noah sebastian x fem! reader!
hii again friend, oh wow i say that more than i should but okay, so im finally finishing this one too cuz it’s been more that a year now that i get questions if im finishing this one and here we go (thank god), i thought about making this an actual history but guess i have so much on my mind now (ideas of fanfiction) that i decided to just do the shot ;) hope yall like this end.
prepare your hearts, this is a long journey
She stared at me for a few seconds longer, her jaw tight, as if saying her name would cost her something.
“…Y/n,” she finally said, barely above a whisper.
“Y/n,” I repeated, quietly. I didn’t know why I said it like that, slower than necessary, but something about her made me cautious—like one wrong move could send her running.
She shifted on the bed and immediately winced, her hand flying to her ribs.
“Don’t move like that,” I said instinctively.
She shot me a look. “You sound like a doctor.”
“I’m not,” I replied. “But I’ve seen enough injuries to know when someone’s pushing it.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes scanned the room again—my room. The dark curtains, the minimal furniture, the faint smell of antiseptic mixed with something metallic that never quite left my skin after fights.
“Where am I?” she asked again, this time calmer, but guarded.
“My place,” I answered. “You blacked out. You were bleeding. I couldn’t just leave you there.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from more than just pain. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But you’re alive. And you’re safe.”
Her lips pressed together. “You don’t know that.”
I leaned against the doorframe, keeping distance. “You’re right. But I know I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes studied my face, as if searching for cracks, lies, anything that proved I was just like the rest of them.
“I don’t even know you,” she said.
“Noah,” I replied. “In case you were wondering.”
She nodded once. No smile. No comment.
“already know that” mutters
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
“wanna talk about it?” i ask, just trying to make the conversation less awkward
“My boyfriend…” she started, then stopped. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected herself. “He never let me go to his fights. Said it wasn’t safe.”
“I thought it was because he cared,” she continued. “Turns out he just didn’t want me seeing who he really was.”
Her voice didn’t break—but her hands did. They trembled in her lap.
“He controlled everything,” she said. “Who I talked to. How I dressed. Where I went.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “And I let him.”
“You survived him,” I said. “That matters.”
She looked at me again, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “And you?”
“You’re not exactly… safe,” she gestured vaguely. “You fight underground. You punch people for a living.”
“I do,” I agreed. “And I won’t pretend I’m clean. But I don’t cage people. And I don’t cheat.”
Her gaze softened just slightly. Not trust—just curiosity.
“I should go,” she said suddenly, trying to stand again.
I caught her reflexively, my hands hovering at her waist, barely touching.
“So much for leaving,” I murmured.
She didn’t pull away this time.
“Sit,” I said gently. “Please.”
After a moment, she nodded and eased back onto the bed.
“I’ll drive you to your car in the morning,” I added. “No strings. No expectations.”
She studied me again. “Why are you being so nice?”
I exhaled slowly. “Because tonight took enough from you.”
Her shoulders sagged, exhaustion finally seeping through the cracks.
“Just for tonight,” she said quietly. “Then I’m gone.”
“Just for tonight,” I agreed.
I handed her a glass of water. Our fingers brushed—brief, accidental. Still, she noticed. I noticed.
Neither of us said anything.
As I turned off the light and headed toward the couch, I heard her voice behind me.
“Thank you… for not asking me to be anything right now.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.
And for the first time that night, she actually did.
Not softly—but quietly, the kind of quiet that only exists after chaos. The kind that presses against your chest and forces you to feel everything you avoided the night before.
Sunlight filtered through the small gap in the curtains, landing right on Y/n’s closed eyes.
Her body protested first—her ribs, her head, the dull ache spreading through her limbs. She inhaled sharply and froze, afraid to make it worse.
That realization hit before she even opened her eyes.
The room was unfamiliar. Darker. Cleaner. Colder.
She sat up slowly, biting back a hiss as pain bloomed in her side. Her gaze drifted around the room again—this time more carefully. The walls were bare, almost aggressively minimal. No photos. No personal clutter. Just… space.
Like someone who didn’t expect anyone to stay long enough to leave traces.
She swung her legs off the bed, steadying herself with one hand on the mattress.
That’s when she smelled coffee.
Noah stood in the kitchen, shirtless, leaning against the counter while the coffee machine hummed softly. His knuckles were bruised, still swollen from the fight—and from everything that came after.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her crumpling to the ground. Her blood on his hands. The way her body had gone completely slack.
He glanced toward the hallway the moment he heard movement.
She appeared slowly, framed by the doorway, wearing one of his oversized hoodies. It swallowed her whole. Her hair was messy, her face still marked with faint bruising.
She looked… real. Vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing.
“Hey,” he said, carefully neutral.
“Hey,” she replied, equally cautious.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” Noah added after a beat.
She shrugged lightly. “I got tired of pretending I was asleep.”
That earned a small huff of a laugh from him—brief, gone almost instantly.
“There’s coffee,” he said, nodding toward the counter. “And toast. That’s… all I’ve got.”
She hesitated, then walked in slowly, sitting on one of the stools.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He poured her a cup without asking how she took it, sliding it toward her. Their fingers didn’t touch this time—but the space between them felt charged anyway.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, breathing in deeply.
Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
“I’ll drive you to your car whenever you’re ready,” Noah said eventually. “No rush.”
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“Enough,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the truth.
She glanced at his hands. “Your knuckles look worse.”
“So do your ribs,” he countered.
She smiled faintly. “Guess we’re even.”
Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary.
“I don’t think I ever properly said goodbye to… that part of my life,” she admitted suddenly. “I just walked out.”
“That’s usually how you survive things,” Noah said. “You don’t get closure. You get distance.”
She nodded slowly. “Still feels unfinished.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It always does.”
She studied him then, curiosity edging past caution.
“You don’t talk much about yourself,” she said.
He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You shouldn’t believe fighters.”
She smiled despite herself.
“I should go soon,” she said after a moment. “Before things get… complicated.”
She stood slowly, wincing again, and Noah was there instantly—hovering, not touching.
“I’m okay,” she said quickly.
“I know,” he replied. “Just… habit.”
She hesitated, then placed a hand lightly on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said again. “For last night. For not making it worse.”
His breath caught—not visibly, but enough.
“You didn’t deserve worse,” he said quietly.
They stood there like that for a second too long.
Not empty—but thoughtful.
Rain streaks traced patterns down the windshield, the city still waking up around them.
When they reached her car, she lingered.
“I don’t know what happens now,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” Noah said honestly.
She nodded, then surprised him by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Take care of yourself, Noah.”
He watched her until she drove away.
And for the first time in a long time, Noah realized something unsettling.
He didn’t want to forget her.
Not quickly. Not slowly either. Just… heavily.
Y/n tried to fall back into routine—work, errands, pretending she wasn’t still sore every time she moved. Her ribs healed slower than the bruises on her skin, but neither hurt as much as the constant echo of that night.
Noah’s hands pulling her away.
The quiet safety of his apartment.
She hated how often she thought about him.
She hated even more that it felt different from every other man she’d ever known—not louder, not charming, not demanding. Just present. Steady.
She hadn’t expected to see him again.
So when she walked into the small neighborhood café three blocks from her apartment and nearly collided with a broad chest, her breath left her lungs.
Noah looked down at her, surprise flashing across his face before he masked it.
Her name sounded different here. Softer. Real.
They stood there awkwardly, blocking the doorway, rain dripping from his jacket onto the floor.
Silence crept in again, familiar now.
“Well,” she said, stepping aside, “I should—”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked quickly. Then, quieter, “No pressure.”
She hesitated. Her instincts screamed run. Her chest whispered stay.
“…Okay,” she said finally.
They sat across from each other, steam rising between them like something fragile.
“You look better,” Noah said.
“Less unconscious,” she replied lightly. “You don’t.”
He smirked faintly. “Story of my life.”
They talked about nothing at first—coffee, weather, how terrible the city traffic was. It felt… easy. Too easy.
Her jaw tightened instantly.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “But I should.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Ryan’s voice snapped through the phone. “You disappeared.”
“I left,” she said calmly. “There’s a difference.”
“You embarrassed me,” he scoffed. “Everyone saw you with that fighter.”
“You cheated on me,” she said. “ you don’t get to be angry about the consequences.”
“I made a mistake,” he said. “We can fix this.”
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “You don’t fix people. You respect them. You never did.”
She hung up before he could respond.
When she went back inside, Noah was watching her—not prying, just… aware.
“He wants you back,” Noah said, not a question.
“He wants to control me again,” she corrected.
Noah nodded once. “They usually do.”
She studied him. “You talk like you’ve been there.”
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the window.
“My dad,” he said slowly. “Wasn’t great. Taught me early that power looks like love if you don’t know better.”
“That’s why you fight?” she asked gently.
“That’s why I don’t run,” he replied “you know, you should stick around, friends you know” he continued and she just nodded, trying to ignore the flying butterflies on her stomach
Something settled between them then—not attraction, not romance.
They kept running into each other. Never planned. Always quiet miracles.
Sometimes it was late-night drives with music low.
Sometimes it was just sitting on opposite ends of the couch, not touching, but never far.
Noah never pushed. Never assumed.
And that scared her more than if he had.
One night, after a particularly bad day, she showed up at his door unannounced.
He opened it without surprise.
She stepped inside and finally—finally—broke.
He didn’t rush her. Didn’t pull her close right away.
He just sat beside her on the floor, shoulders touching, breathing in sync.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “The healthy way.”
“I don’t either,” he admitted. “But we can learn.”
She looked at him then—really looked.
“You’re not afraid of me,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “I’m afraid for you. There’s a difference.”
That night, they fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.
Their hands didn’t touch.
But neither of them moved away.
And somewhere between shared silence and unspoken promises, something real began to grow—slowly, carefully, stubbornly.
Y/n had learned to recognize the feeling.
That quiet unease crawling up her spine.
The sense of being watched even when the street looked empty.
It was late afternoon, the sky painted in dull shades of gray, the city louder than usual. She had just left work, her bag slung over one shoulder, phone in hand as she checked the time.
A message lit up the screen.
Ryan stood a few feet away, leaning against a parked car like he had every right to be there. His jaw was tight, eyes dark with something that wasn’t regret.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.
“You stopped answering,” he said simply. “So I came.”
“You don’t get to do that,” she snapped. “You don’t get to show up.”
“I’m trying to fix things.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” she said. “You broke it.”
His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“Don’t walk away from me.”
“You think you’re better than me now?” he scoffed. “Running around with that fighter? You think he actually cares about you?”
Her body hit the brick wall hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Pain exploded through her ribs—still healing, still fragile.
The voice cut through the street like a blade.
Noah stood a few steps away, gym bag hanging from his shoulder, eyes locked on the scene in front of him. His entire body had gone still—the dangerous kind of still.
“What the hell is this?” Ryan snapped.
“Last warning,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
Ryan laughed. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“She was,” Noah corrected. “And you’re hurting her.”
Ryan turned back to Y/n, grip tightening.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed Ryan by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the sound echoed down the street. Ryan’s grip broke instantly, and Y/n collapsed slightly, catching herself against the bricks, gasping.
Noah didn’t take his eyes off Ryan.
“You touch her again,” Noah said quietly, “and I will forget every reason not to fucking kill you.”
Noah dodged easily, returning the punch with brutal precision. Ryan went down hard, groaning.
Noah turned back to Y/n immediately.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft again, hands hovering. “Look at me.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “I’m okay—I think.”
He cupped her face gently, checking for injuries, his touch reverent, controlled—nothing like the violence seconds before.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Ryan scrambled to his feet, blood on his lip. “This isn’t over,” he spat.
Noah didn’t even look at him.
“It is,” he said. “Walk away.”
Noah waited until he was gone before turning fully to her.
That’s when her knees gave out.
He caught her instantly, pulling her into his chest, one arm firm around her back, the other supporting her ribs carefully.
She buried her face into his chest, fists clutching his shirt as sobs tore through her body.
“I was so scared,” she gasped. “I thought I was done with him.”
“You are,” Noah said fiercely, holding her tighter. “I swear to you—you are.”
He carried her to his car without a word, buckling her in with shaking hands.
Back at his place, the silence was heavy.
He sat her on the couch, grabbing ice, painkillers, water—moving like he needed to do something before he lost control.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But… not as much as it could’ve.”
“I should’ve been there sooner.”
“You were there,” she said, reaching for his hand. “That’s what matters.”
Her fingers wrapped around his.
This time, neither of them pulled away.
“You don’t get to scare me like that,” he said quietly. “I can handle fights. I can’t handle losing you.”
The words hung between them.
She looked at him, eyes red, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to matter this much.”
“You didn’t choose it,” he replied. “Neither did I.”
Slowly, carefully, he pulled her into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. His heartbeat was fast, uneven.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Just two broken people holding on because letting go felt impossible.
And for the first time, Y/n realized something terrifying and beautiful.
This wasn’t just safety anymore.
if Ryan came near her again,
there would be no warnings left.
Noah didn’t want her there.
He hadn’t said it like an order—he never would—but the tension in his shoulders when she mentioned the fight was enough to give him away.
“You don’t have to come,” he said for the third time, tying the wraps around his hands. “I’ll be fine.”
Y/n leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, ribs still sore beneath her jacket.
“That’s not what this is about,” she replied calmly. “I’m not coming because you need me. I’m coming because I need to be there.”
There was fear in his eyes—and not the kind he ever felt walking into a cage.
He nodded once. “Stay close to security.”
The arena was louder than she remembered.
Lights flashed, bass rattled through her bones, and the smell of sweat and adrenaline filled the air. The crowd roared when Noah’s name echoed through the speakers.
She found her seat near the front, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
That prickle at the back of her neck.
Ryan stood across the arena, half-hidden in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes locked on her.
She swallowed hard and looked back toward the cage.
Noah was pacing now, bouncing lightly on his feet.
And then—his eyes found hers.
The way her shoulders tightened.
Noah’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
He turned back to his coach, anger bleeding into every movement.
“What’s wrong?” his coach asked.
“He’s here,” Noah muttered.
The fight started violently.
Noah came out aggressive—uncontrolled. Every punch carried more than strategy. Every hit was fueled by something darker.
Y/n stood up without realizing it.
He took a hard hit to the ribs and barely flinched.
“Focus,” his coach shouted.
Panic crawled up her spine.
She shook her head subtly, trying to signal Noah—I’m okay, look at me, not him.
But Noah saw the way Ryan leaned in, murmuring something to her from behind the barrier.
Something that made her step back.
The crowd erupted as Noah unleashed a brutal combination, slamming his opponent into the cage. Blood splattered. The referee shouted warnings.
“Noah—!” his coach yelled.
All he could see was her face—fear mixed with determination.
He will not touch her again.
The final punch landed with a sickening crack.
The referee pulled Noah back, declaring the win.
He jumped out of the cage immediately.
Y/n barely had time to react before Noah was in front of her, hands gripping her arms gently but firmly.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
“No,” she breathed. “He didn’t touch me. I swear.”
His forehead dropped to hers, eyes closed, breathing ragged.
“I can’t do this,” he admitted quietly. “I can fight anyone. But not when he’s near you.”
She reached up, cupping his face.
“You don’t have to protect me by breaking yourself,” she said. “I’m still here.”
Ryan was being escorted out now, shouting something incoherent.
“So was I,” she replied. “But i’m fine okay?” she comforted
For the first time, he pulled her into his arms in public.
And as the crowd cheered around them, Y/n realized something else.
This wasn’t about danger anymore.
This was about choosing each other—even when fear tried to take the lead.
The adrenaline didn’t fade all at once
It lingered in Noah’s veins long after the crowd thinned, long after the locker room emptied, long after the noise became a distant memory. He sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, breathing slowly—trying to come back to himself.
Not because he asked her to.
When he finally stepped out, hoodie pulled over his head, hair still damp, he stopped short when he saw her sitting there, legs crossed, staring at the floor like she was grounding herself.
“You stayed,” he said quietly.
She looked up and smiled—small, real. “I told you I would.”
They walked out together, side by side, the night air cool against their skin.
“Do you want to come over?” he asked after a moment. Not urgent. Not loaded. Just an option.
She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
His apartment felt different this time.
More like a shared space.
She kicked off her shoes, settling onto the couch while Noah disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with two glasses of water, handing one to her before sitting across from her—not too close.
They studied each other quietly.
“I don’t think we’ve ever just… talked,” she said.
He huffed a breath. “Probably because everything around us keeps catching on fire.”
“Tell me something about you,” she said. “Not the fighter. Not the protector. You.”
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“I like early mornings,” he admitted. “When the city’s quiet. I train better then. Think clearer.”
She tilted her head. “That’s soft.”
He smirked. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He looked at her now. “I hate yelling. Makes my chest feel tight. I shut down.”
“I hum when I’m nervous,” she confessed. “I don’t even notice I’m doing it.”
They talked like that for hours.
About childhood. About fears. About the kind of love that feels safe versus the kind that feels loud. About mistakes they never planned to repeat.
At some point, she shifted closer.
Noah noticed. His breathing slowed.
“You don’t have to rush,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “I don’t feel rushed.”
Silence fell again—but this time, it was warm.
Her fingers brushed his hand.
Slowly, carefully, he turned his hand palm-up, giving her the choice.
She laced her fingers with his.
He leaned in slightly—not enough to cross the line.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low.
Nothing like the chaos that had surrounded them for weeks.
His lips brushed hers once—twice—like he was memorizing the shape, the feeling. She sighed into it, her free hand curling into his hoodie.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together.
“That felt…” she started.
They smiled—slow, private.
He pulled her into his chest then, arms wrapping around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She fit there. Like she always had.
They didn’t rush beyond that.
Just warmth, shared breath, quiet laughter.
“I’m falling for you,” she admitted softly, half-afraid.
“I already did,” he said.
And for the first time, love didn’t hurt.
That was the first thing Y/n noticed as the night deepened around them—how nothing felt urgent, how every moment seemed to ask permission before moving forward.
They sat on the couch, legs tangled loosely, her head resting against Noah’s shoulder. The city outside hummed softly, distant and irrelevant.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m just… here,” she replied. “I don’t feel like I need to be anywhere else.”
His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against her arm, careful around the healing bruises.
“I will never hurt you,” he said suddenly. Not as a promise—but as a truth.
She turned to look at him. “I know.”
When they stood, it wasn’t dramatic. Just natural. Hands found hands. Foreheads touched. Breaths aligned.
In his bedroom, the light was dim, warm. Noah paused at the doorway, eyes searching hers.
“We can stop anytime,” he said.
She stepped closer, resting her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat—steady now.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.
They moved slowly, like they were learning each other’s language. Every touch was gentle, every kiss unhurried. Noah paid attention to her breathing, the way she tensed, the way she relaxed when he kissed her temple instead of her lips.
She felt seen. Not wanted—chosen.
Later, wrapped in sheets and quiet, she lay against him, tracing the lines of his ribs with her fingertips.
“This feels different,” she said.
“It is,” he replied. “Because it’s not about filling something broken.”
She smiled softly, eyes heavy. “It feels like building something new.”
He kissed her hair, arms tightening just enough to make her feel held.
They fell asleep like that.
And for the first time in a long time, neither of them woke up afraid.
Six months later, the city felt smaller.
Y/n sat in the front row of the arena again, this time without fear curling in her chest. Noah stood in the cage, stretching, focused—but when his eyes found hers, he smiled.
The one meant only for her.
Ryan was gone from her life completely now—papers signed, boundaries drawn, silence reclaimed. Healing hadn’t been linear, but it had been real.
After another fight, Noah found her backstage, sweaty and breathless, pulling her into his arms like it was instinct.
They learned each other slowly after that.
How Noah needed space when overwhelmed.
How Y/n needed reassurance without being smothered.
How love didn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Some nights were still hard.
But now, when fear showed up, it didn’t sit alone.
They shared coffee in the mornings.
Late drives with music low.
Quiet laughs in the grocery store aisles
And sometimes, when the world got heavy, they held hands in silence—proof that peace didn’t need words.
One night, lying in bed, Y/n whispered, “Do you ever regret how we met?”
Noah kissed her knuckles.
“No,” he said. “Because if it hadn’t been messy, I wouldn’t have known how strong you are.”
She smiled into his chest.
But it taught them how to stay.
yayyy, me again finishing stories at 1am, but i loved this one so much, so far my favorite ❤️
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