measuredingold

[measuredingold]

Summary: A slip of the tongue during breakfast reveals Noah’s true feelings towards you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x f!reader.

CW: absolute fluff and sweetness, a little touch on self doubt, enchanted!noah is crazy in love, declaration of love.

This wasn’t how Noah had intended to say it, not as a slip of the tongue when he went to leave for the day, but something about it felt so natural, a reflex that followed the usual string of goodbye kisses. Always multiple, because he can never stop at just one, not when he knows he’ll be away from you for a while. He always has to go into double digits.

It’s one of those rare mornings when you have the day off and he doesn’t. He has a full schedule of meetings pulling him away for the next few hours, but when he wakes, he finds you in the kitchen—bowl tucked beneath your arm as you whisk the eggs you’ve meticulously cracked.

You’d shown him the trick not long after you started staying over, back when breakfast in bed became a thing for the both of you—one bowl to crack each egg into, and a second to pour it into afterward.

“It’s easier to fish out eggshells from one egg than from a whole mix,” you told him, a little tidbit he’s tucked away and kept using since, especially when you’re not around.

You’re humming as you go—a melody that doesn’t sound familiar but is soft enough to lull him into a sense of peace. He watches the slow sway of your hips, the way you seem dreamlike, lost in your own little world. You look too serene for him to disturb, but when he does, he’s careful—stealthy—as not to catch you off guard. His hands settle at your hips as he steps up behind you, and your hum shifts into one of quiet acknowledgment as you instinctively lean back into him.

He gives your hips a gentle squeeze in greeting, hands sliding around to meet at your front, settling just over your stomach as his head dips. He can’t resist the bare glimpse of your shoulder, where your oversized tee slips off slightly, revealing skin he’s already kissing—nipping gently before trailing his lips up the column of your neck.

“Morning to you too,” you muse, your smile bleeding into your voice. His lips curl into a grin against your warm skin, pressing one final kiss to the nape of your neck as he moves to nuzzle beneath the messy bun you’ve tied up to keep your hair out of your face.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and unused until now. You’d slipped out of bed before he even woke—a small, selfish disappointment in waking to cold sheets after becoming so accustomed to your warmth beside him.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asks, peeking over your shoulder as you pour the egg mixture into the pan, completely unfazed by the way he clings to you, holding close, just breathing you in—a scent and comfort that makes his chest flutter.

“Omelette,” you reply, turning your head just enough to catch his eye and press a light kiss to his jaw. “I figured you’d be hungry and want to eat before you left.”

Ideally, he would eat. Usually, he’s dragging himself out of bed closer to noon than early morning, and while his stomach grumbles, the idea of actually eating something this early doesn’t sit right with him.

Still, he presses his mouth to the side of your head, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” before slipping his arms from around you and stepping aside.

“Coffee?” he asks, reaching up into the cupboard for his usual mug.

“In the pot. I made some fresh,” you reply with a nod, folding the omelette in half and flipping it completely to finish cooking through.

It all feels so domestic, watching you move around his kitchen. Not that it’s an unfamiliar sight, he’s seen it before, even in your own home, but something about it stirs something deeper in him today. You usually spend your Sunday mornings wrapped up in bed together, dragging out the time before finally rolling out for a slow, lazy lunch—time you both savour, and yet now, watching you like this, he realises he wants more of it. More of this. More of you.

He’s already managed to convince you to take your first vacation together—something real couples do, and most days, he finds himself seesawing between what might be ‘too fast’ and what simply feels right, because with you, even the things that should feel fast don’t. They feel natural. Safe. He’s never experienced anything like it before. Never allowed himself to let his guard down like this, not with anyone else, other than you—you make it easy. You make it feel safe to be known.

“Noah!”

You calling his name snaps him out of his thoughts, pulling him back from wherever he’d drifted. That’s when he notices the coffee spilling over the counter.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe it up. Just as he finishes, a car horn blares from outside, drawing his attention to the front window.

“That’s Jolly—he said he was gonna swing by and grab me,” Noah explains, tossing the now coffee-soaked rag into the sink.

“But… your breakfast?” you ask, your voice small as you hold up the plate, presenting the omelette to him like it’s an award, and in his mind, it is one. The gesture alone makes him regret having to dip out so early.

“You have it,” he says gently. “I’ll be back after lunch—we can go out for something together, yeah?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then slips his fingers beneath your chin to tilt your face up, stealing the many kisses he needs to sustain him while you’re apart. More than food or air, he’d argue—this is what he needs.

Another blare of the horn breaks the moment, and he pulls away with a reluctant groan. “Okay, I gotta go.” And just like that, the three words tumble out—soft, uncalculated, and entirely unintentional:

“I love you.”

It doesn’t hit him right away—what he said or the gravity of it. Not until he’s already in the car.

He doesn’t even know he left you standing there, dumbfounded, the words still swirling in your head. Spoken like a reflex. Like they’d always been sitting there, waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

For the entire duration of his meeting, Noah is unable to focus. His eyes keep flickering to his phone, and the lack of a message from you sends him into a quiet spiral.

Did you hate that he said it? Was it too soon? Had he come on too strong? Did you not feel the same way?

He wouldn’t blame you. It’s a lot—he’s a lot. He knows he can be hard to love. Maybe you haven’t reached that point yet. Maybe you weren’t ready.

Except he has.

He’s been falling for a while now, even if he hadn’t said the words out loud until this morning. He’s felt it in his chest—the way being near you makes him feel both peaceful and fluttery, a quiet storm of butterflies beneath the surface, but it’s the calm that stands out most. The sense of normalcy.

You’ve never asked anything of him. Never expected the version of him that exists onstage, the performer, the persona. You’ve never demanded he be some dancing monkey just to earn your affection. You’ve seen through all of that.

You’ve accepted the softer, less put-together parts of him with a grace that catches him off guard, and more than that, you’ve offered yourself in return. You lean on him when your days are heavy, and he carries that with a quiet pride.

He’s your safe place, the same way you’ve become his.

By the end of the meeting, he’s out like a shot, nerves stretched thin with the need to come home. The silence from you feels too loud now, too heavy. He’s convinced he has gone too far.

Noah even tells Jolly he’ll Uber home—he doesn’t want to waste a single second letting the Swede take him on one of his infamous detours.

When he finally arrives home, he steps through the door tentatively, calling out for you, but there’s no response. A part of him aches, worried that maybe you’d left, but then he sees your shoes still neatly placed by the door, and relief settles in his chest. He takes the stairs two at a time, following the muffled sound of the TV coming from his room.

When he gets there, he opens the door to find you tucked back into his bed, wearing one of his shirts, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your form. One of the anime series you’ve both been watching recently is playing quietly in the background.

As Noah steps into the room, you shift, moving toward him. Your eyes are wide as you settle on your knees near the center of the bed, watching him approach. He walks to the edge and reaches out for you.

“I was worried you’d left,” he confesses, voice soft, his gaze flicking away from yours.

But you reach out and take his hands in yours, gently tugging him closer. His hands are larger, easily enveloping yours, but it’s a comfort to you both, how naturally you fit there, like you belong.

Finally, you take a steady breath and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said?”

And without missing a beat, Noah replies, “Every word.”

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 @dravenskye

[measuredingold]

can u write smth sub!noah related pls 🩵

Hi bb!! Here's a thot I've been thinking over for so long, milking sub!noah with one of these as suggested by @madamaaubergine 💕

CW: includes mentions of anal play with toy (m receiving), edging, milking with toy, sub/dom dynamics, reader referred to as miss/mistress and Noah referred to as pup/puppy, slight temp play(?), men begging and whimpering.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

You’ve barely even started, and already he’s trembling—his knees pressed to the bed, bent in an arch as he raises his hips and ass higher in the air for you. His fingers clutch the pillow you’ve tucked beneath his chest, while a second one rests between his thighs, a puddle already forming where his precum has leaked. You see how his thighs tremble, struggling to keep him steady. He turns his head, peering at you with soft, doe eyes—the look of a puppy pleading for something—for more.

You’ve just spent the better part of ten minutes slowly working him up with your fingers, wanting to ready him for the toy you’ve selected, a new gift you wanted to present him. It’s a metal dildo, one end with a bulbous larger than the other, the cool metal no doubt a fun addition for you to dip your toes into temperature play together.

“Miss…” The word comes faint, strained, but oh so desperate. You see the way Noah shakes his hips, as though urging you to him, attempting to remind you he’s here, pleading silently not to be forgotten or left in such a wanton state.

“I know, my sweet boy, my pup,” you softly purr, crossing back over to the bed. Your gift for him is tucked behind your back, freshly cleaned and ready to be used. “I told you I have a special gift for you.”

You catch the way his eyes light up with genuine excitement, and when your gaze trails down, the corner of your lips flickers into a smirk as his cock twitches and throbs—hopeful it’s something to ease the current build-up of pleasure from your slow edging.

You can’t resist reaching out to trail your finger down along his shaft, following the thick vein that throbs the more you leave his cock ignored. It’s your favorite part about choosing to milk him like this, ignoring how his cock stands at full attention, precum leaking and ready to blow at any second with just one or two pumps of your hand. You want to make him earn it, to make him experience the delight of an orgasm through other means—through his prostate, even.

Bringing your other hand out from behind your back, you reveal the toy: the metal dildo, showing off both ends. “I think we’ll start small to begin with.” You sound almost disappointed, but you catch a distinct sigh of relief from Noah, which follows his initial squeal of shock at the sight of the toy.

Reaching for the lube, you hold both up high enough for him to see as he turns his head slightly, then begin to coat the bulbous end before bringing it down between his spread cheeks and against his already eager hole. You spread the lube, watching how his body tenses and his hole tightens at the sudden cool metal pressed against him.

“Is that cold, pup?” you taunt. With a soft press, you watch the way he parts for you, mouth opening with a soft gasp, mirroring Noah’s open mouth as he lets out a deep rumbling groan while you sink the toy into him. The best part is the heaviness of the bulbous end—the way you know it’ll press just perfectly against his prostate the moment it slips into place.

Once it does, you marvel at how his cock begins to throb and twitch once more, leaking extra without being touched.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it, baby? You like that?”

All Noah can do in response is whine and whimper as he tightens around the toy, feeling it pull deep and press against that sensitive spot—the one he feels has a direct line to his cock, the coil in his belly growing tighter as he teeters on the edge of his climax. Tears press in his eyes; he wants to beg, but every time he tries to find the words, nothing but a soft, whimpered sound comes out.

“Shhh, it’s okay, puppy. Just let me help you,” you coo softly in his ear. His eyes roll back, and a low, almost purring sound escapes him in response as your fingers card through his hair, massaging his scalp. Your other hand twists and motions the toy inside him, applying extra pressure against that sensitive spot, which makes his thighs tremble even more violently as he struggles to keep himself upright for you.

It doesn’t take long for him to turn into a string of babbles, begging for relief—begging for you. The soft, pleading “miss” and “mistress” are thrown at you in hopes that either will make you take pity, because he’s close, so on edge, so built up. He knows he can’t hold on much longer; his stomach muscles tighten as he struggles to hold back the rising release—until he feels the ripple effect as you apply just that extra bit of pressure, enough to tip him over the edge and send a roaring wave throughout his body.

He trembles violently on the bed as his cock spurts rope after rope of cum onto the pillow beneath, some even landing on his thighs with how violent the climax is. All he can manage between whimpered moans and sounds is a shaky apology, because he came before you said, without asking, and without your permission.

[measuredingold]

Will you wait me out?

Summary: You were once the best of friends—maybe a little bit more—and maybe, if life hadn’t gotten in the way, things could be different now, but instead, a decade after you once knew Noah, you see his face again and find yourself chasing ghosts in the form of old memories, before finally coming face to face with the past.

Part 1 here

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x f!reader.

CW: includes mentions of old feelings, soft reunions, fluffy moments, protected sex (p in v), fingering & oral (f receiving).

WC: 6.8k.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

The first time Noah receives a postcard, the other guys laugh and admittedly, he does too. They’re no strangers to odd fan mail. Letters declaring undying love or detailing how much the band means to someone are typical, normal even, but a postcard that essentially mirrors his own words back to him? That’s a little strange. Most people use email these days, so a postcard feels out of place. Peculiar, even, especially one unsigned, and yet, the longer he stares at the handwriting scrawled across it, the more familiar it feels, though he can’t quite place it.

Weeks go by before a whole pile gets dumped in his lap. They’ve been on the road, touring on and off, and a quick trip back home to California gave them a chance to swing by their PO box—Davis, at least.

“More?” Noah asks.

Davis just shrugs with a quiet, “I guess so.”

More laughter erupts from the rest of the guys, followed by a comment from Jolly. “I think someone’s got an obsessed fan,” the Swede remarks.

Noah laughs in agreement, brushing it off, until he starts reading them. One by one, he flips through the postcards and it’s the details—small, intimate details—that start to hit him. Mentions of places, shared memories, little ideas he once spoke of, but only with one person in mind. That’s when the realization hits him, these aren’t just any old fan mail, they’re from you.

Admittedly, it’s a little insane to assume you’re out there, somewhere, sending him these postcards. Postcards that contain oddly specific details from conversations you once had.

He remembers when you confessed your fear of rollercoasters after a senior class trip was announced for Six Flags. You didn’t want people to think you were scared of the rides—even though you knew you were, and Noah had agreed, without hesitation, to stay back with you the entire trip. Later, you’d made a promise: you’d conquer the fear together, after graduation, but after that, you left.

You both made a lot of promises back then—some spoken, some not—but plenty of them stuck. With each read-through of the postcards, Noah still doesn’t know how to feel. Happy? Sad? Angry? Why reach out now, after all this time? You left, didn’t you?

Or maybe it was him.

The details from a decade ago have blurred at the edges, both of you swept up in teenage hormones and diverging dreams.

“It was her. I’m sure of it,” Davis tells him one night—referring to the girl who supposedly showed up at a show and left early, bumping into him on the way out.

“You’re sure?” Noah asks, skeptical, but maybe now, it’s his turn to go a little insane with the idea of finding you.

Searches across social media turned up almost nothing. Either you’d changed your name completely or disappeared off the grid. Either way, he drove himself halfway to madness trying to find you. A couple of LinkedIn profiles came close, but no pictures, no details concrete enough to know if they were really you.

It’s like chasing ghosts, searching for someone who’s been leaving a trail just for him to follow, only to vanish the moment he gets close. All it’s done is stir the memory of you that once lingered quietly in the back of his mind. Now, it’s no longer a fleeting thought, but something he carries every day, wondering when—or if, another postcard will arrive.

Gradually, your face becomes the one he looks for in the crowd. Every night. Hopeful that maybe, this time, he’ll spot you among the sea of strangers and each time the chords to Just Pretend begin, it’s like tearing open an old wound. When he wrote it, he thought he was past it, past you, past the unspoken weight of everything that once lingered between you, but now, it’s all come flooding back—resurrected. Everything he buried instead of confronting, all the what ifs echoing too loudly in his head.

Between the relentless touring, the quiet obsession of chasing your ghost, and the burnout from overworking and writing new music, he’s slowly becoming a cliché. The performing monkey, doing what he’s told, when he’s told—wearing the familiar mask everyone’s grown to love: the sweet, shy frontman, but behind closed doors, he’s unraveling. People keep telling him to take a break, to slow down, to stop putting so much pressure on himself, but the truth is, it never sinks in. He doesn’t stop. Even when he pretends to.

Even now, sitting at the back of the bus, he’s scrolling through yet another batch of profiles—every possible variation of your name, your nickname, anything that might lead to you—and still, nothing. Every search turns up empty.

It’s like you really are a ghost.

When he hears your voice say your name for the first time in a decade, Noah has to convince himself he’s not hallucinating. He looks up and sees you. Your name rolls off his tongue with practiced ease, as if it had never left his lips.

Noah glances over at Matt, torn between slipping away and silently apologizing for holding everyone up, but then his gaze returns to you, and instinctively, his hand reaches out to grasp yours. It’s an unconscious motion—part disbelief, part grounding. You feel solid beneath his touch. Real. Warm. Your skin is softer than he remembers, and his hand feels larger now, enveloping yours with ease. You might’ve felt embarrassed by how clammy your palm is—if his weren’t just the same.

“Do you have to go?” Noah asks.

“Uh…” You hesitate, because no, you don’t have to go anywhere, but you didn’t exactly plan what to do if he actually wanted to see you.

“She can wait with me,” Davis offers, stepping out from behind the Bad Omens banner erected behind them. Your mouth opens—an apology on the tip of your tongue, or maybe an excuse, but before you can speak, Noah is already nodding.

“Yeah. Go hang with Davis. I won’t be much longer,” he tells you, guiding you around the edge of the table. His grip tightens slightly, reluctant to let go, and truthfully, you’re not ready to either.

When your eyes meet his, it’s there—the flood of things left unsaid, the echo of the hope and dreams you once shared as teenagers. Somehow, that spark still lingers. You feel it in his touch, in his gaze. He never stopped caring.

Behind him, Jolly leans toward Nicholas, whispering a question. Nicholas murmurs something back, both of them giving you the space to have this moment, even with fans still in line and crew buzzing around.

“I’ll be over…” you start, gesturing vaguely, your eyes unwilling to leave his face.

“Yeah…” Noah nods, his voice softer now, as he finally lets go of your hand and the weight of Davis’s hand on your shoulder pulls you back into the present.

You murmur an apology—you’re not even sure what for. For bumping into him at the concert? For showing up now? For holding up the meet and greet? Your thoughts are spinning, but Davis seems to sense it. Gently, he suggests stepping outside, offering a reprieve—a quiet place to gather yourself.

“So… postcards, huh?” Davis says, leaning beside you as your back meets the cool surface of the brick wall.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air in an effort to steady yourself. Tilting your head toward him, you shrug, heat rising to your cheeks as your gaze drops to the ground.

“You know he’s been going crazy over them ever since the first one.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice soft—unable to hide the flicker of hope in your tone, as if maybe this could fix everything, as if it could erase ten years of silence and missed chances.

Davis glances over at you, his tone gentle, free of judgment. “What made you do it?” He sounds genuinely curious. Not prying. Not skeptical. Just trying to understand.

You briefly consider telling Davis the truth—how it all started when you came across that magazine. How everything spiraled from there. It hadn’t been entirely intentional. More like some strange twist of fate. A coincidence, maybe, but somehow, everything that led you to this moment doesn’t feel like coincidence at all. It feels inevitable. Like the pull between you and Noah had always been there, quietly waiting, ready to snap you back into each other’s orbit.

You open your mouth to answer, but the fire exit creaks open, cutting you off.

Noah steps out and his eyes lock onto yours immediately, wide and disbelieving. For a second, he just stands there, stunned. Like seeing you again is something he still hasn’t convinced himself is real. He looks at you like you’re a dream he’s been chasing, one he’s terrified might vanish the moment he blinks.

You barely catch Davis slipping past you both, heading inside—too caught up in the sight of Noah slowly approaching.

“Is it really…”

You see Noah’s hands trembling as he reaches out for you, his palms gently cupping your face, cradling you as he gazes down in awe—like you’re some unholy treasure he’s unearthed. You swear you see the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“It is,” you whisper, nodding softly as you look up at him. Your hands reach for him in return, your fingers threading through his now much shorter hair. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles—soft, gravelly—and it stirs a warmth inside you. You’ve missed his laugh. You’ve missed him, probably more than words could ever really convey.

You look at him like you’re trying to commit him to memory. Comparing the boy you once knew with the man standing in front of you now. He’s changed in subtle ways—beyond the haircut, beyond his features. There are more tattoos on his skin; he’s a walking piece of art, and yet, the way he looks at you—like he wants to kiss you, like he’s desperate to hold onto you and confirm this is real—that hasn’t changed.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” you tease, laughing softly, glancing around the alleyway behind the building he met you outside of, after you’d slipped out for some air.

Noah pulls back just enough to look around, but his hands never leave you. They slide from your face down the sides of your neck, resting on your shoulders before he wraps you in a full embrace—a big, warm bear hug that tucks you beneath his arm, snug against his chest.

“Only if you promise you’re coming with me,” he mumbles, his mouth pressed against the top of your head. You exhale a soft sigh, content with the idea that he still wants you close. You’re not sure you could’ve handled him sending you on your way—as if a five-minute reunion could ever be enough.

“Promise…” you whisper, but there’s a hollowness in your voice, a quiet ache as memories stir. You think back on all the promises you once made to each other. Part of you wonders if he hears it too—if he can sense the guilt, the shame, the weight of everything left unkept between you.

Room service becomes the meal for your reunion, as you order everything you can from the basic menu, enough to keep you both satisfied, because the idea of leaving the hotel room he’s invited you back to isn’t one either of you wants to consider. You’re both content to shut the world outside out.

Neither of you are tired, too buzzed on the adrenaline that finding one another has ignited. Despite the bags beneath Noah’s eyes, he fights any attempt sleep makes to take over him the later into the night you talk—catching up, reminiscing, just being in each other’s presence.

“Best international artist,” you tease, a grin stretched across your face. Noah ducks his head, bashful, hiding it in the crook of your neck, mumbling something almost unintelligible.

Your bodies fit close to one another—like two pieces of a puzzle. His leg slips between yours, keeping you drawn close as your arms wrap around one another, clinging as though letting go would cause the other to disappear. You’re back to being those two kids you once were—secretly in love and finding any excuse to stay close.

Some moments, it feels like no time has passed at all, and he’s still the same guy you once knew. Other times, you’re reminded of the lifetime that has passed—how he’s already lived multiple lifetimes in the past decade alone.

“So why LA?” you ask, curious for the answer. For a guy who often complained about LA, calling it a ‘piece of shit city’, he seems to have found himself a home there.

Noah tugs you a little closer, watching as your fingers trace the fresh tattoos on his arms—the ones you never stuck around to see. For a brief second, he contemplates telling you the truth. His eyes flick up to your face, searching yours for a moment until your own flicker back, causing his to flint away again.

“There wasn’t really anything left in Virginia for me anymore,” he shrugs, his voice a little cracked, a little pained. Suddenly, it stirs a whirl of guilt inside you.

You don’t blame yourself—not entirely. Your family kept you up to date with things that happened over the years. Sad news travels fast through a community, even one in a city that big, but you know the truth behind his words—home stopped being home when you were no longer there. You know this because that’s how everywhere since has felt for you. Every place you’ve been, every attempt to find somewhere to settle, there was always something missing—someone missing.

Now, you can’t help but worry that you’re too late.

Neither of you want the spell to break, but with the early signs of morning sunrise creeping in through the gaps in the curtains, the new day threatens to do precisely that. Noah has obligations, and you have… nothing. You’ve spent so long being a nomad that your responsibilities aren’t as set in stone as his, but you also have no plans going forward. You never thought about what would come after—when you both said your peace, whether that would be a goodbye or a reunion.

Before you can drown in the upcoming storm, it’s as though Noah detects your silent distress, throwing you a life preserver before you crash into the waves threatening to pull you under.

“You should stay.”

“What?” Not because you didn’t hear him, but because you can’t believe what he’s suggesting.

“Noah, I can’t just—”

“Stay? You can. We have a couple of shows left. You should come—since you walked out of the last one you were at.” He raises a brow at you, as though to say he knows all about that, but the grin on his face tells you he isn’t upset by your choice to walk out.

“Noah, I don’t…” you trail off, unsure whether it’s a good idea—not when you already feel the slow, growing dependency on him reemerging. You spent so much of your time together hanging onto him, onto his every word, looking at him like someone who hung the moon and stars—completely unaware he looked at you the same way, and now, you feel like you’re inserting yourself into a life you no longer belong to as being part of.

“Please?” He steps toward the bed, running his fingers through his ruffled hair. Even after not sleeping, he still manages to look good—the shadow of his facial hair is more prominent in the morning hours. He always had a baby face, but there’s an unmistakable shade of stubble. As he draws closer, you lift your hand to cradle his face, feeling the prickly sensation beneath your fingers.

“Just for the last two shows, and then you can continue on to whatever it is you had planned.”

You don’t know how to tell him you have nothing planned after this—that you’ve been traveling, walking through life feeling like a ghost, and finding him has brought some form of life back into you; that he’s revitalized you just by knowing he was out there.

“Okay…” you say softly, an unmistakable grin breaking out across his face—wide, prideful, like a kid who’s just been told he can have ice cream for dinner.

You stroke his cheek, your thumb tracing the outline of his lips, of his smile, wanting to commit it to memory, wanting to commit him even more to memory. Every second of this, of being with him—you don’t want to forget it.

It’s magnetic, like second nature, the way Noah’s hand instinctively reaches for yours as you sit together, walk together, spend your time with the band and crew—his friends. Each time he takes your hand in his own, you’re pulled back from the thoughts you’ve been ruminating on—the ‘what ifs,’ the things left unsaid all those years ago—because right now, he’s treating you like none of that matters. Like the time spent apart is a void easily filled and forgotten, no longer the ache that once resided in your chest.

You agree to stay for the show—the last two shows on the tour—with the strict instruction to sit in at the sound booth with Matt. You’re being babysat, Davis nearby looking like the guy who’s just kept on the payroll to hang out with his friends.

“So you’re the one Noah’s been pining after all this time?” Matt’s question takes you by surprise, mostly because you hadn’t anticipated Noah had been pining after anyone—let alone you.

“He’s not—”

“Come on, you haven’t seen him. Ever since he got that first postcard, he’s been mumbling about you, on his phone day and night, probably searching for you.”

Your cheeks heat a little, though you wonder if the tech should even be saying this—as his friend, especially—but Matt continues to rattle on, his focus on the soundboard in front of him, moving smoothly across it as though it’s second nature—by now, you suppose it is.

Towards the end of the set, Davis slips up behind you, gently urging, “Come with me. You can meet him backstage after the show.”

You feel like some kind of VIP getting special treatment, especially the moment you take your spot at the side of the stage, watching the final roar of Dethrone as Noah falls to his knees, looking both fearful and like a god. It’s hypnotic, though arguably the whole show has been, your eyes glued to him the entire time, onto the way he moves, the way he sings, everything coming together perfectly.

The moment he steps off the stage, you charge toward him, his arms quickly enveloping you and lifting you off the floor in one large swing. You throw your head back with a giggle, demanding he set you down, and when he does, you hover for a moment, your gaze fixed on him.

The urge to kiss him right now is palpable, the way his eyes sparkle, the feeling of his heart racing, and there’s a huge surge of pride blooming in your own chest. Last time, you’d been too preoccupied with your own thoughts and emotions to appreciate the performance, but now you’re seeing the grandmaster on stage—the performer you always knew Noah could be—albeit with a little confidence and a push.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty.” The tension between you breaks as your hands move down his chest, feeling the sweat soaking his tank top. Instead of being offended, he just scoops you back up, dipping his head and shaking it like a dog as he nestles against the side of your neck with a playful, “Yeah? Am I?”

You giggle, and he laughs, you attempting to pull away as his arms tighten like an anchor, holding you to him as he walks. It’s like you’re teenagers again, the familiarity of your former friendship resurfacing like no time has passed at all. You like it. You like the familiarity of him, how complete it makes you feel to be around him, even in these goofy moments.

“Will you two get a room already?” Folio calls out, a cheeky grin stretched across his face.

Your eyes roll, opening your mouth to refute him, but Noah silences you as he turns his head, his arms still wrapped around your shoulders, holding you from behind.

“Just ’cause you’re jealous,” he retorts to Folio.

“Soooo jealous,” Folio chuckles, quickly moving out of the way when Noah reaches a huge paw in his direction, using Nicholas as his shield.

“Dick,” Noah grumbles, but there’s a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

His attention falls back to you as he presses a faint kiss against the side of your head, proud as a peacock, as though he’s somehow defended your honor. In a way, it mirrors the times he did back in high school, when guys tried to make snide comments, they were quickly shut down whenever Noah barked in their direction. Granted, he was skinnier and a lot less threatening looking, but somehow he had enough presence to silence them and protect you.

Suddenly, you’re mortified by the fact that the notion of getting a room together—despite technically already having one in the form of his hotel room, sounds like a good idea. You can’t lie and say the idea of kissing him—and possibly more—hasn’t crossed your mind since you finally reunited.

Back at the hotel, you’re left to your own devices, and your own thoughts, as Noah takes a shower, washing off the sweat and the show. To your surprise, when he steps out of the bathroom, he’s wearing just a pair of boxer shorts, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him shirtless, water still trailing down his tatted chest. You don’t know where to look, but Noah clearly has no shame—even when he tosses the towel in your direction, chuckling.

“For your drooling.”

You gasp, narrowing your gaze at him. “I was not drooling.”

“No, but you were gawking.” He teases, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he joins you.

“No, I wasn’t—I was just…” you stumble over your words, struggling to find an excuse while Noah hits you with a raised eyebrow—skeptical.

“You just look different, that’s all.”

“Good different?” he asks, his hand reaching out toward you as he strokes his fingers along the outer part of your thigh.

“Yeah… good different.” You smile softly, feeling goosebumps rise across your skin.

Noah pulls you onto his lap. You don’t know what prompts him, but you slip easily and seamlessly, fitting like two puzzle pieces all over again. His hands settle at your hips, fingers just skating the hem of your shirt, while your own hands fix their purchase on his shoulders, one hand slipping around the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his damp hair.

“I wanted to kiss you, you know. After the show.” You whisper your confession, a soft hot breath between you, your forehead pressed to his.

Noah doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch—just asks, “Why didn’t you?”

You shrug. Scared, you think to yourself, but the word doesn’t come. His fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing softly along the dip of your back as he shifts around.

“I wanted to kiss you back in the alleyway after first seeing you again.” Noah’s confession makes you draw back slightly, your eyes searching his, as though they hold the answer to your next question.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to ruin things.”

You can attest to that, so many times you were afraid that kissing him, giving in to your desires back then, would’ve been the end of everything, and yet now, nothing feels more right.

“I want you to kiss me,” you offer, your fingers curling into the ends of his hair.

“Don’t say that. Not if you don’t—”

“I mean it, Noah. Please… kiss me.”

You inch closer, your forehead resting against his, his mouth so close to yours there’s barely an inch between you. His breath feels warm against your lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and still, a shiver ripples through your body—the closeness of him setting you on edge, your senses heightened, your body thrumming, receptive to every movement, every touch.

When his mouth finally brushes against yours in a soft, tender kiss, something warm bursts low in your belly. His fingers tighten on your hips, drawing you in, holding you flush against him. You’re pulled forward by a magnetic force, your bodies fitting together so seamlessly it steals the breath from your lungs. It’s everything you ever imagined, and yet somehow more—more real, more consuming. Every second of anticipation feels worth it, every moment you fantasized about this.

It’s quick to descend into something hungrier—deeper, more need spilling through than either of you intended, but it’s you who pulls yourself closer, your hips pressing down against him as though trying to erase the space between you, needing more.

For a brief moment, you fear he might pull away, declare this a mistake, but then he’s following your lead, giving in, unleashing his own desire. Soft, breathy sounds spill into the kiss, and in a swift motion, he switches your positions, rolling you beneath him with practiced ease.

Layers are shed—mostly yours—and you feel the heat of his hands against your bare skin as they travel along your sides. His head dips to your chest, leaving fervent kisses, worshiping you with soft whispers against your skin as your fingers tangle in his hair. You’ve thought about this more times than you’d ever dare to confess, back when he was still in your life, and in the lonely nights since, when solo relief was your only comfort, but no fantasy you ever conjured comes close to this, to the way he makes your body burn and tremble with barely a touch.

“Noah…” His name slips from your lips like a prayer—soft, reverent, like it belongs there. Like you’re claiming him, just for yourself, and truthfully, you are.

You’ve wanted him for as long as you can remember.

When his mouth closes around the peak of one nipple, your back arches, a hissed moan escaping your parted lips. His other hand cups your other breast, caressing gently, taking his time, entirely focused on your pleasure—on the way your body responds to him, even as his own arousal presses hard against the front of his boxers, the thick heat of it nestled between your thighs. He’s so close that you know, just one shift of your hips could give you both the friction you’re aching for.

But he doesn’t give in.

Instead, he growls softly against your chest, dragging his hands down to grip your thighs, pinning you to the bed. “Stop. Do you have any idea how hard you’re making this?”

“I have a little idea,” you breathe, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips as you squirm beneath him, trying to lift your hips toward his.

You expect it to break the tension, his laughter, the way he pauses, but instead, it only fuels him. Slipping his hands beneath your thighs, he tugs you closer with ease, and you feel him sink between them, the unmistakable size and heat of him pressing firmly against your panties, making your breath hitch and your heart race.

“You really are a little minx,” he taunts, dipping his head to tease his mouth along the column of your throat, letting his teeth graze over the more delicate areas.

“And you’re a tease.”

That earns you a sharp bite, and you hiss in response, Noah making it abundantly clear he’s more than happy to mark you, to leave behind a reminder of himself etched into your skin. The thought only deepens the ache between your thighs.

“Tell me what it is you want,” he whispers against your neck, his lips brushing kisses over the same spot he bit into moments before.

“You.”

You say it without hesitation, confident and open. You’re done holding back, especially now, especially with your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, squeezing at his biceps, feeling the way he hovers above you like he owns the space between your bodies.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this, how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his lips trailing across your throat, along your jawline, and finally back to your mouth. You can’t even whine your impatience, only melt into a soft moan at his words.

“I’ve thought about you so many times. How it would feel to finally have you beneath me like this.”

“Then take me,” you breathe, gasping as his fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties.

“You’re not going to rush me, baby. Not when I’ve waited this long. I want to take my time with you—I want to savor every second of this.”

His mouth meets yours again in a heated, claiming kiss, and you moan into it, your body arching to meet his. Your hips lift instinctively as he eases your panties down, sliding them off completely with practiced, reverent care.

Every kiss is drawn out, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, his tongue exploring your mouth with deep, languid strokes. His touch follows suit, unhurried and deliberate, exploring every inch of your skin, and when his fingers finally slip inside you—thick and skilled—you feel just how soaked you truly are.

The moment he sinks his index and middle finger into you, you clench around him, your back arching in response. They’re longer, stronger, more purposeful than yours ever could be, curling just right, finding spots you didn’t even know existed, sending sparks through your core that make you feel like you’re seeing stars.

He’s gentle but thorough, driving you steadily higher with each stroke, each slow thrust. He whispers praise and filth in equal measure against your lips, your jawline, your ear, his mouth touching every bit of you he can reach as he begins to trail down your body.

He kisses his way lower, worshiping every inch as if your body is a map he never wants to stop exploring. By the time he settles between your thighs, his mouth replaces his fingers, latching onto your clit with aching precision.

You’ve had sex before. You’ve been fingered, eaten out, but nothing compares to this, to Noah. The way he devours you is almost reverent, as if the act itself is sacred. Each groan he releases vibrates against your clit, sending aftershocks through your entire body. His tongue moves slowly, purposefully, savoring your taste like he’s waited years for it.

Your thighs twitch and try to close around him, overwhelmed by the sensation, but his strong hand catches one and pins it down easily. Then, gently, he reaches up and grabs one of your hands, guiding it down to the top of his head. Your fingers thread into his damp hair instinctively. A moment later, he catches your other hand too, intertwining your fingers together as he continues working you over—anchoring you to him, body and soul.

It’s sensual—intimate in a whole new way. You feel him guiding you, lifting you into the pleasure that’s steadily blooming in your stomach, a heat that rips through you and erupts with a moan as your body trembles beneath him. He’s quick to hold you still, to keep a firm grip on you as you ride out your high, his name falling from your lips in the softest, weakest breath as you begin to come down.

“Are you back with me, baby?” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter open to find him hovering above you, his fingers stroking gently through your hair as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“That was… more?” you ask, your voice still shaky, eyes softening into a quiet plea as your hands slide down, tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

Noah can’t deny you, not when he’s painfully hard, straining against the fabric. He quickly shoves his boxers down, kicking them aside, and reaches for his wallet on the nightstand, pulling out a condom.

“Please don’t tell me that’s your lucky condom from when we were teenagers,” you say, raising a brow at him.

“What? No, it’s been replaced since then!”

You scoff, lightly swatting his chest. “Don’t make me think about you fucking other girls while we’re about to have sex!”

“I’m sorry, I’m still a virgin—is that what you wanted to hear?” he teases, tilting his head with a smirk.

“Yes, it is. Good boy.” You giggle, cupping his face and pulling him into another kiss, already addicted to how it feels to have him this close. “Let me,” you whisper against his lips, taking the condom from his hand.

With a tear of the wrapper, you slip the condom out and reach down between you, watching as you slowly roll it onto his cock. Your hand strokes along the length, feeling how it throbs beneath your touch.

“God, you’re so big…” you murmur under your breath, and his hand wraps around yours, helping to guide himself toward you.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow, okay?” he says softly, using his free hand to slip beneath your chin and tilt your face up to his. Your eyes lock onto his as you nod, not daring to look away. His fingers squeeze yours, silently asking for trust, and you respond in kind, gripping the shaft with him as he angles himself forward.

With a slow, deliberate press, he drags his cock along your soaked slit, drawing a soft sound from your throat. He begins to push forward, inch by inch, sinking into you, and you hold his gaze, lips parting as you adjust to the stretch.

“Do you feel that? Fuck… fuck, you’re so—” His words dissolve into a deep, guttural groan. His head drops back, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the way you clench around him as he continues to sink in.

The moment he bottoms out, your hands fall away and his fingers intertwine with yours once more. He lifts them to press a kiss to the back of your hand, while his other hand settles at your hip, holding you in place with a firm, grounding grip.

He draws his hips back slowly, his cock dragging against your walls, and you squirm beneath him, gasping and moaning at the intensity of each movement, especially with how sensitive you already are. Noah’s breath catches in his throat as his head drops to the crook of your neck, his hips finding a steady rhythm, chasing the slow, exquisite build of his own release.

When it comes to the heat blooming in your stomach, it feels like chasing after a train you’ve already missed—you can’t quite find your way back. Maybe it’s because your first orgasm has already passed, leaving you floating somewhere in the afterglow, but it doesn’t stop you from savouring the feeling of him inside you, the slow roll of his hips, the drag of his cock between your walls, the way you clench around him, pulling him deeper with every movement. Each thrust draws a soft sound of pleasure from his lips, and you drink them in like they’re meant for you alone.

Cradling the back of his head with your free hand, you pull him down into another kiss. Your mouths move in tandem—hot, slow, sensual—punctuated by soft whimpers and moans, a perfect echo of the rhythm between your bodies.

The air is filled with those quiet, reverent sounds: whispered names, gasps, and the faintest rustle of sheets as your bodies move together. His pace builds steadily, and you cling to him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, as if keeping him close might somehow draw him even deeper.

“Fuck, you just feel so… I never could’ve imagined it,” he groans, thrusting deeper, and your breath hitches as the sensation stretches through you.

“Keep going, baby. It feels so good. You feel so good,” you croon in his ear, and you feel the way your words make him shiver against you.

There’s no denying your own climax isn’t building the same way—it’s not a sharp, roaring wave or a tightly coiled spring about to snap. It’s quieter than that, a soft hum of pleasure rippling beneath your skin. Not overwhelming, but still so good. Still everything.

“I can’t… I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Noah gasps, and you turn your head, pressing soft kisses along his jaw as your fingers stroke through his shorter locks. You’d briefly missed the longer hair, but now, you find yourself loving the slightly overgrown look, the way it feels between your fingers as you curl them into it, tugging gently, coaxing him closer to release.

Part of you wishes he could’ve come inside you, the thought sending a flutter of butterflies through your stomach. Maybe next time. You can’t help but consider the idea of there being a next time—even though there’s so much to think about, so much that could complicate things, but you won’t let yourself spiral into worry, not now. Not when you can feel him falling apart inside you.

Noah’s hips begin to buck faster, chasing the tight coil of heat winding through his stomach. He’s so close he can taste it, and you feel it too, the way his cock throbs inside you, just before he finally spills over. Your name falls from his lips in a ragged breath—half a moan, half a plea—his fingers tightening around yours, the other digging into your flesh, leaving marks you know you’ll find later, but you won’t mind, not one bit.

Even in the aftershocks of his orgasm, he trembles, his cock still twitching inside you as your walls clench around him—milking him, holding him there. You feel the warmth blooming in the condom, and the sudden awareness of what it might’ve felt like without it overwhelms you. The idea of him filling you up, dripping from you—it’s a fantasy you didn’t expect to crave this badly.

“Next time, I’m gonna fill you up nice and full,” he murmurs against your jaw, and you smirk, turning your head to brush your mouth against his.

“Is that a promise?” you whisper.

You know it is, feel it in the halfhearted kiss he gives you in return, tender and spent, still savoring every second of this moment.

Neither of you could recall when you’d fallen asleep, both wrapped in the warm afterglow, Noah’s arms tight around you, but when he wakes, it’s to the sight of you admiring him like he’s a piece of artwork, your fingers gently tracing over his tattoos, moving between the old ones you remember and the newer ones he’s collected.

“I can give you a tour if you want,” he murmurs, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. It startles you, making you jump slightly within his hold.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You can look,” he chuckles, gesturing for you to continue. He stretches out a little, adjusting himself and tucking one arm behind his head to prop it up as he gazes down at you, still curled up against his side.

“You just have so many more now, it’s… wow,” you breathe, still amazed by how beautiful he is, how somehow, with every new piece of ink, he manages to look even more ethereal.

“Did this one hurt?” you ask, gently brushing your fingers over the tattoo on his neck—the apple, the snake, the hand.

“Like hell.”

You giggle at the irony, at the symbolism of Eve’s apple and all the religious undertones. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, and a soft, tired smile spreads across his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah…”

When you catch him staring, a familiar surge of butterflies rises in your stomach, but you can’t quiet the nagging voice at the back of your mind—the same one that stirred the moment you woke this morning, still wrapped in his arms, your bodies naked and pressed together like they belonged.

You try to fight the urge to ask, but the moment Noah cradles your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into his palm, the question slips out.

“What is this, Noah? What are we doing?”

“What we’ve both clearly wanted for a long time,” he replies without hesitation. He says it with such certainty, like he knows—truly knows—that this is everything he’s ever wanted, and truthfully, it is. He’s spent so long thinking about you, wishing for you. Now that the moment is finally here, he doesn’t feel foolish for giving in to it.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. We always do, don’t we?”

You nod softly, your hand coming up to cradle his against your cheek, because he’s right. You’ve always figured things out—somehow, and he’s never let you down before.

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 @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai

[measuredingold]

𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐒 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐅 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄)

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: Noah is sick, and you and Luna make sure to take care of him.

Luna was already at daycare, off with her little backpack and a wave goodbye, and you and Noah had taken full advantage of the quiet morning by curling up in bed together.

A movie played on the screen, something you’d both seen before, background noise more than anything. His arm was draped lazily around your waist, and your head rested against his chest.

One side of the dresser was cluttered with your skincare bottles and a little dish holding your rings and hair ties, while Noah’s side had tangled chargers, a black wristwatch, and a small stack of books he swore he’d finish eventually.

The nightstand held one of Luna’s bedtime storybooks and a pink plastic hair clip she’d left behind that morning.

But something wasn’t right.

You could feel it. His body wasn’t as relaxed as usual. His breathing was heavier, and despite being wrapped in two blankets, he gave a faint shiver. You pulled away just slightly, enough to look up at him.

His eyes were half-lidded, the skin beneath them slightly dull. There was a flush on his cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier, and his lips looked dry. You reached up instinctively and pressed your palm to his forehead.

Hot. Way too hot.

“Noah,” you said quietly, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re burning up.”

He blinked slowly at you, clearly a little out of it. “Just a cold,” he mumbled.

You sat up, brushing your fingers along his cheek. “You’ve got a fever, babe."

“Mh. Maybe. Didn’t wanna ruin the morning,” he whispered, barely able to lift his head.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You just need some rest, meds and cuddles.”

So, you made him stay in bed, even when he insisted he could get up. You helped him sit up against the pillows and brought him water with a straw, watching closely as he sipped it slowly. Then you brought him ibuprofen and cool washcloths and sat by his side, dabbing his forehead and the back of his neck to bring the heat down.

When he started to shiver again, you piled the blankets around him, soft fleece, the heavier quilt, even one of Luna’s small ones with cartoon clouds on it. He didn’t even tease you for it, just pulled them in closer with a tired sigh.

“Babe, you literally catch everything,” you murmured, “If there’s a virus within a ten-mile radius, you personally invite it over."

Noah let out a weak laugh, half muffled by the blanket. “I know, It’s not my fault,” he mumbled.

He fell asleep with your hand in his, clutching it loosely even as his fingers twitched from fever dreams. You stayed right there, curled beside him, your free hand stroking his hair back from his damp forehead in slow, calming motions.

Every so often, you leaned down and kissed the bridge of his nose or the corner of his mouth.

After a couple of hours, when he stirred and whimpered quietly, you gently shushed him, pressing a hand against his chest to soothe him back into sleep.

You checked his temperature more than once, running quietly into the bathroom to grab the thermometer and frowning when the number blinked back something higher than you liked. But the medicine started working eventually, and you could feel the warmth in his skin slowly begin to settle just a little.

You spent all morning like that, kissing his knuckles and making sure he had water every time he woke up with a dry throat.

At one point, he woke enough to murmur, “Also a good nurse mh? Is there something you can't do?”

You smiled and kissed the center of his forehead. “You’d do the same for me. And you’ll do it again when I inevitably catch this from you.”

He chuckled, weakly. “Don’t kiss me, then.”

But you kissed him anyway. Soft and lingering and warm.

Eventually, his voice broke through the quiet. “Babe?”

You looked over from where you were folding a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. “Yeah?”

“Will you go pick up Luna for me?” he asked.

You glanced at the time and nodded. “Of course I will. Just stay here and rest. I’ll be back in no time.”

He gave your hand a soft squeeze and whispered, “Love you.”

You kissed him one last time, his temple, his cheek, his lips. His skin was still warm.

“I love you too.”

Then you grabbed your jacket and keys, glancing over your shoulder as you left. He was already asleep again, snuggled deep in blankets.

As you stepped outside, the soft afternoon light filtered through the clouds, painting the garden in a warm haze.

That’s when you spotted Neki.

He was crouched low in the grass, eyes locked onto a bird perched on the fence. His tail wagged in slow, calculated swishes, clearly in hunting mode, even though he hadn’t yet figured out he wasn’t quite stealthy enough.

“Hey,” you whispered with a small laugh, crouching down beside him.

He froze for a second, ears twitching, then turned his head toward you with a huff, as if annoyed that you were interrupting his mission.

You gave him a few quick scratches behind the ears. “Go back inside, soldier. Keep an eye on Noah for me, okay?”

Neki blinked once, then, surprisingly obedient, trotted back toward the door like he understood exactly what you meant.

You smiled to yourself as you watched him disappear inside, then headed toward the car, ready to pick up Luna.

The sun was starting to dip low, casting a soft amber glow across the sidewalk as you pulled up in front of the daycare. You stepped out of the car, the door clicking shut behind you, and made your way toward the entrance.

Inside, as soon as the door chimed, Luna’s head popped up from where she was coloring at a small round table. Her whole face lit up.

She shouted your name happily, hurrying toward you with her arms outstretched.

You dropped to one knee and caught her in a hug, lifting her slightly off the floor. She wrapped her arms around your neck, clinging for a moment like she hadn’t seen you in days instead of just a few hours.

“Hi, baby,” you said warmly.

In a moment, she was already wriggling out of your arms to grab her little bag from the cubby near the wall.

As you walked out to the car together, hand in hand, Luna chattered without pause.

“I made a picture with colors today,” she said proudly as you helped her climb into her booster seat. “It was a rainbow but with extra stripes.”

“Oh yeah? Extra stripes?” You smiled, buckling her in. “What colors did you add?”

“Pink twice,” she said, swinging her legs a little. “And I made the clouds orange because I thought they could be orange if they wanted to.”

“Absolutely they can. I love orange clouds, like at dawn,” you said, closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat. “Did you draw anything else?”

“A tree. But the tree was also a house. And the house had a flower garden on the roof. And a slide.”

You smiled to yourself, pulling out of the parking lot. “Wow. That’s one fancy house.”

“Neki would like it,” she said with a grin. “So he can slide down when he wants to chase butterflies.”

You laughed, glancing at her in the mirror. “He’d love that. He tried to chase a bird earlier, actually.”

“Did he catch it?” Her eyes widened.

“Nope. But he looked very serious about it.”

Luna giggled. “He’s so funny. When we get home, I want to brush him. I think he likes it when I use the blue brush.”

“I think you’re right.”

She kicked her feet lightly against the booster seat, watching the trees go by outside her window.

“What did you have for lunch today?” you asked.

“Chicken and broccoli,” she said, wrinkling her nose slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like broccoli?”

She shook her head. “It’s weird. It looks like a squishy tree.”

You laughed. “That’s the best part! They look like tiny trees. They're cute.”

“But they taste like...green.”

You chuckled at her reaction, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, they definitely taste like green. But you were super brave for eating them anyway.”

She smiled, proud of herself, then looked down at Mr. Flop sitting on her lap, stroking its ears absently. “Do we have to eat broccoli at home too?”

“Nope,” you said, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Not today, anyway. I think we’ve had enough green trees for one day.”

She relaxed back in her seat with a satisfied little sigh. “Good. I like other veggies better. Like mushrooms. They look like tiny houses.”

There was a small pause, then you spoke again.

“Hey, baby,” you started gently, “just so you know… your dad’s not feeling too good today.”

Luna’s eyes flicked up from her bunny. “Is he hurt?”

“No, no,” you reassured quickly, shaking your head. “Nothing scary. He’s just a little sick. He’s got a fever, and he’s probably going to be sleeping when we get home.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Like when I had that sneezy cold?”

“Something like that. He’s just very tired and needs to rest a lot so he can feel better.”

Luna nodded seriously, accepting the information likr an adult, something that always made you proud. “Okay. We should be quiet then.”

“That’s right,” you said with a smile. "I’m gonna check on him and make sure he is gonna feel okay soon. But it’s better if you stay away from him for today, at least until he’s feeling better. We don’t want you to catch it too."

You knew how easily kids got sick, and if Luna had inherited Noah’s immune system, then you were sure she'd come down with something the second she breathed the same air as him.

Luna looked a little disappointed but nodded anyway. “Okay. I can wave from the door.”

You smiled. "That's perfect."

Then you glanced back at her through the mirror. "Hey, do you want to help me make dinner when we get home? We can cook something nice for the two of us, and if your dad feels like eating, we’ll make something warm and yummy for him, too. I’ll ask him what he wants."

Luna’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I want to help. Can I stir the pot?”

“You got it,” you laughed softly.

As soon as you got home, Luna sat cross-legged on the floor with Neki beside her, happily chewing on a toy.

“I’m going to check on your dad, okay? You stay here with Neki.”

She nodded as you headed down the hallway to Noah’s room.

The door was slightly ajar, and you heard a faint cough just as you reached for the handle. Pushing it open gently, you found Noah sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets, his face pale and drawn.

He managed a weak smile when he saw you. “Hey,” he croaked, voice rough.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

“Like shit. My head fucking hurts.”

You moved closer, brushing a hand across his sweaty forehead. “I can see that. You are burning up again.”

He sighed and lowered his head back onto the pillow. “Is Luna okay?”

“She's fine. Playing with Neki in the living room,” you reassured him. “I told her to stay away for now so she doesn't catch whatever you got. I must be immune at this point.”

Noah’s eyes closed briefly, then opened again with a tired flicker. “Good.”

You nodded, noticing how exhausted he looked. “Did you eat anything?” you asked gently.

“I'm not hungry.”

You frowned. “You have to eat something. You didn't even have lunch, and you need energy to fight this off.”

“No appetite,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

You sat beside him on the bed, taking his hand in yours. “How about some ramen? Warm broth, veggies, something light but nourishing. We are gonna make it for you, Luna wants to help me cook.”

Noah blinked slowly, then let out a small, tired laugh. “Of course she wants to.”

You smiled warmly. “Hey, she's my little chef in training.”

He sighed, but nodded. “Okay. I guess some ramen would be good. Only because my girls are gonna make it.”

“Great. Give us some time and you'll have your amazing ramen.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and rose to leave, but he stopped you softly.

“Thank you… for everything.”

Your heart softened. "You don't have to thank me. Isn't this what a family is supposed to do?"

In the kitchen, you tied Luna’s little apron around her waist, light blue with faded stars. You washed your hands first, showing her the right way to do it, then helped her up on the step stool so she could reach the sink. She giggled as the soap bubbled in her palms.

Once she was dried off and ready, you brought the vegetables to the table, a small pile of mushrooms and a couple of carrots you had at home, already washed and set on a cutting board. You kept your motions careful and slow, slicing them into thin pieces while Luna leaned over the table, watching with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Carrots first,” you said, nudging the little bowl toward her once you’d finished.

She reached in with her small hands, grabbed a few slices, and tossed them into the pot in the center of the table, which you’d already filled with water and a bundle of ramen noodles.

“They go splash,” she giggled as the carrots hit the surface.

“Just like that. Good job.”

Next were the mushrooms.

You put the pot on the stove and stirred everything together gently while she leaned on the table beside you, chin resting on her hands. Soon, the smell of the broth started to fill the room.

“Daddy’s gonna like this,” she said quietly. "And he will feel better after this. Warm food always makes you feel better."

“Yeah, I'm sure he will.”

As the ramen simmered, you turned your attention to something simple for the two of you. You sliced some potatoes before spreading them on a tray and sliding them into the oven and cracked some eggs in a pan.

“Can I mix?” Luna asked.

You handed her the fork and helped her steady the pan with her other hand.

“Perfect,” you said when the eggs were ready to be cooked.

She looked so proud and that made you smile.

You checked the ramen, stirring it one last time. The vegetables had softened just right, the noodles tender, steam curling upward in ribbons.

You carefully ladled the steaming ramen into a large bowl. After setting out chopsticks and a fork, just in case Noah preferred it (only because he was sick), you balanced the bowl on a tray and made your way to the bedroom.

You chuckled. “What’s all this for?”

Settling on the edge of the bed beside him, you placed the bowl within easy reach on the bedside table.

Noah looked up at you, his face still pale but softened by a faint smile. He slowly sat on the bed and without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you close, resting his head against your neck and holding you tightly.

Then, to your surprise, he began pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone and the side of your neck.

He laughed softly, voice low and warm. “It's because you take care of me. Because you cooked for me. With my daughter. And that means a lot. And I realized I'm the luckiest man on earth, despite everything.”

"Oh baby. Is the fever talking?"

“No,” he whispered, “This is me trying to tell you how much this means to me. How much I have always wanted this and never had it until I met you. How much I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips gently against his warm temple. “I love you too.”

You stayed there a little longer, arms gently wrapped around him. His head was still tucked into the curve of your neck, breath slow and warm against your skin. You could still feel the heat from his fever, but his body was relaxed in your arms.

After a moment, you slowly pulled back, just enough to see his face. You reached up and began to massage his shoulders, your thumbs working in slow, careful circles over the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, and he exhaled a shaky breath. “God, that feels amazing.”

“You’re all knotted up,” you murmured, voice soft, thumb pressing into the tight line just above his shoulder blade. “The fact that you have the posture of a shrimp all the time doesn't help.”

He gave a quiet chuckle, eyes still shut. “Guilty.”

You leaned in and kissed the side of his head gently, your hands still moving with steady pressure. “You need rest. Real rest. And food. That ramen is waiting for you. And in a couple of hours you can take meds again.”

“Mmm. It smells good, actually.” he whispered.

You smiled and let your hands slow to a stop, giving one last gentle squeeze to his shoulders before letting your arms fall away. “I have to check on the oven. We made potatoes and eggs.”

He opened his eyes just a little, lips curving. “Tell her to save me a potato.”

“You’ve got your ramen.”

“Yeah, but now I want potatoes too.”

You laughed quietly. “I’ll see what I can do. Be good. I’ll be back after dinner, okay?”

He nodded slowly as he leaned back against the pillows, finally taking the bowl in his hands, “Okay.”

You lingered by the door just long enough to watch him take his first bite, slurping a mouthful of noodles.

“That’s the best ramen I’ve ever had,” he said seriously.

You gave him a look. “No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” he insisted, already going in for another bite.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Noah, it’s packaged noodles with carrots and mushrooms. The broth literally came from a cube.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He nodded. “My girls made it. For me. In our house. In our kitchen. Because they cared enough to make me something warm. Of course it’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Your chest tightened, the corners of your mouth tugging upward even as you tried to keep a straight face. “You’re just saying that because you’re sick and emotionally vulnerable.”

He gave a lazy smile. “Maybe. But it’s still true. Tell my princess I said thank you.”

You started closing the door. “Will do. Enjoy your soup, Romeo. I’ll be back after dinner.”

“Save me a potato!” He called from the other side.

In the kitchen, Luna sat at the table, legs dangling off her chair, humming to herself as she watched you scoop scrambled eggs onto her plate, next to the roasted potatoes.

“There we go. Chef Luna’s well-earned dinner.”

She giggled, stabbing a potato piece and popping it into her mouth. “It tastes better ‘cause we made it.”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling and sitting in front of her "That's what your dad said too."

"Really?"

"He said it was the best ramen he’s ever had.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Even better than restaurant ramen?”

“Even better than restaurant ramen,” you confirmed. “Because it was made by his favorite people.”

She wiggled proudly in her seat. “He’s gonna feel better now. I think soup can fix anything if you make it right. With love.”

You couldn’t help but laugh gently. “Yeah, you might be right.”

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades

TBAF Tags: @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @clickmedead @whenyouwannafindlove @kenjipepsi1

[measuredingold]

Will you wait me out?

Summary: You were one of the best of friends—maybe a little bit more—and maybe, if life hadn’t gotten in the way, things could be different now, but instead, a decade after you once knew Noah, you see his face again and find yourself chasing ghosts in the form of old memories, before finally coming face to face with the past.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really, a little bit sad a lot of pinning by reader, implied old feelings, old friends, potentially high school sweethearts, lots of ‘what ifs’.

The first time you see his face again, it’s like seeing a ghost. He looks older now—his features sharper—and though his hair is much shorter than the overgrown wolf cut you remember, even in grayscale, you recognize those doe-like brown eyes.

His face sits front and center in a group shot on the cover of a magazine—a rock magazine highlighting Bad Omens as Best International Artist. Something inside you swells and flutters. Pride, you think. You always believed he would go far with his words, envied his ability to lay them out so eloquently, weaving them into songs.

Maybe if you had, too, he wouldn���t feel like a footnote in the story of your life. The bond you shared, that special something you’d been too scared to name back then—love—could have come to fruition.

The magazine sits on your coffee table for a week—unopened, but face-up—so you can glance down at him and the rest of the guys. You didn’t stick around in Virginia long enough to meet Jolly, but you’d briefly crossed paths with Folio and managed to forge something of a friendship with Nicholas—Noah’s best friend.

It takes you another week before you finally open the magazine with the intention of reading it—at least the article. Most of it’s about the music, the new album, the trajectory of it all. Then your eyes glaze over the part of the interview that touches on the recent popularity of their song Just Pretend on TikTok. He doesn’t have to name you outright for you to know what influenced it, how the lyrics were written about you. He never had to explicitly say, because you always knew.

You never really ventured into the band’s discography. You followed subtly, heard their name crop up here and there, but it seems they’ve recently broken new ground—though it doesn’t surprise you. Nick and Noah had always been talented, and with the addition of Jolly and Folio, you can only imagine what they’ve achieved.

When you finally take the plunge, diving into their music from the start, you find yourself struggling through parts. There are too many similarities about you and him hidden in the subtext of the lyrics. You make it through, even as it tears at your heart, dredging up memories you’d long since tucked away—kept safe in a lockbox deep inside you.

Three weeks pass, and you find yourself buying three more copies of the magazine: one you saw on display in a coffee shop, one from a convenience store, and one from a Hot Topic window—though that one took a bit of bartering.

In double that time, the number increases to nearly quadruple. At this point, you’re probably the sole owner of almost every copy in the city. You’re not sure when or why the collection began, but now it follows you from place to place, and in every new location you reach, you pick up another. You read them just as often, too—your first copy as beaten and battered as you feel every time you dare to torture yourself by re-reading the same passages of the interview you know will tear your heart to shreds.

This wasn’t how it was meant to go for the two of you—him writing songs about your what ifs, and you learning everything you can through the tiniest pieces of his soul he bares in his music and interviews.

The thought of it breaks your heart all over again.

Less than a month later, you’re in a new town. As you pick out a postcard for your family back home, you find yourself choosing another—for him. You don’t know what prompts you, exactly. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been on your mind a lot more lately.

You send it to the band’s P.O. box. It’s the only form of contact you have left, after being laughed at by a stranger on the other end of the phone. You had called the number listed on the band’s record label website, hopeful that maybe—just maybe—you’d get to speak to him. The woman who answered wasn’t apologetic. In fact, she seemed amused, as though you were just another eagle-eyed fan chasing a long shot. Maybe things would’ve gone differently if she had known who you are to him… who you were.

Your message is simple—a response to his lyrics:

I’m still out here. I’ll wait you out. – x

You consider adding more, but decide against it. There’s always next time. If there is a next time.

There is—multiple, in fact. Every new place you go, you find a postcard just for him. Your messages are short, pointed. You mention the things you’ve been doing—the ones you once promised you’d do together someday. You tell him where you are, even though it doesn’t matter. By the time he gets it, you’ll already be somewhere else.

Do you remember when I told you my biggest fear was roller coasters too, and that one day we’d conquer that fear together? We weren’t together, but I went—for you. For us. I threw up afterward, and all I could think about was how you’d be fretting over me for at least an hour. I always think about things like that. Your caring heart. I miss it. I miss you. – x

I went ice skating at the Rockefeller Center. I remember you once told me you’d never been, that you couldn’t skate. I promised I’d take you. There were a couple of kids there who looked like they were in love. They held onto each other as they skated. They made me think of you. They made me think of us. – x

I never told you, but I always knew you’d go far with your music. I’m proud of you. – x

I thought I saw you today. I followed the guy for about ten blocks before I realised it wasn’t you. In fact, he looked nothing like you. I see you a lot lately—in the faces I pass. – x

I think of you a lot. I only hope you still think of me too. – x

It’s confirmed: Chicago does have the best pizza. They also have the best hospital vending machine selection. (Only one night in A&E) – x

My family still asks about you sometimes. They remember you—call you my “funny friend” because you always made them laugh. It hurts to hear them call you my friend. You were always so much more than that. I’m sorry I was too late to realise it. – x

Even now, his face continues to haunt you. His ghost follows you, lingering in the memories you’re making alone—the ones born from promises you once made together. You carry him with you still. The nine magazine copies have doubled. Magazines, CDs, even a Japan-exclusive edition you found tucked away on the back shelf of a Goodwill.

You convince yourself to go to a concert. It’s not a large venue—one of their smaller shows. You’re in town, not by coincidence, so why not? You stay out of sight, near the back of the crowd, and you’re thankful you thought ahead, because when he starts singing the opening lyrics of Just Pretend, you feel your composure slipping.

You don’t make it through the whole thing.

You slip away before he has the chance to see you, bumping into someone on your way out. For a brief moment, you freeze—panicked, apologetic—until you lift your gaze and find yourself staring into a familiar face.

You’d almost forgotten the possibility of Davis—the second person Noah has known as long as Nick. You catch the flicker of recognition in his eyes and move quickly to slip past, but then you hear him calling your name.

You don’t respond. You don’t look back. You just leave and hope to God he doesn’t realise he’s right.

You’ve been checking every date since the band’s tour schedule was released. You’ve followed nearly every city with the intention of going, of seeing them—of seeing him, but every time, you back out, lose your nerve.

You wonder if maybe it’s best to leave well enough alone. Is there any point in digging up the grave another time?

At the last tour date offering a meet-and-greet opportunity, you swallow your fear—and your pride. If you don’t do it now, you never will. You saw him once, though barely. You heard his voice, and it broke something inside you. For so long, you feared never hearing it again, and now, all you want is to hear it again, to see him again. Even if it’s just for one last time, for one real goodbye.

Your hands are sweaty as you wait. He’s thanked hundreds of people before you—each calling him their favorite, each naming their favorite songs or quoting their favorite lyrics. The rest of the band mostly go unnoticed, or are appreciated by only a few. That makes your heart ache, especially for Nicholas, who you always knew to be one of Noah’s biggest inspirations—his steady, guiding hand.

Each time you dare to glance at Noah, you catch pieces of the performer’s facade—the bright smile that feels just a little too forced to be real. You remember his real smile all too well. Even his laugh sounds animated now.

It feels like watching an animal in a zoo—a monkey trained to perform. Keep the line moving. Keep everyone happy. There’s a flicker of guilt, because maybe you’re part of the circus now, too, but your intentions aren’t ill-meant.

You’re getting closer now. You start counting down the people ahead of you.

10.

You’re rehearsing what you’ll say. Every scenario you’ve ever imagined is playing in your head like a movie reel—a script you’ve prepared.

7.

But what words could ever cover the span of a decade?

3.

You wonder if it’s too late to back out—if you could slip away unnoticed.

You pass the Nicks first, unsure if either of them really registers you, but you’re too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way Nicholas elbows Folio with a subtle nod in your direction.

Before you can process it, Noah is sitting in front of you. Your mouth goes dry. You choke on the words. An apology? A hello?

You’re prompted to speak by a young man about their age, wearing a cap and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt, keeping the line moving at a steady pace—the same line you’re now holding up.

Noah hasn’t looked up yet, as if waiting for you to say your name so he can sign, the same way he has with everyone else before you. You wonder if he knows. If he can sense it’s you standing there, and when you finally find your voice, you say the only thing you can think to say—your name.

The moment it reaches him, his head lifts in recognition. His eyes widen, as if the sight of you is deceiving, and suddenly, your pounding heart is in your throat—overwhelmed with a mixture of joy, anticipation, and the distinct urge to throw up.

The only thing Noah says in return is your name—so soft it’s barely a whisper. As if saying it aloud might wake him from a dream. As if, by naming you, he might lose you all over again.

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 @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai

[measuredingold]

You make it quiet in my head

part 1 - noah x f!reader.

no cw pretty much just fluff, maybe a bit of angst, mental health to come.

dividers - silent-stories

taglist: @dsireland86 @dragoncopper @lacy1986 @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @dream-machine-love @saythatuwill @xmads-omensx @chey-h @floodflameschosen @ichoosetenderomens @ashlynnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn @oobleoob @rumoured-whispers @mrscevans @concretejunglefm @lonelydragonlady .. if you’d like added or removed let me know.

The first time he let you stay the night, you weren’t sure he’d meant to. The world outside the tour bus was quiet, resting in that eerie in-between space after midnight but before dawn, and he’d been sitting alone on the couch with a cigarette and a haunted look in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to say, so you didn’t say anything. You just sat beside him, tucked your legs under you, and waited. And maybe that’s why he let you stay.

Noah didn’t talk much. Not about the things that mattered. Not about why he never slept more than a couple hours at a time, or why he’d disappear into his bunk for hours without a word, headphones in, eyes closed but never quite at peace.

But when you slipped in beside him that night — just to sit, just to exist near him — he exhaled something that sounded almost like relief. And later, when you curled into the far side of his bunk and tried not to take up too much space, he reached for you. Carefully. Like you were made of glass, and he wasn’t sure if touching you would make the ache better or worse.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t go yet.”

You didn’t.

You learned quickly that Noah had rhythms to his silence. There were days he’d hum under his breath while writing, hands ink-stained and frantic, and days he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, headphones buried so deep in his ears the rest of the world couldn’t touch him. He drank his coffee black and only ever smiled when he thought no one was looking.

But he always let you in.

Even when he didn’t speak, his body curved toward yours. His knees would brush against yours on the couch, his fingers trailing across the back of your hand like he was grounding himself to reality. He’d fall asleep against your shoulder on long drives and wake with a soft apology on his lips, like he wasn’t sure you’d still be there when his eyes opened again.

One night, you were both half-asleep, the air heavy with quiet and the hum of the bus moving beneath you, when he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and murmured it again.

“You make it quiet in my head.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you just pulled him closer.

Noah wasn’t a man built for peace. You saw it in the way he carried himself, in the way he broke his own heart writing lyrics that bled out of him like wounds that never quite healed. But he clung to you in the dark like you were the only calm thing in the storm.

You learned how to move with his moods. When he needed space, you gave it. When he needed silence, you offered your presence without expectation. And when he needed touch — real, grounding, unspoken — you offered that too.

His arms around your waist in the middle of the night. His breath ghosting over your collarbone. The shape of him curled against your back, murmuring dreams you never remembered in the morning.

You never asked what he saw behind his eyes when they stayed open long into the night. He never told you. But sometimes, when the weight of it all got too heavy and he folded in on himself, he’d find you — wherever you were — and pull you into his orbit like a lifeline.

You made it quiet for him.

And for that, he gave you the pieces of himself no one else ever saw.

[measuredingold]

filth inspired by these gifs from @floodflameschosen and a follow on from this

CW: smut including unprotected sex (p in v), dirty talk, rough fucking, semi-public, mask kink kinda.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

There he is again, pacing like a caged animal, a roar ripping from his chest with every deafening sound he releases into the mic. From your spot at the side of the stage, you stand with your thighs clenched, aching in that budding way only he can bring out in you—just by watching him in his element.

When his eyes land on you—even briefly—you feel like prey. Like you want to taunt him into chasing you, knowing exactly what’ll happen if you do, and that’s why you do, because you love the way his hands get rough, claiming, the way he pins you to the nearest surface and fucks you like he’s reminding you who you belong to. The memory of the last time creeps in, how he dragged you into the nearest room to burn off the excess adrenaline, and god, you hope he does it again.

The heat radiating from him as he steps off the stage is palpable, even from your tucked-away spot. It only takes a few strides before Noah is in front of you, looming with that domineering presence, crowding you in with his larger frame. He pulls you into a bruising kiss, swallowing your muffled moan as his tongue pushes past the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth, claiming you with every hungry stroke of his tongue.

The world around you fades, replaced only by the pounding of your heart and the steadily building ache between your thighs. Your hands press against his chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath his sweat-drenched black tank. He hasn’t even removed his signature Dethrone mask, and you feel the brush of it against your jaw every time he kisses you.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes—wild, starving—lock on yours through the eyeholes of the ski mask. Still, you catch the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “God, you have no idea how bad I need you right now,” he rasps, fingers threading through yours as he drags you off somewhere more private.

Last time, it was the supply closet, this time, he pulls you into one of the smaller green rooms—one that doesn’t belong to Bad Omens. Scattered belongings say it’s someone else’s, but Noah doesn’t care. He flicks the lock shut, then spins on you, pressing your back against the door as his hand tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. He licks a slow stripe up your neck, tongue dragging over your pulse point, feeling it thrum beneath your skin. His body presses into yours, and you can feel his hard cock grinding against your stomach.

“Noah…” you breathe, your voice hitching. His hands slide to the backs of your thighs and lift you, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

“We’d better make this quick, baby, before someone comes looking for us.” Time is not on your side, not in this borrowed green room, and not with the bus waiting outside, ready to whisk everyone off to the next city.

Noah’s hands are rough, impatient, tugging at your clothes just enough to get what he wants. Your skirt is shoved up to your waist, and his cock is already freed from his pants, thick and throbbing. Normally, he’d tease you, drop to his knees, slip a few fingers in, make you beg, but not this time. Right now, he’s all need.

You gasp, whining the moment you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your cunt.

“You feel that?” he growls, voice low and rough. “Tell me what you want, baby. You gotta beg for it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, squirming against him. “I need you inside me.”

That’s all he needs. Any self-control he had disappears and he thrusts into you hard, not slow or gentle, but like a man who needs to claim you.

No apologies fall from his lips this time—just a deep, guttural growl followed by a moan.

“Good girl,” he praises, forcing himself deeper, stretching you open. You cling to him, trembling as you try to take him, your head pressed back against the door, helpless to the way he fills you.

When he pulls back, he glances down between your bodies, watching his cock nearly slide free before he slams back into you, hard. “Time for me to claim what’s mine,” he grunts, hips pistoning forward with force, fucking into you so deeply you cry out.

“Y-You’re so— It’s so—” you gasp, barely able to form words as he keeps driving into you, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. You know you’ll be sore in the morning, but you’ll crave it too—the deliciousness of this, the pleasure blooming like fire low in your belly, your orgasm rising with every drag of him through your tight, needy walls.

“Please—please, please—I’m so close, baby, I’m—”

Noah chuckles darkly between your moans, clearly reveling in your desperate begging. His pace never falters; in fact, it sharpens, his thrusts now singularly focused on making you come apart. “This is why I bring you with me, you know?” he murmurs, voice dark and thick with lust. “My perfect little toy… lets me use them whenever I want.”

You nod feverishly, agreeing to everything—anything. You are his toy. You live to be his cock sleeve after a show, to take every ounce of his adrenaline as he fucks it into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, capturing your mouth again in a filthy kiss, tongues clashing as he swallows your cries. He thrusts harder, faster, chasing his own high and dragging you closer to yours. “Cum for me,” he pants against your lips the second you break apart. “I want to feel you come apart on my cock before I fill you up. Gonna fuck you full, baby.”

His words crash into you like a wave—and then you’re gone. Your climax rips through you, body trembling, fingers digging into his arms as you cry out. You clench hard around him, tight and pulsing, and it’s all it takes. Your name breaks from his lips in a growl as he drives into you one final time, burying himself deep. You feel every throb of his release as he spills into you, his cock twitching inside your still quivering walls.

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  @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconictaurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton

[measuredingold]

[measuredingold]

untitled noah thought

authors note: i haven’t been inspired in weeks but wrote this up today because i was feeling soft about The Boy™️ so… have this ! no warnings, just 757 words of fluff 😿

You find him where you last left him almost two hours ago, still planted in his seat and wide eyes trained to the screen. You lean against the door frame, not being able to help but admire him from afar. Although his back is to you, you know his lips are pursed in concentration, and the overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap and kiss him silly fills you.

You don't move though, instead letting your eyes roam over him. His hair was starting to get longer again, the newest tattoo on the back of his neck being covered fully, and some hair curling around his ears. He'll definitely be complaining about needing a haircut soon and you smile at the thought.

"You know, you can always just take a picture instead of staring. It'll last longer."

His voice pulls you from your thoughts and you blink, watching him click around on the screen before turning his chair towards you, a small smile settling on his lips. Your heart picks up beneath your chest as your eyes finally land on his face, tracing over the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips.

You don't move. "What if I just like looking at you?"

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. In fact, I love looking at you." You finally take a step forward and almost instantly he's reaching for you. "Can't help but stare. You're pretty, even from behind."

"That's sweet. Thanks." Noah murmurs and you don't miss the slight flush to his cheeks. "C'mere."

You're close enough now for him to wrap his hand with yours and tug you to him gently. His hand drops from yours when you're settled between his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle. His eyes flutter shut as he leans forward, cheek resting against your tummy, and you can feel him take a deep breath and slowly deflate, melting into you as each second passes.

You smile, that funny feeling rising in your chest again as you card your fingers through his hair.

"How's the song going?"

"It's... going." He huffs out before yawning, now burying his face against the fabric of your shirt. His next words are muffled, but you can make out, "Getting sleepy. Might call it a day."

"Yeah?" He nods against you. Your nails scratch at his scalp gently and you feel his arms squeeze around you. "How about... you call it a day and we take a nap, and then check out that new taco spot you've been wanting to try?"

Noah pauses for a moment before peeking up at you, arms tightening around your middle. "...That sounds tempting."

"Mhm." Your fingers card through his hair again and he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering as he leans into your touch. "Then we can come back and watch that weird movie you and Jesse have been talking about."

"It's not weird," His eyes snap open, squinting up at you. "However... your tempting has worked. I'm over the song. I'll work on it tomorrow."

"Thank fuck. I was really hoping you'd say yes because a nap sounds sooo good right now."

"God, it does."

And as if on cue, he yawns again before looking up at you, head tilting back more. His gaze softens and his lips purse, and your heart skips about two beats before you lean down. He makes a noise once your lips meet, humming happily before you pull away. Your hand drops from his hair and down to his cheek, cupping the side of his face. Noah leans into your touch for a moment before turning his head, placing a kiss to the inside of your palm.

His arms untangle themselves from around you, hands running up your sides for a moment before the two of you eventually pull apart and he swings back around. You step back to the doorframe, leaning against it as you watch him click around again a few times. He closes down the program he was using before pushing back from his desk completely and standing up, long arms stretching high as another yawn leaves his body.

"Fuck. I'm tired."

"Good thing we're about to go nap then, huh?" Your smile widens when he turns to face you, hands reaching out for you the second you're in touching distance.

"Mm, good thing."

He leans down, lips brushing your forehead as his hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together and gently tugs you behind him, guiding you out of the studio and down the hall towards your shared bedroom.

[measuredingold]

"I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you."

with noah please 😊

CW: fluff and softness. shy, reserved noah. that's it.

i guess i was in my feelings here. hope you enjoy this, anon.

It all started with a Help Wanted sign and a bad breakup.

You weren’t even looking for a job that day, just needed a distraction—something to fill the weird feeling that settles after your life changes in a way no one else really notices.

The sign was taped crookedly to the window of a record store tucked between a coffee shop and a tattoo parlor, and something about it just felt right, like the universe had carved out a soft place for you to land after the crash. Maybe it was the vintage posters in the display, maybe it was the smell of old paper and vinyl that drifted out when the door opened as a customer walked out.

Maybe it was fate.

You’d only meant to ask if the position was still open. Noah was the one who interviewed you.

He looked like he belonged there—tall, black hoodie rolled at the sleeves, long hair messily tied, ink curling up his arms and neck, pen tucked behind his ear, eyes attentive and unreadable. He asked if you knew the difference between analog and digital mastering, and you said yes, even though it was a lie.

He then handed you a crate of used vinyls and told you to alphabetize them. You did—quietly, carefully, like that stupidly simple task was the most important thing in the world right now and you had something to prove.

There was something quiet and unreadable in the way he watched you do it, but in the end, you passed the test. 

He trained you over the next few weeks—serious and half-distracted, like his mind was always somewhere else. He didn’t say much, barely smiled, barely even talked unless it was about restocking or the stereo setup. At first, you thought he didn’t like you, but then you figured you were just a responsibility he hadn’t asked for.

But as time passed, you noticed the way his fingers lingered when he handed you sleeves, the way he’d steal quick glances when he thought you weren’t looking. You started to understand him in pieces—through the way he’d light up when a rare pressing came in, or the reverent way he talked about certain albums, like music itself was sacred.

And then there were the people who made him soften.

Nicholas, one of the tattoo artists from the parlor next door, stopped by almost every afternoon—sometimes with coffee, sometimes just to bug him—and every single time, Noah’s whole posture would change. He’d grin, roll his eyes and laugh at whatever dumb joke Nick cracked, and lean against the counter like he actually knew how to relax.

It was warm, open, like he was letting himself be young and unserious for a second.

Same with Vincent, the owner of the store—who only showed up now and then, usually to drop off something or talk shop. But every time he did, Noah would perk up, eyes brighter, tone lighter. Vincent treated him like a little brother, ruffled his hair sometimes, gave him hell with affection tucked into it—and Noah, for all his usual quiet edges, melted under it. Not obviously, just in the way his shoulders dropped, in the little smile that lingered even after Vincent left.

You liked seeing that version of him: the soft one. The one who didn’t try so hard to stay cool or guarded or a million miles away at all times. It made you wonder what it might feel like to be the reason he softened like that.

And then one night, during your first inventory count after your second month at the shop, things sort of shifted.

The lights were low, the shop was closed—inventory always happened after hours, Noah said. You were crouched near the jazz section with a clipboard when you heard the soft scratch of a needle dropping, followed by a gritty, pulsing track that filled the space like smoke.

Guitars, heavy drums, a voice that sank into your bones.

“Hey,” you called without looking up, fingers stilling. “I like that. Who’s playing?”

Silence.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Noah stood behind the counter, head ducked, messing with the stereo like it suddenly wouldn’t cooperate. He mumbled something you didn’t catch.

“What?”

He cleared his throat, still not meeting your eyes.

“It’s, uh. My band.”

Your brows shot up.

“Wait. Seriously?”

He finally glanced at you, and there was this flush creeping up his neck, all the way to his ears.

“Yeah. That’s me singing. And I wrote most of this EP.”

You blinked. Then blinked again.

“Holy shit, Noah. You’re really good.”

His mouth twitched like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to grin or hide under the counter.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, fiddling with the volume like he needed something to do with his hands. “Didn’t think it was your thing.”

He looked at you then, and it wasn’t unreadable anymore—it was vulnerable. Shy, even. And maybe something more. Something that made your breath catch even as you looked away, as if you hadn’t felt it crawl beneath your skin.

It was supposed to be just a stupid job. A paycheck. A distraction.

But then came more of those late nights at the store. More of the music. More of Noah.

The quiet rituals you created without meaning to—takeout cartons stacked on the counter, his drink order memorized, the stereo always spinning something one of you picked to share. Something worth talking about, worth pausing for. He’d play you a track and watch your reaction instead of listening to the song himself.

You’d do the same when it was your turn, hoping he liked what you chose to introduce that week. Hoping it meant something.

You stopped pretending you didn’t notice how close he stood sometimes. How his arm would brush yours when you both stood behind the counter, how his knee would knock gently against yours when you sat side by side on the floor, counting sleeves, arguing about genre tags.

You think he also stopped pretending he didn’t notice the way your eyes lingered a little too long at times, or how your laughter softened just for him.

And now?

Now it’s getting harder to ignore the way your heart stutters every time his fingers brush yours. The way your breath catches when he leans in to point at something on the screen, his voice low and close in your ear. The way his gaze drops to your mouth sometimes—brief, involuntary, guilty.

It’s definitely not just a job anymore.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

Tonight, the bell over the shop door had long stopped jingling, the lights dimmed to just the warm golden ones over the counter and along the back wall.

Outside, the street was empty. Inside, the air was filled with the smell of noodles and sweet sauce from the takeaway between two open laptops, receipts fanned out like playing cards.

You were cross-legged on the rug near the speaker, chewing slowly, eyes fluttering shut at the first crackle of the vinyl you just set spinning.

Noah leaned against the counter, watching you.

“Which one is this again?” He asked, sipping the drink he held in one big hand, the other twirling a pen over his tattooed knuckles.

“Blue Valentine,” you said softly. “You said you were in the mood for something kind of sad, right? This one’s sad, but not tragic.”

He smiled softly.

“Sounds about right.”

You tapped a few keys on your laptop, scrolling through inventory lists, the background melody weaving between the keys. After a minute, Noah took a seat beside you with a little grunt, his knee brushing yours.

You didn’t move.

“Still not sick of this?” He asked, not looking at you, his voice low. “Staying late, I mean. Doing boring paperwork to occasionally sad music.”

You glanced over at him, mouth curling up at the corners.

“No. This is my favorite part of the month, actually.”

That made him glance your way, slow. Something shifted behind his eyes, but then he just hummed, looked back at the screen of your laptop.

“Yeah. Mine too.”

And for a moment, neither of you moved or said anything else. The crackling music filled the silence, and the air between you was charged—the kind of static that buzzed louder than any song.

You went back to work in silence, but not long passed before you felt his gaze on you again. When you turned to meet it, your breath caught.

There was something there, a question hanging in the space between your bodies. Nothing loud, or urgent. Just waiting.

The kind of question Noah would never ask out loud.

Not because he didn’t feel it—God, you could see that he did—but because he was too careful with things that mattered. Too guarded, too quiet. Maybe even a little scared. He held his wants like fragile records, tucked deep in sleeves where they couldn’t be scratched.

So if anything was going to happen—really happen—you knew it had to come from you. You were going to have to lean in first.

You were going to have to answer the question for him.

With that in mind, you reached out, fingers brushing against his hand, tentative yet deliberate. He didn’t pull away—instead, his fingers curled around yours, warm and steady. Your heart pounded, the world narrowing down to the two of you, the soft glow of the shop lights, and the music that had become your middle ground.

Noah glanced down at your joined hands, then back up. His thumb moved in a slow stroke across your knuckles, and he gave the gentlest tug.

Another silent question.

A quiet please.

You leaned in first—just far enough to meet him halfway—and he met you with a breath that trembled. His lips touched yours, hesitant and warm, and then firmer, more certain when you didn’t pull back.

You kissed him back.

It was soft, slow. The kind of kiss that made time fold in on itself. His hand slid to your jaw like he was afraid to press too hard, like he wanted to memorize the shape of you—here, now, finally.

You melted into him, your own hand settling against his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath the fabric of his hoodie. He was shaking just a little.

When he pulled back, barely, just enough to breathe against your lips, he whispered it like a secret:

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you.”

You kissed him again before he could second-guess it. Slower this time, deeper.

He tasted like noodles and sweet sauce and something just him—something warm and familiar, like comfort you didn’t know you’d been reaching for until now.

Yeah, you think. Maybe I’d wanted this since the very beginning, too.

tag list: @concretejunglefm @defuckingthrone-dot-com @fadingangelwisp @ami--gami @lacy1986 @flowery-mess @tosoundlessdarkistare

[measuredingold]

inspired by a thot @floodflameschosen had about Noah after dethrone hehe 💕

CW: includes mentions of rough unprotected sex, possessive!noah, semi-public

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

It all starts with that roar.

You’re at the side of the stage when the final encore begins, watching as Noah effortlessly falls to his knees, letting out a guttural roar. You once joked that his roar made your coochie vibrate, but it’s definitely not a joke—not when you feel a rush of heat pooling between your thighs every time you’re fortunate enough to witness this set and see him in all his glory. The way his muscles ripple with every growl he lets out into the mic, how he paces back and forth like a caged animal.

Sometimes, he glances off in your direction, and for that split second, you catch the flicker of heat in his eye. He looks angry, but there’s no anger directed at you—only lust. It makes your body flush, and you can’t look away from him for the entire performance.

When Noah finally steps off the stage, the roar of the crowd still echoes in his ears, his chest heaving beneath his sweat-soaked tank. Strands of damp hair cling to his forehead, and his eyes, wild and dark, reflect the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Naturally, he’s drawn to you, pulled in like a magnet.

A large, tattooed hand comes up and settles at the back of your neck, pulling you in. His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that’s more like a growl. His hands grip your hips, possessive and bruising, while his entire body trembles, desperate and needy. The sharp pinch of his teeth against your lower lip makes you hiss before you break away, his intentions quickly revealing.

“Come with me,” he growls lowly, barely giving you time to process what he’s saying. You’re still completely dazed by the kiss, nodding in agreement as you glance back at him. Before you can even think about what’s happening, he takes your hand and leads you to the nearest private room, just the two of you.

Noah needs only one thing at this moment, and that’s you, fueled by his intense desire for you.

Slipping into a nearby storage closet, his body presses against yours, radiating heat. As his hands slip under your clothes, urgent and rough, his mouth presses to your neck. “I need you,” he rasps, pinning you against the wall as if he needs to fuse with you to come down from the high. “Fuck—I need you,” he repeats, lifting your leg around his waist. Your panties are pulled to the side as he shoves down his pants enough to slip himself free and take you—fast, raw, and desperate.

Every thrust is a claim, burying himself deep into you, making you bounce against the wall as he keeps you pinned there by his own larger frame. Every breathless moan and the growing animalistic sound in his throat is broken by; “I’m sorry—but I need you, I need this,” and “you have no idea what you do to me. My perfect fucking toy.”

All you can do is hold on as Noah fucks the adrenaline out of his system—rough, hungry, like you’re the only anchor keeping him from burning out completely. His thrusts are deep, relentless, slamming into you with a force that knocks out the faintest, broken sounds from your lips. Each one is higher than the last, your breath catching in your throat, pleasure intertwined with the way it teeters on the edge of becoming too much—but never quite crossing that line.

His forehead rests against yours for a brief moment, just long enough to whisper, “You take it so well. You always do.” Then, he moves to tuck his head against your neck, low growls against your skin as he relentlessly fucks you. “Say you’re mine,” he gasps, his voice strained and breathless as he thrusts into you more forcefully, “say it. Say you belong to me, to be used whenever I need to.”

“I—” you gasp, your words stuck in your throat as the pleasure builds rapidly, dizzying you and pooling low in your stomach with each brutal, precise thrust. Your mind races, your breath coming in short gasps, yet your mouth still manages to open, forming a cry that calls out his name.

He groans, his voice cracking as if it’s being torn from deep within. “God, I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I can’t stop—it feels so good, and you feel so good too.” Despite his apology, he continues, slamming into you as if he’s trying to erase the space between you, like he needs you to absorb the last remnants of his rage and adrenaline that he hadn’t released on stage.

The truth is, you don’t want him to stop. You want to be the one he comes to and uses, you want to be his fucking salvation—even if it’s rough, even if it hurts, because there’s nothing quite like the way he needs you in this very moment.

And God, you need him just as bad.

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 @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @limerinseme

[measuredingold]

feeling #normal about this

ok but can we please talk about this for a second? the face? the tattoos? the fucking shoulders? chest? neck? arms? that damn chain around his neck?! please.

[measuredingold]

Dating Noah

Love Wrapped in Layers:

Noah is the kind of boyfriend who’s hesitant at first. He doesn’t fall fast, but when he does, it’s all-consuming. There’s this softness in him he keeps hidden, like he’s scared to show it—but with you, it leaks out in the sweetest ways: brushing your hair behind your ear, holding your hand under the table, letting you wear his worn-out hoodie that still smells like his cologne and cigarettes.

Insomnia Nights Turned Cuddle Marathons:

He doesn’t sleep well. Too many thoughts, too many memories. But when you’re there, your heartbeat is like white noise to him. He pulls you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling sleepy little things like “Don’t go yet” or “You make it quiet in my head.”

The Lyrics He Doesn’t Show Anyone:

There’s a notebook you’re not supposed to read—but he leaves it open on the nightstand sometimes. It’s full of lyrics about you. Soft ones. Achey ones. A few tear-stained pages when he thought he might lose you. He never says anything about it, but he lets you see it anyway.

Backstage Kisses & Post-Show Meltdowns:

He comes off stage, buzzing from the energy but a little overstimulated. You’re always waiting near the side, and the moment he sees you, he wraps his arms around your waist and just breathes. Sometimes he cries a little, and you hold him through it, his face pressed into your shoulder, whispering “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Soft Domestic Vibes:

You two have this little ritual on off-days: coffee in bed, vinyl records playing in the background, and him in sweatpants, hair a mess, making you pancakes that are always a little burnt. He pretends not to care, but he always watches to make sure you eat and that you’re smiling.

That One Night He Almost Pushed You Away:

He tried once. Thought you deserved someone less complicated. Told you it was “for your own good.” But his voice cracked halfway through, and you didn’t let go. You just stood there, held his face in your hands, and said, “I don’t want easy, Noah. I want you.”

And that’s when he stopped running.

The “You Saved Me” Kind of Love:

There’s always an undercurrent of that in your relationship. He doesn’t say it often, but it’s there—in the way he watches you like you hung the stars, or how he clings to you like you’re home. Loving him means holding space for his shadows, but he gives you everything he’s got in return.

[measuredingold]

a comforting touch - noah sebastian x reader

warnings: none

word count: 658

masterlist | taglist sign-up

You can tell that Noah’s had a rough day as soon as he slips through the door of your shared apartment. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and the persistent furrow in his brow reveals everything you need to know.

You meet him by the door as he toes off his shoes. 

“Long day?”

He nods, evidently not quite in the headspace for long conversations. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

It’s always difficult to tell what he needs in moments like these, and sometimes you’re not even sure if Noah really knows himself. 

He’s quiet for a moment longer, before he reaches out for your hand so very hesitantly. Seeing him so reluctant always makes your chest ache a little. You follow him without another question. 

Noah leads you into your bedroom. 

You know what he’s after. 

In the months since you and Noah started going out, you had developed a few little routines. Especially for the days when one of you is feeling low. You’ve come to find that Noah likes to get as close as he can when he’s feeling low like this. Usually, you’ll end up in bed together with him practically wrapping himself around you. 

Noah looks so timid while you draw the blackout curtains shut. He stands next to your shared bed, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him that it’s okay to get comfortable. You assume that he’s had to make a boatload of big decisions today, usually that’s what gets him to his point. Once you’ve checked the thermostat to make sure that the room is nice and cool, you come to stand in front of him again. 

“You wanna get comfy with me, honey?” You ask softly, reach for his hand. 

A nod later, you help him shed most of his clothes. And once you’ve stripped down to your own underwear you move to find a comfortable spot in your bed. Noah follows quickly, forming himself against your body. He buries his face against your chest and you feel him draw in a deep breath. Your fingers find their way into his hair, cradling him against you. Noah’s arms soon snake around your middle. His hold isn’t as tight as it sometimes is, but you can still tell that he needs the comfort of your warmth more than anything else. 

You’re happy to hold him for as long as he needs it. Knowing that he trusts you so wholeheartedly that he lets you see him like this only makes you feel more sure of this. You haven’t been together for long, it hasn’t even been a whole year yet, but you’ve never felt more comfortable around another person. If you could you’d take every bad thought away from him, you’d carry every burden upon his shoulders if that would help. But you know that there are things you can’t do for him, all you can do is offer your comfort and support when he needs it. 

You don’t know how long you hold him like this, trailing your fingers through his hair to soothe his wired up mind. Eventually, you feel him press a kiss to your sternum. 

“Feeling better?” you ask softly. 

Another kiss is pressed against your skin, “A little.” 

You can’t quite see his face, but you can tell that he has that mischievous little look on his face again. 

“Well, we gotta get that to a lot. We can order something to eat, and then you can beat my ass in Mario Kart again.” 

“Good plan.” Noah hums, still barely detaching himself from you, “Can we stay here for a bit longer though?” 

“Of course. Whatever you need, my love.” 

Noah finally shifts back enough for him to be able to look at you, “I love you, you know that right?” 

“I do.” you reply, pushing the mess of hair away from his forehead, “I love you too.” 

taglist: @th4t-em0-k1d @malice-ov-mercy @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @chey-h @theanarchymuse95 @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @concretejunglefm

@xmads-omensx @saythatuwill @lacy1986 @somebodyels3 @ladyveronikawrites @ferduttini @circle-with-me @collapsedglasshouses

[measuredingold]

request from @somebodyels3 involving va!noah. a little joi as he encourages you to unwind after a long day, coaxing you to ride your pillow for some much-needed stress relief as he croons sweet filth & praise in your ear.

CW: smut with mentions of guided masturbation, fingering, pillow humping, dirty talk, praise, edging, slight orgasm control, countdown, aftercare.

Names: pretty girl, good girl, baby

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

[ PAUSE ] 05:43 ━━━━●───── 19:33

“Hey, my pretty girl,” Noah’s soft voice fills your ears and lulls you into a state of relaxation as you settle back on the bed. A gentle smile spreads across your face, and you close your eyes, fully immersing yourself in the moment.

“I suppose you’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” You nod in agreement, a soft hum escaping your lips. “I thought so. That’s why I’d like you to do something for me today, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay…” you whisper into the pause in the audio, the sound of his breath in your ears sending a shiver down your spine, as if he’s right there with you, present in this moment.

“I want you to imagine that I’m right there with you, cradling your beautiful face and gently stroking your cheeks. That I’m looking at your lips; they’re so soft and inviting. I can’t help but want to kiss them.”

Raising your hand, you gently brush the pad of your thumb against your lips, as if he were doing the same, the simple act evoking a tingle of warmth.

“Now, I want you to undress slowly for me. As you raise your top, gently run your fingertips across your stomach...” As you follow his instructions, his words begin to fade slightly.

You wriggle out of your clothes, your fingers caressing the skin of your stomach as you move your shirt higher, until it’s off.

Once you’re just in your panties, you settle back on the bed, listening intently to him. You can already feel the heat pooling between your thighs.

“Now, reach down and slide those panties off you... slowly, just like I would.” Like I would. It’s a dizzying thought to imagine Noah doing precisely that, and your fingers slip beneath the fabric, gradually peeling them away and down your body, kicking them aside and adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Naked, you spread out, your fingers of one hand gently tracing the inner curve of your thigh, creating soft, circular patterns. Meanwhile, your other hand caresses your chest, playfully teasing around your nipples.

“You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl. Now, I want you to lie down on the bed and count to three, taking a breath.”

You obey his instructions, drawing in a deep, slow, and steady breath. With each breath, the tension in your shoulders eases, your fingers relax, and the tight line of your jaw softens, as if the weight you’ve been carrying from the day has momentarily lifted.

This is what you needed.

“Now, bring your fingers to your mouth and suck on your middle finger for me. We’re going to get it nice and wet.”

When you do, the sounds you make are obscene, as if you’re performing a show for him, circling the digit and lathering it with your saliva. As you pull it free, you instinctively reach down, but his voice in your ears stops you before you can.

“Don’t even think about touching your sensitive little cunt yet. I want you to play with your nipples a bit first. Pinch them and tease them. Make them feel nice and good. As if my mouth is on them and playing with them.”

You let out a gasp and arch your back as you do exactly that. You twist your nipples with a pinch, feeling the sting of pain collide with a sense of pleasure. A soft, pleasing, needy whimper slips free.

“You enjoy it when I do that, don’t you?”

God, what you wouldn’t give for him really be to touching you in this way.

“That’s my pretty girl. So good for me.” The praise fills you with a warm sensation that spreads down between your thighs.

“Now you can reach down, but I want you to start by stroking your thighs. I want you to imagine me between them. Think about the moments when all I want is my mouth on you; kissing and marking you.”

That thought makes you yearn to touch yourself properly, not to tease yourself any further. However, you can’t help but follow his instructions and adhere to every word he says.

“You’re going to touch that needy pussy now, but you’re going to do it my way, do you understand?” You nod, a breath catching in your throat.

“I know you’re dripping for me, but I promise I'm going to make you feel so good.”

He isn’t wrong; you are, and you can feel it. All you desire is to touch yourself, to slip your fingers into you, and as his voice continues providing instructions, you realize that won’t happen anytime soon.

“Spread yourself out, nice and slowly, show me that beautiful pussy while you slowly circle and tease your clit with your middle finger. Can you do that for me?” You can—you do and are, gasping as you feel the contact just barely brushing against the bundle of nerves, yearning for more than he’s allowing you to give yourself.

You start whimpering needily, and as if on cue, he responds to them. “I know, baby. I know you need more, but not yet. You want to be good for me, don’t you? Now, how wet are you, show me.”

You envision him positioned between your thighs as he guides you, spreading yourself open to show him. A shuddering moan escapes your lips as the cool air caresses your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper, yearning for someone who isn’t physically present.

“Now, rub on your clit in tight, little circles, but not too quickly. I don’t want you to cum yet.”

You follow his instructions, the sound of his voice growing breathier in your ears as he croons praises that have you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. “That’s it, keep going, baby. Keep playing with that pretty little clit.”

You’re practically squirming against your fingers, soft moans escaping between your pleas before he brings you to a halt with his word, making you whine in frustration. “I know, baby, but I need you to be patient for me.”

For him. You can do it for him.

“Now, I want you to grab the pillow you sleep with every night and place it between your thighs. Get comfortable on it.” Rolling onto your stomach, you tuck the pillow beneath you and between your thighs, mounting it.

“Now, I want you to press yourself firmly against it. Think about pressing yourself close to me as if you’re on top of me, as if you can feel yourself grinding against my cock.” You let out a trembling breath at the thought and slowly roll your hips, grinding your bare cunt against the fabric of your pillow, feeling it tease your already sensitive clit.

“Take it slow. There’s no rush here; this is all about you feeling good. Imagine grinding down along my shaft, coating it with all your arousal. I bet it feels so good.” The audible moan from him makes you release your own, and your eyes roll back. Your thighs tighten either side of the pillow as you start to pick up your movements.

“Keep going, don’t stop, just keep moving.” His voice, filled with encouragement, sends shivers down your spine as you desperately grind against the pillow beneath you. “I bet you’re really wanting to cum, aren’t you? I bet you’re so desperate.” You nod and whine in response, as if he can somehow hear you and grant your every desire. The warmth inside you intensifies with each quickening of your movements.

It’s as if he’s attuned to you, sensing the pleasure coursing through your body and the height you’re being pulled. Before you can push yourself further, he abruptly orders you to stop. You’re on the edge, clinging tightly to the pillow, hoping that somehow, just maybe, you can push over the edge without ‘disobeying’ his commands: “Hold it, baby, right there… good girl.”

You whine again, and he responds, making your body quiver. “Oh, you need it so desperately, don’t you? Yeah? Does my pretty girl need to cum?” His voice sounds taunting, and you whisper a pleading ‘yes’.

“Beg for it then.”

And you do. You beg, your thighs squeezing tightly around the pillow as if that will somehow propel you over the edge you’re being held on.

“Louder.”

You’re louder, whimpering and pleading to someone who isn’t there, for an orgasm that’s entirely in their control. It feels deliciously torturous.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs into your ears, and you feel the heat pooling between your thighs once again, tightening around nothing as your clit throbs, yearning for more stimulation. “Now, I’m going to count down, and you’re to keep humping your pillow, but you can’t cum until I tell you, do you understand?”

You do understand, and as he initiates the gradual countdown, which he prolongs, you roll your hips and press down against the pillow, sensing the fabric’s dampness already clinging to you. You don’t care about the mess you’ve made or the desperation that has consumed you, panting and pleading between your moans, even in this moment.

“Five… you look so beautiful like this, all flustered and begging for me.” He coos in your ears, intensifying your heightened state and propelling you closer.

“Four…” a soft chuckle from him makes you whine, as if he’s deliberately reveling in your desperation to cum—all for him.

“Three… not yet, don’t cum for me. Hold it for me, pretty girl. I know you can do it.”

“Two… you’re almost there. You’re so close now…” You are close, so close that you almost miss it when he hits one.

You hear his faint “let go for me, baby.” Then, the wave of your release washes over you, your body trembling as your hips buck and grind harshly down into the pillow. The sounds you make are a mix of whines and moans, pleading with him as your fingers curl into the pillow and you ride it throughout your release until you finally hit your comedown.

“That’s it, baby. You did so good.”

You hum softly, your eyes heavy as you remain still against the pillow, your head resting against the mattress.

“God, I could listen to those moans and whines all day long.” It was ironic for him to say that, considering that his were the ones you often spent your days listening to, using as your means of getting off.

“Now, take some deep breaths with me before you start cleaning up.”

With your eyes closed, you follow his guided instructions, inhaling and exhaling in rhythm. Your limbs feel heavy and boneless, while your head is filled with a sense of bliss.

“You did such a good job, pretty girl.” He whispers one final time into your ears, and your eyes remain closed, savoring the lingering afterglow of the post-orgasm bliss.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @limerinseme

[measuredingold]

♡🫂 You're a really wonderful person. Send this to ten other bloggers that you think are wonderful or keep the love for yourself because you deserve it. 🫂♡

oh 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you friend, you’re wonderful too !!!!

[measuredingold]

Adopting a puppy with Noah. Please. I need it.

A giggly Noah sinking to the floor with the sweetest thing in his arms, all excited, tail wagging, licking his chin.

And you just like that, you’re in love. “This is the one.”

An Australian Shepherd I beg 😩‼️‼️

He goes on tour the next week, and you’d been wanting a dog, so the two of you figure what better time than now when you’ll have her to keep you company. You’re also secretly going to take this time to become her favorite because fuck if it’s Noah. (It doesn’t matter. She’s probably smitten anyway.)

Bonus: Telling the dog to [insert command] and Noah immediately obeys.

“Not you. The dog. But good boy,” you laugh, giving him a kiss.

Do with this what you will 😘 <3

- @somebodyels3

authors note: i think i got carried away with this request… 😅 definitely indulged in the domestic of it all 🥹 anyways, i hope this was somewhat of what you wanted ! i couldn't come up with a title without it being corny, so i apologize lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

word count: 4.2k

cw/tw: fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, seriously just reader and noah being cute, 18+ minors do not interact

"Oh my god," The happiness that radiates from Noah's voice has your chest twisting. "He's so fucking cute."

He sinks to the floor as the dog continues to jump on him, tail wagging happily through the air. Jax, the Australian Shepard that immediately caught your eye, barely waits for Noah to even sit on the floor, jumping into his arms happily. You can't help but smile widely at the interaction, chest twisting again as Jax licked happily at Noah's face while your boyfriend cooed at him, probably whispering soft praises to the overly excited puppy.

You'd been debating on getting a dog together for some time. Wanting to take that next step in your relationship and also Noah being adamant on you not being alone when he was away, you thought now was the perfect time. It'd been a few weeks searching, your boyfriend being persistent on finding the perfect dog for you - and him - and as you watch Jax happily settle into Noah's lap, your boyfriend beaming up at you, you realize that this is definitely the one.

"He likes you." You muse as you finally move closer, settling on the floor beside the two. Jax's tail starts up again, wagging happily. He wiggles his way out of Noah's grip to climb into your lap now, surprising you with a kiss.

"I think he likes you, too." Noah's voice is soft and you manage a glance at him while trying to wrangle the very happy pup in your arms, the look of adoration on his face has your breath hitching. He reaches out to scratch behind Jax's ear. "We should get him."

"You've barely known him for 5 minutes." You snort but your gaze lands on Jax nuzzling against your chest and your heart squeezes, already knowing if you left here without him you'd be devastated. 

"And? That's enough time."

You roll your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Yeah?" Noah scoots closer to you, continuing to scratch behind Jax's ear. He leans his chin against your shoulder, humming softly. "I knew I liked you 5 seconds after we met, so this is nothing." 

Your face flushes. "You did not."

"Yes I did."

"Okay, so then why did you wait a whole year to even tell me you liked me if you knew it instantly?" It's his turn to blush, ignoring your teasing words as he continues to pet Jax. “Exactly.”

You were just kidding but every once in a while you always liked to bring it up just to mess with him.

"Anyways," He pivots, looking away from Jax to finally look at you. "We should adopt him."

You meet his gaze, your heart leaping its way into your throat. "...Yeah?"

"Yeah." A small, gentle smile settles on his lips. "We should. I think he'll fit right in with us. Won’t you, bud?”

Us. 

The world makes your entire body heat up and your stomach flip. You immediately know he's right, your gut telling you that this sweet little pup in your arms is going to be the perfect fit for the two of you as he leans into Noah’s touch, and a great companion for you whenever your boy is gone. You look down at Jax, who's already looking up at you, tail wagging once again. 

"I think so, too." You say, scratching at Jax's side. "What do you say, bud? Wanna come home with us?"

As if Jax understood every word you had said, he leaps from your lap with another happy wag of his tail. He barks at you and then at Noah, and you swear you think he's smiling. Noah reaches out for Jax and the pup happily follows, settling back into his arms as if he's done it a million times before. 

"Welcome to the family, Jax." 

Your boyfriend's words make your chest flutter, heat washing over your face. It's your turn to reach over and scratch behind Jax's ear, mumbling out Noah's exact words.

"Welcome to the family."

...

One week. That's all the time you and Noah had to get to Jax accustomed to your house with all three of you inside it. The first two days were used for him to get familiar with his surroundings, showing him the different rooms. You let him sniff around as much as he wanted, wanting every inch of this space to be safe for him as it is for you two. Between that and just letting him get used to you, you also used this time to practice good habits.

Using the bathroom outside was fairly easy, to both yours and Noah's surprise. You were grateful that the adoption center you chose had already been practicing that with Jax, having a nice wide outside area for the dogs to roam freely. 

You've been struggling to establish feeding times, Jax being used to eating whenever he wanted throughout the day. You have designated eating times in the morning and night, and had to incorporate some snack times throughout the day to satisfy his whining. Eventually you know it'll get easier, and to be fair, he is a puppy. That boy is still growing, and growing boys need to eat.

You decided against crate training after night one. Hearing him whine throughout the night broke your heart, but it was Noah who said he didn't mind him out of the crate.

"He'll be the one cuddling you when I'm not here, anyways. Might as well get him used to the bed." 

You decide to buy a dog bed for your bedroom and he didn’t seem to mind it at first, but eventually got up in the bed with you two. He wedged himself perfectly between you and Noah as if he belonged. Even through your sleepy haze, your chest still tightened at how right it felt. 

So far, you think Jax is loving it. He fit right in with both you and Noah, meshing easily to both of your schedules. 

When Noah was locked away in his studio or making sure things were set to go for tour next week, Jax was with you, whether it be playing together or sleeping by your feet as you worked on the computer. Day three he hadn't been with you at all, glued to Noah's side the entire time. Your heart grew three times in size when you had gone looking for the pup, only to find him tucked away in Noah's lap while your boyfriend messed around on the computer, more than likely tweaking with a track.

"I can't believe we got a dog right before I leave." Noah comments on his last night home, tucking a very sleepy Jax against his chest. You'd just gotten back from a walk and the poor thing was tired, all his energy gone. 

"This was your idea, bub." You tease, but can't ignore the slight pang in your chest at the reminder of him leaving. "I'm just happy I'll have someone to keep me company."

Noah gives a sad smile, but doesn't comment on it again. He knows how you feel whenever he leaves, so incredibly proud of him but can't help being a bit heartbroken that you won't see your boy for weeks. He's the exact same way. Happy to be able to live out the life he dreamed of, doing what he loves for people just like him, but he can't help but wish that you could be with him every step of the way. 

He knows it isn't feasible right now, but is determined to make it a reality one day. Where he can support you - and now Jax - and bring you along for the ride.

That night, Jax sleeps at the foot of your shared bed, having no idea that one of his new owners will be gone for a month and a half in just a few short hours. Noah's attached to your side, face buried in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your cheek, smelling freshly washed, and you can even smell a hint of vanilla. He had insisted on using your body wash tonight after he had convinced you to shower with him, the only alone time you've had in a week, and will have for the foreseeable future. 

You still felt his touch, his fingertips etched into your skin as he dug them into your hips, pulling you closer and closer until there was no room left. He took his time with you, mumbling against your skin that he wanted to savor these last few quiet moments together. He slowly broke you apart with just his fingers, and then his mouth, before pressing your back against the shower wall and sliding one of your legs up and around his hip, pressing into you slowly.

Your face burned at the memory, only being minutes ago, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran through your body when you felt Noah's lips brush against the base of your neck.

"Gonna miss you." He mumbles out, sleep evident in his voice.

"Gonna miss you, too." You whisper back. 

Jax makes a noise at the foot of the bed, stretching out his little legs before settling back against the covers. Noah huffs out a laugh.

"I'll miss him, too. Never knew I could get attached to something so quick."

"Honey," It's your turn to laugh, Jax wiggling around at the sound. "You get attached to every animal we encounter. You suggested we get him after only seeing him for not even five minutes."

"...Okay, whatever. I knew I would and it sucks. I wish I could bring you both along."

"I know." You say softly, fingers carding through his hair. "Maybe when he's bigger. I think bringing a puppy on tour would be a nightmare."

"It would but I wouldn't care." You don't respond, instead let Noah think on his words before he eventually says, "Okay, maybe I'd care a little bit. Thinking of him having an accident in a random green room makes me kind of anxious."

"Exactly." You laugh again, much softer, and turn your head to brush your lips across his forehead. "So, let's wait for when he gets bigger, then maybe I could use some PTO and we both could tag along for a few weeks."

Noah's arms tighten around your waist to bring you closer to him, his legs tangling between yours like a vice grip. "Okay. I'd really like that."

You let the silence take over, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on Noah's steady breathing. You never stopped your hand moving through his hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp. It isn't until you're on the brink of sleep when he speaks up again, exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Love you."

Jax sighs out at the foot of the bed, snuggling deeper into the covers, and your chest tightens again. You're going to miss this already and it's only been a week.

"Love you, too, my Noah."

...

A month and a half goes by quicker than you thought it would. Normally it feels like the days drag on when Noah's away, the boredom catching up to you on Day 2, but having Jax has made it to where the days don't feel as long, and the loneliness doesn't creep up on you as often.

It's not to say that it doesn't, because there were still days where you yearned just to see Noah, to be able to find him lying on the couch and to crawl up against his chest. You called every night, hour long FaceTime calls until your boy fell asleep to the sound of your voice. It'll never be easier being away from him, but you think Jax was just the thing you needed.

Before Noah had left, you were sure that your boyfriend was the favorite. Jax always tagged along with you whenever you worked, but if Noah was available he was glued to him. It warmed your heart, truly, but you were determined with this time away to make him like you just a bit more. He was going to be with you most of the time, anyways.

He's practically mastered the art of doing his business outside, even to the point where he can tell you when he has to go. He'd roam around the house to find you and when he did, he'd stare up at you with those big eyes and paw at your leg. If you were downstairs with him he'd just stand by the door, giving you a look that let you know what he needed.

Eating times were still rough, but you think you've gotten it down. Breakfast as soon as you wake up, a snack or two during the afternoon depending on how well those puppy dog eyes got you, and then dinner time is always around six o'clock. It seemed to work out fairly well, but there were some afternoons when he'd go over his afternoon snack amount. All in all, you've gotten a steady routine down with Jax, and you couldn't wait to integrate Noah back into it. 

You'd even been able to teach him some tricks on days when boredom got the best of you, and you wanted to be able to show Noah something cool whenever he got home. So far you've only been able to get him to sit on command and you felt nothing but pride every time he did. He'll get the other ones down in no time, and you're sure with the help of Noah he'll get them right away. 

Speaking of your boyfriend, you think Jax is still a bit confused that his other human has been missing.

Your heart squeezed beneath your chest when you'd find him curled up on the couch in Noah's studio, sound asleep. Even in that short amount of time, your pup had not only fallen in love with you but also with Noah, and you both were more than ready to have your boy back home with you.

...

With the way Jax was staring at the door, tail slowly beginning to wag, it was as if he knew Noah was seconds away from home. Usually you'd be the one to pick Noah up from the airport but it was his idea that this time one of the guys drop him off, anxious about how well Jax would do in the car and around a group of people. 

As if on queue, you hear keys jingle. Both you and Jax perk up, you straightening your seated position on the couch and Jax moving closer to the door, excited barks escaping him. You can't help the way your heart squeezes beneath your chest and your stomach flutters with butterflies, a smile breaking across your face when Noah finally opens the door.

"Hey buddy!" He says excitedly as Jax all but runs towards him, immediately jumping on his legs. He barely has enough time to set his things down before crouching in front of the excited puppy, pulling him into his arms. "I can't believe you remember me."

"Of course he remembers you." You tease, heart thudding against your chest when Noah finally looks in your direction, eyes twinkling as his gaze finally land on you. "He slept glued to your side for a week straight. He's missed you."

Noah hugs Jax to him, letting out breathy chuckles as the excited pup licks across his face, wiggling in his arms. "I missed you too, bud."

Your boyfriend sinks into the floor, door still half open and his bags surrounding him. He doesn't pay any mind, instead returning the kisses Jax gave him, chuckling every so often. You reach for your phone, the tender moment making your eyes burn with happy tears and you can't help but snap a picture of this moment, immediately setting it as your background.

Your boys. 

Your heart clenches at the thought as you toss your phone back onto the couch and stand up, making your way over to Noah. He looks up when you sink down onto the floor next to him, the softness behind his eyes returning and a gentle smile settling on his lips.

"Hi baby." 

"Hi." You return his smile, face flushing under his gaze. "If it means anything, I also missed you." 

His smile only widens, eyes twinkling again. "I missed you, too." 

It takes another moment of excitement before Jax wiggles his way out of Noah's arms, scurrying off into the living room to probably find one of the new toys you had gotten him in the last month and a half. He loves showing them off to you everyday, and to anyone who stops by. Your friends had been shown his nice new red ball about a dozen times during their visit, and he acted as if it was brand new each time.

"Not as much as Jax though, huh?" 

Noah rolls his eyes before lifting himself to his feet, hand reaching down to bring you up with him. "I missed you both all the same."

Your body practically vibrates the second your hand touches his, letting him haul you up from the floor and immediately into his arms. You don't say anything, just bury your face against his chest and slip your arms around his middle. You inhale deeply, the scent of your boyfriend engulfing you instantly and you only squeeze him tighter.

You missed him so much.

"I missed you so much, too." You hadn't meant to say that out loud but didn't care, especially because Noah only squeezes you tighter, his lips brushing the side of your head. "Next time, please come with me. It was fucking unbearable."

You pull back, brows furrowing. "I thought everything went fine?"

"Oh, it did. Much better than I expected, but it still sucked not having you there when things got even the slightest bit fucked." His voice is much softer, muffled by your hair. "Need you with me always and to tell when to fucking relax. Would've made the stressful moments easier to get through."

Your heart practically bursts out of your chest at his words. You don't know what to say, honestly can't say anything with the way your throat is already closing up and eyes are burning again. You pull back more but only to unwind your arms from around his waist, reaching up. It seems like he already knew your intentions, already leaning down for you to cup his cheeks and bring his face closer. 

Your lips meet in a gentle kiss and Noah hums out a soft noise, hands sliding down your sides to your hips. His fingers flex, digging into you gently to bring you closer. Before it could go anywhere, a bark pulls you two away from each other, and you both turn your head to find Jax staring, happily wagging his tail with his new red ball sitting in front of him.

"Oh, I think he wants to show you his new toy."

"God, he's fucking cute." Noah mumbles out, a breathy chuckle following. He turns his head to press a chaste kiss to your cheek before finding your lips again, planting a quick kiss there before pulling away from you entirely. "Let me put my stuff up, bud, and you can show me your new toy." 

As if Jax understood, he barks again, the wagging only getting faster. Noah shuts the door completely, finally, and the two of you carefully move his things away from the door and towards the stairs for the unpacking that'll happen later. Minutes later, Noah's back over by Jax, reaching down for his red ball and tossing it across the room gently. 

You laugh at the way Jax rushes for it, tiny arms and legs working to get his toy and bring it back to Noah.

"He loves that damn ball." You muse, giggling softly at the excited puppy running back towards Noah, dropping the ball by his feet.

"I knew he would." Noah grins as he reaches down for the ball and tosses it again, Jax running at full speed to retrieve it.

An idea pops into your head as Jax runs back towards Noah, forgetting that you hadn't told your boyfriend about the recent trick Jax had learned. You shift on the couch, bringing your legs up under you as you settle back against the cushions. 

"Oh, baby, look." You snap your fingers, watching Jax turn his head towards you. Unbeknownst to you, Noah does the same, but your focus is solely on the puppy. "Sit."

Jax does almost instantly, dropping the ball from his mouth and happily sitting down in front of Noah. You smile triumphantly and fix your gaze on your boyfriend, but he isn't in front of Jax anymore. He's making his way towards the couch, plopping down next to you, brows furrowed.

"Look at what?"

You give him an amused grin, looking between him and Jax. It takes him a moment but you see the moment his brain catches up, looking over at Jax who's still sitting, tail wagging happily against the floor.

"Oh."

"Wasn't meant for you, baby, just the dog." You reach over, ruffling his hair playfully and lean in for a quick kiss to his cheek. "But good boy,"

You pull back to find him flushing, cheeks darker than before, and his eyes fitted into a playful glare. You laugh before leaning back in, this time placing a swift kiss to his lips. 

You get up from the couch, using your best baby voice to get Jax to follow you into the kitchen for his well deserved treat. You come back into the living room to find Noah still on the couch with his head thrown back against the couch, cheeks still flushed and eyes shut.

Your chest did that funny thing again, heart squeezing beneath at the sight of your boy finally home. You glance over at the very many bags placed carefully at the end of your stairs and then look back at Noah who may or may not be fast asleep, and decide unpacking will have to wait until later. Or tomorrow. Your perfectionist boyfriend will just have to deal with it.

"Baby?" Noah makes a noise, opening an eye to stare over at you. "Tired?"

He nods, groaning quietly as he sits himself up, rubbing a hand down his face. "Forgot I've been traveling all day. It hit me the second I sat down," He stretches his arms out and groans again before settling back against the cushions, giving you a sleepy smile. "Forgot how comfy this couch is." 

"Mhm. The dope couch is extremely comfy." You walk towards him but don't sit down, instead reach a hand out. "But I know our bed is way more comfortable than this. C'mon, bub." 

He reaches for you no questions asked, letting himself be hauled off the couch with another quiet noise. "Should unpack first, though-"

"Nope. That's a tomorrow us problem." You don't miss the small smile Noah makes at the word us, tugging him towards the stair. "Right now, you need a nap, and coincidentally this is around the time Jax takes a nap in your studio. I think he'd much rather prefer to cuddle with you. I would, too."

You call for the pup who trots out of the kitchen before pausing, stretching out his tiny legs and giving the cutest yawn you'd ever seen. 

"Nap time?" His head tilts in an almost comedic way, tail slowly beginning to wag as he trots closer to you. "C'mere." 

He does so happily and you pull him up into your arms, turning around to face a very sleepy, but very happy looking Noah. 

"I should really unpack first, baby."

You shake your head. "Nuh uh. Tomorrow problem. Right now, we're gonna nap. And then we’re gonna order dinner and sit on the couch the rest of the night. Right, buddy?" You look at Jax who's nestled against your chest, turning to puppy towards Noah, feigning a pout. "You're seriously gonna say no to this face?"

"You're unbelievable." He rolls his eyes half-heartedly, but that sleepy smile settling on his lips is telling you that you definitely won this round. "Fine. Tomorrows problem."

You let out a triumphant noise, raising Jax's paw and giving yourself a high-five that makes Noah laugh. Warmth spreads throughout your body at the sound, having missed it so much in the last month and a half. You follow Noah up the stairs and to your bedroom with Jax in your arms, excited anticipation running through you at the thought of finally cuddling your boy after so long. You couldn't wait.

Noah sprawls out onto the bed with another groan and you gently drop Jax down next to him, watching as the puppy immediately jumps onto his chest. He licks his face a few times before settling down on top of him, getting comfortable. 

You coo out softly and you crawl into the space next to your boyfriend, "God, that's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen." 

Noah wraps an arm around him to keep him steady against his chest, holding out his other arm for you to curl into. You do so happily, body fitting perfectly into his side. You can feel the tension in both of your bodies finally relax, immediately melting into one another, and your heart skips a beat at how perfect this feels right now.

Things finally make sense again, and you've never been happier to finally have both of your boys with you. 

...

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