last night, just after the lights had faded and the band had left the stage, to show Noah the hidden album. 

Blinking slowly, Talia manages to untangle herself from Noah — who’s behind her with an arm draped over her waist, face half buried in his pillow — and slip out of bed. She grabs her laptop and phone  and drops soundlessly into the chair tucked into the corner of the hotel room. 

As she queues up one of her playlists, she’s reminded of the notifications she got last night. She clicks them open, finding two texts. 

Noah: Are you still up? Can’t sleep.

Harper <333: SO I JUST SAW THE PHOTOS FROM PORTLAND MISS GIRL I FEAR THAT NOAH GUY MAY BE OBSESSED WITH YOU

Laughing quietly to herself, Talia clicks open the text thread from Harper Adams — her childhood friend, her former roommate, her sister in everything but blood and legality. 

Talia: So you liked the shot then?

Talia shuts her phone off and turns her attention to her laptop screen. She pulls up the hidden album and just stares at it for a minute, the gears of her mind turning.

Quietly, playing as a soundtrack to her thoughts, music hums through her earbuds. 

“Inundation, information’s holding me down. Simulation, I’m on the run from Keanu now. But who cares if it’s not real.” 

After an hour, Talia leans back into her chair, satisfied. She’s narrowed the collection down to twelve photos, twelve shots that perfectly convey her message — I see you, I hear you, I feel you.

She moves the pictures into a separate album and titles it:

The Sound of You.

---

Chapter Five! I couldn't help myself and had to tease a little. I think this is my favorite chapter so far!

As always, a special thank you to my friends Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for everything they've done for this.

Feel free to message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Four | Chapter Six

Masterlist

You can find the official playlist here.

You can find this on AO3 here.

[mothman-writes]

AHHH SO GOOD

Nutmeg Chapter Eight

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. (more under the cut)

WORD COUNT: 3488

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 9

@chey-y @bloody-spades @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @ami--gami @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @fadingintothegrey @ladyveronikawrites @flowery-mess @woozionascooter @dsireland86 @trvshdxddy @xmads-omensx @lacy1986 @athenexe @xxrainstorm @shaydayhere @sophroniaa @lobolocaamo @spookieolson @mothmanenthusiasts @super-btstrash-posts @h4tef6ck @runningincircl3s @bluehairpunklol @lilcrazy011 @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @superpiratecriminalchef @brutallysoftmuse

WARNINGS: oral (f receiving), piv, crying (let me know if I need to add something), Halloween,

You notice as you ease down onto your knees, using the pillow Noah had allowed, putting your hands behind your back, the pose had in fact gotten easier.  You didn’t really want to admit it, though.  But even more than that, you notice that already your anxiety from the day was calming down.  All the thoughts that have been cycling through your mind have gone quiet and all you are thinking about is whether your pose was good enough.  Did you remember all the things that Noah asked for?  What did he have in mind for tonight?

You also notice that it was not only quiet, but peaceful, as soon as Noah slips inside and locks the door.  You wanted to look at him, but you kept your gaze down.

‘The street is full of people,’ he states simply instead of a greeting.

You laugh softly.  ‘Well, yes.  We need to keep the lights off tonight so we are not interrupted constantly.’

‘You’ve already got the lights pretty low,’ he says, coming closer.  ‘But we shouldn’t take chances.’

‘Children looking for treats can be very persistent,’ you want to look at him so much.  ‘Doors locked and curtains closed.’

‘To be safe, yes,’ he comes to stand in front of you.  You look at his socks and slides and briefly wonder how he makes that look hot.  He bends down and puts a finger under your chin and lightly tilts your head up.  ‘Hi,’ he smiles and then he kisses you soundly.

Chills run down your back, mostly because you were not expecting a greeting like that.  ‘Hi,’ you say when he pulls back, smiling back at him.

‘Come on,’ he says and he helps you up.  He switches off the one light that was on in the living room and you go the bedroom.  ‘One candle?  That should be enough that we can see what we are doing and that we don’t injure each other,’ he asks, turning to look at you.

‘Yes, it should do,’ you agree and he gets to the candles first where he blows out two of the three. 

‘Do you even have any candy?’ he asks, kicking off the slides and getting on your bed. 

‘No,’ you whisper feeling like you are going to get caught if someone outside hears your voice.  ‘I didn’t think you’d come tonight, to be honest.  Thought you might have a big dress up party with your friends.’

‘Nah,’ he shakes his head and he gestures with his hands for you to join him on the bed.  ‘Halloween is actually my favourite holiday, and yet I hate all the fuss.’

‘I was just going to put some candy outside and then hide anyway.  Random people knocking on my door makes me anxious,’ you tell him while you get on the bed and he shows you he wants you to sit between his legs.  He pulls you back against his body, your back against his chest.

‘Strangers make you anxious?’ he says, teasing maybe a little.

‘Yes.  But, also, the talking to them,’ you joke back. His arms wrap around your waist and he holds you close, his chin resting on your shoulder.  ‘What is your issue with Halloween, then?’

‘I don’t have an issue,’ his voice is soft.  ‘I like the spooky vibes a lot.  I just don’t want to dress up.  I’m too serious.’

‘Hmmm, did you decorate your house?’ you ask curious now. 

‘Yes,’ you hear him smile.  ‘I cannot resist.’

‘What did you do?’ you ask, resting your head far back, relaxing into him.

‘Um, I have some fake cobwebs up, some skulls, some lights,’ he says slowly, tilting his head slightly towards you.

‘Sounds nice, you should send me some photos tonight,’ you say, not knowing what to picture really. 

‘I will,’ he says and he kisses your neck.  ‘Speaking of photos, I’ve really enjoyed yours this week.’

‘It complicated things a lot,’ you say.

‘How so?’ he keeps lazily kissing your neck, shoulder, behind your ear.

‘I had to worry about lighting and things so you could see,’ you say moving your head to give him better access. 

He snorts a laugh softly against your skin.  ‘Sorry, it was supposed to be sexy not frustrating.’

‘It was still sexy to think about you knowing,’ your breath was getting shallow.

‘Did it turn you on knowing that I was getting hard looking at pictures of your perfect little pussy?’ he says his voice low and it felt like his words were crawling across your body. 

‘Yes,’ you say simply.  ‘I hoped.’

‘What did you hope?’

‘That you were affected,’ you clarify while you feel his teeth every now and then. 

‘Of course I was,’ he says like you were ridiculous.  ‘Especially since I know what you taste like, and feel like.’ 

‘I was trying not to think about how you feel,’ your hands hold on to his arms that are still around you.  ‘Because I was not allowed to have an orgasm.’

‘Oh poor, Peach,’ he is smiling again.  ‘But you were good this week, right?’

‘I was,’ you tell him.

‘I don’t know whether I am proud or disappointed,’ he kisses your cheek. 

‘It was very difficult,’ you say, pouting a little. 

‘I know it was,’ he pouts back.  ‘I am proud.’

‘Thank you,’ you give him a small smile. 

‘So, what you are saying is that you want to think of my cock when you touch yourself?’ he says and you feel his breath against your neck.  His hands start to move towards your breasts. 

You blush.  You already pretty much admitted it.  ‘Yes, I want to.’

‘But you don’t, because it’s too good?’ he teases you while he runs one finger lightly over the top of your breasts that were exposed.

‘I try not to, but even that was difficult,’ you cannot help but think that the very thing you were talking about was just behind you.  You want to reach for it, but you hold back.

‘Tell me what you like about my cock, Peach,’ he mumbles against your shoulder. 

You struggle to focus because his fingers were snaking their way into the night dress from the top.  ‘I like how pale the skin is, except for the tip.’  You push into his hand when he finds a nipple that he was lazily paying attention to.  ‘I like the way it tastes.  I like the way it reacts when I touch that little slit with my tongue.’

 ‘Well fuck,’ he chokes out.  ‘Do you feel it?  It’s very pleased with what you just said.’

You do feel him, but he is still dressed and you suddenly really need to feel more.  ‘May I please taste it again?’  You have no idea where your boldness came from. 

‘Hmm, can you do something for me first?’ he asks.

You nod and turn your head to try and see his face.  ‘Take a finger and put it between your legs.  I want to know if you’re wet.’

You spread your legs enough to get your hand close enough.  You are not surprised to find that you were soaked.  ‘I’ve been wet all week.’

‘Show me,’ he instructs.

You bring you fingers up, covered in the slick mess and show him. 

He slowly reaches out and takes a hold of your wrist and brings your hand close enough that he could suck your fingers clean.  ‘Oh yeah.  That’s so good.’

The sensation of his tongue on your fingers were maddening. 

‘You can take me out, baby,’ he says and you turn around and lay down on your stomach and fight his pants down.

‘Help me please,’ you ask him.

He helps you wiggle the pants and boxers down enough that you can touch him.  He sighs when your hand wraps around him.  You work a little at his base while you take his head into your mouth and get the taste you have been missing.  You see his head fall back, his jaw slack.  ‘I thought about this so many times this week,’ he chokes out. 

‘Mm, me too,’ you try to work yourself a little bit lower. 

‘Look at those hips,’ he says like was in disbelief.  ‘Just looking for something to grind against.’

You were not even aware that you were doing that.  ‘I can’t help it.’

‘You can’t help it?  Is it because you need to cum?’ he says softly.

You moan at him with his cock in your mouth.

‘Don’t worry, baby.  You will,’ he says.  ‘I think you should sit on it instead.  Don’t you think?’

‘Yes, okay,’ you kiss his tip once before you get up, and crawl over him. 

He holds it for you and you carefully lower yourself onto him, gripping onto his shoulders and watching his face.  His eyes were squeezed shut.  You go slow because it hurts just a little.  ‘There you are, good girl.  Now you just sit.  Don’t move, keep those hips still.’  He moves his hips a little bit, making sure there was not any part of him that was not enveloped by you.  ‘Just feel me deep inside you.  Just touching your cervix with the tip.’

‘I feel you,’ you whisper. 

‘Just keep my cock warm,’ his hands lift the night dress enough so he can rest his hands on your bare hips.  ‘Now I have a question for you.  When you touch yourself, do you put anything inside your pussy?’

‘Sometimes,’ you answer, wondering where he was going.

‘Your fingers?’ he asks.

‘No, I don’t really like that,’ you say honestly. 

He frowns.  ‘Do you like my fingers inside?’

‘Yes, I do.  My own just doesn’t feel good, I can’t get deep enough,’ you explain tracing a finger over the lines of his neck tattoo.

‘My fingers?  Do they get deep enough?’ he asks.

You nod at him.  ‘Your fingers are so long.’

‘Alright, so what do you put inside?  You have a toy?’ he seems extremely curious.

‘Yes,’ you say blushing again.  ‘I don’t use it very often.’  You feel like you’ve been caught.

‘Why not?’ he says, his hands squeezing at your hips.

‘Because it’s a lot of effort to wash it again, and make sure everything is hygienic.  But, also,’ you take a breath before you say something stupidly honest again.  ‘I feel so empty afterwards.’

‘You pussy feels empty?’ he is frowning again.

‘Yes, but the experience feels empty.  I am a little sad that it was not someone…’ you trail off. 

‘Keep going,’ he prompts you after a while, his one hand putting your hair behind your ear and then lingers right there.

You sigh deeply.  ‘Someone who can hold me after, kiss me?  You know?’ You try to make your voice sound lighter than the words felt in your chest.

His eyes soften.  ‘I understand,’ he says softly.  ‘I’ve noticed you don’t like when I pull out.’  He tilts his head a little as he talks to you.  ‘I thought it was because of the mess.’

‘I kind of like the mess,’ you confess shyly.

‘Noted,’ he smiles.  ‘And anything else?  That you put inside?’

‘No,’ you shake your head.  ‘Nothing else.’

‘I think we should make a new rule.  Nothing goes inside that is not me,’ he says and his eyes are darker again.  ‘My tongue,’ he leans forward and kisses you.  ‘My fingers,’ he kisses you again.  ‘And my cock.  Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand,’ you feel him twitch inside of you.  You clench down involuntarily as a response and Noah squeezes his eyes shut again.

‘Now, you are going to get on your hands and knees for me, Peach.  I am going to pull out, but I will be back inside soon, alright?’  he says to you and then he helps the process of you lifting yourself off him.

You take the position he has requested and it makes you feel very vulnerable.  But you do it anyway.  He moves himself so that he is behind you.  ‘Is this right?’ you ask him.

‘Put your head down on the bed, keep your ass up as high as you can.  Mmmm, yeah like that.  Such a good girl,’ he says and while you were still trying to figure out where your arms were supposed to be his mouth was on your pussy.  ‘Spread your legs a little more.’

You were not expecting that, but you widen your knees.

‘You taste so goddamn good.  Fuck,’ he almost growls.  He moves again and you feel his cock against you.  ‘I’m going back inside.  You ready?’

‘Yes,’ you squeak out.  He pushes in quite quickly.

He groans loudly.  ‘If I go too hard, you tell me, alright?’

‘Okay,’ you say a little nervous.  He pulls out slowly, dragging himself out so that you feel every inch of him.  Then he slams back in.  ‘Oh,’ you exclaim at the sensations.  The feeling of him opening you up, going so deep.  His body connecting with yours, sending a shock wave through you.

‘Too much?’ he asks breathing heavily.

‘No, please do it again,’ you say holding your breath after to brace yourself. 

He repeats the movement, grunting loudly when he is fully back inside.  ‘You are so fucking tight,’ he says through his teeth.  He waits.

‘Noah, it’s okay,’ you say.  ‘Keep going.’

He doesn’t wait and sets a slow and hard rhythm.  ‘Do you know how,’ thrust.  ‘Hot it looks when,’ thrust.  ‘It ripples through your whole,’ thrust.  ‘Body when I fuck you,’ thrust. 

At this angle, you were not sure what was happening, but he was touching something inside of you that felt, ‘So good, please don’t stop.’  You bite down on your own wrist to deal with the overwhelm.

‘Oh, you feel amazing.  Are you still alright?’  he asks, completely out of breath.

‘Mmhmm,’ you manage to get out.

‘Hang on,’ he says and he abruptly pulls out and his mouth is immediately on you instead.  He laps at you hungrily and moans all the while.  You can hear how wet you are.  ‘You are taking my cock so well,’ he says when he lines himself back up and enters you again.  ‘Look at you.’

He moves inside you with shallow thrusts now, his hands digging into your hips as he grips you tight, or running a hand up and down the length of your spine under the night dress you still had on, or just touching your cheeks, your thighs.  It was like he was learning, testing your flesh. 

You were barely hanging on.  It was all-consuming for you, almost too much.  At the same time, you needed more, more connection.  And like he knew, like he could sense it, like he could feel it communicated by your body, he slows down his movements, and he lowers his body across your back and kisses your shoulder. 

‘Peach?  Are you still alright?’ he whispers to you.

‘Can you please stay close?  Like this?’ you ask him. 

‘Are you crying?’ he comes even closer.  ‘Hey, baby, look at me.’

You didn’t really realise.  ‘Don’t stop,’ you whisper back while you look at him. 

‘Am I hurting you?’  he asks. 

‘No, just hold me, please,’ you say and you hear the thickness in your voice. 

He brings his arms in closer and he holds one of your hands.  You feel his upper body on your back, while he slowly moves inside you.  ‘Why are you crying?’ his voice so small. 

‘I don’t know.  I’m sorry,’ you say, feeling the anxiousness growing in your chest.  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

He kisses your cheek with urgency.  ‘It’s alright, don’t apologise.  You are not doing anything wrong.’

‘I just needed to feel you closer to me,’ you say while the stupid tears keep falling.

‘That’s completely fine, I’ll happily give you what you want.  Thank you for asking for it,’ he kisses any place his lips could reach.  He thrusts slowly and deeply and stays close, holding onto you with as much of his body as he can.  ‘Is it alright if I touch your clit?’ 

‘Yes,’ you say, slowly feeling yourself calming down again.  The tension in your chest easing a little and you could give over to the pleasure again.  When his fingers touch you, lightly rubbing in circles it adds a whole new level to the pleasure and you breathe through it.

‘You just clenched around me,’ he says in your ear.  ‘Is it alright?  Tell me what you need.’

‘What you are doing is perfect,’ you tell him, squeezing his hand.  ‘Thank you.’

‘Oh baby,’ he says.  ‘You don’t have to thank me.’

Fresh tears.  And you try to think of how to explain to him that you have never felt like this before, so taken care of, without sounding sappy.  He kisses the tears away.  Before you can formulate a sentence, the orgasm builds.  ‘Noah, may I cum?’

‘Yes, please cum for me, my sweet.  Let go.  I am right here,’ he calmly encourages you.  It rolls through your body and you press your forehead down into the bed and grip his hand.  ‘There you go.  Such a good job.’

You hear the strain in his voice and after a few more thrusts, he cums quietly moaning into your shoulder.   He stays deep inside you. 

‘Let’s try to lay down like this,’ he says.  ‘Straighten your legs and lay down.’

You do as he says, and he lowers himself with you and then rolls the both of you onto your sides, holding onto your hips with all his might so that he stays inside you.  He tells you to lift your head and then he puts his arm under your neck and his other over your waist and he just holds onto you as close as he possibly can. 

You couldn’t stop crying and every little thing he does to comfort you and make you feel safe, just makes you cry harder.  ‘Thank you,’ you sob out, holding onto his arms.

‘I told you, you don’t have to thank me,’ he whispers and his voice sounds concerned. 

You think for a moment and decide honesty is what you promised.  ‘I do have to thank you,’ you try to keep your words steady.  ‘I’m crying because I have never felt this cherished before.’  You feel your own heart break when the words come out of your mouth. 

He holds you even closer if that was even possible and he rests his lips on top of your head.  ‘I’m so sorry, baby.  Because you deserve to be cherished.’

‘I’m sorry for crying.  I ruined the mood again,’ you say kissing his knuckles. 

‘You didn’t ruin anything,’ he reassures you. 

His one foot was moving back and forth over your ankle, you wondered if he was doing it consciously.

‘Being your dom does not only mean for sex, Peach.  It’s so much more than that and I am so proud of you and I am touched that you feel comfortable enough with me to let me have these moments with you,’ his voice soothing you, giving you comfort.

‘Is it really okay?’ you ask him.

‘It’s more than okay.  I need you to know that I will be here and I will hold you through anything you throw at me.’

‘I am not used to that,’ you say your voice small.

‘You are going to get used to it.’  You feel him soften inside you and he keeps holding you.  After a long silence he says, ‘You make me feel special, too.’

‘Really?’ you ask your eyes closed by now, the tears having stopped.

‘That you want me to hold you, and be close to you.  That I am the one who is allowed to provide that for you.  That you trust me with your body and trust me to show so much emotion… God, it means so much to me,’ he tells you this taking his time.

You process his words slowly.  ‘I didn’t realise,’ you finally say. 

‘Now you know,’ he sighs.  ‘We are helping each other.  It’s not just a one-way street.  We both need something.’

‘I am so glad I picked you,’ you let out after a while. 

‘Me too,’ he murmurs.  ‘I think this is one of my best birthdays ever.’

What?  ‘What?’ you ask in disbelief.  ‘It’s your birthday?’

‘Mmm,’ he makes the sounds like he is not eager to admit it.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ you ask.

‘I just told you.’

‘You know what I mean,’ you say. 

‘I don’t like my birthday,’ he shrugs. 

‘Why not?’ you ask softly.

‘It’s too much fussing,’ he shrugs again.  ‘It’s alright, it’s not in a sad way.’

‘Okay,’ you answer.  ‘I get it.  I feel similarly about mine.’

With the one candle burning low, he says, ‘I just wanted you to know that I don’t hate this birthday.’

Chapter 9

[mothman-writes]

Teaser 3 - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

Noah leans in just slightly, enough that his shoulder brushes hers. “Your hand’s shaking,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only she can hear it.

Talia huffs a breath of laughter. “Yours isn’t.”

His lips twitch like he wants to grin but thinks better of it. “That’s because I’m trying really hard to look normal while holding your hand under the table like a teenager.”

She smirks, ducking her head. “We are being very subtle.”

“Oh, extremely,” he says, deadpan. “It’s not obvious at all that I’m completely gone for you.”

Talia freezes — not because she’s afraid, but because the words lodge in her chest like a stone skipped across still water. She looks up at him again, and for a heartbeat, the entire room might as well not exist.

---

Eeee I'm back on my teasing bullshit!! I hope you're excited.

Chapter Five will be up tomorrow!

[mothman-writes]

Chapter Four: Raw - Through The Lens (N. Sebastian)

!! This includes 18+ content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Description: Noah can't stop thinking about what Talia said. But her words stir more than just memories; they crack something open in him. Haunted by his past and afraid of his own capacity for ruin, he begins to question if he's capable of being seen -- truly seen -- by someone like Talia.

Warnings: Implications of infidelity, implications of drug use, alcohol mentions, slow burn, emotional hurt, tour life, soft moments between chaos, Noah has a Past, Lydia is the Worst, Noah tries (kinda), mutual pining, trauma, fluff, unresolved sexual tension.

Word Count: 3,538

Taglist: @dragoncopper @clickmedead @renegadebirch @geminigirlfromfinland @ami--gami @pipidoll @lacy1986 @concrtlimits

Chapter Four: Raw

One

Noah Sebastian

November 14th, 2022

“So, you’re St. Elmo’s fire, Noah. Little flashes of light. You just need someone to find hope in that.”

That’s what Talia had said just before walking back into the hotel. Before walking away from him.

And Noah? He can’t stop thinking about it. The look on her face when she said it — like it cost her everything to say that, like there was more to what she was saying — is forefront in his mind. 

Truth be told, he’s not sure what he would have done if she had stayed. Would he have kissed her — slow, with the kind of pressure that would show her that he wants to want this? Or would he have said the truth out loud — that she made him ache in a way he wasn’t used to? 

Would he let himself have that? 

No, Noah knows he probably wouldn’t. He would have shut her out even further, maybe too harshly. He would have told her to go home. 

There’s too much damage with him. He’s still broken, still entangled in the wreckage — what She had done to him. What he let become normal. 

The words flash through his mind again. 

You’re St. Elmo’s fire, Noah. Little flashes of light.

He knows the reference — he’d looked it up after seeing that ridiculous eighties movie that had talked about it. He found comfort in it when the world outside got too much. There was something beautiful about it. Sailors lost at sea, finding hope in electrical charges dancing on the masts of their ships. 

Is that how she saw him? A flash of light in the darkness? Or worse — something beautiful that was ultimately dangerous?

Noah looks over to the spot where Talia had been sitting. It still holds her warmth, and he hates that he’s aware of that fact. He cards his fingers through his hair.

If he hadn’t already fucked things beyond repair, the way he reacted at the bar would’ve sealed it.

Why had he reacted like that? It wasn’t out of jealousy — no, it was much simpler than that. It was out of recognition. He knew all too well that pattern of the betrayal that sent you spiraling and the actions you would take as a desperate bid for control. 

His eyes flick up to the overhead lights in the parking lot. Moths are circling the artificial lights.

Noah should go talk to her, while he still has a chance. Maybe he can set things straight.

He pushes himself off the picnic table before he has a chance to hesitate.

But when he gets back to the room, Talia’s already curled up on her spot on the floor, fast asleep. 

She looks so peaceful like this, so beautiful and untouched, he can’t bear to wake her. Not for this.

For a beat, he considers lying down beside her. Let himself have it. Fall asleep with her warmth beside him.

But he doesn’t do it.

He’s learned not to trust the temptation of warmth. He can’t. Not after Lydia. 

It makes his ribs ache so hard that he finds himself winded. He backs away, gasping for air. He finds his spot on one of the beds and lies down.

And in the dark, once Noah’s finally caught his breath, he drifts off thinking about the lightning storm that is Talia Merrin. 

Two

February

Two Years Previously

Lydia was late. Again. She always was, these days. And when she did get home, Noah knew, she’d smell of alcohol and strangers. She would have that strange look in her eye. 

On these nights, Lydia would be all over Noah. Kissing him, touching him, telling him she loved him. Begging him to fuck her. Noah almost always gave in.

She almost never let him touch her when she was sober anymore. And maybe that hurt him, just a little. 

Tonight, Noah was sitting on the couch, the only light in the room being the blue glow of his phone screen. He’s scrolling through Instagram again — or rather, he’s stalking the page of Talia Merrin, concert photographer. 

Her page is filled with a mix of her work and day-to-day life pictures — a picture of Kellin Quinn screaming into a microphone, one of her friends playing guitar on the beach. Never her. Noah would be the first to admit that intrigued him.

He’d discovered her work a few months ago, when his acquaintance Moira — known to the world as Poppy — posted some of the shots she’d taken of the Threesome tour. Noah had immediately been obsessed. 

The lock on the door clicks open, and Noah is quickly hit by the cloying scent of too-sweet liquor. Lydia stumbles in.

“Noah,” Lydia stretches his arms towards him, “baby, why are you sitting in the dark?”

Noah turns off his phone. Turns on the lamp instead. She steps towards him, a flirty smile tracing an outline on her lips. 

His voice is rough when he speaks, “Didn’t realize it had gotten dark.”

Lydia lets out a giggle that’s too loud, too performative, and straddles him so her legs bracket either side of his thighs. Her skin smells like vodka and someone else’s cologne. It makes his stomach twist. 

Noah lets her kiss him, resisting the urge to gag at the taste. To flinch at the feeling. She pulls away to trail open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, her hips rocking against his.

“Noah, I need you,” Lydia whimpers out. 

His hands go to her hips and grip hard — not out of possessiveness, but out of disgust. He stops her movements completely.

“Lydia, I’m done.”

His heart beats unevenly in his chest as Lydia recoils back, her face twisting into something unrecognizable.

“Excuse me?”

Noah removes her from his lap, pushing her gently onto the couch. He doesn’t answer, only stands and heads to the bedroom. He moves as though he’s going through the motions, grabbing as much of his things as he can.

“Noah, baby, you can’t do this.” Lydia pleads. 

Noah swallows thickly, “I have to.” 

As he heads towards the front door, Lydia becomes frantic. She stomps her feet, and wails, begs loudly and in circles. 

Lydia shrieks, “I MADE YOU!” 

Noah’s hand stills on the door knob, the lines of his body becoming straight. He tenses only for a moment, and then walks out of the apartment.

Three

November 15th, 2022

When the next morning rolls around, Noah’s up before the wake-up call. He rolls over to weak light pouring through the windows, making him blink hard. 

The room is quiet, minus the sounds of soft sleeping breath. But even then, something is different. The room is emptier somehow.

Noah sits up with a start, eyes glancing wildly around the room. Talia’s blanket is folded where she slept, meaning she’s up too.

That’s all he needs to get going. He scrambles out of bed, toeing on some shoes and rushing to the window. Outside, he can just barely make out the shape of her on the picnic table. Their picnic table. 

He’s out of the room and down the stairs within a minute. He rushes past the continental breakfast station and out the door, where he heads straight to the picnic table.

As he approaches, he’s welcomed by sound. 

Talia is sitting on the picnic table, her eyes closed and face turned up to the morning sun. Beside her, her phone plays some angsty acoustic track that she sings along to.

“And it’s cold in Colorado but it’s warm where I am. And I know things now to treat you better than, treat you better than, treat you better than. And I wish I had treated me better then, treated me better then, treated me better then.” 

He should go back inside. But he stays right where he is.

He doesn’t recognize the song, but he finds her voice soothes him. He swears he feels a knot untwist in his stomach. 

Noah steps forward to hear better, and this catches her attention. She smiles at him, eyes crinkling in the corners as she does.

He’s never noticed that before.

Talia scoots over on the table for him, and he sits.

“You’re up early today.” She notes softly. 

Noah shrugs, “I had a lot on my mind.”

Talia studies him for a beat. It’s almost like she’s trying to memorize him.

“About last night,” She begins, but Noah cuts her off before she can continue.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”

Talia doesn’t push, doesn’t ask why he reacted that way. She only lets her gaze soften.

Her voice is barely audible over the music, “Feels like you’re apologizing to me a lot these days.”

The moment doesn’t linger. It can’t. 

Another song comes on, and Talia exhales like she didn’t know she had been holding her breath. She pushes herself off the picnic table and begins to sway in the ankle-length grass, singing along.

“When I need a small reminder, when my legs can’t find the road. When I’m heavy with my burden, so my back is tired and bowed.”

Talia’s lips form a wide smile, and her brown eyes meet his. A soft laugh bubbles out of Noah’s chest, one he can’t stop. One he doesn’t want to. He smiles back, a little cautious.

Talia continues singing along, “When all these questions are collected, he brings the answer to my ear because…my god has a telephone. Hear it ringing in the morning.” 

Noah watches her spin slowly, barefoot in the grass. The pale golden light catches her like a lens flare, soft and a little surreal. She’s not performing for him — she’s just…existing. And somehow that hits him harder than anything else, because this moment is untainted with the complications that are usually between them. 

“This song,” he says, surprised by his own voice, “I like it.”

Talia’s eyes flash with delight, “It’s called ‘My God Has a Telephone’ by The Flying Stars of Brooklyn NY. I can send it to you, if you want.”

Noah nods, not trusting his voice suddenly. The way she dances — uninhibited, honest — makes his chest tight.

“My god has a telephone, hear him calling out a warning.” She continues singing.

She looks at Noah, and something electric passes through them. He breaks eye contact first, looking down at his feet.

“About last night,” He tries, needing to say this before his courage evaporates. “What you said about St. Elmo’s fire…I’ve been thinking about it.”

Talia stops dancing, her attention fully on him now. The song continues playing, but it’s just soft background noise.

“Yeah?” Her voice is soft, encouraging. Hopeful.

Noah takes a deep breath, “I’m not…I’m not good at this.” He gestures vaguely between them, “At letting people in.”

Talia moves closer, leaning against the picnic table besides him. Their shoulders almost touch. 

“I know.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” he continues, “About who I was. Who I am.”

“I’d like to,” she says, “If you let me.”

Noah looks at her then, really looks at her. The morning light catches in her hair, creating a halo effect he knows she would appreciate through her camera lens. For a moment, he thinks he understands how she sees him — not as the wreckage he knows himself to be, but as something worth seeing. 

“Maybe,” he says finally, and it feels like the most honest thing he’s ever offered her. “Maybe I could try.”

Talia's smile is slow, warming her entire face. She doesn't push for more, doesn't reach for him. Instead, she simply nods and turns her face back to the sun.

A new song starts playing. This one he recognizes—it's one of his own band's earlier tracks, from before they'd found their current sound. Before the masks and the persona. Something raw and honest he'd written years ago.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You listen to our old stuff?"

Talia laughs, a light sound that carries on the morning breeze. "I listen to everything. It's part of the job."

But there's something in the way she says it that tells him it's more than that. She's been paying attention. Seeing him — or at least parts of him — long before they met.

"We should head back," Noah says after a moment. "We've got a lot to do today." But he doesn't move.

Neither does Talia. She just nods, letting the music wash over them.

"Or we could stay," she suggests. "Just for another song or two."

Noah feels something tight in his chest loosen just a fraction. "Yeah," he says. "We could do that."

As the song plays on, Noah allows himself to imagine what it might be like to let someone—to let her—see the real him. Not just flashes of light in the darkness, but all of him. The thought terrifies him.

But for now, sitting beside her in the morning light, it feels like something worth considering.

Four

Later, after the rest of the team has woken and eaten breakfast, Noah and the band are whisked away to do interviews. It’s tedious, mechanical — the kind of thing he can push through on autopilot. 

But today, he can’t stop thinking about Talia. 

In one interview, Noah missed a question because he was too busy wondering what her lips would feel like against his. Soft, he thinks. Intentional.

In another, he stammers through a vague response, distracted by the image of her beneath him, eyes dark with something that isn’t just curiosity. 

He barely makes it through the day, his thoughts hopelessly tangled in her.

By the time they get to the venue, Noah is spent — not from the work, but from the effort it takes to keep himself contained. What he really wants, more than anything, is to find Talia. To pull her somewhere quiet. To be close, without pretense or performance. Without the weight of anyone watching.

Unfortunately, he has responsibilities. A role to play. And maybe that’s a good thing — because if he had even a moment to himself, he’s not sure what he’d do.

Soundcheck drags on like never before. Noah keeps glancing towards the pit, the wings — anywhere Talia could be.

No sign of her. His stomach drops before he can stop it.

Maybe it’s better this way. Focus has always been his salvation on stage — the one place where everything falls away.

That’s not the case today. 

Even as they run through the setlist, Noah’s mind is elsewhere. Caught in a constant loop: look for Talia, think about how her thighs looked in that mini skirt last night.

“Dude, you with us?” Folio asks, tapping his drumsticks against the snare to get Noah’s attention.

“Yeah,” Noah mutters, adjusting his in-ears. “Just working through something.”

Nick gives him a knowing look that Noah pointedly ignores.

When they finish soundcheck, Noah rushes through backstage to the greenroom, the others trailing slowly behind. He’s relieved to see Talia in there, hyper-focused on her laptop.

“Hey there, stranger.” he says. 

Talia looks up, a grin cracking through her focused expression. 

Before she can respond, the guys come crashing in. Folio immediately collapses next to her, swinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Tal, where the hell you been, loca?” He asks, grinning.

Talia’s eyes widen and she pulls her head back a little, “Did you just quote Twilight to me?” 

Noah watches the exchange, barely able to contain a grin. He sinks down on a faux leather chair that’s worn with age, and thinks about what he said this morning. 

Maybe I could try.

And maybe, just maybe, he really could.

Five

Portland, Oregon. It had provided Noah two aching, blissful days. 

The crowd here was different — hungrier, almost feral in their devotion. Maybe it was the sheer size of the audience, or the way they thrash like waves breaking against the barricade.

Noah stands center stage, gripping the microphone stand as though it’s the only thing keeping him here. He’s backlit in white, the type of lighting that makes him more ghost than man. Sweat clings to his skin, the back of his hair curls against the nape of his neck. The lights are usually scorching, but tonight he barely notices. He’s searching for her.

“I’m not afraid, of the war you’ve come to wage against my sins. I’m not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend.” 

His voice wavers a little towards the end, but only Nick seems to notice. He sends Noah a worried look, but Noah brushes it off, scanning for Talia in the pit. The lights of over a dozen phone cameras make it hard for him to spot her. Dread fills him. Where is she?

Nonetheless, Noah continues, “So will you wait me out, or will you drown me out?”

And then he spots her. 

Crouched near the stage, tucked just behind a monitor. Her hair is pulled back, small wisps escaping to frame her face. In the whitewash of the lights, he can see that her camera is pressed to her chest. Talia watches in awe — as though she is witnessing something holy.

Noah turns slightly to face her, to meet her eyes from feet away. The roar of the crowd fades to white noise. For a suspended moment, it’s just them. He gives her a tiny, imperceptible nod.

A message: It’s okay. Take your shot.

As she raises the viewfinder to her eye, framing him, he feels exposed. Not as the Noah everyone out there knows him as, but as the version that had just existed for her at the picnic table. 

He unravels into the chorus.

“I can wait for you at the bottom, I can stay away if you want me to. I can wait for years if I gotta, heaven knows I ain’t getting over you.”

The words spill from him with an honesty that startles him. Behind the camera, Talia’s finger presses the shutter, capturing the moment his walls come down. The click is lost in the noise, but Noah feels it like a physical touch. 

Tonight, for the first time in longer than he can remember, Noah isn’t just performing. He’s confessing.

Six

The second the show ends — after the pulse of the encore and the fading of the lights — Noah rushes off the stage. 

He doesn’t know if Talia has made it back yet or if she is still out there, but either way, he has find her. 

Pushing his way gently past a group of roadies, Noah searches backstage for her. 

It’s a desperate loss of control. He knows this. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t care. 

Only when he’s sure he’s made an ass of himself does he spot Talia. 

She’s coming backstage, being escorted by a security guard as she gently grips her own wrist protectively. Her camera is slung around her neck, and she looks ruffled. 

“Talia!” Noah calls out. She immediately seeks out the source of his voice. 

When her gaze finally catches his, she responds. “Noah!” 

Noah weaves around crew members to meet her halfway. When they meet, he gets a better look at the state of her. She’s pale, and shaking a little. 

“What happened?” He asks, reaching for her reddened wrist. “Did someone do this?”

“I fell after the show. It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

Noah feels himself let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

When she lets him take her wrist in his hand, Talia winces. It’s already bruising — blooming purple and black.

“We should get this taken care of.”

Talia shakes her head, “It can wait. I want to talk to you.”

Noah looks at her, hardened with concern. He’s about to argue when she gives him a look that sends a shock of warmth through his stomach. 

He gently grabs her other wrist, tugging her along through the hum of backstage. When he finally finds a secluded corner, he presses her gently against the wall. 

“Talia.” He says, voice low and reluctant.

Truthfully, he probably shouldn’t be doing this. This could ruin everything, if he’s not careful. But Noah is tired of being careful, tired of pretending like Talia doesn’t live under his skin. In his thoughts. 

He barely catches the sound of her breath hitching as he steps forward, caging her in slowly. He leans down so that their lips are almost brushing, and hesitates.

“Kiss me.” 

That’s all he needs.

In seconds, his lips are on hers. They’re soft — softer than he’d imagined — and taste of cherry. It takes everything in him not to lose total control.

Talia melts into the kiss, a soft whimper escaping from her lips. His tattooed hand comes up to cup her cheek, and he gently pulls her deeper.

He hopes that she can feel everything he’s saying — I want you, I want this. Please don’t make me regret it.

When they pull away, Talia’s eyes stay closed for a moment, like she’s savoring the taste of it. They flutter open slowly, and Noah pulls back enough to see the smile that’s now present on her lips. 

They don’t say anything, not for a long time. But they both understand that they’ve crossed some unspoken threshold into something new.

And for the first time in a long time, Noah lets himself have it.

---

CHAPTER FOUR IS HERE BABY. Honestly, it only gets better from here. I hope you enjoy :)

As always, thank you to my friends Halen, Wolfe, and Stella for the work they have done for this fic!

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Chapter Three | Chapter Five

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