noah sebastian 𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘ glory box
female reader
"I actually don't believe you right now. You can't tag along to a place like this and not pretend to be good at pool. No way." and then he's shoved a cue into my hand, grabs me firmly by the waist and man-handles me to stand opposite of the set-up balls. "Go on, shoot."
warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol
words: 4.2k
psa: went a lil crazy after seeing b.o in leipzig a while ago & can't stop myself from posting it; while it is inspired by the band, i came up w this shit in my beautiful mind & it has nothing to do w the real people
song: glory box by portishead
For some stupid, inexplicable reason, somebody thought it would be a good idea to go out to a dive bar after catching dinner. And when I say catching dinner I mean going to a nice, proper restaurant. One that warrants fancy clothes and more composure than the Bad Omens boys could even dream about.
In their stupid, cocky frenzy, and the completely unnecessary urge to get shitfaced and pretend to be pro pool players, not a single person had vetoed. Now that I'm stood by a high table off towards the corner, entirely exposed in my strappy dress and sulking into my mocktail, I realize that I probably should have done just that. But it's too late for it now, I don't want to be a party pooper by just ditching them. And as my eyes cast across them I have to admit there's something weirdly enticing about watching my friends bend over the pool table in the most dramatic way possible only to completely miss the ball.
Oh god, no. I take that back, Jolly's making a show of it. There's not a single valid reason for him to have the ability to hitch his leg that far up and onto the table. Turning my head away, I grin into the all-too sweet beverage as Folio comments on the arch of his back.
"Five bucks says he fucks it up." Noah drawls from behind me, and I almost spit out my drink when I feel the fabric of his dress shirt land on my exposed shoulders. In a measly effort to remain composed, my free hand pulls it up towards my neck to get comfortable before humming a breathy reply. "I'm willing to bet he takes it as far as getting one of you and Nicholas's in."
He's giggling into the space beside my neck, his breath brushing across the tender skin, and I'm glad that the dim lighting hides the light flush on my cheeks. Setting his beer to the side, he wipes the condensation off on my shoulder before reaching it out for a handshake. "Bet."
I simply rumple my nose at the disrespect of having him do me like that before notching my chin up a bit, clasping his hand in mine and shaking it firmly. "Let's make that ten." the warmth in his eyes is underlined as he grins at me, shy and lopsided. As our hands remain intertwined for a smidge too long, I wonder if he smiles as softly at everybody as he does at me.
Standing off towards the side, all of my attention goes back to Jolly who's still perched precariously on the edge of the table and now goes as far as sticking his tongue out in made-up focus. With the grace of a disoriented squirrel, he manages to not miss the ball, and our little group watches in anticipation as it scatters off. Quickly and with impossible precision, the cue ball crosses the space, moves right past the striped one he was aiming for and hits a solid smack into the pocket.
Ruffilo doubles over laughing, and I follow quickly when I notice the enthusiasm drip off of the Swedes face and get replaced with utter horror. Between Matt and Ruffilo's laughter and the very insistent argument Nick is picking up with Jolly, I wordlessly reach a hand out and tap it against Noah's tummy. With a quiet huff of laughter, the man grabs his wallet, picks out a crisp tenner and presses it into my hand. "That has to have been witchcraft or some shit. There's not a single person in the world that's ever held a cue that could've messed that shot up this badly after all that anticipation."
"Well I wouldn't know." I offer absentmindedly, shuffling the money securely into my own wallet.
"What do you mean?" He turns to me now, drowning out the other's conversation as he rounds my body and places himself between me and the table. "What do you mean you wouldn't know?" the grin on Noah's face is almost manic, all too wide and toothy to be considered sincere. And with the only light fixture being behind his head, it's like I'm staring into complete darkness where his Irises are supposed to be.
He says my name once, low and insistent as he cages me in with a hand on my shoulder.
Giggling lightly, I shove him off with ease, rolling my eyes as the others turn and call out towards him to make his play. "I've never played pool, Noah. It's actually kind of boring. What's so unbelievable about that?"
Silence falls over the men behind him, aside from the quiet click of Bryans camera as he snaps a picture of the scene.
"Blasphemy." Nick's bellow breaks the precarious calm, grabbing his cue as he comes towards us. With both hands raised in the air, I take a step towards the wall to escape their conjoined wrath. Apparently—despite how bad they are at it—the boys take their pool really fucking seriously. Just as the leather tip reaches my cheek and paints a blue smudge over the skin, Noah reaches a hand out to stop it, seeing as I have nowhere to escape to.
"Matt." he turns briskly, still wide eyed and standing straighter than an army general. "I trust you, brother. You and Nick win this thing, I can't let this stand." with the finality of dropping a bomb, he turns back over to my designated table, grabs both of our forgotten drinks and then herds me over towards another, thankfully unclaimed, pool table.
Unsure of what to do with myself, I keep both hands at my sides, fidgeting with the long sleeves of his shirt as he sets up the table for us like a man on a mission. "So, uh…" taking a deep breath, I stand by his side "What kind of mission are you on right now, man?"
Noah looks at me like I'm dumb, casting a teasing glance towards my restless hands before patting my shoulder. "I actually don't believe you right now. You can't tag along to a place like this and not pretend to be good at pool. No way." and then he's shoved a cue into my hand, grabs me firmly by the waist and man-handles me to stand opposite of the set-up balls. "Go on, shoot."
I stay unmoving, cue in hand and no clue what to do with myself, but watching him lean back and observe as the others continue to yell and obsess over their own round takes away the stress, if only lightly. "No pressure, do what feels right and then we'll see about ways to get you some technique." Noah utters gently before tipping his beer at me and taking a long sip. Arching a brow, I watch him crumble and grin into his glass. Technique my ass. Without much more thought, I position the cue like the people on TV do, look down it to determine the angle in which I need to it the cue ball, and push forward.
The ball moves, even if it's not with the amount of vigor I'd been hoping for, and ultimately strikes the laid out triangle. My weak attempt makes me cringe, but Noah comes around to stand beside me without as much of a twitch in the corners of his mouth.
"That wasn't half bad." He states, staring down at the different balls and their changed positions. "Maybe try hitting the ball head on next time." — "Fuck you."
With a laugh and more condescension than is fair, he strolls behind me. And then his hand settles on my hip, his head lingers by the side of mine and I can practically feel the smirk he must be sporting right now. "You wish."
As infuriating as it is, all I can do is snap my mouth open and closed helplessly as he guides me around the table. With practiced ease, he picks up a cue of his own, coats the leather top into the weird blue powder and sets up to pocket his first ball for the night. Huffing in indignation, I collect myself before speaking with as much of a leveled voice as I can manage. "So your version of teaching me is absolutely destroying me to boost your ego?"
Leaning onto the wooden stick, I watch him step over to me slowly. He taps my cue with his teasingly as he bends his upper body down. Brown eyes twinkle lazily as he takes in my face, and I know that no amount of bad lighting could hide the color in my cheeks. A beat passes, one of the others is yelling at Jolly, and then it's all over. "Come on," he hums, straightening back up and studying the different positions of our balls. "As much as I'd enjoy obliterating you in this, I'll hold off until you get the basics for now."
Together, we take in the current situation of the table and Noah nods supportively when I show him the striped ball of my choosing. With uncannily gentle words, barely strong enough to be heard over the crappy speakers and loud chatter around us, he tells me exactly how to position my cue, leans over the table beside me to notch it into place before giving me the go ahead to down the ball. To nobody's surprise, I end up missing, but it's hard to stay disheartened when he puts on a show right after.
Noah lifts his leg comically, not unlike Jolly had done before, settling his cue up without much fuss and absolutely sending the cue ball. It flies with little to no grace, hopping lightly—and even I know that that's not something you'd usually want—before simply scattering a few of our balls without downing any into the pockets.
"Your turn." He grins proudly after wrestling his leg down, stumbling over to my side to help me figure out which one to pick. The balls are all laid out differently now, inter-spaced with some closer to pockets than others. Finding a good opening for myself, I allow him to help me line up my shot in the hopes of making at least one of the nearly perfectly placed balls land.
"Go for it," Noah hums somewhere behind me, both of our drinks already in hand and ready to be toasted together. Okay, no time to waste. The shot lands, the cue ball darts off and right towards the predestined point. After the impact, it skitters across and beautifully, gracefully and very gently nudges a second ball right towards the pocket.
Stunned, I stand straight, turning towards him as he hands me my beverage with a comical bow. Giggling lightly, we clink our glasses together in cheer. "See," he hums around a sip of his beer, "That wasn't so hard. Who knows, sooner or later you could be the one obliterating me."
Another giggle later, I slip out of the wide sleeves of his shirt again before rounding the table carefully. With more freedom in my movement, and less anxiety about taking up space in my bones, I let the length of my dress trail behind me as I search for an opening to make my next move. Vaguely, I hear the others in the back of the room, but my attention is solely on my play. And the sheer force of a single set of eyes as it follows my form round the table. Noah's still leaning on his cue, staring at me from across the room and I have half a mind to tease him for how focused he is on everything that isn't my face. But then he meets my eyes, visibly recoils, and cowers in on himself again.
I can't help but laugh at his bright red cheeks, teasingly biting my lower lip to mock him for gnawing on his. "Fuck you." he offers meekly as he focuses back onto the table.
"You wish." Ha, my turn fucker.
Taking pity on him, I choose a spot and bend down deeply to line up my next shot. Maybe a bit too deep, but some teasing never hurt anybody, did it? With more confidence than somebody with my skill level should probably have, I down two more of the striped balls, letting his eyes trail after me as I move. When it's Noah's turn, I make sure to end up right behind the ball he's trying to hit, one hip popped as I watch him think. Dark eyes flit up at my face more than they are on the ball, and I can't help but grin when he misses entirely.
In our little corner of the bar, there's no pressure to make any moves, nor is there real pressure to even win. So when my next shot doesn't line up quite like I'd hoped, and I don't see it working out for me, I turn to look at him again. "Could you help me with the placement? I don't actually have a clue what I'm doing". All he does is hum, and it hits me that some drunk fool just started singing and Noah probably can't hear me well. Taking a step over, I watch as he dips his chin lower, resting a hand on my side as he drops his head forward entirely. With his ear closer to me, I repeat my statement, and only when he leans back and leaves my shoulder cold in the absence of his breath do I see his teasing grin.
"You want my help so you can beat me? Dream on, kiddo."
As if he'd made the cocky statement simply for the love of the game, he motions for me to explain my thoughts, following me back to my chosen spot. Standing half at my side, halfway behind me, he reaches out to my right elbow to position my arm. I feel his warmth against me, the fabric of his reclaimed dress shirt brushes over my back, and his voice melts in my ears as he guides the cue in my hands. "Come on then." he rasps out, as if it's only meant for my ears and nobody elses, "Take the shot."
The warmth of his body leaves mine as he straightens back up, and I do take the shot before the urge to follow him up overwhelms me. Surprisingly enough, I make it. The ball lands, sending the other straight into the right pocket. Noah whistles appreciatively, and I high five him as I take his side.
"Looks like there's finally somebody good enough to replace Jolly and make it fun for us, is there?" Turning back, I catch a glimpse of the Swede right as his mouth falls wide open. With a dejected sigh, he raises his free hand to shoot Noah a middle finger, but the laughter of the surrounding crew seems to be enough to keep him from trying to defend himself.
"Is he really that bad?" With his next shot lined up already, all Noah does is huff lightly. Then, just as he lands another ball in the corner, his eyes shoot up from where he focused on the table to meet mine on the other side. The grin that spreads on his lips is teasing, turned more cheeky by the sharp angle of his face.
Noah straightens his back again lazily, and just when I think he's going to roast Jolly to hell and back, a cacophony of screams rings out from beside us. And then they break off, slowly but surely dipping into laughter. It's kind of cinematic, watching Jolly straighten up and stare at the grimy wall ahead of him like it holds the secret to his existence as the group around him collectively seems to be loosing their minds.
The movement of the men is erratic, a fast flurry of strewn up hands and manic laughter. Slowly but surely, with a shit-eating grin spread across his face, the singer saunters over and rests his hip on the pool table right beside me. "I'll take that as a yes." he giggles in response, watching as Folio re-enacts the events of the last minute to the still cackling group.
Jolly seems to get tired of the teasing rather quickly, running a hand down his face as he groans deeply. He mutters something about 'needing a smoke' and regardless of the fact that he doesn't actually do that, then begins to lead the others out of the building.
The questioning glance Ruffilo sends our way is met with a lazy shrug and a wave by Noah, and so the man grins teasingly before following the others out into the cool night. The room doesn't get any quieter without the group, not really. But for some reason, it's like we're drowning in the space between us as the rest of the world fades away into a distant, meaningless strum of a guitar.
And then the teasing picks right back up as Noah moves back around the table, and we start our game back up where we left it.
He grins lightly as my shot just so much as grazes the eight-ball, and I feel his eyes burning into me as I try to figure out where to go from here. There's two balls left, both far too close to either the eight-ball or one of Noah's.
In a brave, or maybe kind of stupid moment, I round the table and lean across it to line up my cue. Noah whistles somewhere off to the side, and just as I hear the clink of his glass returning to the table, I feel the unmistakable warmth of his body return to hover over my back. "Sure you can make that?" the grin he must be sporting bleeds through his words like a fatal shot, turning the warm timbre and teasing edge into a real, physical sensation that oozes from him in hot waves.
The cue in my hand falters just so long, slipping from my fingertips and landing on the table loosely. His warmth leaves my back, only for his hand to land on my hip in mock-support. "Take the shot."
My breath hitches in my throat at the touch, skin warming uncomfortably just where our bodies align. No matter how hard I try to refocus on the ball, the cue sits loosely in my hand as the world swims. A squeeze to my hip, long fingertips digging into the flesh beneath the thin fabric of my dress undoes me entirely. With a groan, I straighten up, and I can't ignore the proximity as my shoulder knocks back into Noah's chest.
Turning briskly, the apology dies on my tongue as my eyes find his. The usually deep brown is lit up like fire by the lighting that surrounds us. His expression is open, showing that he might be just as stunned by the proximity as I am. Mouth hung open just so, skin flushed by more than just the alcohol. Noah huffs a deep breath, flinching as his chest brushes against mine softly but not pulling back at the contact.
My empty hands twitch, some primal impulse to get closer to him. To take his hand, rise to my toes and just bridge the fucking gap. But then I watch his eyes widen another fraction and suddenly he's stepping back. Noah brings a hand to his neck loosely, rubbing across the shape of his tattoo there as his eyes wander across the space.
I don't say a word. Can't, really. But I stumble over to the table to steal a sip from his beer before returning to his side. Take the shot. It can't be that hard. Noah lingers by my side. His weight has shifted to create some semblance of distance between us, and I breathe deeply before finally picking up my cue to sink the ball. I blame it entirely on the poor layout when the shot doesn't land, grinning meekly as Noah raises a single brow in my direction in the most frustrating way imaginable.
"You go ahead and do it better, hm?" I snark, poking his foot with the end of my cue jokingly. And when he turns, I raise the wood to tap against his butt as well. He spins around to face me, mouth wide open and shock written so clearly on his face. And then his mouth dips, widening into a grin as slow huffs of laughter build in his chest.
"What was that?" I curse his stupidly long legs as he crosses the space between us in two long steps. The laughter that bubbles from his chest is so open, almost breathy as it underlines his shock and it's more instinct than anything else when I back around the table with a nervous giggle of my own.
Before I even know it, before I've taken as much as three steps away from him and cursed myself for being so bold, Noah's hands reach for my sides and turn me back towards him. His skin is hot, flushed by both the warmth of the room and the alcohol, and I make it a point to stare at his chest stubbornly. Even after the long night and murky interior of the bar, the smell of his cologne is clearer than ever, overwhelming me as he holds me impossibly close. I can't hear his heartbeat, it's physically impossible in our surroundings, but I feel it thrum through me like a bass drum in it's intensity. Words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, and then Noah dips his head towards me again.
I feel his hum radiate towards me more than I hear it, but the question in it is unmissable. The words were quick witted, too bold for me to hold on to the guts to say them. "I said you should take a shot as bold as that and dream of making it."
For a moment, everything falls quiet as he turns to look into my eyes. My thoughts are racing through my head at lightning-speed as I muster him, and it all feels like the world is exploding. His chest is too close, and yet not close enough. Warm hands hold onto my waist steadily, long fingers basically intertwining on my bare skin. And then one of them traces a way upwards, trailing beneath my hair and towards my back.
"Are you asking what I think you're asking?" The light tilt of his voice is breathy, caught up with nerves as he speaks the words right against my lips, and I can't help but press towards his chest further. It had been there all night, then. In his gentle guidance, the teasing and joking and complete lack of pressure.
I'd like to say something, but all that I can manage is a quick nod before a wide, toothy smile breaks out on his face again. The glint in his dark eyes is teasing again, a literal fire sparking within from the flickering lights behind me. Noah's handsome, somehow even more now in the dim lighting. My face draws closer, angling upwards just the slightest bit to stay aligned with his. Brown eyes dip from mine towards my mouth, and then suddenly there's no more thoughts at all.
It's only the overwhelming urge to take the shot, to slide up on my tiptoes and meet him halfway. To settle whatever strange dance we'd been at all night and to make sure it sticks. And so I do it, and I feel his heart race against mine and his breath get swallowed up and then his lips are on mine. Gentle, at first, as if a kiss as breathy as ours isn't as real or meaningful and we can still go back after it's said and done. And then I feel Noah smile against me, feel his fingertips dig into my skin and drag me closer.
It's real, this kiss of ours.
He's warm and slow and still smiling by the time I reach up to the side of his face to drag him even closer. Turning lightly, I allow Noah to guide me over towards the pool table, leaning against the polished wood as he deepens the kiss further. Mouths falling open just so, his tongue darts out towards mine. The smell of his cologne is sweet, fabricated into something so heady by my brain as it overlaps with the bitter remnants of his beer on both of our lips. My free hand reaches out, steadying myself against his broad chest.
Noah doesn't pull away, not immediately. Warm eyes meet mine again, and my fingertip runs over the anxious crick between his upturned brows soothingly. It's not until I've risen up to press absentminded kisses along his cheek and jaw that he relaxes again. And so we're us, just the way we always are.
"Take the shot then, I don't think you're too shabby."
ik this is so off brand of me but urgh i js had to get this off my chest before i implode w the knowledge that i did this lmao
not sure if i'll ever be struck by the urge to write for noah / bad omens but i am very obviously always down for ideas or reqs or whatever js hit my line lol
also i need to start shortening them with b.o it's so cutie patootie looking
hope this isn't crazy or stupid or anything
thanks for reading my loves!! <3
