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maydove · 14 days ago

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thinking about noah being super condescending- like stroking your cheek with his thumb and saying “ohh i knowww sweetheart,” and continuing to push you past your limits 🫠

I was just thinking of you bb and you come into my inbox with this delicious thot!! 💕 I hope this is something to your liking 🤲

CW: overstimulation, dom!noah, brat!reader, multiple orgasms, condescension, toy use (wand), light bondage (wrists), reader referred to as a fucktoy.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Noah’s got you right where he wants you, though that’s not exactly hard for him.

He knows all the right buttons to press to have you teetering on the edge—the kind of edge where heat blooms low in your stomach, threatening to break loose and take over, but he keeps you there, suspended in that sweet torment, just to toy with you, right until tears slip down your cheeks as you squirm beneath the wand he holds with maddening precision against your clit.

“P-please…” you stutter.

Noah gazes down at you with a deceptively sweet smile, one that might’ve fooled you, if not for the way the corners of his mouth curl, betraying his true intentions. He’s basking in this, in how helpless you are—wrists bound above your head, legs spread wide, all because you were being a brat and dared to challenge him.

You regret it now, whatever quip you threw at him. You can’t even remember the exact words anymore, something about him not being able to ‘make you give in’, and yet here you are, begging, pleading for release.

Except you know when he finally gives it to you, it won’t be over, not even close, because now he gets to enjoy his favourite part—watching you fall apart again and again. Pushing you into the territory of multiple orgasms, where your thighs tremble and your body rides the wave of another high, and then another.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. It’s all too much, isn’t it?” he murmurs, one hand gently cradling your cheek. His thumb strokes along your skin in a gesture that feels tender, and yet his voice is laced with something saccharine, that condescending tone sinking straight into your core, only heightening your arousal. “But I think you’ve got one more in you,” he coos.

And you do, you feel it building, a white-hot eruption that blazes through your body. He draws it out of you, coaxing another orgasm with that wicked toy still pressed against your clit, until you’re writhing under him, completely at his mercy.

Eventually, he swaps it for his fingers—slow, teasing, knowing it’s not enough, it’s not what you really need, because you both know what that is, you need him to fuck you, to finally fill you, to be fully, thoroughly ruined, and that’s exactly why he keeps drawing it out, pushing you further, past every limit, until you’re drooling and glassy eyed—not a single thought left in your pretty little head.

Exactly how he loves his perfect little fucktoy to be.

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maydove · 16 days ago

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some bestfriend!noah for @1toreyouapart, inspired by this 💕

CW: includes mentions of nipple play/biting, spit for lube, handjob, a little soft dirty talk.

NSFW'ish below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“Me next!” Noah chimes, leaning in as he watches you delicately pluck your brows, shaping them back into your preferred look.

“Are you going to stay still this time?” You shoot a brief look over your shoulder at him, and he scoffs.

“When am I not still?”

“Uh.” Your jaw drops, a little flabbergasted as you turn to look at him. “All the time? It’s always ‘me next,’ and then I spend ten minutes trying to hold your head still because you’re too much of a wuss.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect? It hurts!”

“Why ask me to do it, then?”

“Because I gotta look good.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff, rolling your eyes as you glance back at the mirror to finish off the final hairs. “Yeah? For who—your imaginary girlfriend?”

You catch sight of him in the corner of the mirror, mocking you, and the corner of your mouth twitches. It always amuses you when you manage to get under his skin—just enough to make him lose steam in your usual banter and instead resort to childlike antics.

“Come here then.” You beckon him toward you, watching the way he wiggles his brows.

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “If you’re trying to be seductive, it’s not working,” you tease. His face drops into that familiar, offended expression, which only amuses you more. You love teasing him, especially when he gets all pouty.

“Oh, look at you, all pouty.” You reach in to pinch his cheek, and he’s quick to swat your hand away.

“Yeah, yeah, just come on. Make me look pretty.” He runs a large, tattooed hand back through his hair, trying to push it out of the way, then leans his head forward as he shuffles along the bed, inching closer to you.

You let out a deep breath. “Well, now I can’t perform miracles.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but you catch the way he peeks out from one of his now-closed eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking into a teasing smirk.

Gripping his chin, you attempt to hold him in place, lifting the pair of tweezers to his brows, but before you can even get close, he quickly pulls back.

“Noah,” you murmur softly, though there’s a hint of warning in your tone—he’s already testing your patience.

“Sorry, I wasn’t ready.” He drops his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his body before bracing himself again, eyes screwing shut.

For a brief moment, you just watch him. He seems either genuinely pained or convinced you’re about to hurt him, but then your eyes flicker to his lips—you notice how he wets them in anticipation, then nervously nibbles at his lower lip.

Moving your hand, you run your fingers back through his hair, gently pushing it away while subtly anchoring him in place. You shift slightly, moving closer—almost climbing into his lap—and, as if in sync, like he senses your nearness, his hands rise to settle at your waist to steady you.

You murmur a soft, “Thanks,” and his hands squeeze your waist in silent acknowledgment, a gesture that stirs a low, bubbling heat in your belly.

Being this close to him always has a way of getting under your skin, and though you both manage to maintain the illusion of control, you flirt with the line between friendship and something more far too often.

You manage to pluck the first hair before he tries to pull away, letting out a loud “Ow!”—and just like that, the spell you’d been under seconds ago is shattered.

“God, you big baby.” You roll your eyes and try to pull him back into place, but he leans away slightly.

“It hurt! You need to be gentler,” he whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes again.

“It’s not my fault your hair is hard to pull out.” That makes you laugh, and you almost feel bad for finding his pain funny. You remember the first time you started plucking your own brows and how much you used to complain, but at least years of experience had built up some tolerance.

You try again, but he moves once more.

“If you keep moving, I swear I’m going to stick your head down on my lap.”

And just like that, he shifts again. You release his hair from your grip with an exasperated sigh before shuffling further back on the bed.

“Okay, lay back. Head here.” You gesture to your lap and wait for him to follow instructions. Noah obliges, tucking his head against your thighs and looking up at you with a cheeky grin.

“You think I’ll behave now?”

“You’d better.” You try to hold his head in place as you lean forward slightly—only to feel him move again.

“If I pop my tit in your mouth, will it stop you from moving and whining?”

It’s a joke—a crude one, the kind you’re no stranger to making. The two of you are always flirting along that line, but something about this one pushes it over completely, especially the moment he says, “Yes.”

His eyes hold a challenge, a cheeky grin etched across his face and beneath it, an unmissable heat.

You should scoff. Should give him some “in your dreams” kind of response, but instead, you actually go through with it.

You tug down the tank top you’re wearing, your breast slipping free from the fabric, and with his mouth already open, tongue peeking out expectantly, you slide your other hand beneath his head and guide him up.

For a brief moment, time stretches—like a game of chicken—until you feel it: the warm press of his tongue against you.

You gasp as it circles your nipple, feeling it harden under his gentle caress. Your eyes flutter closed, lost in the electricity blooming through your body the moment his mouth closes around you, a soft, satisfied hum vibrating against your skin. Your fingers thread through his hair, encouraging him gently, and you feel a moan rise in your throat as he tests the waters—his teeth grazing, just barely, against the sensitive bud.

When your eyes open, you glance down at him. His eyes are half-lidded, barely peering up at you from beneath his long lashes.

“Maybe now you’ll be good for me,” you whisper, bringing the tweezers back to his brows.

You pluck one—clean, quick—and feel his tongue flick gently against your nipple in response, followed by a soft hum that vibrates through your breast.

You go again, drawing another hair, and he lets out a low sound, his mouth tightening just slightly around you. It’s the third one that gets him—a more sensitive spot—and the moment you tug it free, he bites down, not hard, but enough to make you jolt.

Your breath catches. A soft gasp leaves your lips as his teeth graze your nipple, a wicked little punishment wrapped in pleasure.

“You brat,” you murmur, trying not to smile as you steady your hand again, but he just smirks against you, clearly unrepentant, and gives your nipple another teasing nip the next time you pluck a particularly stubborn hair.

The push and pull between you is palpable now, pain and pleasure trading hands, soft and sharp, teasing and intimate.

When you glance down briefly, you can’t help but notice the way a bulge has formed at the front of his shorts, the fabric strained tight around it. Heat blooms low in your belly at the sudden urge to reach down and offer him a little relief, especially now, when he’s finally being good and obedient for you.

Your eyes flick between his face, so focused, his mouth and tongue working diligently at your nipple—soothing the previous pain inflicted by his nip—and the bulge beneath him as you slowly reach down.

Your fingers tease along his bare thigh when you reach it, skimming just beneath the hem of his shorts and the way they ride up so high. You’ve teased him before about wearing them—called them his slutty shorts, his “fuck-me” shorts—and now, all you can really think about is pulling him out of them to do exactly that.

He doesn’t stop or pull away when your fingers start to tease higher, brushing along the seam and feeling the outline of him, the thick, hard length of him pressed tight against the fabric. Instead, he lets out another hum, something that sounds like approval, and then you feel the brush of his teeth again, making you gasp, a moan tumbling from your lips.

You take that as his sign to hurry up, and under any other circumstances, you might have teased him for it, made him earn it, but this time, you follow his silent request.

You push the waistband of his shorts down, and he lifts his hips to help, letting you tug both his shorts and boxers down in one smooth motion. You watch as his cock springs free. It’s bigger than you could’ve imagined, and you’ve imagined it a lot. You’ve felt it enough, pressed up against your back when you’ve shared a bed, caught glimpses of the outline when he wore something too tight in the privacy of your home, but nothing prepared you for the sight of it now, and you swear your mouth waters.

You shake your head, trying to pull your focus back as your hand wraps around him, slowly stroking up the length to the tip. You squeeze gently, watching as a trickle of precum slips from the head and rolls down along the shaft. It’s a pretty sight—almost too pretty—and you feel the vein beneath your touch, the way it throbs with every slow, deliberate stroke. You draw it out on purpose, savoring the way he groans against your breast, low and muffled, sending vibrations straight through you.

“Is this what you wanted?” you purr down at him, your voice laced with lust.

His eyes flutter open, gazing up at you with a wanton need—the kind that goes straight to your core and makes your thighs squeeze together, only adding to the ache already building between them.

“Of course it was,” you murmur under your breath. “And you weren’t ever lying about those mouth skills.”

Another moan slips from you as he continues to focus on your nipple, the teasing nip of his teeth sending a direct jolt to your cunt, making you throb and clench around nothing.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your grip tightening around his cock.

You pull your hand back, lifting it to your mouth and spitting into your palm before bringing it back down, rubbing your saliva across the tip, then down along the shaft. His precum mixes with it easily, turning slick beneath your touch as you begin to stroke him, slow and steady, deliberately teasing, working him with the same care he’s giving to you.

You don’t catch the way his eyes widen at the sight of you spitting into your hand, only feel the way he squirms in your lap as you stroke him, his hips bucking involuntarily. He’s quick to try and match your pace, chasing the sensation of your hand wrapped around him—something he’d never admit to thinking about, but has fantasized over more times than he can count.

It feels unreal, almost like a dream. Like he’s imagining this whole scene.

And yet, the line you’ve always tiptoed along—flirting, teasing, testing—it’s been crossed. Even if only slightly, it’s enough to change everything.

It’s Noah who reaches for your top, tugging it down enough to expose your other breast. His hand cups it firmly, kneading it, his thumb brushing over your already hardened nipple before he catches it between his thumb and forefinger—twisting, pinching just enough to make your back arch.

You gasp, a sound that only makes your grip around him tighten as your hand begins to move faster, spurred on by the way he’s pushing you right to the edge. The two of you fall into a rhythm—taunting, toying, testing—each reaction only encouraging the other further.

He can feel it coming, the white-hot coil tightening low in his stomach, the edges of his vision starting to blur. He wants to tell you, to warn you somehow, but he can’t bring himself to let go of your nipple, not with your fingers carding through his hair, massaging his scalp. Not when your voice is a soft, breathy coo of encouragement and praise, coaxing him closer, and then he’s there, his release crashing through him in waves as hot ropes spill from the tip, coating his stomach—where he’d had the foresight to tug his hoodie up—and your hand.

He doesn’t care about the mess, not when he’s a trembling wreck beneath you, your hand refusing to stop, pushing him through the full length of his climax. His hips buck wildly, overstimulated, as you milk him for every last drop until there’s nothing left—just his shallow breath and the aftershocks rippling through his body.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @saythatuwill @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai @respectfulrebel

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