this is a oneshot, let me know if you want more. I haven’t wrote in a while and it’s been sitting in my drafts. I’m sorry if this is ass. Enjoy! 🩶
Warnings: wet dreams, sleeping medication, insomnia, swearing, sex, p in v, friends to lovers, fingering, confessions, unestablished relationship, crying, trouble sleeping 
Rip to everyone’s underwear, lately I’ve been cooking. I also didn’t really proofread this so hopefully it makes enough sense rip.
Divider is @dividers-are-us 🩶
Some songs I listened to while writing this. 🩶
*flashback*
“It’ll only be for a few months. We could really use the help…” Noah bribed you, as he ate the food you prepared for the both of you.
He asked to meet with you earlier in the day,’but with how busy your photo shoots were you had to wait to meet with him in the evening, promising him food for the inconvenience.
“Yeah but what about all my bills, and mom, and my cat Millie?” You took a bite of food.
It all felt overwhelming, going half way across the world for a few months, helping Bryan with tour photos and different angles. You always wanted to travel the world, now felt like your chance.
“We’ll figure something out. I have a friend who isn’t touring right now that can help take care of your cat. We can set up something to prepay your bills, and I can remind you to call your mom every night.” Noah reassured you.
You thought about it. Deciding not to give him an answer yet, still taking in the idea. You’d tour with them in a tour bus for most of the North American tour and also join them for the Europe tour. How bad could it be?
*end of flashback*
“3:30am.”
Insomnia is back. You’ve tried everything, the sleep medicine your doctor gave you made you have wet dreams, you couldn’t risk taking them while on tour. Bryan could tell you were getting more and more tired each day. It was only a matter of time till you had to start taking them.
The issue with the sleep medicine is the dreams. Waking up hot and bothered didn’t annoy you as much, the idea that scared you the most is what you thought about and who you thought about while dreaming. Noah couldn’t know, it would ruin a lot.
You made your way out the bunk, the rest of the tour bus was dark. You took your blanket with you wrapping yourself up on the couch scrolling social media, looking at a few pictures you took.
The soft foot steps you heard made you turn your head to who it was.
Noah
“Why are you still up?” His voice a little deeper, while in a graphic tee and boxers, hair tossed around, it was a sight to see. Enough to make any fan girl faint.
He grabbed a water from the fridge supply in the tour bus waiting for an answer that never came out of you. He drank some of the water still thinking you’d tell him, but turned his body when he saw you biting your finger looking at the ground.
“What’s wrong?, are you home sick? It’s only been a week or so. I can get you a plane ticket back home if it’s not working out…” he offered, he knew traveling made you nervous but you still wanted to do it.
He sat down next to you. The sleep medicine did work, but you also still woke up every so often, you took it the first few nights of tour only to wake up horny thinking of Noah. But you could never tell him that.
“My sleep medicine is weird…” you trailed off. Noah cocked his eyebrow at you wondering what you meant by that.
“Well it’s not working if you’re not taking it.” He chuckled, before returning to a more understanding approach to your situation.
“It has side effects, that aren’t too pleasant.” You mumbled, playing with your fingers. You couldn’t look at him, telling your best friend you have wet dreams of him, yeah he might as well buy the plane ticket home for you.
“Like what?” He asked, He was curious after all. It had to be bad if it was bothering you. Probably nightmares, or sleep sweats, or sleep paralysis.
“Weird dreams..” his eyes softened. You looked so tired though, he almost wished he could take them anyway for you, just to get a little rest.
“Is that why you haven’t taken them?” He turned his body more to face you. His head rested on your shoulder. Noah has never judged you for much, telling him this felt intimidate not that you wanted it to be.
“Yeah, I wake up… unsettling all the time, I say things in my sleep and I don’t want to bother anyone.” You could feel the tears in your eyes. It was so frustrating to get sleep, you’d think it’d be a normal thing for your body or anyone’s body. You turned your attention back to him.
“Why don’t you go back to sleep, I’ll figure it out. I’ll just get a redbull during your rehearsal and power through.” You sighed, your nose felt stuffy and your throat felt dry.
Noah didn’t moved or say anything, his arms moved to wrap around you. You were shaking slightly, feeling like he pitied you for your tiredness, and he does more work than you. His voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Tomorrow after the show we have hotel rooms for everyone, it was Bryan’s idea hoping you could get some better sleep. He noticed how tired you’ve been while on tour already.” Noah paused slightly before talking again.
“They paired you with me to share a room, I hope you don’t mind. It was his idea and also kinda of mine. The bunk is getting cramed.” Noah’s eyes were closed, he knew you were crying silently, he wanted to try and help or comfort you. He found just holding you often helped.
You wiped your eyes. You felt a little relieved that you could sleep in a bigger bed. However with your best friend in the room with you, also makes you wonder how well you really were going to sleep.
Noah got up placing his hand on your head. “Try and take nap tomorrow if you can, even if it’s during rehearsals, we need you well rested.” He squeezed your shoulder before walking back to where his bunk was.
You could feel your anxiety creeping in as well. Might as well put on an audio book to help distract for the night. Before sharing a room with him tomorrow night.
*Time skip*
“What a great show!”
“You sounded amazing man!”
“You guys did great!”
The crew members cheered the guys on as they made their way from being on stage. You got great shots. Despite being sleep deprived, you were able to take a 2 hour nap. You set an alarm for 2 hours, and was surprisingly able to sleep for a little bit.
The Red Bull you got definitely helped keep you awake and focused a little. As sleep deprived as you were the angles and shots you got were very good.
Noah walked past you as you were looking at the pictures through your camera you got of them, sitting down by you.
“And how are you doing, I heard you took a nap like I told you to..” he set his sweaty forehead on your shoulder looking at the unedited photos you got.
“I’m alright, still sleep deprived, but better.” You replied, before turning the camera off shrugging him off of you. Even as sweaty as he is, he still looked gorgeous and smelled amazing. Sweat and musky with a hint of sandalwood.
“I’m going to hit the showers, then we can get everything we need for our room.” He added, as he rubbed your head before leaving you alone on the couch.
You felt a little anxiety in the pit of your stomach. You haven’t shared a room with him since middle school, and even then he ended up sleeping on the floor to give you room.
*time skip to the hotel*
“What do you mean there’s only one bed left? I booked this room for 2 people with 2 beds?!” Matt exclaimed, frustrated as everyone was still waiting to get into their rooms.
“It’s fine Matt, I can sleep on the floor, i probably won’t even get much sleep anyway.” You shrugged, turning to see him, Noah, and Bryan giving you a look as in you will get a bed and not the floor.
“It’s fine, Noah and I can share, it’s not the first time..” you commented, turning your head and saying the last part lowly to yourself mainly. Noah turned his head to your comment, biting his lip slightly.
Matt and Bryan looked at each other amused that this wasn’t the first time something like this has happened between the both of you.
“Alright, well you guys sleep tight.” Matt handed you the key before eyeing Noah, as he put his hands up in defense at this words.
“We’re not doing anything…” Noah replied back, grabbed your luggage from you, backpack of his own already on his shoulders. You followed behind him slowly, dragging your feet a little.
You definitely couldn’t take your sleeping medicine tonight, no matter how bad you really needed it. He would think you’re weird and would definitely kick you out of their tour.
“Alright our little home for the night I guess..” he put the key into the slot unlocking it holding the door for you to go in.
It wasn’t anything fancy, it was a huge bed with 2 bed tables, and chair and table across from it. Of course there was a bathroom and shower connected to it. Everything you guys needed for the night.
You sat down at the table before digging around your suitcase for your book. Noah made himself comfortable on the bed scrolling on his phone. His hair was still wet, and he was in sweats and a t shirt, still looking heavenly.
“Why don’t you lay down? I’d be dying to if I was you.” He joked slightly, sitting up as he watched you look for your book you normally would read. Cursing to yourself as you forgot it on the bus.
“I’m probably not going to sleep anyway, so make yourself comfortable before I roll around in the bed 100 times like a gas station hot dog.” You replied, making him laugh at your comment.
“Come on, come here..” he patted the spot next to him, it made you feel nervous, it felt intimidate even though it was not. You took a seat next time him on the bed not moving. His arms came around you trying to pull you down on the bed to lay you down slightly pinning you.
You were just inches away from eachother’s faces his nose was touching yours. Your face heated up and he pulled away.
“There you go, now you’re lying down and relaxing at-least.” He went back on his phone reading the reactions to what everyone had to say about dethrone tonight.
Your body felt hot. Not the normal hot you woke up with most the time, but like an aching and yearning, like consuming. You knew it was because of him. He didn’t know what you truly felt about him, the couldn’t know you got off to him when you’d wake up to your dreams about him. It would ruin everything.
You got off the bed walking towards your luggage again grabbing some clothes and your toilettes making your way to the bathroom. Noah watched as you grabbed your things muttering to him you were showering, as he nodded in return.
While in the showered your phone was blowing up from messages from your friend Isabella. Noah of course knew your password, it kept vibrating and vibrating and disturbing his peace.
“Hey, are you with Noah yet?”
“Have you told him how you felt yet? He has to know about the dreams you’re having of him…”
“He could probably help you with your insomnia ;)”
She kept sending more messages. Noah put your phone down turning it off. He stayed silent deciding to make himself comfortable and going to sleep. He didn’t want to make you worry or be uncomfortable. He knew you liked him now, and he felt the same way but didn’t know how to approach the situation.
After a decently warm hot shower, you opened the door to him sleeping on his side back to you. He did have a long week, he was probably tired if not more than you.
You looked at the bottle of sleeping pills in your hand, debating. You’ve been tired for days, maybe just this one time you think, as you swallowed them.
It could work and you wouldn’t wake up with wet dreams. Especially next to him.
wrong.
*3:45am*
Noah read. He work up to your whimpering and moving around. He heard his name a couple times followed by a couple of moans. His eyes drifted to you.
This is what she was talking about. Why she didn’t take them, but probably couldn’t handle the fact of not being able to sleep another night.
He sighed to himself. Behind lightly shaking you to wake you up. You felt his hand before refusing to open your eyes. In that moment you froze. You knew he woke to you moaning about him and moving against him. He was definitely going to kick you out. Fuck
Noah’s voice was a little deep since he hadn’t used it in a while.
“Are you okay Angel?”
Your eyes opened to his words. He never called you Angel. I guess he didn’t want to kick you out. You sat up silently pulling your knees to your chest. You were embarrassed if anything.
“What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed?… I’m not mad….”
The tears were flowing out of your eyes, you almost couldn’t handle it. His next words made you freeze entirely.
“Do you want me to help you?”
You turned your head to him tilting it slightly, as to what he could be referring to.
“I want to help you relax… can I?”
You felt his hand on your side pulling you into him as your hip grazed his boner you felt in the moment. This really all was going to change everything and he was okay with it too.
“Please…”
You pleaded, quietly. His hand moved from your waist to the waist band of your shorts you had on. He tapped the waistband of them as if he was asking permission to which you lifted your hips to him.
Your eyes still felt heavy but you were too awake to go back to sleep especially during this. You would think you were dreaming if anything.
His rough fingers lightly touched your clit making you flinch slightly at the feeling. You were hot and engorged and it’s been a while since anyone has touched you, especially there. He rubbed small circles listening to your quiet moans. He took them in like music to his ears.
“You’ve been so worked up, just need my angel to relax for a night.”
His words were like butter, melting in your ears (wtf is was that..)
It made everything better, and make the experience better taking you through his motions. His fingers got a little more rough as you squirmed in his arms. He held you to him, his head right in your neck sucking a mark on the side of it.
His fingers then dipped to your entrance, you were already drooling all over the place, your panties were a mess. He chuckled to himself feeling how much you wanted him. You whined slightly as he teased your entrance with his finger tips.
“Ask me..”
He whispered he moved very close to your ear, licking below your neck. You didn’t know Noah could be this much of a freak but you loved it.
“Please… please I need it. I need you.”
You pleaded to him. It was enough for him to give you what you wanted, as two of his fingers slowly intruded into your body. You were tight, sucking him in as he pushed slightly clinging around him.
He heard your small cry, and swear he was oozing in his pants just at the sound of your voice. He was a little rough with the pace, his thumb grazed your clit too at the same time he’d pump his fingers out of you. It was all a lot making you feel like closing your legs.
Noah was quick to the idea of that, swinging one of his over both of yours to ground you to him as he went faster with his fingers adding a third.
Your moans and cries got louder, the closer you got and his head tipped back slightly closing his eyes at your sounds drinking them in. He felt you release yourself all over his fingers violently, shaking with the after math. He fucked you through it giving you praises.
“That’s right, you’re okay. You did so good Angel.”
Lucky for him you were still hungry for more, palming his pants. He was sensitive as he was slightly rubbing himself on you while he fingered you. He wouldn’t last long if you played with him.
He groaned as your palm tranced him. He was throbbing and thick, it felt like it would stretch you out, just at the size of it.
He pulled himself out lazily pumping himself, his mouth was slightly open. He didn’t catch your tongue and it slightly flicking over the head of him. Earning the most angelic moan you’ve ever heard from someone. He had to push you off him to keep himself from cumming from that action alone.
He stood up stripping the rest of his clothes off, looking for the lube he “unintentionally” bought with him.
He grabbed it out of his suitcase before putting some in his hand lazily pumping himself. He watched as you laid there legs clenched ready for a form of relief from him. He granted your wish giving you what you needed.
“Your ready?” He asked kindly wanting to help you but with the lust and desire were also there. He was about to fuck his best friend and change everything.
“Yes, please noah I need it.” You pleaded as you felt him at your hole ready to fill it.
He brought you to edge of the bed, your bottom hanged off a bit with his hands supporting your hips. He pushed in all the way not giving you much time to adjust filling you to the brim.
The choked out moan you were holding managed to slip out as he caught the sound of it. He leaned down into your neck you could feel him heavy breathing as he picked a slow steady rhythm letting you feel every part of him.
His voice broke the silence.
“I’ve waited so many years to do this with you. Even when I had my first time with someone I wished it was with you.” He confessed feeling in the moment.
His words went straight to your heart and core as he felt you tighten around him. His fingers moved down to your clit as he picked up the pace.
“T-the dreams…” you paused as he slowed down to listen to you. “They were about you, they were about and me and this. This situation, and I was so scared it would ruin everything and you would hate me if you found out…” you cried.
Noah’s eyes softened at your confession. He felt bad for you knowing the real reason for them, but he felt like now that he knew he could definitely help satisfy your desire when you’d wake up like this.
He leaned down cupping your face in his hands. “You come to me anytime you need this Angel, I don’t care what time it is, I’ll be here for you. I love you.”
His words made you cry. He pumped a little faster feeling you get closer to your orgasm as well as him, himself.
“Please let go, you need this baby.” He cooed in your ear feeling you try and hold out longer, he kissed the tears coming from your eyes as you felt yourself release around him, as he flooded your walls right after.
He pumped himself a few more times before pulling out, getting a rag to clean you.
“Thank you.” You whispered quietly, still unsure of what you both were but found comfort in him taking care of you even if it came down to sex.
“I love you, Noah.” He looked up from cleaning you, placing a kiss to your lips. You pulled away smiling, before he joined you in the sheets laying yourself on him.
It was the best sleep you’ve had in a long time. Whether it was the sex, him, or all the tension you felt good and well rested.
“Well good morning you two.” Matt cooed, as he took in your appearance of sweats and Noah’s hoodie swelling your body.
“You look a lot more well rested.” Bryan commented placing his hand on your head. You nodded at his comment, grabbing a muffin off his plate that came with the hotel breakfast.
The silencer from you and Noah nearly killed everyone as if something did happen that you didn’t tell anyone. Noah kept stabbing his eggs concentrated.
“You guys slept together didn’t you..” Matt finally broke the silence, making you both pause and Noah nearly choke.
Bryan’s eyes nearly popped out his sockets while jolly and Nicholas high fives each other. Noah rolled his eyes at their amusement.
“Did you guys bet on this?…” you asked disgusted by the behavior.
“Of course we did, have you seen the way you two are to another…” Jolly remarked. Noah paused before agreeing with him.
“We’ll hope you’re sleeping better.” Matt commented as he got up with everyone else leaving you and Noah at the table to finish breakfast.
“What does this make us?” You stared at anything but him. As you waited for his answered not expecting one and expecting him to act like it didn’t happen.
“Whatever you want.” Noah took your hand placing a kiss on it, taking in your soft smile in front of him.
A/N: hey guys, I hope you enjoyed I’m kinda just trying to finish my drafts for now. Back on my best friend Noah shit as usual. Don’t forget to like and reblog. 🩶🫶🏻 - Mandy
hello i just wanted to say i am in the middle of reading of the worst in me and this is the first writing in literal years that has actually made me feel anything and just get so hooked and i just had to tell you you are a freaking amazing writer
🥺🥺🥺
This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me on here. I appreciate you so much for your kind words. Sometimes I feel discouraged because I don’t get as much interaction as others, but stuff like this and my regular commenters keep me pushing! Thank you anon for your sweet words and I’m glad you’re enjoying The Worst In Me!!!
Spell bound hearts was SO GOOD. Eagerly awaiting more 😭🙏
Ahhhh I’m so glad so many people are loving it! Practical Magic has a special place in my heart so I’m trying to make sure this story adheres to a version of it 🥺 thank you for the love ❤️
For more than two centuries, the women of the Goodwin family have been blamed for every inconvenience that touches their small Massachusetts town. Gossip and superstition trace back to the Salem witch trials, when women were hunted for the magic said to run in their veins. Maria, the first in the bloodline known to wield that power, became the town’s cautionary tale, and every strange occurrence since has been laid at her descendants’ feet. Now you and your sister, Clementine, are the newest Goodwin women; the latest witches the town whispers about whenever the lights go out.
Maria was a beautiful woman, brimming with love, whimsy, and talent. Her list of lovers was long, and far too many of them wore wedding bands that belonged to other women, women who now sat on the hanging committee with vengeance in their eyes. If not for the magic running quietly through her blood, she would have been dead long before the sun reached its peak that day. As they sentenced her for the crime of being born with power, they shoved her from the platform, a coarse rope biting into the soft skin of her throat.
To their horror, Maria did not fall. She drifted.
She floated gently toward the ground like a feather on an unseen breeze, her skirts billowing, her bare feet kissing the dirt without so much as a scratch. The crowd gasped, crossing themselves, some falling to their knees, and in that single breathless moment, rumor hardened into certainty: Maria Goodwin was a witch. Within the hour, the decision was made. If they could not hang her, they would banish her to one of Massachusetts’ many islands, where the ocean winds might do what their rope could not.
With her unborn child growing heavy inside her belly, Maria stood at the edge of the island’s rocky shore and waited for the sound of oars cutting through the dark water. She waited for her lover to rescue her, to appear like a promise finally kept. But as the days bled into weeks, so did her hope. No lantern bobbed on the horizon. No familiar voice called her name. The only reply was the endless hiss of the tide.
Alone and hollowed by betrayal, Maria reached for the only thing that had never abandoned her: her magic. In a moment of despair, she wove a spell around her heart, whispering words that would ensure she would never again feel the agony of love. It was meant to be a shield, a small mercy she granted herself.
But pain has a way of curdling into something darker. As her bitterness grew and the child inside her kicked against her ribs like a reminder, the spell twisted, turning sharp where it should have been soft. What began as protection became a curse, one that would cling to her bloodline, binding itself to the name Goodwin. From that night on, any man who dared to love a Goodwin woman would find his devotion answered not with happily-ever-after, but with heartache, ruin, or worse. The curse did not care which; it only demanded a price.
That’s how the Goodwin sisters ended up living with their aunts Eithel and Margret in the crooked, yellow Victorian house at the edge of town, where the streetlights never seemed to reach. Your mother died of a broken heart when your father paid the ultimate price for the curse, and the town, of course, said they’d seen it coming all along.
You, thirteen months older than Clementine, fit neatly into the role of eldest. Quiet and reserved, you are never one to seek out trouble. Clementine is the opposite, with fiery orange hair and a temper to match. Different as you are, the two of you are a bonded pair, and neither can imagine surviving without the other.
And survive you both did.
There wasn’t a single day you and your sister weren’t tormented by the kids at school who snickered behind cupped hands and scrawled witch across your locker, or by the townsfolk who crossed the street rather than pass you, their conversations dropping to a hush as you walked by. In classrooms, in grocery aisles, even in church pews, their fear clung to you like a second skin, a constant reminder that in this town, being a Goodwin was a crime all its own.
One night, while you and Clementine are hunched over the kitchen table, working through simple spells and stirring glittering liquid in the family cauldron, there’s a sharp knock at the back door.
“Just keep doing your spells, girls. We’ll be right back,” Aunt Eithel says, wiping her hands on her apron as she moves toward the sound.
You and Clementine trade a look. No one ever comes calling after dark.
Peeking around the corner, you see your aunts framed in the French doors that look out over the backyard. On the porch stands a woman you don’t recognize; hair wild, lipstick smeared, clutching her handbag like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Even from here, you can tell she’s been crying.
“Get the book,” says Eithel, her voice gone low and serious.
“Get the dove,” Margaret answers, already moving toward the pantry.
As they open the door and usher the woman inside, they turn on you and Clementine with matching looks.
“Upstairs. Bed,” Margaret orders. “Now.”
They shoo you both toward the staircase, herding you away from the kitchen and the stranger who smells like perfume and rain. But as sneaky as little girls can be, you and Clementine don’t go far. Instead, you creep back down to the top step and press yourselves against the banister, peering through the gaps to watch the chaos unfold below.
“I don’t want anyone else,” the woman sobs, voice cracking on every other word. “I want him so much I can’t think about anything else. I can’t sleep. He has to leave his wife. He has to leave her now.”
Her words drift up the stairwell like smoke, sweet and poisonous, and you feel Clementine’s fingers slide into yours. Down in the kitchen, your aunts exchange a look of pity and weariness.
“Perhaps you might find one better suited,” says Margaret gently.
“I don’t want anyone else!” the woman cries. “He is all I can think about. Why else in hell would I be here?”
With a tired sigh, Margaret tells Eithel to take the money. Then she places a white dove in the woman’s hands, along with a long, gleaming pin.
The woman stares down at the bird, her eyes gone glassy. “I want him to want me so much he can’t stand it,” she whispers.
You and Clementine both gasp, your breath catching in unison. You bury your face against her shoulder as, below you, the woman drives the pin into the dove’s heart. The sharp, startled flutter of wings is over in an instant, but the sound of it seems to echo up the stairs and lodge in your chest, a memory you know will never quite let you go.
“I hope I never fall in love. I hope I never fall in love,” you whisper to yourself, the words tumbling out again and again until they sound more like a spell than a wish.
Clementine only smiles, eyes still shining with reflected candlelight. “I can’t wait to fall in love,” she says.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Not even a week later, you are in the house’s built-in greenhouse, conjuring up a spell of your own. Moonlight filters through the glass panes, turning the rows of plants silver. One by one, you pluck white rose petals from different blossoms and drop them into a chipped porcelain bowl.
“He will hear my call a mile away,” you murmur, the words fogging the glass as you lean over the bowl. “He will whistle my favorite song.”
Clementine slips in quietly and leans against the doorframe, watching you for a moment before she speaks. “What are you doing?”
“I’m summoning a true love spell called Amas Veritas,” you say, plucking another petal and letting it flutter down like a tiny surrender flag. “He can flip pancakes into the air. He’ll be extremely kind, and his favorite shape will be a star. His eyes will be as brown as melted chocolate. And he’ll have the voice of an angel.”
“I thought you never wanted to fall in love,” Clementine says, eyebrows lifting as she steps closer, her bare feet silent on the cool tile.
“That’s the point.” You pinch off another petal, a little more sharply this time. “The guy I dreamed of doesn’t exist. If he doesn’t exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart.”
On the deck railing, you set the bowl down. The petals tremble, then lift; first one, then another; spiraling up in a slow, graceful dance. You and Clementine clutch each other’s arms as the petals rise higher, swirling out of the bowl and into the open air, drawn upward as if the moon itself is breathing them in.
They drift toward the sky in a shimmering, pale ribbon, stretching thinner and thinner until they are nothing but white specks against the dark.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
At nineteen and eighteen, you and Clementine stood on the edge of everything you’d ever known. Clementine had found herself a boyfriend and, with him, a way off the island. The two of you were in your shared attic room, the air thick with summer heat and the smell of old wood and salt from the sea.
Clementine was half hanging out the window, half inside, her hips braced against the sill as she craned toward the night. The street below was quiet, the town already shuttered and sleeping, but she watched it as if it might suddenly open up and offer her a way out.
“Do you love him?” you ask from your bed, knees drawn to your chest.
“What?” Clementine glances back at you, only half listening, her fingers drumming against the peeling paint.
“Do you love him enough to marry him?”
She huffs a laugh, a sharp, humorless sound. “Be for real, y/n, what’s enough?” she says, turning back to the dark horizon. “I hate it here. I just want to get out of this stuffy town and go to a place where no one has ever heard of us.”
She pushes the window open wider, letting in a rush of cool air that ruffles the curtains and lifts a strand of her fiery hair. For a moment, she looks like she might climb right out and let the night swallow her whole.
“You think he’s really your way out?” you ask softly.
“I think he’s a boat when all we’ve ever had is the shore,” she says. “I don’t care if it’s love. I just want to leave before this place squeezes the life out of us.”
You watch her silhouette in the window, the girl who once whispered that she couldn’t wait to fall in love. Now, you’re not sure if she’s running toward him or away from everything else. Either way, the island suddenly feels smaller than it ever has before.
“I feel like I’ll never see you again,” you half-whispered, the words barely crossing the space between your bed and the open window.
“Of course you’ll see me again,” she said at once, like it was the easiest promise in the world. “I promise. We’ll grow old together, just you and me, living in a big house with cats. So many cats, they’ll be knocking things off every surface.” A soft laugh slipped out of her. “I bet we’ll even die on the same day.”
“Swear?” Your voice cracked on the single word.
“Swear.”
She pushed herself away from the window and crossed the room, the old floorboards sighing under her bare feet. The night wind followed her in, curling around her ankles, tugging at the loose strands of her fiery hair. She sank down beside you on the bed, close enough that your shoulders touched, close enough that you could smell the salt still clinging to her skin.
Without a word, she reached up and pulled the pin from her hair. The bright metal caught the lamplight as she turned it between her fingers, something wild and certain in her eyes.
“Give me your hand,” she said.
You hesitated only a second before holding it out.
She drew the point of the pin across her own palm first. You watched the sharp intake of her breath, the thin line of red that bloomed across her skin. Then she took your hand in hers and did the same to you, gentler, but not gentle enough to spare you the sting.
A bead of blood welled up in each of your palms. She pressed your hand to hers, skin to skin, red to red, fingers lacing together so tightly there was no telling where you ended, and she began.
“My blood,” she said, holding your gaze.
“My blood,” you echoed, your throat tight.
“Our blood,” you said together.
You curled your fingers more firmly around hers, feeling the warm slip of your mingled blood, the sting of the cut already fading beneath the fiercer ache in your chest.
“Don’t forget,” you whispered.
“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” she said.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Years have passed.
You stayed in the small town and carved out a life for yourself among people who still cross themselves when you walk by. They may never fully trust a Goodwin, but they know where to go when they need something only you can provide. Your name is on the dusty gold letters above the shop window on Main Street: a narrow little storefront overflowing with herbs and potted plants, drying bundles of lavender in the window, glass jars of roots and petals lining the walls. Nothing grand, just a cramped herb and plant shop that smells like earth and citrus peel, where the bell over the door rings all day, and the floorboards are worn smooth by cautious footsteps.
For the ones who are brave, or desperate enough, the back shelves hold more than chamomile and thyme. Quietly, discreetly, you sell spells and elixirs: charms for luck, sachets to ward off nightmares, tinctures for courage. People who would never say your name in daylight still find their way to your door when something in their lives begins to unravel.
This afternoon, between customers, you sit behind the counter with a letter from the post office propped open beside the register. Clementine’s looping handwriting spills across the page, all ink blots and exclamation points.
She is living her best life, or at least that’s how she tells it. Right now she’s in Miami, Florida, partying until dawn, sending you descriptions of neon lights and salt-slicked skin, of music that rattles through her ribs and makes her feel endless. She writes about the ocean being warm even at night, about dancing barefoot on balconies, about how no one there has ever heard of the Goodwins or their cursed little town.
This time, there’s a new man she’s obsessed with, “the guy of the month,” as she calls him, half joking, half not. She gushes about how he makes her laugh, how he orders for her at restaurants, how he kisses like he means every word he never quite says. She lists his favorite songs, the way he wears his watch, and the stupid nickname he’s already given her.
You trace one of her hearts in the margin with the tip of your finger and try to picture her: Clementine in some crowded Miami bar, orange hair catching the colored lights, her laughter bright enough to drown out any whisper of a curse.
The shop bell jingles, and you fold the letter carefully, slipping it back into its envelope. You tuck it under the ledger, close to the little dish of protective salt you keep by the till.
“Just a minute,” you call, smoothing your apron as you stand.
You step out from behind the counter, the soft creak of the floorboards grounding you, until your gaze lifts, and your footing nearly falters.
By the blooming lavender stands a man unlike any customer you’ve ever had. He is tall, easily over six feet, broad-shouldered, and impossible to ignore as he seems to dwarf your crowded shelves. Ink curls over every inch of visible skin, from his throat down past his wrists, each tattoo as intricate and deliberate as brushstrokes on a canvas.
His hair is a rich chocolate brown, falling in soft waves to the nape of his neck. For a heartbeat, you can only stare.
He is beautiful.
As if feeling your eyes on him, he turns. Your breath catches. Up close, he’s even more devastating, all sharp lines and soft edges in ways that make your pulse skip.
Heat rises in your cheeks. You clear your throat, forcing your hand to move, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you try to remember how to speak.
“Hi,” you manage, your voice a little too quiet in the small, lavender-scented shop.
He gives you a warm smile. “Hi,” he says.
“What brings you in today?” you ask, remembering you need to stay professional.
“I’m visiting some friends in the area and decided to check out the local shops. You’ve got a nice place here.”
You blush and duck your head, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”
“What’s this?” he asks, pointing at the hanging bundle.
“It’s eucalyptus,” you explain. “You hang it in your shower, and the steam releases the plant’s essential oils. It helps with anxiety and calming your nerves.”
“So, you mentioned you’re not from around here. How did you meet your friend, if you don’t mind me asking? Most people who live here don’t tend to venture out and meet outsiders.”
He lets out a small laugh.
“My buddy Bryan just got a small vacation home here. He invited me and some others up for a couple of weeks to relax and fish. Nothing too exciting.”
“Well, welcome to my little town. I hope it treats you well,” you say with a shy smile.
“Thank you,” he replies, before something over your shoulder catches his eye. He drifts toward a display, drawn to the different varieties of plant pots you’ve arranged there. His hand settles on a ceramic planter with yellow stars scattered across its surface, like a tiny slice of starry night.
“This is beautiful,” he says. “I know it’s silly, but stars are my favorite shape. I love anything with stars on it.”
For some reason, his words echo in your mind, striking a chord you can’t quite name. Stars are my favorite shape. The phrase tugs at something buried deep, like a thread pulled taut inside your chest.
You shove the strange feeling aside, forcing yourself to focus on him instead of the way your heart is suddenly beating too fast. When he looks back at you, really looks, the air between you seems to narrow. You feel yourself melting under the warmth of his gaze, lost in eyes the exact shade of melted chocolate.
Up close, you notice the faint crinkle at their corners when he smiles, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. You catch the scent of his cologne; clean, a little woodsy, and it mixes with the lavender and eucalyptus until you’re not sure which part of the dizziness is magic and which part is just him.
You wet your lips, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your apron as you search for something, anything clever to say, but all you can think is that it feels like you’ve been waiting a very long time for someone with eyes like his.
“Do you, uh…like plants?” you manage, wincing at yourself the second the words leave your mouth.
His smile widens, slow and amused, and somehow, that only makes your pulse stutter harder.
“Yes, I like plants. That’s one of the reasons I came in here,” he teases.
You let out a small laugh, the sound a little breathier than you’d like. “Good. I’d hate to think you wandered in here by accident. The ferns are very sensitive about rejection.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, glancing at the nearest fern as if it might be listening. “Wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings. I’ve actually managed to keep a few things alive back home.”
“What kind of houseplants?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
“Mostly succulents. Low commitment, hard to kill. Kind of like me.”
You arch a brow. “Hard to kill, or low commitment?”
“Depends who you ask,” he says, that slow smile tugging at his mouth again. “But I’ve never had a plant complain.”
You shake your head, fighting another smile as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, if you’re looking to upgrade from succulents, I might be able to set you up with something a little more challenging.”
He leans his hip against the display, closer now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. “Yeah?” he says. “Think you can trust me with something that requires actual responsibility?”
You meet his gaze, your pulse thudding in your throat. “I guess we’ll just have to find out what you can handle.”
“I’m Noah, by the way,” he says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You give him your name, and he repeats it back to you, rolling it over his tongue. Somehow, it sounds sweeter coming from his mouth than it ever has before.
He grabs the starry pot, cradling it carefully in his tattooed hands, and you both walk to the register. The quiet shuffle of your footsteps on the worn floorboards and the soft clink of glass jars feel louder than they should. As you ring up his pot, he glances around, curious, and his gaze snags on the shadowed back of the shop where the elixirs are kept.
“What’s all that?” he asks.
Your stomach gives a little jolt.
“Oh, it’s just dried ingredients and whatnot. Nothing too important,” you rush out, hoping your voice sounds more casual than you feel.
He lingers, eyes still fixed on the shelves of bottles and bundles, as if he can sense there’s more to them than you’re willing to admit. You force your hands to stay steady while you wrap the pot, pretending not to notice the way his attention sharpens.
In your head, you’re praying he doesn’t ask too many questions, praying he doesn’t look too closely at the labels, at the sigils burned into the wood, at the faint shimmer that sometimes clings to the glass when the light hits it just right.
You slide the finished package toward him and offer what you hope is an easy smile, trying to guide his focus back to safe, ordinary things.
“Just supplies,” you add lightly. “Herbal stuff. For people who like to experiment with tea blends and bath soaks.”
His eyes return to you, warm and interested, like he’s not quite ready to leave just yet.
“Maybe I’ll ask you for recommendations on my next bath soaking night,” he jokes, mouth curving into an easy grin.
You bark out a surprised laugh, then soften into a smile, nodding your head. “Anytime,” you say, a little more shyly than you mean to.
He lets his fingers drum once against the wrapped pot, then gives you a small, almost reluctant wave. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds, like it’s less of a question and more of a quiet hope.
You lift your hand in return. “Yeah. See you,” you manage.
The bell over the door chimes as he steps out into the street, sunlight spilling in around his shoulders before the door falls shut behind him. For a heartbeat, his reflection lingers in the glass, a faint ghost of broad shoulders and starry ceramic, and then he’s just another figure moving past your window.
The shop feels too still once he’s gone, just the familiar creak of old wood and the soft rustle of dried herbs shifting in a draft. You stand there for a moment with your hand still half-raised, staring at the empty doorway like you can will him to walk back through it.
Then you catch yourself, shake your head, and drop your arm. He’s just a customer. A very handsome, very charming customer with eyes like melted chocolate and a starry pot tucked under his arm.
You hope to the gods above that Noah doesn’t mingle too much with the locals. It’s a selfish thought, but you can’t help it. Once people hear the stories, once they realize who you are, what you are, they start to look at you differently. The warmth drains out of their smiles. They find excuses not to come back.
You wouldn’t want him to start avoiding you as the others do.
You move back behind the counter on autopilot, fingertips trailing along glass jars and worn wood, the familiar textures grounding you. Outside, voices rise and fall as people pass by, none of them daring to step inside. You straighten a stack of seed packets that doesn’t really need straightening and pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you.
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