Series summary: Stuck in a life you donât want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and thatâs how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.
Tw: mentions of alcohol abuse, reader being slightly sexualised
Series mastelist
The following days passed quietly.
Maybe almost too quietly.
Because Noah avoided you. And you didnât really understand why, not when he had been the one snapping at you that night, but you didnât really care.
You kept to a simple routine.
You came out to eat, usually ended up sitting with Davis, who always had something to say, whether it was about food, the crew, or things you hadnât even asked about.
At some point, without really knowing how, you found yourself sitting on the deck with Folio, a pair of dice in your hands.
You told yourself it was just to pass the time.
Nothing more. Not because you liked them or anything.
Later, it turned into cards with Ruffilo.
You told yourself the same thing.
Folio chatted a lot, especially when he was winning... or losing. At one point, he mentioned that soon youâd be passing through a stretch of sea that was perfect for fishing, and that heâd handle the nets himself. Fresh fish, he said, much better than the dried scraps stored in barrels.
You believed him. Mostly because he seemed very confident about it.
Ruffilo, on the other hand, was quieter. But not in an unfriendly way. He didnât speak unless he had something to add, and when he did, it was usually just enough to make you laugh or roll your eyes.
When you won one of the games, unexpectedly, he had simply leaned back, looked at the cards, then at you, and reached out his hand.
âDidnât see that coming,â he had said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You had shaken it.
And later, back in your cabin, you updated your notebook and added a few more words under the names.
Folio:
â funny
â thinks heâs good at fishing (we'll see)
Ruffilo:
â quiet
â good at cards
You paused for a moment after writing, the tip of the quill resting lightly against the page as you thought.
There were still a couple of names you couldnât get into your head.
But you were learning them.
More than you probably should have.
One night, you woke with a sudden movement. The first thing you felt was the impact.
The world lurched violently beneath you, the bed shifting so abruptly that you didnât even have time to react before you were thrown off it, hitting the floor. For a second, you just lay there, disoriented, your ears ringing as another deafening crack of thunder split through the night.
Then you heard all the noise and shouts. You heard roots thundering above your head, something heavy dragging across wood and many voices calling orders you couldnât really make out through the sounds of the storm.
You pushed yourself up quickly. The ship tilted again, and you had to grab onto the edge of the bed to steady yourself.
You could hear it violent and relentless rain hammering against the ship.
Another shout echoed from above, closer this time.
âMove!â Someone shouted.
âHold it!â Another voice shouted.
âWatch the line!â Someone else added.
Something was wrong.
You turned toward the door just as your eyes caught the water. It was a thin stream, slipping beneath the wood, pooling slowly across the floor.
Something was definitely wrong.
Without thinking, you scrambled to your feet, your hands fumbling in the dim light as you grabbed your boots and shoved them on hastily, barely securing them properly.
You didnât even think about the fact that you were still in your underdress. Didnât think about anything at all.
Another violent roll of the ship made you stumble sideways, your shoulder slamming lightly against the wall as you reached for the door and pulled it open.
The corridor outside was dim, lantern light swinging wildly. More water here, thin streams running along the wooden floorboards, following the tilt of the ship.
You heard more shouting. Closer now.
Up the stairs, one hand gripping the railing tightly as the ship pitched beneath your feet, each step uneven, your balance constantly shifted as you forced your way upward.
And then, you pushed through the door and stepped onto the deck.
The wind hitting you was sharp and cold, strong enough to steal your breath, tearing at your hair and the thin fabric of your underdress as rain lashed against your skin. It was everywhere, blinding, relentless, soaking through you instantly.
The sea was no longer calm.
Waves rose around the ship, crashing violently against the hull, sending water surging across the deck in heavy bursts that made the wood slick and dangerous beneath your boots.
The ship tilted hard enough to make your stomach twist as it climbed one wave only to drop again just as sharply.
Everyone around you was running and shouting orders, pulling at ropes, bracing themselves against the mast and climbing.
âHold that line!â
âDonât let it snap!â
âMove! Get out of the way!â
A rope whipped across the deck somewhere to your left with a sharp, cracking sound, making you flinch instinctively.
Another wave crashed over the side, water slamming into your legs and nearly knocking you off balance before you could react, forcing you to grab onto the nearest structure just to stay upright.
You could barely see.
Somewhere ahead, a lantern swung before breaking free completely, crashing against the deck and plunging part of it into deeper darkness, the only light now coming from flashes of lightning that lit everything in blinding white for a split second at a time.
The mast loomed above, the sails straining, snapping in the wind, lines pulled tight creaking under pressure that sounded like it might give at any second.
Another flash of lightning tore across the sky, and thatâs when you saw Noah. He was soaked through like the rest of them, his white shirt clinging to his body, darkened by rain and seawater, the fabric plastered against his shoulders, his chest, his arms as he moved.
He wasnât standing still for even a second.
One moment he was near the mast, gripping a line with one hand while shouting something over the wind, the next he was already moving, stepping across the slick deck with a balance that didnât seem possible given how violently the ship was pitching beneath your feet.
âKeep it tight...no, not like that!â
âWatch the tension!â
âMove, move. Donât fucking stand there!â
Men responded immediately, adjusting, pulling and shifting positions as he passed.
Another wave crashed over the side, water rushing across the deck again, slamming into your legs, soaking you even more than you already were. Your underdress clung heavily to your skin now, the thin fabric offering no protection at all, weighing you down as you struggled to stay upright.
Noah grabbed a rope, bracing his foot against the deck as he pulled, muscles tightening under the soaked fabric, then ahouted another order to someone above.
Your gaze followed the lines upward instinctively.
And thatâs when you noticed that something felt⌠wrong.
At first, it was just a feeling and you didn't immediately understand what was not working. But then, you realized a detail that didnât sit right.
The angle of the sail, and the way it caught the wind, like it was fighting against it instead of working with it.
Another flash of lightning lit everything again, and this time you saw it more clearly.
One of the lines definitely pulled too tight. Wrongly set.
The sail was taking too much pressure on one side, dragging the ship with it every time the wind hit just right, forcing it to tilt harder than it should.
You watched as two men tried to manage it, pulling harder, trying to force it into place.
You shook your head without even realizing it because that wasnât going to fix it. If anything, it would make it worse.
You knew that, because you had seen it before.
Because you had spent weeks watching, listening and asking questions you probably hadnât been supposed to ask, standing beside your father as he explained currents, wind, sails, the way ships moved when everything was done right and what happened when it wasnât.
You could almost hear his voice now, correcting someone else making that exact same mistake.
Donât fight it.
Let it breathe.
Your grip tightened instinctively around the wood you were holding onto.
You knew that if that line was adjusted, if the tension was released just enough, if the sail was allowed to shift instead of being forced, the ship would stabilize.
Not completely in a storm like this, but enough to make a difference and to stop that dangerous pull every time the wind hit.
You pushed yourself forward without fully thinking it through, your boots slipping slightly against the wet deck as you moved toward him, the storm pressing in from all sides.
You were close enough now to see it clearly now. They were too focused on holding everything together to see what was actually causing it.
Your shoulder hit someone as they rushed past you, but you didnât stop.
âNoah!â
He didnât turn. He was already shouting something else.
So you reached him anyway, and your hand shot out, grabbing his arm.
He reacted instantly.
He immediately turned, ready to snap at whoever had the nerve to stop him in the middle of this... and then he saw you. For a second, something like disbelief crossed his face.
âWhat are you doing up hereââ
âThat line is wrong!â you cut in immediately, not giving him time to push you away.
He frowned, already shaking his head as he moved some wet locks of hair from his face with his hand.
âNowâs not the timeââ
âItâs too tight!â you insisted, raising your voice over the storm, your grip tightening on his arm so he wouldnât just walk away. âYouâre pulling it the wrong way!â
âI know what Iâm doing,â he snapped back, trying to pull free from your hold.
âNo, you donât... not with that!â you shot back, pointing sharply toward the sail above, the line straining under pressure. âItâs taking all the wind on one side... youâre forcing it, thatâs why the ship keeps tilting!â
Another violent shift of the deck cut through your words, both of you forced to steady yourselves for a second as the ship dropped hard against a wave.
âNoah, listen to meââ
âI donât have time for this!â he interrupted, sharper now, already turning back toward the line.
âItâs going to snap!â
That made him pause. You stepped closer again, not letting him move away this time.
âYou need to loosen it,â you said, âNot pull it tighter. Youâre making it worse. Please.â
He looked at you like you had just said something completely absurd.
âLoosen it?â he repeated, disbelief and irritation mixing in his tone. âIn this wind?â
âYes!â you insisted. âJust enough to let it shift... itâs fighting the wind right now instead of moving with it!â
âThatâs not howââ
âIâve seen this before!â you cut him off again, âIf you keep forcing it like that, youâll lose the whole thing!â
Another crack of thunder drowned everything for a second.
He stared at you.
Rain running down his face, jaw tight, eyes searching yours like he was trying to decide if you were out of your mind.
âNoah,â you said again, lower now but just as firm. âTrust me.â
That word hung there for a second.
Trust.
In the middle of a storm.
From you.
He hesitated, and you saw it.
And it was true, he didn't have a clear reason to trust you, just as you didn't have a reason to trust him or anyone on that ship. But you were all there now. It was worth a try.
Then like he finally decided, he turned sharply, raising his voice.
âHeyâ you two!â he shouted, pointing toward the men handling the line. âStop pulling!â
They didnât immediately.
âNow!â he snapped, louder.
They froze, confused, the line still tense in their hands.
âLoosen it!â Noah continued, his voice cutting through the storm again. âSlowly... not all at once!â
One of them hesitated.
âYou serious?â
âDo it!â
They started carefully at first, then more sure, one of them climbing to make the loosening more efficient, easing the tension on the line, letting it give just enough, and the effect was almost immediate.
The violent pull lessened.
The next wave hit and the ship didnât tilt as sharply as before.
Then another.
It was still dangerous. But steadier.
The strain in the wood eased just enough to feel the difference beneath your feet.
Around you, a few of the men noticed.
âThat helped!â
âKeep it like that!â Noah called, already adjusting his stance again, his attention snapping back into command mode as if nothing had just happened.
For a second, he looked at you. You saw the rain dripping from his hair, breath uneven, something unreadable flickering in his expression.
And before you could even decide if saying something was a good idea, he was already walking away.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The storm still raged around you, but not as chaotic.
The ship still fought the waves, but it no longer felt like it was being dragged sideways with every gust of wind.
You stayed where you were, one hand still gripping the wet wood beside you, your chest rising and falling a little too fast as you tried to catch your breath.
No one paid attention to you.
You stayed there, soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your face and neck, your underdress clinging uncomfortably to your skin as the minutes stretched on. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the storm began to lose its edge.
The shouting turned into more controlled orders, then into voices that didnât have to fight quite as hard to be heard. Eventually, the rain softened, turning from something sharp and relentless into something more bearable and the sea stopped trying to swallow the ship whole.
You exhaled slowly, and thatâs when you felt a gaze on you.
You lifted your head slightly, your eyes searching across the deck until they found Noah.
He stood farther away now, near the mast again, speaking to one of the men, his posture still alert but no longer as tense as before.
For a brief moment, his eyes met yours, but it was long enough for something unreadable to pass through his expression.
Then his gaze dropped lower on you.
Taking in the way the fabric clung to you, soaked through, outlining more than it should, the thin material of your underdress offering no real coverage now that it was wet, pressed against your skin by rain and sea alike.
It wasnât a crude look, and you didn't know Noah enough to know what he was thinking about, but it made you uncomfortable for a moment and you suddenly felt very aware of yourself. Of what you were wearing. Of how you looked.
And without thinking about it any longer, you turned quickly, pulling your arms closer to yourself, as if that could somehow fix it, as if that could hide anything at all.
You made your way across the deck as fast as you could trying not to slip.
You went down the stairs and back into the dim corridor, and finally, into your cabin, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary.
Only then did you stop and let out the breath you hadnât realized youâd been holding.
The floor of your cabin was still damp, a thin sheen of water clinging to the wood, though most of it had already slipped back out beneath the door once the ship had steadied.
You could feel the storm had passed now, even without looking outside. The movement of the ship had changed completely and there was just a steady, controlled glide over the water again.
Your dress though...
You looked down at it where it had fallen from the hook, crumpled on the floor. Wet.
It was not as soaked as what you were still wearing, but it was not in its best shape either. It was impossible to put on now, and definitely not something you wanted to sleep in.
You let out a quiet breath, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face as you glanced between the dress and the bed, your mind running through options that all felt equally unhelpful.
You shifted slightly, the fabric of your underdress still clinging uncomfortably to your skin, and for a moment you just stood there, arms loosely wrapped around yourself, trying to think of something...
A knock cut through your thoughts.
You froze for a second before going to slightly open the door, just to see Noah standing there.
He was still completely soaked, hair damp and falling messily around his face, drops of water still trailing down his neck. He hadnât even bothered to change.
Your eyes flicked to what he was holding.
A bundle of clothes.
There was a brief pause.
Then he held them out toward you, âThese should work,â he said.
You blinked, a little thrown off. ââŚWhat?â
He shifted his weight slightly, glancing briefly around your cabin before looking back at you.
âI figured,â he started, a bit more awkwardly now, âyours might not be⌠usable.â
You looked down at yourself instinctively, then back at him.
ââŚRight.â
You reached out and took the clothes from his hands.
âTheyâre old,â he added. âMine. And some of Folioâs. Stuff no oneâs touched in years. They don't... fit me anymore. This is all we have.â
You looked at them. There were some loose shirts and pants. Not something you had ever worn before. Not something ladies used to wear.
ââŚThank you.â
He gave a small shrug, like it wasnât a big deal.
âDidnât want you freezing to death,â he muttered.
There was a brief silence after that.
You could still hear the sea outside, calmer now.
Your gaze lingered on the clothes for a moment longer before lifting back to him.
âYou didnât have to,â you added.
âYeah,â he said lightly. âI did.â
That made you pause. He sounded genuine.
âI shouldâve listened to you,â he said after a moment.
âWhat?â
âThe sail,â he clarified, running a hand briefly through his damp hair. âYou were right.â
You didnât answer immediately.
âI didnât expect you to justââ he stopped, exhaling lightly. âWalk up and start telling me how to handle my own ship.â
âThatâs fair,â you said.
He let out a small, almost amused breath.
âStill,â he went on, glancing at you again, âwouldâve saved time if I hadnât argued first.â
You tilted your head slightly.
âYou donât seem like the type to listen easily.â
âIâm not,â he said, without hesitation.
That made you huff a faint laugh under your breath.
There was another short pause.
Then you shifted your weight slightly, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the door.
âMaybe,â you said slowly, âwe should both start trusting each other a little more.â
He looked at you again. âMaybe,â he repeated.
Another moment passed, then he nodded once.
âYeah,â he said. âProbably.â
Silence settled again, but it wasnât as tense as before.
âTheyâll be big,â he added, almost as an afterthought. âBut better than that.â He gestured vaguely toward your current state, not lingering on it.
You glanced down, suddenly more aware of it anyway.
ââŚYeah. Probably.â
âMm.â
He straightened slightly.
âIâll leave you to it,â he said.
You nodded. âYeah. Thanks.â
Wihout adding anything, he turned and started walking away. And just like that, he disappeared in the corridor, leaving a trail of little drops of water behind him.
You stood there for a moment before closing the door behind you.
You sighed, thinking that if you'd freed a criminal from prison, boarded a pirate ship, played cards and dice with them, and prevented a ship capsize, maybe you could even try wearing men's clothes for the first time in your life.
The days that followed passed quietly and almost peacefully.
After the storm, the waters were calmer, replaced by steady winds and long stretches of open sea under a clear sky. Most mornings, the sun rose bright and warm, casting light across the deck in a way that made everything feel peaceful.
You had worn the clothes Noah brought you, and at first, it felt strange. And wrong.
The fabric was softer than you had expected, the cut entirely different from the dresses you had spent your whole life wearing. There was no structure and no corset, just a loose shirt and long trousers.
And yet⌠they were so comfortable.
More comfortable than anything you had ever worn.
The shirt slipped constantly, the wide collar falling off one of your shoulders no matter how many times you adjusted it, exposing skin you werenât used to leaving uncovered. The sleeves were too long, forcing you to roll them up several times just to free your hands.
The trousers were too long, too wide at the waist, impossible to wear properly without holding them up every few steps.
So you had improvised.
You had torn off one of the laces of the corset and used it as a belt, then pushed the ends into your boots so they wouldnât drag along the ground.
And it worked.
By the time you stepped out of your cabin that morning, you had almost convinced yourself it looked normal.
A few of the crew were already awake, scattered across the deck, some working, others just chatting.
And thenâ
âWell, well.â
You didnât even need to turn to recognize Davis' voice.
You glanced toward him as he approached, wiping his hands on a cloth, his gaze dropping immediately to what you were wearing.
He stopped in front of you, looking you up and down in a way that wasnât inappropriate, just⌠assessing.
Then one brow lifted.
ââŚThatâs new.â
You crossed your arms instinctively.
âTheyâre practical.â
âOh, Iâm not arguing that,â he said quickly, holding up a hand. âJust wasnât expecting to see you dressed like one of us so soon.â
âI'm not,â you pointed out.
âMm,â he hummed, tilting his head slightly. âI'd say you're settling in pretty well here. Sometimes I almost think you're enjoying being here.â
You frowned faintly at that.
âIâm not. I'm here because it was the only way.â
âSure,â he said, clearly unconvinced.
His gaze shifted again, noticing the way the shirt had slipped from your shoulder.
ââŚThough,â he added, gesturing vaguely, âyou might want to fix that before half the crew forgets how to do their job.â
You blinked.
Then immediately reached up, pulling the fabric back into place.
âStill,â he added after a moment, âbetter than that dress you had before. You look like you can actually move now without passing out.â
âI never passed out because of a dress.â
âYou would have,â he said. âEventually. That thing looked like a torture instrument, so I'm glad of the change. And you look great.â
Before you could respond, another voice cut in.
âCareful, Davis.â
You turned.
Noah was walking toward you, slow, hands loose at his sides, gaze already fixed on the two of you.
âIf you keep complimenting her, she might fall in love with you and never leave this ship.â
Davis snorted. âOh, donât worry,â he said. âIâm not nearly charming enough for that.â
You watched as Noah stopped beside you, his eyes moving over you in a quick, assessing glance.
Then one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
ââŚTheyâre really big on you,â he said.
You looked at him, unimpressed.
âReally? I hadnât noticed.â
He ignored the tone.
âThe shirtâs mine,â he added, looking at Davis, âExplains it.â
âAnd the trousers?â Davis asked.
âFolioâs,â he replied.
Davis let out a quiet laugh at that.
âPoor girl,â he muttered. âDidnât even get a full outfit from one person.â
âI worked with what I had,â Noah said simply.
You shook your head slightly.
âTheyâre fine,â you said. âBetter than what I had.â
That earned you a brief look from him.
âYeah,â he said. âThey work.â
You watched him go, then glanced back at Davis for a second before looking out toward the sea.
That afternoon, Folio actually managed to prove himself right. You were on deck when he hauled the net up with the help of two others. It came up heavy, water spilling from it in shimmering streams before the contents dropped onto the wood with a wet, chaotic sound, and you saw dozens of medium sized silver fish twisting and flapping.
âTold you,â he said, breathless but proud. âBest spot.â
You couldnât help the small smile that followed.
âSeems like it.â
They started sorting through the catch quickly, picking the fish up and tossing them into barrels.
Mixed in with them, though, there were amall pieces of driftwood, tangled in the net, bits of coral, broken shells, and fragments of things the sea had carried from who knew where.
Folio clicked his tongue, already pushing them aside with his foot.
âUseless,â he muttered, kicking a piece of wood away before tossing a cluster of shells overboard.
You watched absentmindedly, until Noah passed by and slowed just slightly as he moved near the pile, his gaze dropping for a second, like something had caught his attention. Then, he bent down without a word and picked something up.
You couldnât see it properly from where you were, but it was just a small object, maybe wood. He turned it once between his fingers, studying it briefly, then, just as quickly, he slipped it into his pocket and kept walking.
You frowned faintly, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer.
You couldnât tell what that had been.
And you couldnât tell⌠what he was doing either.
If he was still angry.
If he was still avoiding you.
Or if that, whatever this was, was simply how Noah always was.
In the days that followed, you were introduced, whether you wanted to be or not, to another one of their habits.
Their challenges. Or whatever you wanted to call them.
It started with noise and metal sounds, and you followed it almost without thinking, stepping out onto the deck to find a loose circle already formed.
Men gathered around, some sitting on crates, others leaning against barrels, all watching the center with interest.
Two figures stood there. Noah and Jolly.
ââŚYouâve got to be kidding,â you muttered under your breath as you moved closer, stopping beside Davis and Ruffilo.
Davis barely glanced at you. âPerfect timing,â he said. âThis one might actually be worth watching.â
âI bet Noah's got it, this time,â Ruffilo added, arms crossed.
In the center, Jolly rolled his shoulders once, adjusting his grip on the sword. Noah, on the other hand, looked almost relaxed, with his posture loose, like he hadnât decided yet whether to take it seriously.
âReady?â Jolly asked.
Noah tilted his head slightly. âWhenever you are.â
Jolly didnât wait.
He moved first, fast and direct. A clean forward step and a downward strike aimed toward Noahâs shoulder.
Noah reacted just as quickly.
Steel met steel with a sharp clang as he brought his blade up to block, the impact ringing through the air. He didnât hold it there, but pushed it aside, stepping slightly to the side instead of backward.
âGood start,â Davis murmured beside you.
Jolly didnât slow and he followed with a second strike, lower this time, forcing Noah to shift his stance again, turning his body just enough for the blade to miss him by inches.
Noah didnât counter immediately, but watched and measured, with a little smirk on his face.
âThatâs the difference,â Ruffilo said quietly. âJolly fights to win. Noah fights to see how you fight first.â
Jolly pressed harder, faster now, a series of strikes meant to overwhelm. High, then low, then a sharp thrust forward.
Noah parried each one, not without effort, but with precision. His movements were smaller, more controlled, letting Jolly burn through energy while he gave just enough to stay ahead.
Then, he moved.
A quick shift forward instead of back, their blades locking for a brief second before Noah twisted his wrist sharply, forcing Jollyâs sword off-line.
Jolly recovered fast, stepping back just in time, bringing his blade up again with a grunt.
As if proving the point, Jolly lunged again, this time with more force behind it, driving Noah back a step, then another.
For the first time, Noahâs footing wasnât perfect.
The deck shifted slightly under them, and Jolly used it, pushing forward, blade coming down hard enough that the impact echoed louder than before.
Noah blocked, but it cost him. You saw the slight strain in his arm, the way his stance had to adjust more than before.
ââHeâs got him,â someone in the circle muttered.
âNo,â Ruffilo said immediately. âNot yet.â
Noah exhaled, then he changed pace.
Instead of matching Jollyâs force, he stepped in closer, faster than you expected, slipping inside the range of the heavier swings.
Jolly hesitated for a second. That was enough.
Noahâs blade moved with a quick turn, a shift, and suddenly his sword was at Jollyâs side, angled just enough that, if it had been real, it would have gone through.
Everything stilled.
Silence held for half a second.
Then Jolly let out a breath and dropped his shoulders.
âYeah,â he said, stepping back. âAlright.â
The tension broke and you heard some laughter, claps, a few whistles from the crew.
Davis let out a satisfied hum. âTold you itâd be worth watching.â
You kept your eyes on Noah for a moment longer.
He lowered his sword, rolling his wrist slightly like he was shaking off the strain, his breathing just a bit heavier than before.
âAnd that,â he said, âis why Iâm the captain.â
There was a pause. Then a burst of laughter. And Noah hid a little smirk, like he knew.
âAre you serious?â someone called out immediately.
âYou literally lost last time!â another added.
Jolly snorted, shaking his head as he dragged a hand through his hair. âLike a week ago.â
Noah rolled his eyes. âYou guys are the worst crew ever.â
A few of the others laughed again, the circle slowly breaking, someone picked up a dropped blade, another clapped Jolly on the back as he passed.
That night, you stayed in your cabin.
The ship was quieter than usual and you had found a book earlier, tucked away and clearly forgotten by someone, and you were now sitting on your bed with it resting open in your hands.
The light from the lantern flickered softly across the pages.
You werenât even sure you liked the book that much, but it gave you something to do.
Something that wasnât⌠them.
After a while, your eyes slowed over the same line for the third time, your focus drifting somewhere else entirely. You lowered the book slightly, staring at the page without really seeing it.
Then something crossed your mind and you closed the book, setting it aside, and reached for your notebook instead.
You dipped the quill into the ink and flipped through the pages until you found the names again.
Folio.
You paused for just a second, then added beneath the others:
â actually good at fishing
A small, almost amused breath left you through your nose as the ink settled into the page.
At least he hadnât been lying about that.
You leaned back slightly, looking at what you had written.
It was strange how quickly those short lists were growing.
Strange how easily you were starting to define them, piece by piece, like you were trying to make sense of the crazy situation you ended up in.
Your fingers shifted the page slightly.
Noah.
You stopped.
The quill hovered again.
You stared at his name, you thought about the storm, about the fact he brought you clothes. And also about the night when he was drunk on the ground.
You exhaled quietly.
Then, without writing anything new, you closed the notebook. Noah was still a bit of a mystery to you.
You set the notebook aside and lay down, pulling the blanket over yourself.
Minutes passed, you shifted onto your side, then onto your back again, staring up at the wooden ceiling. After a while, with a quiet exhale, you pushed the blanket off and sat up.
Maybe the sea would help. It always had.
You slipped your boots on and stepped out of your cabin, closing the door carefully behind you.
The night was calm.
The sky stretched endlessly above you, filled with stars, and the sea mirrored them in many little reflections. The air was cooler, quieter. Peaceful.
Then you saw him. Noah was sitting on the edge of the ship, his long legs dangling over the side, his gaze fixed somewhere far out on the horizon.
You hesitated.
Your first instinct was to turn back, to leave him to whatever thoughts had brought him there in the first place.
You took a small step back...
âNot going to chase you away this time.â
His voice cut through the silence, calm, almost amused, and he didnât even turn around.
You paused, then huffed lightly. âComforting.â
A small beat. âCome here?â
You didnât move. There was something in the way he said it, like it was not an order, not quite. Still, you hesitated.
Then, softer... âPlease.â
You sighed quietly and walked over, each step measured until you reached him. He glanced at you this time, just briefly.
âSit?â
You did.
Carefully, you lowered yourself beside him, the wood cool beneath you. The edge of the ship didnât bother you. It never had.
When you were little, you used to lean over the sides of boats just like this, staring down at the water until your father would pull you back and scold you for getting too close.
For a moment, Noah didnât say anything, and you let your gaze drift back to the sea. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him move. He slipped a hand into his pocket and held something out toward you.
You hesitated, just for a second, before reaching for it.
Your fingers brushed against his for a moment before you pulled your hand back slightly, looking down.
A shell rested in your palm.
Its shape curved in a soft spiral, slightly elongated, with delicate ridges running along its surface. The colors shifted in the dim light, pale ivory blending into soft shades of pink and faint gold. The edges were smooth, almost polished by the sea, and when you tilted it, it reflected the lantern light in a quiet shimmer.
It was pretty. You turned it slightly between your fingers, thinking that he must have taken it from the net when Folio had been fishing.
Your lips curved just a little. Then Noah spoke.
âI owe you an apology. For that night.â
You glanced at him, then back at the shell.
âYouâre apologizing with a shell?â
A faint breath of something, almost a laugh, left him.
âIâm apologizing by telling you I was drunk and Iâm sorry for snapping at you.â He paused, gaze still fixed ahead. âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
The waves hit the side of the ship softly.
âSometimes I drink too much⌠I don't even know why... I just... maybe to forget...â His jaw shifted slightly. âAnd then I just end up remembering even more.â
A small pause.
âBut you had nothing to do with it.â
You nodded, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the shell.
âItâs okay.â You looked down at it again, then back out at the sea. âThank you for apologizing⌠and for the shell. Itâs pretty.â
You turned your head slightly, your gaze shifting from the sea to him.
The moonlight caught his profile just right, tracing the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the edge of his jaw.
For a moment, you just looked. And for the first time, the thought that he was gorgeous crossed your mind.
It caught you off guard. You frowned slightly and looked away almost immediately, like the thought itself was something you werenât supposed to have. Because it absolutely was.
You cleared your throat.
âSo⌠are you going to stop avoiding me now?â
âDo you want me to?â
Even the sea seemed to quiet for a moment, as if it was waiting to hear what you would say.
âThatâs not an answer,â you said.
âIt is. You just donât like it. So?â
After a moment of silence, you spoke.
âI donât know. Maybe Iâll get bored of Davis. And I might want someone elseâs company sometimes.â
You heard Noah's little chuckle.
âAlright. Noted.â
You just nodded. You'd probably just given him the answer he was hoping for without really knowing or realizing it at the time.
Silence fell again, but it was comfortable, and you sat there with Noah for a while longer, turning the shell over in your hands, thinking it would be a nice memory of the journey when you arrived at your destination.
Series summary: Stuck in a life you donât want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and thatâs how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.
Tw: alcohol, noah being a bit of a dick, mentions of killing, implied trauma
Series mastelist
The first night aboard the Specter felt nothing like you had imagined.
Noah didnât make a big deal out of it and he didnât explain much as he led you below deck, weaving through narrow corridors dimly lit by lanterns that swayed gently with the movement of the ship. The air there smelled of salt, wood, and rum.
He stopped in front of a small door and pushed it open, stepping aside just enough to let you look inside.
âThis is yours,â he said simply.
It was⌠small. Smaller than any room you had ever had to yourself, but not unpleasant. There was a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a small wooden table with a stool tucked beneath it, and little else. And yet, it was clean. Surprisingly so. The sheets were pretty neat, and a simple hook fixed to the wall served as a place to hang your things.
You stepped inside slowly, your fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table as you took it in.
âAll rightâ you said after a moment, glancing back at him.
You wondered whether it was appropriate to say thank you, then you thought that pirates probably didnât care about polite words like that, that they didnât say them and werenât used to hearing them. So you said nothing.
You nodded once, and he lingered for just a second longer, as if considering whether to add something else, before deciding against it. Then he pushed himself off the doorframe, disappearing back into the corridor.
And just like that, you were alone.
For the first time since the prison, since the market, since the knife at your throat and the chaos of the escape and the overwhelming presence of his crew, there was silence. Or at least, something close to it. The distant sounds of the ship remained, along with the muffled rhythm of waves against the hull, but it was quieter here.
You let out a breath you hadnât realized you had been holding, and you closed the door.
Slowly, you moved to the hook on the wall, slipping off your jacket and hanging it before hesitating for a moment longer, your hands resting on the fabric of your dress.
You took your corset off and then undressed. Left in your underdress, the white fabric soft against your skin, you felt a bit too exposed.
In any other situation, you would never have gone to sleep wearing something comparable to underwear, even if it wasnât actually too revealing, but there, it was all you had.
The bed creaked softly under your weight as you sat down, testing it before finally lying back, pulling one of the blankets over yourself. There were enough of them, thick and worn but warm, and despite the faint chill that lingered in the air of the night, you didnât feel cold.
For a while, you simply stared at the ceiling, following the faint lines in the wood, listening.
At first, there was nothing but the ship.
Then, slowly, other sounds began to filter in.
Distant, muffled, but unmistakable voices.
Laughter followed not long after, louder this time, echoing faintly through the structure of the ship, accompanied by the thud of boots against wood and the occasional rise of someone speaking too loudly.
They were celebrating.
Of course they were.
Their captain had returned. Against all odds, against the rules they themselves had accepted, he had come back.
You turned slightly onto your side, pulling the blanket closer around you as you listened to them, imagining the scene above without being able to see it: bottles passed from hand to hand, loud voices overlapping, shoulders knocking into each other.
You closed your eyes, still thinking about how crazy all of that was.
You were here.
On a pirate ship.
Alone in a small cabin that wasnât yours, wearing clothes you would have never allowed yourself to be seen in, surrounded by men you did not know, trusting a man you probably shouldnât.
That was the only thing that occupied your mind until exhaustion finally pulled you under, the sound of the sea and of their laughter carrying you into sleep.
The next morning, for a moment, when you opened your eyes, nothing made sense.
The ceiling above you was unfamiliar and low. You stayed still for a few seconds, your gaze unfocused, your mind blank. Then you remembered everything.
You let out a quiet breath, one hand dragging slowly over your face as you pushed yourself up, the mattress shifting slightly beneath you. Judging by the light filtering faintly through the small opening in the wall, it was already late morning, maybe even closer to midday. You had slept longer than you expected and longer than you probably should have, but your body had clearly needed it.
For a brief moment, you just sat there, listening to the sea.
Then, you wore your dress, and, once ready, you pushed the door open and stepped out, waking to the deck.
The air hit you immediately.
Fresh, salty and light.
The sea stretched endlessly around the ship, calm, the surface shifting gently under the sunlight. The wind was present, soft, just enough to move your hair, to brush against your skin without being intrusive.
And the ship itself⌠was quieter than you expected.
Men were scattered across the deck in small groups. Some sat on crates or along the edges, talking lazily, others were gathered around what looked like a game of cards. A few leaned against the railing, eating from wooden bowls, while someone nearby laughed at something you couldnât quite catch.
It took you a second to realize what you were feeling.
Hunger.
You hadnât eaten properly since⌠you couldnât even remember when.
Your gaze moved instinctively across the deck, almost expecting to find Noah somewhere among them, but he wasnât there. Or at least, not where you could see him.
That, for some reason, made you hesitate.
You werenât sure who to approach. Or if you should.
So you didnât.
Instead, you lingered where you were for a moment longer, pretending to simply observe, your eyes moving over unfamiliar faces that, occasionally, glanced back at you with equal curiosity. You had the feeling some of them didn't really like you or trust you.
Some looked away quickly.
Others didnât.
âYou planning to just stand there all day, or are you looking for something?â
The voice came from your side, unexpected enough to make you turn quickly.
It was one of the men you had noticed the day before, the one with the dark hair streaked with white at the sides.
âIââ you started, then stopped, realizing you didnât actually have a good answer.
He raised a brow slightly, clearly amused.
âRight,â he said, nodding once as if he had already figured it out. âFirst morning on a pirate ship.â
You hesitated, then gave a small nod.
âThought so,â he replied.
There was a brief pause before he shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms.
âNameâs Davis,â he added. âI cook. Also make sure these idiots donât eat everything in a single day.â
There was a hint of pride in his voice.
âYouâre⌠the cook?â you asked, just to be sure.
âThat and a few other things,â he said with a small shrug.
âAnd you are,â he went on, looking at you again with a more curious tilt of his head, âthe girl who broke our captain out of prison.â
âThat seems to be how Iâm being introduced,â you muttered.
âNot a bad reputation to have,â he replied lightly. âBetter than most.â
Before you could answer, his gaze shifted slightly, more observant now.
âYou eaten yet?â
The question caught you off guard.
ââŚNo,â you admitted.
He nodded once, like that confirmed something.
âWait here.â
You watched him walk off before you could even respond, and he disappeared briefly below deck, leaving you standing there again.
He returned a couple of minutes later, carrying a wooden bowl and a glass.
âHere,â he said, handing it to you.
You took it, seeing it was rice. Simple, plain, but warm. There was a spoon resting inside.
And then he handed you three small, square pieces of something that looked⌠questionable.
âThese,â he said, âare hardtacks.â
You looked at them.
Then at him.
âThey look like stones.â
He snorted lightly.
âClose enough,â he admitted. âTheyâre dry biscuits. Last forever. Break your teeth if youâre not careful.â
That did not sound reassuring.
âTheyâre not that bad,â he added quickly. âOnce you get used to them.â
That did not help either.
Still, you nodded, murmuring a quiet âthank youâ as you held both. Still unsure if it was something to say.
He gestured vaguely toward a spot nearby. âSit.â
It wasnât really a suggestion so you did.
Lowering yourself onto a crate beside him, you balanced the bowl carefully on your lap, the warmth of it seeping slightly through the fabric of your dress. For a moment, you just looked at it, then finally took a bite.
It was⌠simple.
But not too bad. And you were so hungry.
âYou look surprised,â Davis said, glancing at you sideways.
âI think I was expecting worse,â you admitted.
âLow expectations make everything taste better.â
You picked up one of the hardtack pieces, examining it briefly before attempting a bite.
It was exactly as hard as it looked.
You paused mid-chew, expression shifting slightly.
Davis watched you, clearly entertained.
âDonât worry,â he said. âFirst oneâs always a shock.â
You swallowed slowly.
âI think I might have preferred not having teeth.â
That made him laugh.
âGive it a few days,â he said. âYouâll either get used to it⌠or learn to soak it in something first.â
You nodded slowly, setting the rest aside for the moment as you returned to the rice.
You were still eating when a shadow fell across you, shifting with the movement of the ship.
You didnât even need to look up to know who it was.
Davis did it for you.
âWell, look whoâs alive,â he said dryly.
You lifted your gaze.
Noah stood there, one hand loosely resting on his hip, the other running briefly through his hair as if trying to push it back into some kind of order. He looked⌠different from the day before, though not in any way that truly surprised you. His clothes had changed with looser trousers this time, worn and slightly creased, the same black shirt hanging open just enough at the collar, sleeves rolled carelessly up his forearms.
âDavis,â he greeted, voice a little rougher than usual, âMissed me?â
âNot particularly,â Davis replied. âYou still drunk, or is this your natural state?â
Noah huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. âIâm perfectly fine.â
You raised a brow slightly, glancing at him.
He had just woken up.
That much was obvious now.
âMm,â Davis hummed, unconvinced.
âA pirate canât even celebrate his own return?â Noah shot back, tilting his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
âA pirate can,â Davis replied calmly. âA captain probably shouldnât be doing it like that.â
There was a brief pause.
Noah clicked his tongue softly. âYou worry too much.â
âSomeone has to,â Davis muttered.
That earned him a smirk.
You looked between them, saying nothing, but the exchange told you more than their words alone.
You wondered if Noah got too drunk too often.
Davis pushed himself up from the crate with a quiet sigh, dusting his hands off against his trousers.
âIâm going to find Folio before he loses all his money again,â he said, more to himself than to either of you.
âI donât lose!â a voice called from somewhere across the deck.
âYou absolutely do,â Davis replied, already walking away.
And just like that, he left you alone with Noah.
A small silence settled between you.
He glanced down briefly at the bowl in your hands.
âSo,â he said, âyouâve met the cuisine.â
âI have,â you replied. âIâm still deciding if I should be impressed or concerned.â
âThatâs the right reaction,â he said lightly.
You set the bowl aside, shifting slightly to face him more properly.
âDavis is the one man on this ship who thinks heâs in charge.â
âI am in charge of whether you starve or not!â Davisâs voice came faintly from a distance.
Noah didnât even turn. âSee?â
That made you smile faintly, despite yourself.
Your gaze moved past him, toward the rest of the deck, where the crew was still scattered in small groups.
Noah followed your line of sight.
âCome on,â he said, gesturing lazily with his hand. âMight as well start putting names to faces before you decide you hate all of them equally.â
He stepped slightly to the side, nodding toward a small group not too far from you.
âThat one,â he said, pointing, âthe short one with the dices, thatâs Folio.â
You followed his indication.
Folio was only short compared to Noah.
âAnd the one next to him,â Noah continued, âis Ruffilo, or Nicholas. Or Nick.â
The man in question threw his head back slightly as he laughed again, easy and loud, nudging Folio with his shoulder in a way that suggested theyâd done that a hundred times before.
âHeâs my quartermaster,â Noah added after a second. âWhich means if I die, he gets to pretend he knows what heâs doing.â
Your attention shifted again as he pointed elsewhere.
âThat tall one, with the mustache, it's Joakim. We call him Jolly.â He said before adding, âHeâs from the North."
âThat's far. Why is he here now?â
âHe joined us after Iââ he paused briefly, like he was reconsidering his wording, ââmade a small navigation error.â
You looked at him.
âA navigation error.â
âMm.â
âYou got lost.â
âOh no, princess. I never get lost,â he corrected immediately. âMy calculations were... temporarily misaligned.â
You stared at him.
âThat means you got lost.â
âIt means,â he said, turning his head slightly toward you, âthat the sea is unpredictable.â
âRight.â
âIt was freezing,â he added after a moment. âAbsolutely freezing. I nearly died.â
You let out a quiet laugh before you could stop yourself.
He moved on before you could push it further, gesturing again toward other scattered figures.
âJesse,â he said. âMichael. Matt. Bryan, the one with the bandana and the sketchbook. He's very good at drawing.â
The names kept coming and you were already getting lost in all of them. Remembering so many names was hard.
A sudden burst of noise pulled your attention back toward the group gathered around the dice game.
The man Noah called Jesse threw his hands up in triumph, a wide grin splitting his face. âI fucking told you!â he exclaimed, as he leaned back like he had just won something far more important than whatever small wager they had been playing for.
A couple of others groaned loudly, one dragging a hand down his face in despair while another shook his head, already reaching for something at his belt.
âUnbelievable,â someone muttered.
Then, from somewhere in the middle of the group, a voice cut through the laughter.
âPlank!â
That single word was enough.
A few of them straightened, others broke into laughter again, louder this time, and someone gave Folio a shove forward.
âYeah, plank!â another repeated, clearly entertained.
âYou heard him,â someone else added, barely holding back a grin. âOff you go.â
âOh, come onââ Folio started.
âNo complaints,â Ruffilo chimed in, clearly enjoying himself far too much. âRules are rules.â
âThere are no rules!â the other protested.
You watched as they continued, some of them already gesturing toward the edge of the ship, others laughing too hard to even stand straight, and for a brief moment, you couldnât quite tell how serious they were supposed to be.
ââŚAre they serious?â you asked, your voice quieter now, your eyes still fixed on the scene.
Noah turned his head slightly toward you, following your gaze, and for a second, he didnât answer.
Then, slowly, a faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
âWhat,â he said, tone light, âworried that might happen to you?â
You glanced at him.
âIâm asking because theyâre talking about throwing someone into the ocean.â
âMm.â
âThatâs not reassuring.â
âItâs not happening,â he said, almost lazily. âTheyâre idiots, not monsters.â
âYeah, because what... you donât kill?â
âDid anyone die at your port?â he asked back.
You remembered what Edward told you.
You hesitated.
ââŚNo,â you admitted.
Noah nodded once, like that was all the confirmation he needed.
âExactly.â
You frowned slightly, the answer not sitting right with you.
âYouâre pirates,â you insisted. âItâs impossible that you donât kill.â
âWe do,â he said, simply. âWhen itâs strictly necessary. When they deserve it.â he added.
You studied him, trying to understand where that line was, what necessary meant to someone like him.
âThatâs convenient,â you muttered.
He let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a half-laugh, his eyes flicking briefly toward his crew before returning to you.
âThere are people out there a lot worse than us,â he said. âContrary to what youâve been told or might think. And sometimes they pretend to be the good guys.â
You held his gaze.
For a moment, neither of you said anything and you wondered what he really meant.
As if to prove his point, one of the men near the group suddenly grabbed the âloserâ by the arm and dragged him a few steps toward the side of the ship, only to stop halfway, as Folio twisted free, shoving him back just as hard.
Laughter exploded again.
âSee?â Noah said.
You watched them for another second, the way the supposed threat dissolved into nothing more than rough play and loud voices.
ââŚRight,â you murmured.
Beside you, Noahâs smirk lingered.
Still, you kept wondering who the ones deserving death were.
That afternoon, you found yourself wandering below deck again, slower, without Noah guiding you, without anyone really paying attention to where you were going.
You passed a few closed doors, some slightly open ones, catching glimpses of hammocks, crates, scattered belongings, and the general disorganization that came with too many men sharing too little space.
Eventually, you came across a small wooden cabinet tucked into a corner, half-open as if no one had bothered to properly close it, and curiosity got the better of you.
You stepped closer and pulled it open just a bit more.
You found a mix of objects that didnât seem to belong together at all, like someone had simply thrown things in there over time and forgotten about them.
There was a coil of worn rope, frayed at the ends, a chipped compass that didnât seem to point anywhere reliable, a couple of loose buttons, a broken pipe, a strip of faded fabric and a few scattered coins of different sizes and origins.
What caught your attention was a small notebook. And beside it, a quill.
There was even a tiny ink bottle, still half full.
You paused.
Your gaze shifted briefly around the corridor, instinctively checking if anyone was there, if anyone might care.
But no one was.
And more than that⌠it didnât look like anyone would care.
Everything in that cabinet felt abandoned and forgotten.
You hesitated only for a second longer before reaching in and taking them. The notebook felt light in your hands, the cover worn but intact.
You brought it back to your cabin.
Closing the door behind you, you sat at the small table, placing it carefully in front of you.
For a moment, you just looked at it.
Then, slowly, you dipped the quill into the ink and opened the first page.
If you were going to stay here for months, you needed something that was yours.
So you decided to make it one. A diary, or something close to it.
You started simply, with the names you could remember.
You wrote them down one by one, leaving space beneath each, the ink slightly uneven at first before your hand steadied.
Davis.
You paused for a second, then added:
â cook
â a bit of a know-it-all
Or at least, that was the vibe you got from the small talk you had with him. You stopped again, the quill hovering just above the page.
He had brought you food.
He had sat with you and chatted.
You pressed the tip of the quill back onto the paper.
â kind
You leaned back slightly, staring at the word for a moment longer than necessary.
Could a pirate be kind?
The thought felt⌠contradictory.
But you didnât cross it out.
Instead, you moved on.
Folio.
â plays dice
You frowned slightly.
You didnât know much else.
Most of them were still just faces, voices and fragments of conversations you hadnât fully understood.
You turned the page slightly.
Noah.
Your hand paused again.
Then...
â the captain
â sarcastic
â drinks until he gets drunk and wakes up late the next morning
Your gaze lingered on his name longer than the others.
The ink hadnât fully dried yet, and for a moment you just watched it, the slight shine of it under the dim light of the lantern.
Slowly, you lowered the quill again.
â says they only kill when itâs necessary
You hesitated.
The tip of the feather hovered just above the page, unmoving.
Necessary.
The word didnât sit right.
You exhaled quietly through your nose and added another line beneath it.
â thinks some people deserve it
You leaned back slightly, the wood of the chair creaking under your weight as you stared at what you had written.
There are people worse than us. You remembered.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the quill.
Who decided that?
Him?
You glanced down again at his name, at the short list of words you had reduced him to.
It didnât feel like enough.
Not even close.
There was too much you didnât understand yet.
The same man who had held a blade to your throat without hesitation was also the who had stood there, watching his crew laugh, completely at ease, like nothing about any of this was unusual.
You thought about it for a moment longer before adding:
â unpredictable
â too confident
And you decided that for Noah, for the moment, that was it.
For dinner, you had another wooden bowl full of rice, this time accompanied by strips of dried meat that looked very suspicious, tough, overly salted, and with a texture that made you pause more than once before taking another bite. Still, you ate it. Hunger made things easier to accept.
You stayed outside longer than you needed to after you had finished eating.
The sun dipped slowly toward the horizon, painting the sky and waves in shades of gold and pink. The air changed with it, growing cooler, brushing against your skin in a way that felt so familiar.
You hadnât realized how much you had missed the sea, the wind and that quiet, endless openness.
After your father died, that part of your life had simply⌠stopped.
But here, even on a pirate ship, surrounded by strangers, you felt it again.
You stayed until the last light faded completely, until the sky darkened and the first hints of night settled over the water.
Only then did you finally head back below deck.
You closed the door or your cabin behind you, slowly, you slipped out of your dress, hanging it carefully on the hook before climbing into bed, pulling the blankets over yourself.
You fell asleep faster than you expected.
â
You werenât sure how much time had passed when you woke again. Hours, probably.
You were still half-awake when you heard a sound, like a dull thud from above. You frowned slightly, your eyes opening fully now as you listened.
Silence followed.
You exhaled quietly, shifting slightly under the blankets.
Probably nothing. A bird, maybe.
Or something shifting with the movement of the ship.
You were just about to settle again when you heard it again.
Another noise.
This time clearer.
Not a thud.
Steps.
Dragging slightly across the deck above.
Your body stilled.
You listened.
There it was again.
They were not very loud, but enough to catch your attention.
Curiosity stirred almost immediately, pushing against the lingering comfort of sleep, you hesitated for a moment, then you sat up.
Your feet touched the floor, the wood cool beneath your skin as you reached for one of the blankets, wrapping it loosely around your shoulders over the thin white underdress.
You moved toward the door quietly, your hand pausing briefly on the handle.
Your fatherâs voice echoed faintly in your mind, repeating you were too curious for your own good, and that one day, it was going to get you into trouble.
You almost smiled.
What would he say now?
Seeing you here.
On a pirate ship.
Sneaking out in the middle of the night to follow strange noises.
Probably exactly that.
You pushed the door open anyway, and stepped out into the corridor, ready to find out.
Everything was quiet. Your steps were softer now, and instinctively careful.
You reached the stairs and climbed them slowly.
When you pushed the door open and stepped outside, the air hit you immediately.
The night stretched around you.
The sea was darker now, almost black, but it moved in slow waves under the faint silver light of the moon. Above you, the sky was clear, scattered with stars that felt brighter out there than anywhere you had seen in years.
For a moment, you just stood there.
It was⌠beautiful.
Quieter than the day. Bigger.
Your gaze shifted across the deck.
There was someone at the helm, farther away, a shadow more than a person, focused on the horizon and not on you. He didnât even glance in your direction.
For a second, you wondered if you had imagined the sound.
Still, you didnât go back immediately and decided to walk around for a moment.
Slowly, without a real destination, you moved along the deck, your bare feet silent against the wood, the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as the wind tugged lightly at your hair.
You passed coils of rope, stacked crates and occasional lanterns.
You slowed when you saw him, the shape of him unmistakable even in the dim light.
Sitting on the deck, back against the railing, a bottle of rum hanging loosely from his hand, you saw Noah.
For a second, you just watched him, unconvinced on what to do, then you stepped closer.
âWhat are you doing out here?â you asked.
He didnât answer immediately. Just lifted the bottle, took a slower-than-necessary drink, spilling a drop at the corner of his mouth before wiping it carelessly with the back of his hand. Then he let it fall back against his leg, his head tilting a little too much as he finally looked at you.
âCelebratinâ,â he said.
You frowned.
âThat doesnât look like celebrating.â
One of his brows lifted faintly, a little uneven.
âNo?â
âNo,â you said, taking another step closer. âYouâre sitting alone in the dark drinking straight from a bottle. Thatâs not really a celebration.â
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, something like a laugh but heavier and slower.
âRight,â he muttered. âAnâ youâd know. Expert anâ all.â
âYou were celebrating with them last night. This...â you gestured vaguely at him and at the bottle, âthis is not the same thing.â
There was a brief pause.
Then his expression shifted, just slightly, his eyes narrowing as if focusing took effort.
âEven if it wasnât,â he said, words dragging just a little, âwhyâwhy would that concern you, hm?â
You blinked at that.
âI was just asking.â
âAnd I answered.â
âNot really.â
âWell. You donât fuckin' need⌠a better answer.â
You hesitated for a second, caught off guard.
âOkay,â you said, a bit more carefully now. âSorry. I was just...â
âJust what?â he cut in.
âJust asking a question.â You repeated. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe you should have ignored him completely.
âMaybe you should...â he paused, like he lost the thread for a second, then found it again, âstart mindinâ your own business.â
ââŚI said I was sorry.â
âThen act like it,â he shot back.
There was a pause.
You stared at him, something shifting in your expression now, irritation quickly replacing whatever concern had been there before.
âFine,â you said. âNext time Iâll just ignore you if I find you passed out somewhere.â
âGood,â he said. âThaâ would be... preferable.â
You let out a short, disbelieving breath.
âYouâre unbelievable.â
âAnd you ask too many... too many questions.â
âAt least I donât sit around pretending Iâm celebrating when Iâm clearly not.â
That hit.
You saw it.
He leaned forward slightly, his grip tightening around the bottle.
âYou donâtââ he stopped, exhaled, tried again, âyou donât know what youâre talkinâ about.â
âThen explain it,â you shot back.
âI donât have to explain... anythinâ to you.â
âRight,â you said, nodding once. âBecause that would require you to actually admit what youâre doing.â
His gaze hardened, even through the haze.
âAnd what... what exactly dâyou think Iâm doinâ, hm?â
You held his stare.
âDrinking alone because somethingâs wrong,â you said plainly.
Silence.
For a second, it stretched.
Then he let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head a little too loosely.
âCrazy,â he muttered.
âOh, Iâm the crazy one now?â
âYouâve been here...what...not even two days?â he said, words bumping into each other. âAnâ you think youâve figured everythinâ out.â
âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, the blanket shifting slightly.
âI was trying to understand, I had no bad intentions.â
âWell donât,â he snapped. âYouâre not gonna. So drop it.â
âYou're so fucking weird, Noah. One moment you act almost friendly and the otherâ.â
âAnd I said drop it.â
âI am dropping it!â
âDoesnâtâdoesnât sound like it.â
You let out a frustrated breath.
âYouâre the one turning this into something bigger than it is.â
He stared at you for a second.
Then shook his head, looking away like he was done with the conversation, or like holding eye contact was suddenly too much effort.
âGo back inside,â he muttered.
That was enough.
âI will,â you said sharply. âDonât worry.â
You turned without waiting for anything else, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you walked away.
Behind you, you didnât hear him move.
Just the faint, uneven sound of the bottle again.
And the sea.
You made your way back to your cabin without looking back.
Of course you werenât worried about him.
He was a pirate you had known for two days. Nothing more.
You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a brief second before pushing yourself away and moving toward the bed. The blanket slipped from your shoulders as you sat down.
You had asked too many questions.
That was all.
And really, none of it should have surprised you.
He was a pirate.
They were known for drinking, for being rough, mean, unpredictable and ruthless.
What had just happened fit perfectly into that image.
There was nothing strange about it.
You pulled the blanket back over yourself, lying down and staring up at the ceiling again, your thoughts moving in circles you couldnât quite stop.
You didnât need to understand him.
You didnât need to understand any of them.
You just had to stay a few months.
Survive. And then leave.
That was it.
Everything else: him, this ship, the way they lived, the way they spoke, would become nothing more than a distant memory when you reached your destination.
That was what mattered.
And yetâŚ
The thought wouldnât leave.
That he hadnât been celebrating.
That he had been sitting there alone for a reason.
It circled back again, persistent.
You frowned slightly, shifting under the covers, turning onto your side as if that could somehow shake it off.
No.
You pushed it away almost immediately.
You shouldnât care.
You shouldnât try to understand.
And you definitely shouldnât feel anything even close to sympathy.
Not for him.
Not for any of them.
Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, already forming before you could stop it, you thought that under Noahâs name in your notebook, you might need to add one more line.
â harsh when you ask simple, but maybe more personal, questions
You closed your eyes, forcing your thoughts elsewhere, holding onto that instead until, slowly, the sound of the sea pulled you under again.
At some point, the bottle had slipped from his hand and rolled slightly against the wood, resting there beside him.
Noah hadnât even noticed.
His head had tipped back against the railing.
When he closed his eyes, it was still there.
A shape, too high above him.
Donât look.
His brow tightened faintly, even in that half-conscious state.
Donât look.
His breathing shifted, uneven, faster and heavier, like each breath had to fight its way out of his chest.
There were voices.
Far away.
Or maybe too close.
He couldnât tell.
Donât look.
His fingers twitched slightly against the wood.
The image, or whatever it was, pulled at him again.
Upwards.
Something moving.
Donât look.
His jaw clenched faintly.
There was a sound, like a creak.
Donât look.
The voices around him where too loud.
Donât look.
Donât look.
Donât look.
He needed to keep the promise.
But he looked.
Of course he did.
His eyes suddenly opened.
The deck came back into focus slowly, along with the night, the sea and the silence.
He felt nauseous.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose before reaching blindly for the bottle again.
save me beefy bodyguard!noah save me âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸
the sexual tension between a girl and his belt buckleâ
KELS!!!! you canât see me, but iâm licking the screen with all of these pictures. GOD heâs so perfect đŤ youâve heard me ranting ideas about him so hereâs a few headcanons of him that live rent free in my mind:
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ whose office is an old boxing gym he inherited from a family friend, still practical, with noah offering pt sessions, sometimes extended to clients.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who built his business from the ground up, using his and his teamâs (ruffilo, jolly, and folio) connections from their time in the military to secure initial clients.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ whose team is made up of four members he served with during his time in the military, each with their own commendations.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ whose confidence could be mistaken for cockiness. heâs aware that heâs good at what he does, the best of the best, and when he asks you to tell him why youâre choosing him over anyone else, he doesnât expect you to stroke his ego but maybe beg a little.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ whose way of relaxing is through cooking. he learned in the kitchen during his time in the military, and when he got out, he expanded both his skills and his palate. if you catch him attempting to bake or kneading dough a little too roughly, then heâs stressed.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who insists on cooking for you on evenings youâre out late or have had little to eat that day. while he does his best to remain professional, heâs not going to allow his client to starve, not under his watch.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who is incredibly observant, not only when it comes to your schedule or being vigilant of potential security threats, but also the little details: the fragrance you wear, the kink in your neck from sleeping at an awkward angle (with an offer to help soothe it), the moments you seem more nervous and withdrawn, lacking confidence where it usually shines.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who isnât afraid of confrontation, including when it comes to your family and their standard security. he answers to you, and only you.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who has put his life on the line multiple times and been shot at, yet is fearful of flying. for clients who require security on international or domestic air travel, heâll offer jolly in his place (his second in command), though with you, he made the promise to be at your side at all times; you are his main priority.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who is very disciplined when it comes to his money and saving. while his gym office may be old and run down, it has character. though he appears cold and impersonal most of the time, sporting dark jeans and a black t-shirt unless the occasion requires formalwear, his apartment is large, his taste refined, and far more of his personality shines through in his own space.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who happily teaches you self defense, though it often leads to you trying to prove heâs not quick enough to outmaneuver you, and each time, you end up (happily) pinned beneath him or with your hands behind your back.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who struggles to maintain any sense of professionalism when it comes to you, particularly during your playful bouts.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who is nothing short of a giver, and when he can sense youâre frustrated or in need of help relaxing, he is more than willing to offer his assistance, be it his fingers, mouth, or cock.
đđŹđĄđśđ¤đ˛đđŻđĄ!đŤđŹđđĽ who still struggles with nightmares from his time in the military, often leading to insomnia. on those nights when you find him awake, you keep him company in the kitchen, quietly talking before heading back to bed and offering him a place beside you if he canât sleep alone. the professional in him would chastise this crossing of boundaries, though youâve become something of a safety blanket on the nights he struggles most.
playing dirty and always reaching for his belt. one day you will unbuckle, and pull it off with your teeth.
Series summary: Stuck in a life you donât want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and thatâs how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.
Tw: knifepoint (kinda)
Series mastelist
You had not, in your carefully imagined plan, considered one very important detail.
You had freed a pirate.
Now you had to help him steal a ship.
It became painfully clear the moment you stepped out of the prison and followed Noah through the streets.
He walked like it was a normal day of his life and you tried to act calm and composed too.
The market was already alive, crowded and loud, full of people bartering, arguing and laughing. Stalls lined the street in uneven rows, covered with fabrics to shield from the sun, displaying everything from fresh produce to tools, fabrics, trinkets, food, and things you could not even name.
The scent of fruit, spices, and sea air mixed in the air.
You stayed close, your gaze lowered more often than not. Noah did not seem concerned in the slightest.
As you passed one of the stalls, his hand moved without hesitation, quick and practiced, plucking an apple from a wooden crate. Behind you, a womanâs voice rose.
âHey! Youâ!â
He took a bite that caused a lound crunch and kept walking, calm and unbothered.
âYouâre not even going to pretend to be subtle?â you muttered under your breath.
He swallowed, then shrugged lightly. âI was hungry.â
âThat doesnât mean you can justââ
He took another bite and swallowed, his throat moving as your eyes caught the tattoo of a hand holding an apple along his neck, and for a moment, the irony was almost ridiculous.
âYou worry too much,â he said, glancing at you briefly. âNo oneâs chasing us. Yet.â
You exhaled quietly, shaking your head as you continued walking beside him.
A pirate. You were walking beside a pirate.
âTell me,â he went on after a moment, his tone almost casual, âthis governor of yours... he must be particularly unfortunate-looking if youâre willing to go through all of this just to avoid marrying him.â
You shot him a look.
âHeâs not ugly.â
âOh?â he said, one brow lifting slightly as he kept chewing. âThat makes it worse.â
âI just donât love him,â you replied.
He hummed softly, considering that.
âMm. Dangerous thing, that.â
âWhat is?â
âWanting more than youâre given.â
You didnât answer that.
Instead, you focused ahead, weaving through the crowd.
âWhy Saint Marlowe?â he asked after a moment. âOut of all the places you could have run to.â
âI have a friend there,â you said. âShe⌠sheâll help me.â
He nodded slowly, as if that was enough of an explanation. âConvenient.â
You hesitated briefly before asking, âDo you have a plan?â
He glanced at you.
âFor what?â
âFor stealing a ship,â you said, lowering your voice slightly. âOr is that something you intend to improvise?â
A faint smile appeared.
âI have a plan,â he said.
You looked at him, unconvinced. âYou donât sound very convincing.â
âThatâs because,â he replied lightly, âitâs an excellent plan.â
âThat doesnât reassure me.â
âIt should,â he said. âYouâll just have to trust me.â
You almost laughed at that.
âTrust you,â you repeated. âI met you less than an hour ago. You were in a cell.â
âAnd now Iâm not,â he pointed out. âThanks to you. See? Already working out.â
You opened your mouth to respond, but he had already shifted his attention elsewhere.
A stall to your right displayed a variety of knives, blades laid out neatly across the wooden surface, some polished, others worn, all of them sharp enough to be dangerous.
Noah slowed slightly.
âHey, can I see that one?â he asked the vendor, gesturing toward a knife hanging just behind him.
The man turned immediately, reaching up to grab it.
And in that exact moment, Noah's hand moved again.
Another knife disappeared from the table, slipping into his grasp before the vendor had even turned back.
By the time the man faced him again, holding the one he had asked for, Noah was already stepping away, hiding the object behind his back for a moment.
âNever mind,â he said casually. âChanged my mind.â
The vendor blinked, confused. âWhatâ?â
But Noah was already walking, the stolen knife now spinning lightly between his fingers.
You stood there for a short moment before you reached him as he kept walking without even checking if you were still close.
âDid you justââ
âYes.â
He didnât even look at you.
âYou canât just steal everything we pass.â
âWatch me.â
âThatâs... definitely not a good plan.â
âItâs part of mine,â he said.
You exhaled, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement as you glanced at him again.
In the daylight, you could see him way better.
Some details you had only guessed at before now stood out. His hair, dark at first glance, caught the sunlight in a way that revealed softer tones beneath, and it was actually brown, not black, with even a faint reddish reflections when the light hit just right.
He had a bruise on his cheekbone, undoubtedly from the fight at the port.
He took the last bite of the apple, chewing briefly before swallowing, and then tossed the core to the ground as he kept walking.
Only then did you notice his eyes.
Not their color, but their shape: slightly more almond than what you were used to seeing. It lingered in your mind for a moment, and you found yourself wondering, briefly, if he might have some kind of eastern origin. Those lands were very far away and you had never had the chance to get close during your travels with your father, and you had not seen many people from there in your life.
As you moved closer to the port and left the market behind, the scent of salt grew stronger, the noises different.
Beside you, Noah glanced around, then let out a quiet breath.
âLook at that,â he said lightly. âMuch better when itâs not on fire.â
You shot him a look, but he was already moving forward.
You followed, your steps slower now, more cautious as you approached the docks and ships of different sizes lined the harbor. Sailors and merchants moved constantly, too busy with their own tasks to pay much attention to anything else.
Still, it didnât feel safe. Not after what you had done.
Noah slowed slightly, then pulled you aside, guiding you behind a stack of crates. From there, he studied the ships in silence, his eyes moving from one to another.
âThat one,â he said as he raised a hand to move a strand of hair fallen on his face.
You followed his gaze.
It was smaller than the others, modest compared to the larger vessels anchored nearby. No one seemed to be actively working on it, no crates being loaded, no crew rushing back and forth.
That's the moment you saw, in the distance, the two guards you had sent away stood near the edge of the docks, speaking animatedly with a third. One of them gestured back toward the city. Toward the prison.
They would figure it out.
Soon.
âWe donât have much time,â you said quietly, as your eyes flicked back to Noah. âWhatâs your plan?â
He looked at you with faint smile touched his lips.
It happened too often.
You hated it.
âThis,â he said, âis where you become a very good actress.â
You frowned slightly. âWhatââ
You didnât get to finish.
His hand closed around your arm, and before you could fully react, he pulled you forward, dragging you out from behind the crates and toward the ship.
âNoahââ you started, but he didnât slow.
âJust trust me,â he muttered under his breath.
âThatâs not reassuring at all.â
You barely had time to process what was happening.
The moment you stepped onto the dock near the ship, a voice called out. âHey! What do you think youâre doing?â
And then... everything happened so quickly.
Noahâs grip shifted, his movement was sudden as he pulled you back against him. One arm locked around you, holding you in place, and soon, you felt cold metal pressed against your throat.
Your breath caught, and your body froze instinctively, your heart slamming hard against your ribs as his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat of him even through the fabric, as he held the knife to your throat.
The blade didnât cut, but it was close enough that you didnât dare move.
âEveryone stay where you are, or I kill her.â
Silence followed.
All movement seemed to halt at once, eyes turning toward you, toward him, toward the knife at your throat.
From where you stood, you could see men frozen mid-step, uncertain, none of them quite willing to test whether he was serious or not.
Your pulse hammered in your ears.
He was not actually going to kill you.
He was not going to slit your throat right there and leave without you.
Right?
For a second that felt far too long, no one moved.
The men standing closest to the ship exchanged glances. One of them shifted his weight, as if considering stepping forward, and the pressure of the blade against your throat increased, just slightly, just enough to make the message clear.
âDrop it,â he said, âWhatever youâre holding.â
A crate hit the ground.
Then another.
One of the men slowly lifted his hands, palms open. The others followed.
âGood,â Noah murmured. âNow take a few steps back.â
They did.
You felt his grip shift slightly as he leaned closer, his voice lowering so only you could hear.
âWalk,â he said. You felt his breath against your neck.
Your feet moved before your mind fully caught up.
Step by step, he guided you forward, the knife still at your throat, his body close enough that you could feel every movement of his muscles. The wooden planks of the dock creaked beneath your boots as you approached the ship.
No one stopped you.
When you reached it, he didnât hesitate.
âUp,â he said.
You stepped onto the ship, your hands brushing briefly against the rough wood as you climbed aboard, your balance unsteady for a moment before you regained it. He followed immediately after, pulling you further in before finally... the pressure at your throat disappeared.
The knife lowered.
His arm loosened.
You turned slightly, breath uneven, your heart still racing as you looked at him.
For a brief second, there was nothing but the two of you and the sound of the harbor behind you, your dress flowing in the wind.
Then he moved again.
âStay here,â he said, already turning away from you.
âWhatâ?â
But he was gone, crossing the deck.
You watched as he grabbed a rope, cutting through it with the knife, the fibers snapping under the blade. Then another. And another.
Shouts rose behind you.
âHe's getting away!â
âStop him!â
You turned, your breath catching as you saw movement on the dock again, noticing men rushing forward now that the distance between you had grown.
âNoahââ
âI know,â he cut you off, not even looking back.
He moved to the helm, hands already working, adjusting, pulling and guiding. The ship shifted beneath your feet, the wood groaning softly as it began to drift away from the dock.
Not fast, but it was enough.
A man jumped, trying to reach the edge of the ship, his fingers brushing against the wood, but it was too late.
The distance widened. The water moved between you.
âNo!â
His voice was lost in the growing space.
The ship drifted further, then caught slightly, the current pulling it just enough for Noah to take control. The sail above shifted, catching the wind in uneven bursts before settling, the fabric snapping softly as it filled.
And just like that... you were moving. Away from the dock, away from the city, away from everything.
The shouts behind you grew distant, blending into the noise of the harbor until they were nothing more than echoes in the wind.
You stood there, still catching your breath, your hands slightly trembling as the reality of what had just happened settled over you.
Slowly, you turned to look at him.
Noah slupped the knife into one of his boots, then glanced back at you, one hand still steady on the helm, the other resting loosely at his side.
He smiled.
âSee?â he said, almost casually. âExcellent plan.â
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the wind filling the sails, as the city grew smaller behind you.
âFuck you.â
The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
The pirate blinked.
âWell,â he said, glancing at you with clear amusement, âthatâs unexpected.â A short pause. âYou curse.â
You stared at him. âYou held a knife to my throat!â
âYes,â he said simply.
âAs part of your excellent plan.â
âIt worked, didnât it?â
âThat is not the point!â
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly as he adjusted his grip on the helm.
âYouâre welcome, by the way,â he added.
âFor what?â
âFor doing exactly what you asked,â he replied. âGetting us out of there.â
âI did not ask you to nearly kill me!â
âI didnât nearly kill you,â he said, glancing at you again. âIf I had wanted to, youâd be dead.â
âThatâs not reassuring! Again!.â
âIt should be,â he said lightly.
You crossed your arms, your frustration only growing now that the danger had passed.
âYou could have told me what you were planning.â
âAnd ruin the performance?â he asked. âYou looked very convincing, by the way.â
âI wasnât acting!â
âExactly.â
You opened your mouth, then stopped, exhaling sharply instead.
âThat was insane,â you said. âYouâre insane.â
âAnd yet,â he replied, âyouâre the one who broke me out of prison.â
âThat was different.â
âWas it?â he asked, one brow lifting slightly.
âYes,â you insisted. âBecause I didnât put a knife to your throat in the process.â
He hummed, as if considering that.
âMissed opportunity.â
You shot him a glare. âYou know what? It's my fault because I trusted you.â
âAnd I didnât hurt you,â he said, âIâm a man of my word and we have a deal.â
âYou still could have warned me.â
âAnd you would not have panicked,â he replied. âWhich would have made it far less believable.â
You hated that he had a point.
That didnât make it any better.
âYou donât get to decide that for me,â you said.
âNo,â he agreed easily. âBut I do get to decide how I donât get caught again.â
There was a brief silence, then you just rolled your eyes.
The wind pulled at your dress, the ship moving steadily now, carrying you further and further away from Port Everleigh.
âWe are going to Penbury Island, by the way. It's not far. We should reach it in some hours.â he said after a while.
âAnd Penbury Island isâŚ?â
âWhere my crew is waiting.â
You thought about it for a moment.
âWhy did they just⌠left you?â you asked. âWhen you were captured? Youâre the captain.â
âItâs the rule,â he said. âWhen one of us gets caught, we donât go back. We kind of have... our code.â
You stared at him.
âYou donât go back?â you repeated. âYou just leave them?â
âItâs not about leaving,â he said. âItâs about not getting the rest of us killed trying to save one person.â
âThatâs a terrible rule.â
âItâs a necessary one.â
You shook your head slightly, struggling to accept that kind of logic.
âSo they just⌠sail away?â you asked.
âThen they head to a predetermined location.â
âAnd wait?â
âFor a couple of days,â he confirmed. âIn case the one who got caught manages to escape.â
You let out a small, incredulous breath.
âAnd if they donât?â
He shrugged.
âThen they donât.â
âThatâs cruel.â
âItâs practical,â he corrected. âOut here, you donât survive by being sentimental.â
You looked away from him, your gaze drifting over the water instead.
âSo, did you say you know the sea?â He spoke again.
âI used to travel,â you said instead.
âWith who?â he asked.
âMy father. It was part of his job.â
There was a small pause, and he didnât interrupt this time.
âWe moved a lot,â you continued. âDifferent ports, different cities. Iâve seen more places than most people I know.â
âHm,â he hummed, considering that. âThat explains it.â
âExplains what?â
âYou don't look like you're about to throw up.â
You rolled your eyes.
âWhat happened?â he asked then.
You blinked slightly. âWhat?â
âYou said you used to travel,â he went on. âPast tense.â
You hesitated.
âHe got sick. He died,â you said.
âAnd your mother?â
âShe died when I was little.â
Another pause.
âUnlucky,â he said, then added, âI'm sorry.â
You turned your head, giving him a look. âThatâs one way to put it.â
âIâm not wrong,â he shrugged.
âNo,â you admitted quietly. âYouâre not.â
He studied you for a second, like he was trying to figure something out. Or thinking about something more personal.
In that moment, you wondered if pirates had families.
If somewhere there were mothers who had once held them as children, brothers or sisters who had grown up beside them, people who remembered them as something other than what they had become, and whether, on rare occasions, when they stepped back onto land, they ever returned to those places, if anyone ever waited for them to come back. Even for just a visit.
The thought felt strange, pirates were not supposed to have those kinds of ties, because they were meant to be ruthless, violent, men without morals, without attachments, men who burned and stole and disappeared without ever looking back, leaving nothing behind except fear and damage.
Men like him.
And yet, as you stood there, with the wind pulling at your clothes and the sea stretching endlessly around you, you found yourself glancing at Noah again, at the way the sun kissed his skin, making the freckles on his nose and cheeks slightly more noticeable.
Despite the fact he had stolen, he had lied about the plan, and held a knife to your throat, there was something you could not quite define yet, something that made you think he was not entirely evil.
âAnd then,â he spoke again, âyou were handed off to a nice, safe marriage with a governor. But you decided to run away with a criminal.â
Looking behind you, the land was almost gone now. Just a memory on the horizon.
âYeah...â
There was a brief silence.
Then Noah spoke again.
âYou know,â he said, tone shifting back into something lighter and sarcastic, âfor a lady that, I suppose, was raised properly, youâre doing a surprisingly good job at ruining your life.â
You glanced at him.
ââŚThank you.â
âYouâre welcome.â
Hours passed by.
The sun climbed higher, warming the deck beneath your boots, its light reflecting off the water in shifting patterns that were almost hypnotic if you looked at them for too long. The sky remained clear, an uninterrupted blue, and every now and then the sound of seagulls cut through the air as they circled above and followed the ship for a while before drifting away again.
The wind tangled with your hair, pulling loose strands free no matter how many times you tried to smooth them back, until eventually you gave up, removing the pins one by one and letting them fall away, allowing your hair to spill freely over your shoulders and move with the wind instead of against it.
You liked it better that way anyway.
At some point, you had started moving around the ship, partly out of curiosity, partly because standing still with your thoughts for too long was beginning to feel unbearable.
It wasnât a large vessel, but it was well-built, sturdy enough to handle open waters. The wood creaked occasionally beneath your steps, worn in places, but still solid.
You found a few barrels secured with thick ropes, stacked close together. You crouched slightly to look at them more closely, loosening one just enough to peek inside.
Dried fish.
Another contained sacks of coarse salt, and a third held bundles of cloth, likely meant for trade rather than anything refined.
Nothing particularly valuable, but useful.
âWeâre taking those.â Noah said from behind you.
You glanced back at him. âOf course we are. You just stole a ship,â you pointed out with sarcasm. âWhy not steal its cargo too.â
âExactly,â he said with a little smile, âSee? You're already thinking like a pirate.â
You glared at him.
Further along, near what you assumed was a small storage space below deck, you found a few books tucked away in a wooden crate, likely belonging to whoever had owned the ship before.
They werenât particularly remarkable. You saw some navigation notes, a worn journal, and one or two simple novels, but you picked one up anyway, flipping through its pages absentmindedly as you leaned against the side of the ship.
It passed the time.
At least a little.
Eventually, though, your attention drifted back to him again.
âSo... your crew,â you said after a moment, because the closer you got to Penbury Island, the more anxious you felt at the thought of meeting a whole pirate crew.
He glanced at you briefly. âWhat about them?â
You hesitated.
It wasnât an easy thing to ask, not without revealing exactly what you were thinking.
âThere are a lot of them?â you asked, choosing your words carefully.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
âWorried?â
You didnât answer immediately, and that was answer enough. He let out a quiet laugh.
âYouâll like them,â he said. âTheyâre fun.â
That did not reassure you.
If anything, it made you feel even more anxious.
Because you knew the stories. Stories of women who met pirates.
âThey wonât touch you,â he added, more directly now. âDon't worry.â
You looked at him. He held your gaze, serious in a way you had not seen before.
âThey know better,â he added.
There was a brief silence.
You studied him for a moment, trying to decide whether you believed him.
âI donât keep a large crew, by the way,â he said. âAbout thirty.â
âThirty?â you repeated.
âMore or less.â
âThatâs still a lot.â
âItâs not,â he said. âNot out here.â
You tilted your head slightly. âWhy not more?â
He shrugged.
âBecause I prefer knowing the people I sail with. Trust matters more than numbers.â
âAnd you trust all of them?â you asked.
He didnât hesitate. âYes.â
That answer came too easily to be anything but true.
âIâd rather have thirty men I can rely on,â he continued, âthan a hundred who might decide, one day, that they donât like my decisions anymore.â
âMutiny.â
He glanced at you, faintly amused. âYou do know something about the sea.â
âA little.â
He nodded once.
âIt happens,â he said. âMore than youâd think.â
âAnd your men wouldnât?â
âNo,â he said.
The certainty in his voice was⌠firm.
And it almost calmed you down.
By the time the sun began to lower in the sky, the light had softened into warmer tones, painting the sea in shades of gold and amber, while the air itself seemed to grow cooler.
Land appeared slowly, at first it was nothing more than a darker shape resting on the horizon, almost indistinguishable from the line where the sea met the sky, but as the ship moved closer, it began to take form, revealing a stretch of pale sand and dense vegetation rising just beyond it, untouched by any sign of a city, with no docks, no buildings and nothing that suggested civilization on that side of the island.
You stepped closer to the edge of the ship, your eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to make out more details, and that was when you saw it.
Further along the shore, partially obscured by the angle and the fading light, there was another ship, and even from a distance, it was unmistakably different from the one you were on, larger by far, its structure more imposing, the dark wood of its hull absorbing the last light of the day while its white sails stood out faintly against the deepening sky.
You had seen that ship before.
From your window, when the port had been burning.
Beside you, Noah let out a quiet breath, something almost like satisfaction slipping into his expression as his gaze settled on it.
âThere she is,â he said, almost dreamy. âMy Specter.â
You turned your head toward him, then back to the ship. âSpecter?â
He glanced at you briefly, one corner of his mouth lifting before his attention returned to the vessel waiting near the shore.
âIsn't she beautiful?â he said. âThatâs my ship.â
âDid you choose the name?â you asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
He raised a brow slightly, clearly amused. âWhy, you donât like it?â
âI didnât say that,â you replied. âI was just curious.â
He let out a quiet breath, something between a scoff and a laugh.
âWell,â he said, âyouâre going to spend the next few months on it, so I suggest you start liking it.â
You rolled your eyes faintly. âThat wasnât my concern.â
âGood,â he muttered.
For a moment, he remained focused on the ship, something in his expression shifting, almost softer now.
âI named it that,â he continued after a moment, âbecause no one can catch us.â
You glanced at him again, more attentive now.
âWeâve been doing this for years,â he went on. âSame ship, same crew, and no one has managed to stop us, no one has taken her, no one has even come close enough for it to matter.â
A faint smirk returned to his lips. âItâs like trying to chase a ghost.â
âWell,â you said calmly, âif it wasnât for me, youâd still be in a cell.â
There was a brief pause before he slowly turned his head toward you, his expression not disappearing, but shifting just enough to acknowledge the point you had made.
âYouâre not going to let that go, are you?â he asked.
âNo,â you replied simply.
A quiet breath left him. You knew he was amused even if he didn't want to show it.
âFair,â he admitted.
Then, after a moment, his gaze returned to the ship, the smirk settling back into place.
âStill,â he added, âyou got me out. So I'm right.â
You were about to respond, when the distance between your stolen ship and the larger one disappeared faster than expected, the two vessels drifting into parallel with a slow, controlled ease as the water calmed near the shore.
A movement caught your eye.
A figure stepped out onto the deck of the Specter.
He was tall and lean, with dark hair that reached his shoulders, shifting slightly with the wind. He wore a dark brown shirt, sleeves rolled revealing his tattoos, black trousers tucked into boots that had clearly seen years at sea. For a second, he just stared.
Then...
âNoah?! Holy shit!â he called out, his voice full of disbelief that turned almost instantly into something brighter.
âI told you it would work out!â he called back, loud enough to carry across the small stretch of water.
The man let out something between a laugh and a shout, already turning.
âHeâs back!â he yelled over his shoulder. âCaptainâs back!â
And just like that, more figures appeared, one after another, emerging from below deck. Their voices overlapped, and disbelief, laughter, curses, all blended into something loud and chaotic.
âNo way!â âHe actually came back!â âI told you heâd make it!â
It was the first time you had seen Noah smile so widely, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly.
Within minutes, he had already lowered a small rowboat from the side of the ship and you used a ladder to get down.
You lifted your skirts to keep them from getting wet, and once you were both seated, he pushed off, rowing toward the shore.
Your ship had barely come to a full stop near the shore when Noah moved again, stepping down, boots hitting the sand with a dull thud.
You followed.
The moment your boots touched the ground, you sank slightly, the sand shifting under your weight as you instinctively gathered the fabric of your dress, lifting it just enough to keep it from dragging completely through the sand as you moved forward.
Noah moved fast, used to it, and by the time you reached him, they were already there.
And then they were on him.
You saw hands on his shoulders, pulling him in, a few of them grabbing him in rough embraces that looked more like collisions than anything else.
âYouâre insane,â one of them said, grinning like a kid as he pulled back. âThey said you were caught.â
âI was.â Noah replied easily.
Another voice from somewhere behind added, âWe gave you two days.â
âYeah?â Noah said, glancing briefly around at them. âAnd?â
âAnd I was about to start collecting bets on whether you were dead.â
âThatâs because you have no faith,â Noah replied.
âThatâs because you get caught,â someone else muttered.
There was a brief pause.
Then Noah smirked.
âWell,â he said lightly, âhere I am.â
That earned him a few more laughs and a couple of rough pats on the back.
You stayed where you were, a few steps behind, watching. But eventually, someone noticed you.
One of them glanced at you, confused.
Then another.
And another.
ââŚCaptain?â one of them said, nodding faintly in your direction.
Noah followed the look like he forgot that you were there too.
âShe...â he started, like he was not sure how to put it, âis.. kind of the reason why I'm here.â
That earned him a few confused looks.
âWhat does that even mean?â Asked a man with dark hair except for two white streaks on the sides of his face.
âIt means,â Noah continued, âshe broke me out.â
Silence fell, and you felt every single pair of eyes on you now, more direct, more focused and more curious. You felt your face starting to burn.
Someone let out a low whistle.
âYouâre joking.â
âIâm not,â Noah said.
Another pause.
âWell,â someone muttered, âthatâs new.â
A long-haired man stepped a little closer. He was almost as tall as Noah, with beard and a mustache. His gaze moved over you in a way for a moment.
âShe doesnât look like the type,â he said, and you realized he had an accent.
âWell, I am.â you replied before you could stop yourself.
That got a reaction. A few of them laughed.
Noah glanced at you, something amused flickering in his expression again.
âTold you,â he said. âThe princess has some bite.â
You shot him a look.
âStop calling me that.â
âToo late,â he replied.
The man in front of you tilted his head slightly, still studying you.
âShe coming with us?â he asked.
âYes, we'll leave her in Saint Marlowe. That's her destination.â Noah said, without hesitation.
Another look passed between a few of them, quick, silent, but not unfriendly.
âAlright,â the man said after a moment, stepping back slightly. âThen welcome, I guess.â
It wasnât really warm. But it wasnât hostile either.
It was almost as if they were the ones who should be afraid of you and not the exact opposite.
Around you, the others were already moving again, some heading back toward the ships, others talking over each other, still happy their captain was back.
You stood there for a second longer, the sand still shifting under your boots, the sound of the sea still as a background behind everything.
And then, slowly, you followed them to the Specter.
Ahead of you, Noah had already fallen easily back into step among them, as if he had never left at all, as if the days in a cell had been nothing more than an inconvenience rather than something that could have ended very differently, and you watched him as he moved beside the first man who had spotted him from the deck, noticing the way Noah reached out without hesitation, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a gesture that was so natural and friendly.
They walked like that for a few steps, close, exchanging something low and quick that you couldnât really catch over the sound of the others. Then, a louder voice cut in as someone behind them, the man with the dark hair streaked with white, said something that made the others snort, and Noah laughed, his head tilting slightly back as the sound carried. It absolutely didnât match the man who had pressed a blade to your throat only hours earlier.
It was strange.
Stranger than anything else you had seen so far.
Because there was something undeniably sweet in the way they greeted him, in the way they touched him, spoke to him, stood around him without distance or hesitation, treating him like a brother and not like a leader.
You had imagined something else entirely.
Maybe the worst was yet to come.
âHave you all been behaving while I was gone?â Noah asked to the men he slung his arm around.
âAye, Captain,â the man replied with a little grin. âI kept them in line.â
You assumed he must be his second-in-command, or something like that, the one who handled things when Noah wasnât around.
You were still following them when Noah turned.
He broke away from them without saying anything, his arm slipping from his crewmateâs shoulders as he pivoted back toward you, closing the distance in a few easy strides, the ghost of that same amused expression still lingering on his face.
âSee?â he said, tilting his head just slightly as he came to a stop in front of you, his voice light, almost teasing. âA bunch of gentlemen.â
You stared at him, then at them.
One of them, probably one of the shortest, with short hair pushed back, caught your eye for half a second and gave you a small, almost curious nod before turning back to whatever he had been saying, another shoving someone lightly as laughter broke out again.
Slowly, your gaze returned to Noah.
âI think,â you said, âwe have very different definitions of that word.â
That only seemed to amuse him further.
âGive it time,â he replied, as if that settled anything at all, his mouth curving just enough to make it clear he knew exactly what you were thinking and found it entertaining. âYouâll come around.â
âI sincerely doubt that.â
He let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh, shaking his head just slightly as his gaze flicked past you for a moment.
âYou doubt a lot of things,â he said, almost absentmindedly. âHasnât stopped you so far.â
âThatâs because doubting something and being forced into it are two very different situations.â
âTold you,â he said again, âYouâre safe.â
âIâll decide that myself.â
âOf course you will. You seem to like doing that.â
You exhaled quietly, watching him for another second before your attention drifted past him again, toward the ship.
The Specter looked even larger up close, its dark hull towering slightly above you now that you stood at the edge of the shore. The white sails hung looser now in the absence of strong wind, shifting softly, and there was something about it, something undeniably imposing and alive, that made the smaller vessel you had arrived on feel insignificant in comparison.
âIâm evaluating my poor life choices,â you replied without looking at him.
He huffed a quiet laugh at that.
âBit late for that, donât you think?â
âNot really,â you said glancing back at him. âI still have time to regret everything.â
âI'm pretty sure you have been doing that for a while now.â
âThatâs because you gave me a lot to work with.â
He chuckled.
âCome on,â he said, jerking his head slightly toward the ship. âWe should get on before they start getting impatient.â
You reached the Specter in one of the smaller boats. Behind you, some of his men moved toward the ship you had stolen, to take barrels and anything else worth taking, but your attention was fixed ahead.
The Specter grew larger with every second.
By the time you climbed aboard, the sun was almost completely disappeared. The moment your boots touched the wood, the reality of it settled in: this was a pirate ship, and you were standing on it, surrounded by men (criminals) who didnât bother hiding their curiosity as their gazes shifted toward you, some openly, others more subtly.
You could feel it.
Beside you, Noah let out a quiet chuckle, as if he could read every thought crossing your mind, and before you could step further, his hand landed on your shoulder in a way that was just a little too rough to be comforting, more familiar than careful.
- content: a mix of fluff and a little angst, noah is an absolute angel
- warning: hints to poor mental health, but nothing major or direct
- wc: 602
a/n; based on this soft thot that i posted last week. i couldnt get the words for the original one-shot right i planned for at the time so i turned it into soft thots. i think i have what i originally wanted now tho, so here you go! hope you enjoy :)
"Hey, Noah?"
You whisper into the dark room, but for a second, he doesn't respond. Fearing that he's still asleepâ still catching up on what he lost during the tourâ you turn around to walk away. But a quiet voice calling you back catches your attention, so you stay.
"y/n?" his voice is low, as if he just woke up. "You okay?"
"I can't sleep." you answer.
"Come here."
The room is dark, but you can see him motioning you closer. You walk in, making your way to the empty side of the bed before climbing under the covers he held open for you.
"What's goin' on, hm?" he holds you close, a finger starting to trail a light pattern on your shoulder.
"My brain's tooâŚ" you pause for a second, trying to think of the right words to describe how you're feeling. "busy. Too much going on."
"Good or bad?"
"Hm?" you turn your head up to look at him, missing what he said as another thought whizzes around in your head.
"Are they good or bad?" he repeats, brushing a fallen hair behind your ear. "How do they make you feel?"
"I don't know." you huff gently, turning your head back down as you look to the foot of the bed. "There's too many of them, all at once. I can't tell what they are."
"Well, it must be bad if it keeps you up." he hums, his hand continuing to trace light patterns on your shoulder. "Good thoughts don't keep you up this late."
You want to respondâ to tell him he's right, or wrongâ but truthfully, you had no idea. All you could do was take his word for it, and just hope that he's right.
"Oh."
"Do you need a distraction, or do you wanna sleep?" he moves away a little, gauging your reaction as you think of what to say.
"That would be nice." your voice is quiet as you answer. "The distraction, I mean. It'll take my mind off things."
"Okay." he nods, bringing you close to him again. "Do you want to talk? Would that help?"
"It'd make it worse." you shake your head. "I don't even know what I would say."
"Do you want me to talk?"
You look up at him, then look away again, before giving a small 'yes'.
He talks about the recent tourâ the late night shenanigans on the bus, the times caleb joined him on stage, and the sheer amount of drumsticks Folio went through (and how much that cost them).
As the rambling continued on, his words began to fadeâ not because you were losing your concentration or began to dissociate, but the quietness of your mind slowly crept, the sleep following not long after.
Noah got halfway through his story about how someone scared him with President's stage mask before finally realising you were asleepâ the tired weight of your body on his, and the quiet snores coming from you becoming more apparent.
He leant down, giving a small kiss to your forehead as he wished you a goodnight, before cuddling in closer to get some sleep of his own.Â
Despite the disturbance in the middle of the night, he did not mind helping you sleep. To others, the consistency would annoy themâ this occurred almost every night, and started so long ago that neither of you remember how it even began. But to him, it meant the world to help you get some sleep, even at the sacrifice of his own. Even if you weren't 'together', he'd do everything he could to help you.
a/n; even after knowing what i wanted to write for this, it was still kinda hard </3
the 'boo writes noah hopelessly in love with reader even though theyre not together' schtick returns. i couldnt help myself with this one. i dont know what it is about writing fics where noah is like this, but i think i like watching a guy yearn >:) (although, maybe the kiss on the forehead was a little direct? or maybe theyre just very affectionate friends? idk bro. i know as much as you guys do, despite the fact i wrote this)
also!! tomodachi life living the dream is hilarious! i still need to transfer my pics/vids to my laptop (im being really lazy about it rn). i cant wait to show you when i (eventually) do that!!
anyways, not much yap for this week because i dont have much going on. i love you all so much, thank you for reading <33
Series summary: Stuck in a life you donât want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and thatâs how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.
Tw: some men being creeps, fire, fighting but nothing graphic, feeling pressured to get married
Series mastelist
That morning, you woke more tired than usual, as the first rays of sunlight filtered softly through your window. You tried to recall if you had dreamed something that might explain the feeling, but your mind offered nothing in return.
You didnât move for a while, staying beneath the linen sheets, your white nightdress loose against your skin, the pale fabric creased from restless hours.
Your chamber was as it always was, orderly and composed, its high ceilings framed with carved wood. The walls were dressed in soft ivory and pale blue, the colors chosen not by you, but for you. A vanity table was near the far wall, its surface neat and polished, a silver brush resting precisely where it had been placed the night before.
A wardrobe stood closed, its contents carefully arranged: corsets, gowns, fabrics chosen more for appearance than comfort, because sometimes a corset meant that even the simplest actions, like walking, breathing, or merely existing, became harder than they should be.
Everything was in its place. Everything was still inside.
But your gaze drifted, slowly, inevitably, toward the window.
The curtains had been left slightly parted, just enough for the morning light to slip through in thin, golden lines. Beyond them, the world stretched open and alive, because the port, that even at this hour, was already awake.
Ships stood anchored in the harbor, their tall masts cutting into the pale sky. Smaller boats moved between them, their oars dipping into the water, carrying goods, messages and people.
You could almost hear all its noise from here. The distant shouts of sailors. The dull thud of crates being unloaded. The call of gulls circling overhead, sharp and a bit annoying. Somewhere, faintly, the clang of metal against wood.
Life.
Messy. Loud. Unpredictable.
Free.
A thin line of sunlight caught the surface of the sea, scattering across it in fractured gold.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the sheet.
From here, it looked so close.
Close enough that you could trace the movement of the ships. Close enough that you could imagine, just for a moment, what it would feel like to stand there instead. To step onto one of the ships to leave.
But distance was a deceptive thing. Because between you and that water stood walls, expectations and promises that had been made long before you had any say in them.
Your eyes lingered on the horizon.
The moment didn't last long because a soft knock sounded at the door, gentle enough, and though it did not startle you, it pulled you back into the room all the same.
You let out a quiet breath before speaking.
âCome in.â
The handle slowly turned, and the door opened just enough to allow Mary to slip inside, closing it behind her with the same quiet precision. She carried a silver tray in both hands, its polished surface catching the morning light as she crossed the room toward you.
Mary had been part of the household for years, long enough that her presence no longer felt like that of a servant but rather part of the family, or at least, a friend. She was composed, always neatly presented, her dark hair pinned back beneath a modest cap, her dress simple yet impeccably kept.
She set the tray carefully on the small table beside your bed before turning to you, her hands folding neatly in front of her.
Breakfast.
It was, as always, more than necessary.
A porcelain teapot was still steaming faintly, accompanied by a matching cup and saucer; slices of fresh bread arranged with care, a small dish of butter set beside them; a pot of jam, and a plate of fruit.
You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, moving some stands of hair away from your face with your hand, your gaze flickering from the tray to her.
âMary,â you began with a little smile, âIâve told you before, I donât want breakfast in bed.â There was no sharpness in your tone, âI would rather have it at the table, when Iâm ready. With you.â
Mary did not look surprised. If anything, she seemed to have expected it.
âI know, miss,â she replied gently, her hands still clasped together, âyouâve said so many times.â
There was the faintest pause before she continued, choosing her words with care.
âBut a maid does not take breakfast with you.â
You exhaled softly, and before you could respond, however, Mary seemed to remember something.
âOh,â she added, her expression shifting ever so slightly, âa letter arrived for you this morning.â
Your attention returned to her immediately. âFrom whom?â
Mary smiled, because she knew you were always happy to receive letters from your friend. âFrom Rosaline.â
The moment the name left her lips, something in you shifted and you immediately felt lighter.
âRosaline!â you repeated.
Mary gave a small nod, as she reached into the pocket of her apron and carefully retrieved the letter, holding it out toward you.
You took it without hesitation.
The paper was slightly worn at the edges, marked by its journey. You had met Rosaline years ago, during one of your travels with your father, back when the world had still felt wide open, and your life had not yet been confined to the walls of Port Everleigh.
Your father had been an explorer, a man who belonged more to the sea than to any one place, and after your motherâs death, so early that you had no memory of her at all, you had become his only constant companion. Wherever his journeys took him, you followed. You had seen cities that did not sleep, markets overflowing with colors and voices you could barely understand, coastlines untouched and vast, stretching further than the eye could reach. You had learned early how to adapt, how to observe, how to read maps, calculate coordinates, and how to find wonder in the unfamiliar.
And then, there had been Saint Marlowe. It had not been your fatherâs destination, only a stop along the way, a place to resupply and to rest before continuing further across the sea.
The streets were alive, buildings rose in soft colors sun-faded by years of salt air, their windows open to let in the breeze, their balconies draped with fabrics that moved gently with the wind. Music could be heard at nearly any hour, drifting from open doors and crowded squares, blending with laughter and the murmur of conversation
Small shops lined the streets, like bakeries spilling the scent of fresh bread into the air, stalls crowded with fruit and spices, tailors and craftsmen working with their doors wide open as if inviting the world inside. Beyond the busier roads, nature was never far; narrow paths led to stretches of green, to gardens left to grow a little wild, and to cliffs where the land gave way to the sea, the horizon vast and untouched.
That was where you had met your friend.
Rosaline was your age, she had spoken easily, as though you had known each other for years rather than moments, and before long, she had taken it upon herself to show you the city.
You had stayed only a short time, as you always did, yet it had been enough to appreciate that beautiful land.
When you left, you had not expected to see her again.
But the letters had started not long after.
The letters had begun not long after you left Saint Marlowe, and somehow, despite the distance, despite the years that had passed, the two of you had never truly lost touch.
You unfolded the letter carefully, your eyes moving across the familiar handwriting.
Rosaline told you about a cat she had found wandering into her garden, and then spoke of a man she had met. She had known him for a week, no more, and yet she claimed to be madly in love with him.
You found yourself smiling a little more at that.
It was so like her.
You had not even reached the final lines when Maryâs voice broke gently through your thoughts.
âYou are to meet Sir Whitmore today, are you not?â
The words were not sharp, nor unkind, and yet you felt the warmth of the letter slipping through your fingers.
Your smile faded, though slowly, as your gaze lingered on the page for just a moment longer before you finally lowered it.
âYes,â you answered, your voice quieter now, more distant than before. âI am to go to him this afternoon.â
Mary watched you carefully, her expression unreadable for a brief second before she tilted her head slightly.
âAnd you are not pleased?â
You let out a breath that felt heavier than it should have, your fingers folding the letter with more care than necessary before setting it down beside you.
âPleased?â you repeated, you tone sharper now. âFor what, exactly?â
There was a pause, and then, more plainly...
âFor the prospect of marrying a man I do not love?â you continued, meeting her gaze now. âNo, Mary. I am not.â
Mary hesitated, as though weighing her response, before speaking again, her voice still gentle, though more insistent this time.
âBut he is the governor,â she said. âSir Whitmore is a man of standing, of wealth⌠of power. There are many who would consider such a matchââ
âA privilege?â you finished for her, a faint, humorless smile touching your lips.
She did not deny it.
You shook your head slightly, looking away for a moment, your gaze drifting back toward the window, toward the distant line of the sea that still called to you in ways you could not quite explain. You wanted to leave, you wanted to travel, to see the world again, to live.
âIt does not matter what he is,â you said after a moment, more quietly now, but no less certain. âIf I do not love him, I do not love him. And no amount of power or wealth will change that.â
Now, the silence felt heavier.
When Sir Edward Whitmore, the governor of the city, had first declared himself to you, you had not given him the answer everyone had expected. Instead, to the scandal of almost every person present, you had simply said that you would think about it, as though such a proposal could be weighed like any ordinary decision, as though your entire future were not meant to be decided in a single breath.
You had been told, again and again, how fortunate you were, how amazing it was for a man of such wealth and influence to choose you, how foolish it would be to refuse something so advantageous, as if love had ever been part of the equation they cared about. And so, in the days that followed, every voice around you had pressed the same conclusion into your ears, until even your doubts began to sound unreasonable, until refusal itself started to feel like defiance for its own sake. In the end, you had said yes.
And the moment you had, it had not felt like relief, but rather like something quietly closing around you, like a door shutting with no sound at all, leaving you standing on the wrong side of a life you had not chosen.
That afternoon, you prepared yourself with more care than you felt. A dress had been chosen for you in soft tones, neither too loud nor too plain, the fabric falling gracefully on you. The bodice was fitted but not uncomfortably tight, and the skirt flowed around you in gentle layers that moved with each step you took. Your hair had been carefully gathered and pinned back, the strands smoothed and braided before being secured in a simple, refined arrangement that left your neck exposed and your expression more composed than you felt inside.
You did not linger in front of the mirror longer than necessary.
When you arrived at Sir Whitmoreâs residence, you immediately recognized it. It stood larger than most, its stone façade was clean and framed by tall windows that reflected the afternoon light. The door was opened after only a brief pause, as though your arrival had been expected long before you reached it.
Then, Sir Whitmore appeared, dressed with precision, every detail of him carefully maintained, as though even a single misplaced thread would be an imperfection too great to allow. His coat was dark and finely tailored, his cravat tied with practiced elegance, and his gloves immaculate, though he removed one as he stepped forward to greet you. His posture was upright and controlled.
âSir Whitmore,â you greeted him politely, inclining your head.
A faint pause followed, as if he were unused to such formality from you.
âEdward,â he corrected smoothly, though not unkindly. âYou will be my wife soon enough. There is no need for titles between us.â
For a fleeting second, something sharp almost rose to your lips, something dangerously close to Donât remind me, but you swallowed it before it could take shape, the corners of your mouth tightening just slightly instead.
Instead, you only gave a small, controlled nod.
He stepped aside to let you in.
The interior of his home matched its exterior in every way, refined and expensive, filled with polished wood, soft carpets and clean furniture. You were guided into a sitting room where a low table had already been prepared, a fine porcelain tea set arranged neatly upon it.
A maid entered shortly after, carrying a tray, but as she poured the tea, her fingers trembled ever so slightly, the cup clinking faintly against its saucer.
Edwardâs gaze sharpened almost immediately.
âCareful,â he said, his tone low and cold, without raising his voice.
The maid flinched.
You, however, offered her a gentle nod as she finished, âThank you.â
Edwardâs attention returned to you as the tea was served properly, the silence between you settling again as the door closed behind the maid.
For a moment, there was only the quiet sound of porcelain.
âPreparations for the wedding will begin soon,â he said at last.
âIâve heard,â you replied.
His gaze lingered on you.
âIs there anything in particular you would like?â he asked. âFor the ceremony, the arrangements⌠anything at all.â
You hesitated only briefly, though not because you were considering possibilities, but because none of them truly mattered to you.
âNo,â you said at last, without much emotion. âI donât think so.â
Something flickered in his expression, subtle enough that most would not have noticed, but you did. Still, he said nothing.
Instead, your eyes drifted away from him, slowly taking in the room once more. And then your gaze caught on something that interrupted the symmetry of it all.
A large map of the world hung on one of the walls.
It was old enough to feel lived-in, yet carefully preserved, its surface marked with faint lines, ports, and distant lands.
âMay I look at it?â you asked, setting your teacup down with care.
Edward seemed momentarily surprised, as though the request were unexpected.
âMm⌠of course,â he replied after a brief pause.
You rose from your seat and moved toward the wall. Up close, the map was even more detailed, the continents marked, the seas filled with names and routes.
Edward followed you a few moments later, stopping just behind and slightly to your side, watching as your gaze traced across it.
Without thinking too much about it, you lifted a hand and pointed.
âI would like to go here,â you said, tracing a distant coastline far beyond the familiar routes of Port Everleigh. Then your hand shifted slightly, moving across the painted ocean. âAnd here.â
Edwardâs eyes followed your gesture, though his expression remained carefully neutral, as though he were observing something mildly unusual rather than genuinely intrigued.
You moved again, more certain now, your finger tapping different regions.
âI have been here,â you said, a faint softness entering your voice despite yourself. âIt was⌠very beautiful.â Your hand shifted once more, sliding across the map with less enthusiasm this time. âHere, though, there was not much worth remembering.â
Edward gave a small, almost absent nod.
âHm,â he murmured. âI suppose that is often the case with distant places. They rarely live up to expectation.â
It was not unkind, but it was detached. Still, you did not stop.
Your finger hovered over another stretch of sea, a place marked with fewer routes, fewer names, the ink lighter as though even the cartographer had been uncertain.
âI have never sailed through these waters,â you said.
âWell, those seas,â he said, after a brief pause, âare known to be infested with pirates.â
There was a quiet finality in his tone, as if that alone should end any further curiosity.
You turned your head slightly toward him.
âPirates?â you repeated.
A faint, humorless exhale left him.
âBrutal men,â he continued. âLawless. Violent. They take what they want and leave nothing but ruin behind them.â
You listened, and then, after a brief pause, you said quietly, âMaybe they simply want to be free.â
After a moment of silence, Edward let out a short laugh.
âYou think so?â he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you properly for the first time since you had begun speaking. âYou believe men who burn ships and rob the King just... want to be free?â
There was a faint edge of ridicule beneath his words now, and you decided it was better not to add anything else.
Then he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly.
âYou have spent too much time in the wrong places,â he said at last.
You didnât speak, and your eyes returned to the map instead, lingering on the sea.
When you got back home, the night came quietly as the hours passed and the last of the daylight faded completely from the sky.
You stood near the bed as Mary moved about the room, finishing the small, familiar tasks that marked the end of your day. The heavier layers of your dress had already been set aside, replaced by your simple nightdress, far more comfortable than anything you had worn that afternoon. Your hair, once carefully pinned and arranged, now fell freely down your back, loose strands brushing gently against your shoulders.
You preferred it this way, there was a relief in it.
Mary adjusted the covers before stepping back, her hands smoothing the fabric with care.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, glancing toward you, she asked, âWas it⌠a pleasant meeting with Sir Whitmore?â
There was something cautious in the way she said it, as though she already suspected the answer and yet hoped to be proven wrong.
You moved toward the bed, slipping beneath the covers without much thought, settling into the familiar space as you reached for the book resting on your bedside table.
âI wouldn't call it pleasant,â you replied.
Mary did not move.
âBe serious,â she said after a moment, her tone gentle but insistent.
You paused only briefly before opening the book, your eyes dropping to the page.
âI am,â you answered, just as simply.
The meeting had been exactly what it was meant to be.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Mary seemed to consider pressing further, but in the end, she did not. Instead, she gave a small nod to herself, as though accepting an answer, before stepping back toward the door.
âGood night, miss.â
âGood night, Mary.â
The door closed softly behind her, leaving you alone once more, and the room returned to silence.
You read for a while, though the words did not hold your attention as firmly as they usually might have. Your thoughts drifted too easily, slipping between the memory of the map, the echo of Edwardâs voice, and the letter still resting nearby.
After a few pages, you stopped.
The book lowered slightly in your hands as your gaze unfocused, lingering somewhere beyond the lines.
Then, with a quiet breath, you set it aside, and eventually, sleep came.
When you woke up hours later, you didnât fully understand what was happening at first.
The room was dark, just as it should have been in the middle of the night, but something felt off. It took you a few seconds to notice the faint light filtering through your curtains, a strange red-orange glow that usually wasn't there.
At first, still half asleep, you thought it might be a lamp left burning somewhere outside.
But then you heard the voices.
Loud, shouting, overlapping and panicked. Then a heavy crash, followed by something that sounded like wood breaking. Another shout, closer this time.
You were fully awake now.
You sat up quickly, pushing the covers aside before getting out of bed, the cold floor making you move faster as you crossed the room. The noise kept growing, clearer with every step and impossible to ignore.
Something was wrong.
You reached the window and pulled the curtains apart.
And froze.
A part of the port was on fire.
Flames spread across the docks, climbing up wooden structures and licking at the sides of some ships. Smoke filled the air, rising into the night sky. The light you had seen was coming from the fire itself, reflecting off the water in uneven, shifting patterns.
People were running everywhere.
Some were trying to carry things, others were just trying to get away. You could hear screams now, clearer than before, mixed with orders being shouted and the constant noise of things breaking, falling and burning.
And among the chaos, you saw men who were not trying to escape.
They moved fast, but not like the others. Not afraid.
Their clothes were rough and worn, nothing like the neat uniforms of guards, and different than merchants' clothes. Long coats, loose shirts, belts with weapons, heavy boots. Some had cloth tied around their heads or necks, others carried blades that caught the firelight as they moved.
And they were stealing.
Barrels passed from one to another, crates dragged away, anything of value grabbed without hesitation. A few of them were fighting, pushing people aside, striking when needed, clearing their way through the chaos.
Your gaze shifted further out, toward the center of the port.
There was a ship. Large, dark and still.
It stood out immediately, its hull almost black, its white sails visible even in the dim orange light, barely moving.
They were pirates. And they were attacking your port.
You remained by the window, unable to sleep after that, while everything outside fell into chaos, your hands resting against the frame.
Soon, you saw the guards arrive.
At first in small numbers, then more, their presence growing as the alarm spread through the city. Their uniforms stood out even in the firelight, their voices cutting through the noise as they tried to regain control.
You saw them fighting. Steel against steel, shouts turning sharper, more ordered, though never fully enough to match the chaos the pirates had brought with them.
And still, the pirates did not scatter immediately.
You watched them move back and forth between the docks and their ship, carrying barrels, crates, anything they could take, passing goods from one to another. They did not push deeper into the city, did not attempt to break past the port itself, and you were so glad of this.
Your home, standing where it did, would have been one of the first they reached.
Eventually, the balance began to shift.
There were too many guards.
You could see it in the way the movement changed, in the way the pirates no longer advanced but began to pull back instead. The last of the stolen goods were loaded onto the ship, ropes thrown, and by one, they began to retreat.
You watched as they made their way back aboard, climbing swiftly, disappearing into the dark shape of the vessel as it prepared to leave.
And then, something caught your attention.
A figure.
At first, you thought it was just another fight, another clash among many, but this one did not end the same way.
He was alone, the last one still on the dock.
Guards surrounded him from all sides, closing in, focused entirely on him. Even from this distance, you could tell he was fighting, holding them off as long as he could, moving with force and making it clear he had no intention of surrendering.
But there were too many.
One strike. Then another.
You saw him stagger.
Still, he did not go down immediately.
It took more, several guards pressing in at once, overwhelming him, forcing him back until finally, he collapsed under the weight of it all.
He stopped moving, and your breath caught slightly.
The ship did not wait.
As the last of the pirates climbed aboard, the ropes were cut loose, sails shifting as the vessel began to move, pulling away from the port.
Leaving him behind.
You watched as the guards approached his unmoving form, one of them crouching briefly before signaling to the others. They grabbed him, not gently, lifting him just enough to drag him across the dock.
Even from this distance, you could tell he was not dead.
Unconscious, perhaps, but alive.
His head fell forward as they moved him, dark hair slipping loose, not long enough to fully hide his face, yet enough, combined with the distance, the darkness, that you could not make out his features clearly.
You remained by the window as the chaos slowly faded, watching people work through the night to put out the fire and restore what they could. Buckets of water were passed, and the port gradually returned to something closer to what it used to look like. You did not move for hours, your gaze fixed outside as darkness gave way to the pale light of dawn, the flames replaced by morning sun. Only then did you realize you had spent the entire night there, standing in silence, watching everything fall apart and come back together again.
You fell asleep that early morning the moment you finally returned to bed, completely drained from the night spent awake at the window, your body giving in.
It did not last long.
A soft knock pulled you back to consciousness, followed almost immediately by Maryâs voice on the other side of the door.
âMiss, I am sorry to wake you, but Sir Whitmore is here and he wishes to see you.â
You sat up slowly, still exhausted. There was no space to refuse, no time to even properly gather your thoughts.
âCome in,â you answered.
Mary entered, closing the door gently behind her. The moment she saw you properly awake, she moved into action without delay, helping you wash and dress. Your hair was brushed and pinned back with care. As she worked, the two of you spoke about the events of the night.
âIt was terrifying,â Mary said quietly as she adjusted the fabric at your shoulders. âThe fire, the shouting⌠I thought the whole port would burn down.â
When you were finally ready, there was no time left to rest. Sir Whitmore was already waiting.
You found him in the sitting room, standing by one of the windows as though he had been there for some time. He turned as you entered, composed as always, dressed immaculately despite the early hour, as if nothing in the world could disturb his presentation.
âGood morning,â he said, stepping toward you. âI was passing through and wondered if you would accompany me for a walk.â
You stopped for a fraction of a second.
You were tired. You had not had your breakfast yet, had barely slept, and the last thing you wanted was a walk with him.
For a brief moment, you almost said it.
I would rather rest.
I would rather not see your face today or ever again.
I would rather not leave my bedroom.
But none of it left your lips.
âOf course,â you said instead. âLetâs go.â
Everything in the streets outside looked normal and walked beside him in silence for a while before he spoke again.
âHave you heard about the terrible events of last night?â he asked.
âI saw them,â you replied simply. âFrom my bedroom window.â
He gave a small, grave nod. âIt was fortunate there were no deaths. Considering the damage, we were lucky.â
You did not answer immediately, and he continued.
âEven more fortunate,â he added, âthat we managed to capture the captain of Bad Omens.â
You stopped walking for a fraction of a second.
The name struck something faintly familiar, though distant, like something you had heard years ago during one of your travels and never thought about again.
âBad Omens?â you repeated.
âA pretty.... famous pirate crew,â he said. âThey have been responsible for countless attacks along the coast in the last ten years. Ports raided, ships taken, entire cargos stolen. For years, we have tried to stop them.â
He exhaled lightly, almost satisfied.
âThey say their captain has escaped capture more times than we can count,â Edward went on. âBut not this time. The guards were prepared, and for once, everything went as it should.â
A faint, almost pleased smile touched his expression.
âNoah Sebastian is finally in our custody,â he said. âAnd he will rot in the prison of Port Everleigh.â
And that was exactly the moment the most reckless, unreasonable idea you had ever had took shape in your mind.
So absurd that, under any other circumstance, you would have dismissed it instantly. No proper young woman of your standing, raised well, promised in marriage to the governor of a city, would even allow herself to think such a thing, not even in jest, not even as a distant possibility.
And yet, the thought remained. And it was impossible to ignore.
Noah Sebastian.
A pirate. A criminal. A man you had never seen, never spoken to, who now sat somewhere in the city's prison, locked behind bars.
And somehow... he felt like your way out.
The idea made no sense. It was dangerous, illogical, and very likely impossible. You had no reason to believe it would work, no proof that he would even listen to you, let alone agree to anything you might offer.
And still, as you walked beside the man you were meant to marry, in a city that no longer resembled anything but a cage, it did not feel impossible.
It felt like an opportunity.
You could free him.
The thought alone should have terrified you.
Instead, you felt quiet sure about it, in that moment.
You could free him⌠and in return, he could take you away from all of this.
To Saint Marlowe.
To Rosaline.
To a life that had once felt out of reach, but now seemed suddenly and dangerously, possible again.
It was madness, and yet, as you continued walking beside Edward, listening to him speak about the wedding dress he had already chosen, and bought, without once asking for your opinion, it began to feel like the only thing that made sense.
Your responses came automatically, distant and polite, while your mind remained elsewhere, fixed on that single, crazy idea. At that moment, it felt like the closest thing to freedom you had. And if it failed⌠then it failed. You would die at the hands of a pirate, which did not seem much worse than living a life that was never truly yours. So, perhaps, it was worth trying.
So, that same afternoon, you returned to Edwardâs house under the pretense of a sudden idea, one that, under normal circumstances, might have even sounded convincing.
You told him you had seen dahlias at the market that morning, flowers you liked so much you thought they would be perfect for the centerpieces at your wedding, something elegant yet different, something that would make the tables stand out.
Edward had listened, then nodded.
âYes, that could be arranged,â he had said. âI will make a note of it.â
He mentioned his agenda, something he had been using to organize every detail of the ceremony, and excused himself to retrieve it, leaving you alone in the sitting room.
You smiled. You nodded.
And the moment he was out of sight, you were on your feet instantly, your steps silent against the carpet as you moved toward the cabinet in the corner. You barely hesitated before kneeling, pulling open the lowest drawer.
He had mentioned it once, and you remembered.
You searched quickly, your fingers brushing against papers, and some small objects, then metal.
You froze for half a second before pulling them free.
A heavy ring, holding a number of large, dark keys, cold against your skin.
You had found them.
Your heart was beating faster now, louder than it should have been, but there was no time to think about it. You slipped them beneath your corset, pressing them against your side, adjusting the fabric just enough to keep them hidden.
The pressure was immediate and uncomfortable.
The rigid shape of the keys dug into your skin beneath the already tight corset, making it harder to breathe than it had been before. You could already tell it would leave a bruise.
But it did not matter.
You pushed the drawer closed just as you heard his steps returning.
By the time Edward reentered the room, you were standing where you had been before, your expression composed, as though nothing had changed.
He glanced at you briefly before speaking again, already focused on the matter at hand.
You did not let him continue.
âEdward,â you said, just quickly enough to interrupt, your tone apologetic, âI have just remembered that I promised Mary I would help her with something important this afternoon. I truly must go.â
There was a brief pause, as though he had not expected that, but then he nodded.
âOf course,â he said. âSe you again soon.â
You gave him a small, polite smile, forcing yourself not to move too quickly as you reached for your coat, slipping it on like you usually did, despite the uncomfortable weight hidden beneath your corset.
Then, without giving yourself the chance to hesitate, you left.
You had stopped by home quickly, grabbed a jacket, slipped some gold jewelry into your pockets (things you could trade for money if you ever made it to your destination) and put on a pair of more comfortable boots. You had kept your dress and corset on, the keys still hidden inside, afraid that if anyone saw them, they would start asking questions.
The cityâs prison was smaller than you might have expected for a place of such importance, tucked between two older stone buildings. Its walls were thick and dark. There was a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bars, and narrow windows set too high to see through properly.
You reached it quickly, your breath slightly uneven from the pace you had kept, your heart still racing, not just from the run, but from everything you were about to do.
Two guards stood outside, just as expected.
One of them turned at the sound of your approach, confusion already forming on his face as he recognized you.
He was one of Edwardâs closest acquaintances, a man you had seen many times, though never for any reason that made him seem particularly competent. If anything, he was known more for his lack of awareness than anything else and he usually struggled with the simplest instructions.
And yet, somehow, he had ended up guarding the prison. Well, good for you.
âMiss?â he said, clearly caught off guard. âWhatââ
âHave you not heard?â you cut in immediately, as you stepped closer, not giving him time to think.
Both guards straightened.
âHeard what?â the other one asked.
âThe port,â you said quickly, breathless just enough to make it convincing. âIt has caught fire again.â
âWhat?â the first guard blinked. âAgain?â
You stared at them, as if the answer should have been obvious.
âWhat is it, is there a law that forbids the port from burning two days in a row?â you snapped, âOne of the ships is on fire! They need help!â
That was enough.
They exchanged a quick look, and then, almost at the same time, they moved.
âCome on,â one of them muttered, already turning.
Within seconds, they were gone.
You stood there for only a moment, listening to their footsteps fade, making sure they were far enough.
Then you turned.
Your hand moved quickly to the door, fingers tightening around the handle as you pushed it open and stepped inside before you could stop yourself.
The air felt different inside.
It was colder, heavier and it smelled of damp stone, rust and dirty men. The space was narrow, lit only by a few dim lanterns fixed along the walls.
Cells lined both sides, each one closed off by thick iron bars. Some were empty, others not. Chains hung in places, bolted into the stone, and the floor beneath your feet was uneven, marked by dirt and old stains.
One man was singing, loudly, and terribly off-key, his voice echoing in the place. Somewhere further down, another muttered to himself in a constant stream of words you couldnât quite make out. A third was asleep, or at least unconscious enough to be snoring heavily, the sound rising and falling in uneven rhythm. And somewhere to your right, two voices argued back and forth, mad and irritated, though neither seemed particularly interested in ending the dispute.
And then they noticed you.
The singing faltered first.
âWell nowââ someone drawled from behind the bars, his tone shifting immediately. âWhatâs a beauty like you doing down here?â
A low chuckle followed from another cell. âLost your way, sweetheart?â
âOr looking for company?â a third voice added, followed by a few scattered laughs.
âIf youâre staying, Iâve got spaceââ
âCome a little closer, love, donât be shyââ
âThatâs enough,â you said, trying to cut through them.
It didnât work.
If anything, it encouraged them.
âListen to thatâsheâs got a voice tooââ
âFiery one, arenât you?â
âCareful, I like thatââ
âEnough!â you snapped, louder this time, your voice echoing down the corridor.
That did it.
There was a quiet pause and you could finally speak without being immediately talked over.
âIâm looking for Noah Sebastian.â
There was a brief moment of silence.
Then, from somewhere further down talked. âThe last cell,â one of the men that was arguing said. âAll the way at the end.â
You didnât hesitate.
You moved forward again, your dress brushing dangerously close to the dirty floor as you passed each cell. You could feel their eyes on you as you walked, following your movement.
A whistle sounded behind you.
âGood luck with that one,â someone muttered.
You ignored them, and you reached the last cell at the end of the corridor.
He was there.
Sitting on the ground, his back resting against the cold stone wall, his head lowered just enough that his face remained hidden in shadow. Strands of dark hair fell forward, obscuring his features, though you could make out the outline of him in the dim, flickering light.
He look too calm for someone who had fought the way you had seen the night before.
A loose black shirt hung from his frame, the fabric worn and slightly open at the collar, revealing the faint lines of ink beneath. His trousers were darker, more fitted, tucked into boots that had clearly seen better days.
For a moment, you simply stood there.
Then...
âHave you come to see a pirate up close?â
His voice broke the silence before you could speak.
It wasnât what you had expected.
Rough, yes, and also tired, but not as low, not as heavy as you had imagined.
You straightened slightly.
âNo,â you said. âIâm here to make you an offer.â
There was a pause.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
And for the first time, you saw him.
The light from the corridor caught his face just enough to reveal it in pieces at first, his dark eyes, the shape of his lips softer than you had expected, and features that you had imagined to be much sharper than they actually were.
His expression was unreadable, though not uninterested.
He pushed himself to his feet in one smooth movement, brushing dust from his hands before stepping closer to the bars, his gaze never leaving you.
âInteresting,â he said.
Up close, you could see more.
You noticed the ink along his neck, dark lines disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. More across his hands, stretching over his fingers in patterns you couldnât fully make out in the dim light.
And something told you that the tattoos didnât stop there.
You noticed the faint trace of stubble along his jaw, with the slightest hint of a mustache that was almost softening his features.
His eyes moved over you, taking in the fabric of your dress and the small details that set you apart from everything around you.
âGo ahed, princess.â
âI can get you out of here,â you said quickly, âBut only if you agree to something for me in return.â
One of his brows lifted slightly.
âOh?â he said. âAnd what could you possibly want from me?â
âI want you to take me with you,â you replied. âOut of this city. To Saint Marlowe.â
There was a pause. Then, a quiet, short laugh.
âSaint Marlowe?â he repeated, almost like he couldnât quite believe what he had heard. âThatâs not exactly around the corner.â
âI know.â
âItâs on the other side of the world,â he went on, tilting his head slightly as he studied you, as if trying to understand whether you truly meant it. âThatâs not a quick trip. Thatâs months at sea. Maybe longer.â
You held his gaze.
âDo you want to be free or not?â
That seemed to amuse him more than anything else.
A faint smile touched his lips.
âYouâre fortunate,â he said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly. âI was already planning to head in that direction. There are islands not far from there I intend to pass by.â
âGood,â you said, almost immediately. âThen we have a deal. I get you out, and you take me to Saint Marlowe.â
You were expecting a confirmation, but instead he asked for your name. You hesitated for a second, almost thinking of lying, but then decided there was no point and told him. He replied, âNoah, but maybe theyâve already told you.â
After a moment, he spoke again.
âWell, now Iâm curious,â he said, leaning slightly closer to the bars. âHow exactly were you planning to get me out of here?â
You slipped a hand beneath your corset and pulled, the metal keys finally coming free as you drew them out, allowing yourself a deeper breath now that the pressure against your ribs had eased.
Another quiet laugh.
âKeys,â he murmured. âYou came prepared... How does a lady like you get her hands on the keys to a prison?â
âIâm the governorâs fiancĂŠe,â you replied.
That earned you a different reaction.
His head tilted slightly, studying you again, more carefully this time, as if reassessing everything he had thought about you.
âOh,â he said slowly. âWeâve got a rebellious princess, then.â
You frowned slightly at the word, but he didnât seem particularly concerned whether you liked it or not.
In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.
âA governorâs fiancĂŠe,â he repeated. His gaze flicked briefly to the keys in your hand, then back to you. âAnd here you are, sneaking into a prison to bargain with a pirate, wanting to commit a crime and sail across the world.â
A pause.
âYou donât look like someone whoâs ever done anything like this before,â he added. âNo offense.â
âNone taken. But i have traveled. I know the sea.â
âYouâre either very brave,â he said, âor very stupid.â
âWhich one do you think?â
He didnât hesitate.
âA bit of both,â he replied easily.
Despite yourself, something in that almost made you smile.
Almost.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
âAre you agreeing or not?â
He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled softly, like he had come to a decision.
âWell,â he said, straightening just a little, âI was going to rot in here otherwise, so...â
He gave a small, careless shrug.
âI suppose I can make room on my ship for one very determined princess.â
Then he slipped one hand through the bars, and extended it toward you. A couple of rings caught the dim light on his fingers, metal glinting softly against inked skin.
âWell?â he said quietly.
You didnât hesitate. You stepped closer and took his hand, shaking it for a brief moment.
His grip was firm, fingers rough against yours, his rings pressing lightly into your skin.
âYeah,â he said after a moment, shaking his head slightly as his hand left yours. âYouâre definitely going to regret this.â
âOpen the door,â he added then, nodding toward the lock. âLetâs find out how long it takes before you change your mind, princess.â
And what if he lets you? What if you tell him beg him to let you ride him, that you promise to make him cum if you do all the work (thatâs the condition)? And so he does, lying there with a hand propped behind his head, watching the way you desperately rock and grind your hips.
If you asked him, he would tell you that it feels amazing, incredible even, especially the way you tense around him each time you grind down, attempting to press his cock right to that sweet spot that sets you off, but he can also see your growing frustration, and that amuses him. You were so insistent on riding him, on not needing his help to get yourself off, and now heâs reaping the benefit of watching you struggle to push yourself over the edge. Thereâs not even a buck of his hips, he uses all his self restraint to stay still, instead basking in the way you work your tight, wet hole along his cock as it pulses inside you.
âPlease,â you whine. Nothing could sound sweeter, and even if it might be enough to make him give in under any other circumstances, a part of him wants nothing more than to tease and rile you up further.
Raising a brow in response, a smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. âYou said you wanted to ride me, is this all youâve got?â Itâs a taunt, followed by a flash of teeth as his grin spreads.
Thereâs an undeniable ache inside you. No matter how hard you roll your hips or grind yourself down against the cock stretching you, stroking along every inch of your sensitive, slick walls, nothing seems to be enough to push you over the edge. The coil in your belly grows tighter, straining with the need to snap. Euphoria sits right at your fingertips, and you know that with the slightest extra touch, youâd fall into it completely, feel it pulse through every inch of you the same way you feel him pulsing inside you.
For as cocky as he acts, he canât hide that part, you feel how he responds, how even a small squeeze makes his thighs flex beneath you as he fights the urge to thrust up. You know he wants to, and maybe, if you push him just enough, hit all the right buttons, heâll give you exactly what youâre chasing.
His head falls back, Adamâs apple bobbing as a low, restrained sound rumbles from his throat. His eyes close, and you take the chance to sneak a hand down between your bodies, hoping that with just a little extra help, you might finally find your release.
Itâs quick. He catches you instantly, eyes snapping open, and clicking his tongue in disapproval. âNo hands, remember?â A brow lifts again, this time paired with a firmer tone, the teasing edge replaced with something more commanding. âBack on me.â
You obey, placing your hands back on his shoulders, partly for balance, partly because he wants to keep you exactly where you are, teetering on the edge, denied the release you so desperately crave. You feel yourself growing slicker with every drag of him inside you, the wet sound between your bodies growing louder.
He hums under his breath, amused, satisfied, far too aware of the torment heâs putting you through, and enjoying every second of it.
âIs that all you can do, baby?â His voice drops, soft and coaxing, sending a ripple down your spine and between your thighs, only intensifying the ache.
âYesâŚâ you whisper, breathless, needy.
His gaze drifts over you, your chest rising and falling, listening to the way your breath stutters as you try to pick up your pace, only to falter the moment you get too close. He sees it clearly, you need more, you need him, and heâs determined to make you say it.
âLook at youâŚâ he croons. Your fingers flex against his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. âSo desperate to cum, but you canât⌠because you need me.â
A retort sits on the tip of your tongue, something bratty and defiant, but it dies there, caught between pride and the overwhelming need building inside you.
âSay itâŚâ he murmurs, smirking as he tilts his head. Your hips slow, your eyes locking onto his. âTell me you need me to make you cum.â
You huff, dragging your nails down his tatted chest, earning a sharp hiss as his muscles tense beneath your touch. You know heâs holding backâbarely.
âNo,â you snap, a stubborn edge to your voice, your mouth tilting upward in defiance. Bratty, exactly how he likes you.
His eyes darken slightly, a flash of excitement rousing behind them. âNo? Mm⌠I think someoneâs lying.â
You shake your head, refusing to break, even when he starts to roll his hips up into you. Especially then.
âYou donât need me?â he presses. âDonât need me to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress right now?â He leans forward, breaking his own rule, lips brushing along your collarbone and up your neck as his hands slide along your thighs, settling firmly at your hips.
âJust say it, baby,â he murmurs against your skin, voice low and coaxing. âTell me you need me to make you cum, and Iâll do it right now.â
Your resolve begins to crumble under the warmth of his mouth, the pressure inside you unbearable now, insistent, and impossible to ignore. You need it. You need him.
âI need youâŚâ you breathe, the last of your resistance slipping away.
âSay it again.â
Thereâs always a catch, but right now, you donât care.
âI need you to make me cum,â you whine softly.
He smirks against your skin, lips brushing your ear. âLouder.â
This time you make a meek attempt to beg, hips bucking against him, desperate, needy, proving your point in every frantic movement. Youâll give him whatever he wants if it means finally getting to cum. He makes you repeat it again and again, dragging it out until youâre begging, the words falling from your lips without hesitation, and only then does he finally give in.
Flipping you both over, his hands grip the back of your thighs, pulling you flush against him as he drives deeper, the shift forcing a moan from both of you.
âThatâs itâŚâ he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. âSee what a good little brat you can be.â
Any retort you might have is swallowed by his kiss as he finally fulfills his promise, drawing back and thrusting into you with a rhythm that steals your breath, forcing you to feed moans into his mouth as he keeps going, relentless, refusing to stop, even as your walls tighten and you cum around him.
All he craves is more, wanting nothing more than to keep going until youâre completely undone, creaming around him, until he has you filled, all while serving as an appropriate lesson; a reminder that youâre always going to need him to cum.
Chase Forever Down (With You Around) â Best Friends to Lovers â Noah Sebastian x Reader
Pairing: Best friend!Noah Sebastian x Reader
Summary: Being Noah's best friend means hiding your big fat crush on him for the sake of the friendship. That is, until the beginning of tour party, where maybe you can just say fuck it.
Warnings: explicit language, making out, cunnilingus, sex in a public bathroom, unprotected sex, simultaneous orgasms
Word Count: 6,491
Read on AO3
Notes: This is a gift/exchange fic for my sweet new friend @measuredingold! I have loved bonding over Bad Omens and having our daily chats. I hope you love this fic as much as I loved writing it!
âBehind!â You shout, gripping tightly onto the stack of boxes youâre lugging.Â
Theyâre filled to the brim with various pieces of merch and piled high. The few people in your way step aside as they desperately try to make room. You look comical, eyes barely peeking out as you crane your neck. You're probably racking up endless safety violations and blowing your back out, but this method has worked for the past nine years you've been doing this job, so there's no point in changing it up now.Â
Once upon a time, merch for Bad Omens consisted of you, a hand cart, and a dream. Now, you've got an entire crew of your own to manage a ridiculous amount of t-shirts, hats, and other various goodies. And even though there are more people and more responsibilities, your days feel the same as they did on your first tour.Â
You expected things to be different this time, especially given the size of the rooms the band is playing in. Hell, theyâre huge compared to the last tour, even. 1,500 capacity venues are something you all have become comfortable with, but 20,000? All those people in hockey arenas just to see a silly little band that all your closest friends are in? It feels unbelievable, especially when you say it out loud.Â
Even though there are more fans and bigger venues, youâre still plopping boxes down in piles and counting shirts like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Slinging merch became your career path practically by force. When Bad Omens first began touring, your best friend, Noah, didnât know anyone else with enough experience. The last thing he wanted was to hand money to someone who could barely count. At the time, you had a few years at Hot Topic under your belt, so to him, it only made sense.Â
The rest is fucking history. Somehow, your job is to travel all over the world, sell shirts and socks to twenty-somethings, and sleep on a bus. Reality is weird sometimes.Â
Today is the first day of this monstrosity of a tour. And while you'd normally be already setting up at the venue, youâre occupied somewhere else for now.Â
Noahâs newest idea is a pop-up shop featuring exclusive pieces available only here, at this storefront rented to the band for the day. So all of the boxes surrounding you arenât even half of the stuff youâre managing, considering the rest is for the actual merch booths at the show.Â
The pop-up wonât open for a few more hours, but the line outside grows longer and more impatient with every passing minute. You can hear fans just behind the locked front door talking softly amongst themselves. Anticipation builds higher for them and for you. While you know there are always hiccups this early on, you want it to be as perfect as possible.Â
You plop the boxes down to create new stacks, organizing by the size scribbled in Sharpie on the tops and sidesâsomething you did days before to make this part easier. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that idea as you swivel on your heels to continue working.Â
Instead of walking forward, back through the curtains, you bump into somethingâno, someone. A hard chest that feels far too familiar. You lift your chin, eyebrows creased with confusion.Â
âWhat theââ
Noah looks down at you with a full-tooth smile, a black hat covering his grown-out hair, and a slight tilt of his head. Heâs like a curious puppy, interested in your reaction. Your body relaxes as recognition takes over. You didnât expect him to show up here, especially not with how many fans lurk just outside the makeshift storefront. Hell, itâs a mystery how he even got inside undetected. Did the Superman baseball cap trick actually work?Â
You step back instinctively, putting some semblance of space between your bodies, which feels impossible with the number of boxes directly at your heels. Being that physically close to Noah is a long, windy road you donât want to go down this tour.Â
Heâs your friendâyour best friend, at that. You love him to pieces. Thereâs not a single person in this world who comes close to where he sits in your heart. And thatâs the issue. Itâs a really big, 6-foot-3-inch-tall, incredibly hot problem.Â
Somewhere along the way, you developed a crush on Noah. Maybe it was early on when you were crammed in a tiny sprinter van, using his bony shoulder as a pillow. It could have been more recent, though. Maybe their first full headlining tour or even that show they played with Linkin Park, where you cried during their entire set. You donât know. It doesnât really matter.Â
Itâs not something you can ever act on. So, you steel yourself and keep going as if you didnât just get an intense whiff of his cologneâvanilla, citrus, and ash. Yeah, you want to bury your fucking nose in the crook of his neck, but whatever.
âWhat are you doing here?â You murmur, eyes darting around the room as if anyone here would freak out being in his presence.Â
Noah smirks, shrugging nonchalantly when you finally look at him again. âDavis is being a perfectionist, so I told him I'd tag along and make sure everything is right for the first day.â
Yeah okay. You donât believe that shit for a second. Noah has a specific vision for the layout and execution of the pop-up. And as per usual, he's pretending not to be a diva about it.Â
âDon't lie,â you snort, narrowing your eyes. âYou were worried we were going fuck the setup.â
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. âI didnât say that!âÂ
âI can see it in your body language,â you snort. âYouâve got that nervous little shoulder hunch going on.â
âI do not.â Heâs suddenly standing two inches taller.Â
âHonestly,â you start, crossing your arms over your chest. Your muscles are sore from hauling all those boxes, but it feels good to stretch them out. âIâm insulted that you thought I couldnât handle a little one-day storefront.â
âI think you can handle it just fine,â he says, leaning forward for emphasis as he starts to whisper. âI just donât know what to expect from everyone else.â
âI hand-picked the entire merch crew. Donât you trust me?â
It took you close to a month to find people because you were being picky, choosing only from a small pool of people youâd already worked with. Most people you reached out to jumped at the chance to work for Bad Omens. Others already had tours booked for the same time. Regardless, you only chose the best of the best. Noah has nothing to worry about.Â
He fixes his posture for the second time in this five-minute conversation. Except now, thereâs a seriousness lingering in his dark brown irises.Â
âOf course I do,â he states.Â
âThen I think weâll be fine without our boss lingering around.â
âDonât call me that,â he shudders as his nose crinkles. âSounds weird coming from you.âÂ
Your stomach twists. This is the part where he calls you his sister and makes you want to puke. You know this because it happens every single time, like heâs purposefully trying to remind you of your place.Â
You throw your arms up in surrender, desperate to cut him off before he has a chance to break your heart. âAlright, alright! Go micromanage someone else.â
You walk, turning your shoulder to get past him. He reaches out, gently places a hand on your arm, and pivots you to look at him again.Â
âI came to check on you, asshole,â he blurts out like this level of honesty is the hardest thing heâll do all day.Â
As the two of you have gotten older, Noah has lost most of the softness in his features. When you first met, he had chubby cheeks, noodle arms, and an awkwardness that seeped into nearly every part of his personality. He talked softly, walked with his head down. There was no authority to him, no intimidation. He was your gentle giant. Little by little, that changed. It felt like you blinked and he became someone completely different. A hard-cut jaw, pointed features, muscles for days. Suddenly, he spoke with authority, with a deeper voice that made you swoon. You thought it would be easy to adjust, to make room for the new Noah. But then he cut his hair. You never believed that hair held memories until the first day you saw him without his long locks that you were so used to running your hands through. Since then, itâs felt like every moment you shared as young adults is gone, taken away by sharp scissors.Â
You donât feel like youâve changed at all. Youâre still the same girl wearing band t-shirts you cropped yourself and out-of-style skinny jeans. Youâre still the same girl blindly following Noah around and doing all the crazy things he comes up with. You're still the same girl who is hopelessly in love with him.Â
And even now, as you stare at him with wide eyes and take in the way his jaw ticks, you feel completely blindsided by him. This random confession from him is too fucking much. The only normal thing about it is his use of an insult.Â
âIâm fine,â you murmur, pulling your arm out of his grasp. âWhy wouldnât I be?âÂ
âYou always get anxious on the first day,â he whispers. You don't mind if people hear him, but it's considerate of him to try to keep it private.Â
And he's right. You always do. You instantly think back to every single time you threw up or had a panic attack at the start of a tour. The first time you ever worked for Bad Omens, you spent thirty minutes in a dingy, incredibly dirty bathroom puking your guts out. The guys never let you live it down, especially because it happened a few times. One time, you had such a bad panic attack that the venueâs medics made you sit in their designated area and get checked out. It's always embarrassing, and you don't want it to happen again.Â
Youâve gotten better at keeping yourself calm. Plus, you're so focused on working hard to get this right that you donât even feel any nerves right now. Â
Forcing a smile, you reach out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. âIâm fine.â
Repeating the words makes your statement less believable. Noah stares at you, eyes tracing over your face. Joke's on him. Youâre way better at lying than he is. Hell, youâve been keeping a secret for years.
âOkay,â he nods. âYouâll be there tonight, right? Youâre not going to hide away in your hotel room?âÂ
By there, he means the start-of-tour party. It's a tradition that was once just the group of you getting drunk in the van and has now morphed into crew and industry professionals sipping wine and talking softly.Â
Youâve been staying at the bandâs designated hotel for two days now, opting to fly in early to sign off on merchandise orders, approve the rental space, and get your ducks in a row. You also have had plenty of time to curl up under the pristine white sheets and mentally prepare for the next month. Itâs fine. Everything is perfectly fucking fine.Â
You drop your hand, rub it absentmindedly against your jeans, and flash Noah something between a smile and a grimace.Â
âIâll be there.âÂ
~~~
Five minutes into this party and youâre already staring longingly at the exit. Promising Noah youâd be here was a big mistake.Â
Matt worked with management to have the hotelâs bar reserved for the night. Itâs massive and really extravagant. The dimmed lights donât hide the bright white walls trimmed in gold or the deep emerald green of the chairs and booths. The bartops are a cool gray concrete that makes you snort at the sight of them.Â
The partyâs attendees stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in all black and covered in tattoos. The hotel staff is friendly enough, even though you surely aren't their typical customers. None of you belong here, and it's funny to think that someone attached to the band has enough money for an open bar at a place like this.Â
You scan the room as you lean against the counter and sip on a glass of lemon water. Everyone is already here, and most are familiar faces. At this point, more than half of these people are far more your family than any of your blood relatives. The few new faces are refreshing to see, holding their drinks close to their chests and keeping to themselves.Â
Your closest friends are in a huddle, standing together and chatting casually. You immediately notice that one particular person is missing, but you try not to think about it as you watch them laugh and sip their drinks. Folio has a beer while Jollyâs nursing a glass of somethingâbourbon maybe? They all look freshly showered and somewhat comfortable, opting for dress pants and t-shirts. They didnât pass along the memo because youâre in a dress. It's black and simple, nothing flashy or crazy, but you still feel out of place. Your free hand tugs at the hem, attempting to pull it further down your thighs.Â
âNo alcohol for you tonight?â A voice made of sweet honey breaks you out of your concentration.Â
After your quick moment with Noah at the pop-up, you barely saw him for the rest of the day. Once you could trust your staff with the checkout line, you headed to the venue to check on the merch booths and make sure they were set up correctly. You did inventory, spoke with the venueâs merch manager, and even found some time to answer emails. Most of it went smoothly, but you were busy. And so was Noah. You didnât even get to wish him good luck before Bad Omensâ set. You just had to sneak away and watch part of it from the sound booth.Â
It's bittersweet, this growth, this level of success. Back in the good old days, you would put out a cardboard sign that read, "Go watch the set with me and buy a shirt after!â and then you'd catch the bandâs performance from side-stage. You'd mess with Noah in between songs, hand him water or beer or whatever else you had on hand. Now, you feel so far away. You can't reach out and grab hold anymore. There's so much space between you.Â
Not seeing him all day means you've had plenty of time to stew. To think long and fucking hard about his earlier actions, the way he looked at you with a concerned softness that made you melt. You know he cares about you. Fuck, you know he loves you. It's just not exactly in the way you've always hoped for.Â
Thinking about it now makes you feel stupid. How did you let yourself fall for someone who could never feel the same? Your blood boils as you turn to face Noah.Â
âNo vocal rest for you?â You bite back with a grin.Â
When you see him, the air is knocked right out of your lungs along with your smirk off your face. He's in a new jacket. It's somewhat denim blue, almost grey in this light, but not quite. Silver grommets and buckles adorn the collar, and it ends right at his waist, hugging him in all the right places. A mental image of him wearing it will be burned into your brain for the rest of your sad life. Heâs paired it with a simple black t-shirt underneath, black dress pants, and black boots.Â
If he notices you gawking, he doesn't show it. He just quirks an eyebrow.Â
âWhy would I go on vocal rest when everyone's here to talk to me?â
âOh wow. Someoneâs got a big head.â You roll your eyes as you search open-mouthed for the straw of your drink, and take a sip when you find it.Â
âThatâs what they tell me.â
You sputter, eyes widening while you cough up your water all over the front of your dress.Â
Noah cackles as he reaches over the bar for a stack of napkins, haphazardly pressing them to the spot in an attempt to help. Heâs only making it so much worse as his hands push firmly against your breasts. You stammer backward, pressing yourself against the counter.Â
âIâm good,â you squeak as you take the napkins from him. âIâve got it.â
âYou sure?â He asks, still laughing.Â
âYou just surprised me.â
âI can still do that after ten years?âÂ
He takes a step back, tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and rocks on his heels slightly. Itâs a habit from the past, something he used to do when he felt uncomfortable. Itâs one of the many things you picked up on over the years that instantly gave away his mood. Maybe he has changed as much as you thought.Â
âYou don't even know half of it,â you say as you blow out an exaggerated breath.Â
âWhat?â Noah blinks.
You wave him off. âNothing.âÂ
âDon't be like that,â he tuts, rolling his eyes. âYou're being weird. Just tell me.â
Your blood boils. How dare he call you weird when heâs the reason youâre on edge?Â
âCan you stop?â You snap.Â
Noah recoils, his entire body curling inwards like he just pressed his palm against a burning hot stovetop. He opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it. You know he doesnât want to push you any further.Â
âYou justââ you straighten up. âYou're impossible, you know that?â
âI havenât done anything,â he murmurs, voice full of confusion and something elseâpain maybe. Did you hurt him with your attempt to put up your walls? Has he seen right through it?Â
Youâre mad, pissed even. He hasnât done anything? For the past ten years, heâs made you fall in love with him. Heâs kept you at armâs length, turned you into the most loyal best friend, and made you feel so utterly helpless every time he has flashed a genuine smile your way. Fuck, thereâs a laundry list of things you can blame him for. How can he not see what he has done to you?Â
âAre you okay?â He asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.
You slam your drink down on the bar behind you and step close to him, putting all your weight on your toes to meet his eye. Damn him for being so fucking tall.Â
âYou came to the pop-up even though there were hundreds of fans outside just to make sure I wasnât having a panic attack. And Iâve been thinking about it all fucking day.â
âIs it?â You challenge. âBecause thatâs what I keep telling myself. That it was just you being nice. That you would have done it for anyone on the crew. And yet, no matter what I do, my brain reminds me that it could mean something else. Something more.âÂ
Noahâs lips press into a thin line, and you swear, if you squint, you can see sweat beading at his hairline. He doesnât speak. He wouldnât dare. So you keep going.
âBut I think that thereâs no way there could be something more. Because you constantly remind me that Iâm just your friend. That it would be gross to see me any other way. And it just sucks, Noah. You know that? It really fucking sucks.â
âWhy?â He croaks.Â
âWhy what?âÂ
âWhy does it suck?â
You laugh. Actually, itâs more of a cackle. Itâs filled with anger, frustration, and years of a crush that come tumbling out as you throw your head up and stare at the ornately decorated ceiling.Â
âDonât fucking laugh,â Noah spits. When you point your chin down and look at him, you can see pieces of his facade cracking. His lips are downturned in the slightest pout, eyebrows furrowed, body completely still.
âYou know why it sucks. You just want me to admit it,â you whisper.
âI'm trying to understand.âÂ
You feel like an animal backed into a corner, ears pointed inward, and tail down between your legs. You know the blame can't be on Noah when you've put yourself here. But now you have to admit a secret you never thought would see the light of day. You donât really have a choice. He's already watching you fall apart at the seams. Thereâs no way he doesnât know something.Â
âEvery time you do something nice for me, it just makes me fall more and more in love with you.â
And there it is. Out in the open, evaporating into the stale air. This is absolutely not where you expected to say it, but it tumbled out, and now it's done. There's no going back.Â
Noah's face morphs, dozens of emotions wiping over his features. He lands on something that makes your heart break: indifference. His lips curl, and his eyes almost look vacant, like he's trying to find it within himself to care. You want to throw up. No, you want to bang on his chest and scream in his face. Say something. Please. Just let me down gently.Â
When he doesn't move an inch or mutter even a sound, you decide you can't stand here any longer. You shake your head and stammer forward, shoulder colliding with Noah's as you walk past him and through the doors. You frantically search for the bathroom, practically running into it when you finally see the sign.Â
You don't head for a stall. Instead, you clutch the sink, knuckles going white instantly. Tears cloud your vision as you stare down at the granite countertops.Â
What have you done? You're going to lose your best friend over some stupid crush. Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself?Â
You squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself cry. At least for a few minutes. Time blurs.Â
After a small pity party, you pick your head up to check out your reflection in the mirror. Except you're not alone. The most familiar silhouette, one you could recognize in the pitch-black darkness, stares back at you from the entryway. Noah. He's not wearing the jacket anymore, as if your words made his skin too warm.Â
âYou can't be in here,â you say as you turn around to face him.Â
âI don't care.â
âWell, I do,â you sniffle, stepping forward and putting your hands on him. One goes to his chest while the other grips his shoulder. You push and shove, but he doesn't budge. âSomeone could see you.â
âLet them.â
âNoah, please, just go.â
âNo,â he says sternly, like it's that easy. Plain and simple. Like your entire life doesn't depend on how delicately you handle this.Â
âNo?â You repeat. âWhy do you have to be so difficult?â
âWhy did you say that you love me and then run off?â
You bristle, straightening out your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. Even though your hands arenât on him anymore, you can still feel his warmth sizzling against your fingertips.Â
âI shouldnât have even told you.â
âWell, you did,â Noah says with a huff. âI just want to understand.â
He's already said that once this evening, but it hurts more to hear it a second time.Â
âWhat is there to understand? You donât love me back, and I have to find a way to live with that.â
Noahâs shoulders slouch as if thereâs too much weight bearing down on them, as if your admission is far too heavy. Now that youâre really looking at him, thereâs so much pain etched into his face that it makes your heart ache.Â
âOf course I love you,â he whispers.
âI know, Noah. As a friend. You don't have to remind me.â
âWhen did I say that?â He asks, throwing his hands up.Â
âYou say it all the time! You call me your sister or say that youâll always see me as your best friend. And trust me, itâs fine. Iâve learned to live with it. I understand.âÂ
âNo, you donât understand anything,â he laughs coldly.Â
You blink. âExcuse me?â
âYouâve spent all this time deciding how I feel and not letting me get a word in. If you had let me, I wouldâve already told you.â
Your body goes cold. âTold me what?â
Noah steps forward hesitantly. In the sterile white light of the bathroom, you can see the dimensions of colors in his irises. They're no longer dark brown. No, they're ivory and honey and ember. They're almost as beautiful as he is. And right now, he looks practically ethereal with a softness to his face that reminds you of ten years ago.Â
âThat I feel the same way. That I love you too, that for the past ten years, Iâve wanted nothing more than to kiss that look off your face.âÂ
This cannot be happening. You're dreaming. You fell and hit your head, and this is a hallucination. There's no fucking way Noah feels the same way you do.Â
You open your mouth, promptly close it, then open it again. You're fucking speechless. You probably look like a fish out of water.Â
âAll ten years?â You finally whisper.Â
Noahâs eyes go half-lidded, and he lets out a soft chuckle. âThatâs the part you're holding onto?â
No, you're holding onto all of it. In fact, youâre never going to let this moment go.Â
âI justâŚâ You swallow hard. âI don't believe you.â
It's the cold, hard truth, but it stings coming up your throat.Â
Noah softens. All of him. His eyes turn into round saucers, mouth parting open on a sharp, steadying inhale, and shoulders rounding out.Â
âNo?â He asks.Â
You don't speak. You just shake your head. He takes the opportunity to step closer until your bodies are mere inches apart. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, instantly warming your entire body. You didn't even realize you were shivering. One thumb reaches up and brushes away a few stray tears.Â
âI have loved you since the day I met you. And I know how fucking cheesy that sounds, but I donât care. Itâs true. I have spent every day since trying to change how I feel, but no matter what I do, it doesnât go away, doesnât change. If anything, Iâm just falling harder.â
âWhy havenât you said anything?â you murmur.
âFor the same reason as you, probably. Because I was scared. Because I didnât want to lose you. Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life, right beside the band. I thought I could lie and pretend my feelings away for the sake of keeping you in my life and not overcomplicating things. But I just fucking canât. I love you.âÂ
âNoahâŚâÂ
âI know,â he hums, offering you a lopsided smile. âIt took us a long time, huh?âÂ
You should answer him, tell him all about when your feelings started, and laugh about this. But you donât. Instead, you snake your arms around his, grab his face with both your shaking hands, and kiss him. Hard.Â
He freezes, body locking up and eyes widening, but only for a second, just long enough for him to realize whatâs happening. When he does, he drops his hands from your face and snakes them around your waist, kissing you back with an intensity that almost knocks you off your feet. The moment your lips press against his, fireworks light in your stomach and take off in your chest, leaving sparks to fizzle out in your throat.Â
Before you can relax into it, Noahâs already moving, lifting you off your feet by his grip on your hips. Your eyes widen, and you scramble, throwing your hands out to your sides. They meet cold, slightly wet granite.Â
âWhat are you doing?â You ask breathlessly.Â
âMaking you closer to my height,â Noah explains, sliding you further onto the counter.Â
âWe canât do this here!â You look around, eyes wildly searching the bathroom for any signs of other people. Thereâs no door to listen out for since this is a fancy hotel with an open corridor that leads straight in. âLetâs go back to my room.â
Your room is on the fifth floor, and from what you understand, itâs far enough away from most of the crewâs rooms that sex noises wonât raise any suspicions. Youâre not really one to hook up with people while on tour, but Noah has a distinct enough voice that anyone who knows him will be able to point him out immediately.Â
âNo,â he says simply, stepping even closer to you. His body presses against the edge of the counter, and he forces your dangling legs apart to slide in between them. Leaning forward, his mouth presses against your neck, peppering it with kisses.Â
You squirm in a feeble attempt to push him off, but itâs no use. Heâs much bigger than you, and heâs on a mission.Â
âNoah,â you whimper.Â
âI want you now,â he growls, voice low, rough, and full of need.Â
It makes you shiver and ultimately, give in, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to your mouth. He kisses you back hungrily, tongue pushing against your lips to force your mouth open. You oblige, letting him in with a heady whine. His tongue explores, tracing over your teeth before it dances with your own tongue, fighting for control.Â
You donât expect to win. Youâve known Noah for ten years, and everything about him has always screamed dominant and controlling until now. He yields for you, melting into the kiss, letting your tongue push against his.Â
You pull back, chest heaving.
âYou want me now?â you ask, repeating his earlier words. He looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and glazed over.Â
âSo fucking badly,â he answers.Â
âThen take me. Right here.â He moves, leaning in to take your mouth again. You tut teasingly, putting a hand on his chest to push him back. âOh no, big boy. If youâre going to make our first time be in a bathroom, youâre going to do it my way. On your knees.âÂ
Noah blinks, sucking in a surprised breath, but he listens just as well as you expect him to. He looks breathtaking on his knees, his gaze up at you, awaiting further instructions. You smile softly at him and press your palms against the countertops to slide forward. With how tall Noah is, he lines up perfectly with where you want him.Â
An hour ago, you felt out of place in your dress. Now, youâre thankful you decided to wear it as you hike it up over your hips. Your panties are on full display now. Theyâre simple, a black and lacy thong.Â
Noah lets out a hungry groan at the sight. âFuck, baby.âÂ
You flash him a sinister smile as you shimmy the panties off your hips and down your legs. Noah moves before you can say anything, practically ripping them out of your hand and shoving them into the pocket of his dress pants.Â
You raise an eyebrow at him. âDid I say you could keep those?â
âTry to take them from me,â he challenges with a tilt of his head.
You laugh, pointing your chin up toward the ceiling for a moment before looking back down at him.Â
You never thought youâd be here: propped up next to an expensive sink in a public hotel bathroom with Noah, of all people, on his knees, seconds from worshipping you.Â
âYou want to waste time playing around?â You ask. âOr do you want to taste me?âÂ
Pure greed flashes in his eyes. He doesnât answer, simply because he doesnât need to. You both already know how he feels. Instead, he leans forward, places a hand on each of your inner thighs for leverage, and feasts. His tongue presses flat against your folds and laps at them repeatedly, humming low in his throat like youâre the most delicious thing heâs ever tasted. You throw your head back, eyes s queezing shut as pleasure wracks through your veins. Noah focuses his efforts, moving his mouth to surround your clit. He flicks at it with his tongue, and you jolt, body sliding forward. You didnât know shiny, pristine granite could be so slippery. You feel the pulsing pleasure for only a moment before Noah wraps his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks at it, changing the sensation to something completely all-consuming. Your mind swirls, body tensing.Â
You want to savor this, live in this moment for as long as you can. But the reality of where you are means you donât have much time. You snake your hands through Noahâs hair and tug. He looks up at you, mouth hanging open and chin glistening with your juices. God, he looks so fucking hot like this, on his knees for you.Â
âFuck me, pretty boy,â you demand as you drop your hands.Â
He scrambles off his knees and back to his feet, already working at his belt. He barely pushes his pants down his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. In any other circumstance, youâd laugh at how ridiculous he looks. But right now, you donât care because youâre too busy staring at his hard cock, thick and long and absolutely perfect.
Living in vans and buses with him means youâve inevitably seen it before, but this is different. This is all for you.Â
Noah grabs at your hip with one hand and pulls you further off the counter, using his other hand to position his cock against your entrance. He inhales just as he pushes in, exhaling the moment he feels your tight pussy clench around him. The stretch feels immaculate, the slightest sting radiating through your core, making you hiss. Noah shushing you lovingly as he finds a rhythm.Â
Itâs fast, messy, and desperate, like heâs making up for lost time. You always imagined your first time with Noah to be passionate, slow, and full of love, which is the total opposite of what youâre experiencing. Well, except for the love. Right now, itâs tangible. You canât even begin to question if he feels the same way because it shows in the way heâs holding onto you tightly and watching you intently, like youâre going to disappear if he so much as blinks.Â
The pace is punishing. Noahâs cock drives into you over and over again, winding you up with every thrust. Youâre unraveling, and you know he is too. One of your hands grips his back, fingernails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The other slides down between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing fast circles into it. You whine, but it mixes with Noahâs own moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.Â
âGod,â he groans, lust-filled eyes meeting yours. âYou feel perfect.â
The compliment sends a wave of heat over you, starting at your toes and focusing on your center. It makes you clench again, resulting in Noahâs rhythm stuttering. You giggle, getting a devious little idea to move your hips and match his pace. Your bodies writhe in tandem, meeting in wet squelches that echo and bounce off the white-tiled walls. Youâre not even trying to be quiet. And honestly? Youâre surprised no one has come in and gotten you two in trouble. Maybe the noises are whatâs keeping them all away.Â
Noah tenses, forcing your focus back to him.Â
âAre you close?â You ask breathlessly.Â
âMhm,â he hums. âAre you?âÂ
God, are you? Your body is practically screaming for it as your toes curl and your skin tingles.Â
âYeah,â you nod as you pick up the pace of your fingers against your clit. âCum for me, sweet boy. Show me just how much you love me.â
And he does. Noah groans, heady and loud. His body strains for a moment, going completely straight, before he collapses, practically toppling over. You can feel his cock twitch as his cum pumps inside of you.Â
And thatâs what sends you over the edge. You lean forward, head knocking against his as your muscles lock together. Usually, itâs a gradual feeling. This time, it happens all at once, crashing over you in a wave of pleasure that pulls you under and leaves you a whimpering mess.Â
Noah takes his time and lets you settle back down before pulling out. You feel so empty when heâs gone, and you realize just how fucked you truly are. Now that you know how good this is, youâre going to be all over him, begging for it every single day. You donât know how youâre going to get through this tour.Â
Noah steps back to give you space as he pulls his pants back up and tucks his spent cock into them. You slide off the countertop, and your legs wobble as you feel like a baby deer, struggling to find your balance. For a moment, you and Noah stare at each other, soaking in the reality of what just happened.
Itâs Noahâs giggles that break the silence. He sounds downright giddy, using a hand to cover his mouth and stifle it.Â
âI love you,â he declares again. God, youâre never going to get tired of hearing him say that.Â
âI love you too,â you murmur, unable to hide the smile that pulls all the way to your eyes and makes the corners of them crinkle. Â
âIâll leave first,â he says as he fixes his clothes, pulling his shirt down to straighten it out.
âOkay,â you breathe.Â
Noah pauses, taking in the sight of you, properly fucked and completely in love. He blows out a breath as he shakes his head like he canât quite believe that you feel the same.Â
âMeet me at your room in ten minutes,â he instructs. You nod in agreement before he turns on his heels and strolls on out.Â
You watch him leave, eyes focused on his broad shoulders until he disappears from your line of sight. Then, you take a second to compose yourself, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress as you pull it back down. You donât bother turning to face the mirror because you know exactly what youâll look like. Instead, you just take a deep breath, pick up your chin, and walk out.Â
The first person you see is Folio, leaning up against a wall across from the bathroom entrance. Heâs sporting a shit-eating grin as he crosses his arms over his chest.Â
âOh fuck,â he says in a hearty laugh. âJolly owes me a hundred bucks.â
ok ok so noah is finally back from tour right and youâre so glad and all you want to do is enjoy his presence, which means maybe youâre a little clingier than usual. noah knows this and is just as clingy as you so thereâs no concern.
BUT one night youâre hanging out with the guys watching some movie youâre not even paying attention to; youâre laying half on top of noah and heâs got both his arms around you, holding you tight
what if when he gets up to go to the rest room, one of the guys makes an off hand comment, jokingly of course (no malicious intent), about how clingy you are; and how noah must feel since he spent the last month cramped up in a bus in close proximity with a lot of people
you give him a small smile and a half laugh and try to focus your attention on the movie bit now the gears in your head are spinning.
are you smothering him?
is he just going along with it to appease you?
does he want space?
so from then on, you give him space
youâre not climbing into his lap to be close to him, youâre not laying on his chest when you go to bed. no holding his hand every second or pulling him into a hug
he tries to pull you close and you pull away. not because you want to but because you think thats what he wants. you donât think heâll even notice
oh but he does. noahâs an observant guy and he knows you like the back of his hand so of course he notices
noah thinks he did something wrong. he thinks youâre upset with him and that must be why youâre avoiding being close to him. he doesnât know what he did though and you wonât even be alone in a room with him so how is he supposed to fix it?
so one night he corners you in your shared bedroom and sits you down on the bed, him kneeling in front of you and asks what he did wrong and why youâre upset with him
and you, you are beside yourself because what does he mean what did he do wrong???
so you start to tell him he didnât do anything and youâre not upset but he cuts you off and starts to point out every single time heâs tried to get close to you and youâve backed off
your face flushes and you look down at your hands in your lap bc you canât look him in the eye but then he grabs your hands with one of his and uses the other one to tilt your chin up so youâre face to face with him again
he softly asks you whatâs wrong and you hesitate before telling him that you were giving him space
noah is, for a lack of a better word, flabbergasted bc where the fuck did you get the idea that he wanted space. his surprise is written all over his face and you quickly go to elaborate
you tell him it occurred to you (bc youâre not going to throw his friend under the bus) that he just spent a month on a bus, sleeping on a small bunk bed in close quarters with his band mates and friends; and that he probably wanted to be able to decompress without you hanging onto and smothering him every second
heâs unable to hide his concern bc how could you ever think that he would want space from you?
you, the only person in the world he wants near him at all times. you, the person who go him through all of those rough nights on tour bc he knew he would get to come home to you and hold you and kiss you all he wanted
he recovers from his initial shock and is quick to reassure you that space is absolutely not what he wants from you
âbaby how could you think that?â
âi love you and all i wanted the entire time i was on tour was to come home and hold you for as long as i couldâ
âi want you to âsmotherâ me, please baby i want you close for as long as you want to beâ
âcanât believe you thought i wanted to be away from you after i was away from you for a whole monthâ
âlongest month of my lifeâ
âi worked hard on tour, i think iâm entitled to as many cuddles and kisses as i wantâ
âi donât know where you got this crazy idea but i have never wanted space from you before and i certainly donât nowâ
âcâmere give me cuddles to make up for all the ones youâve stolen from me the past few daysâ
Boyfriend Noah walking in on you mastrubating and asks what youâre doing. When you say ânothingâ, he wants to check to see if youâre wet or not and if youâre lying to him. Fuuuuuck.
cw: 18 +Â đđđđ. boyfriend!noah, f!reader, mention of masturbation with toy, use of âgood girlâ, fingering, pussy slapping, teasing with a little denial, slight dom!noah vibes.
Honesty, you thought you had more time while Noah was out running errands, meeting up with a couple of friendsâMichael and Jolly, to go over more recordings he had been working on late into the night, but the second you hear the turn of the lock on the front door, you panic.
While he had been gone, you couldnât resist spreading out in the middle of your shared bed, all worked up and in need of some kind of relief, especially after Noah had spent the night away from bed, working into the early hours and choosing to nap on the couch in his studio rather than return and risk disturbing you.
Instead of finishing what you had started, youâre now pulling the vibrator from between your thighs, coated in evidence of your edging in the form of your wetness, having chosen to prolong your pleasure over seeking instant relief. Reaching for the wipes in the top drawer of your nightstand, you clean it off quickly before tossing it back into the drawstring bag it came in, reminding yourself to wash it properly later as you tuck it away in the drawer.
Beyond the bedroom door, you hear Noah taking the stairs two at a time, and just as the handle turns and the door swings open, you manage to pull the blanket over yourself. Beneath it, your bottom half is completely bare, thighs pressed tightly together in an attempt to suppress the throbbing ache of your cunt from being so close to the release you needed.
Catching sight of you, Noah pauses, glancing around the bedroom as though heâs already detected that something is off. Tilting his head and quirking a brow, he remains in the doorway, fingers gently tapping against the frame as he leans against it. âWhatâcha doing?â
âHm? Oh⌠nothing!â Though you try to keep your voice even, thereâs enough of a wobble in your pitch for him to notice, his attention sharpening as he watches you closely. âHow was seeing Jolly and Michael? Did they like the song?â You shift beneath the blanket, trying your best to stay calm, your heart racing as though youâve been caught doing something you shouldnât have. Noah wouldnât care, you know that, and yet you still find yourself lying instead of telling him the truth.
âThey liked itâŚâ He continues to study you before letting out a slow breath. âIâm sorry, I feel like Iâve interrupted something.â
âWhat? No⌠no! Why would you think that?â you shoot back, forcing a laugh that quickly fades when you notice his gaze drop to the floor.
Stepping into the room, he crosses to the foot of the bed. Bending down, his fingers curl around something before he straightens again, holding up your panties that youâd discarded earlier and left in a crumpled heap.
âNothing, huh?â
Tossing them aside, he turns back to the bed and climbs onto the end. His fingers catch on the blanket, tugging it away faster than you can stop him, drawing a startled, squealed, âNoah!â from you in the process.
âWell, well.â He taunts, a smug expression settling across his features as he leans forward, crawling his way up the bed. While you try to keep your thighs pressed together, legs closed, he grips your ankles, tugging you down the bed toward him and easily prying them apart.
âIf you werenât doing anything, then you wonât mind if I check whether youâre wet or notâŚâ The drop in his voice, something deeper now, sends warmth curling low in your stomach.Â
You try to brush it off, scoffing, âThatâs just ridiculous.â
âIs it?â he challenges, brows raised, eyes darkening slightly as he settles comfortably between your spread legs, hitching them up over his shoulders without resistance. âJust one little feel, baby, thatâs all. And if youâve been a good girl for me, well⌠thereâs nothing for you to be worried about, now is there?â
Turning his head slightly, he presses a kiss to your calf, then another, the brush of his stubble teasing against your already sensitive skin, making your head spin. Youâre still worked up from not finishing, every small touch, every shift in his tone having an effect.
Inching a hand along your thigh, he slides higher, drawing closer to where youâre still sensitive and aching, until he reaches his destination. For a moment, he simply takes you in, the way youâre spread for him, how even through your denial, the evidence of your arousal is clear.
Stroking two fingers against your slit, he watches, patient, attentive, listening to your reaction. He follows the way you gasp at the faintest touch, the soft sounds pulled from you as he slowly teases, parting your folds just enough to expose you to him before letting his fingers glide between, drawing closer towards your clit.
âWhat, baby? What is it you want?â Noah croons, his voice silky smooth in a way that sets your skin alight, a prickling heat washing over you as you writhe in place.
You canât tell him. Shame already burns its way up your neck and into your cheeks at being caught. Not that you were doing anything wrong, but you had been so close to the edge before he walked in, and now the slightest touch from him feels like it might send you over, especially as he drags his fingers deliberately slow between your folds, gathering your slickness, just barely brushing your swollen, sensitive clit with the rough pads of his fingers.
The contact makes your hips jerk, chasing after him, a moan slipping from your throat as you look up at him through hooded eyes, silently begging in a haze of desperation.
âPl-pleaseâŚâ you gasp.
He drags his slender, tattooed fingers back down, his gaze flicking from between your thighs to your face, a smirk slowly forming, amusement dancing in those deep brown eyes.
âPlease what?â he prompts, brow arching. âYou need to use your words, baby. Remember, you have to tell me what it is you want.â
Telling him feels impossible when your mind keeps going blank with every teasing touch, with the warmth of his breath so close as he lies between your thighs. Thereâs no escape, his broad shoulders keep your legs spread, hiked over them. Youâve seen him work out countless times, but itâs only now you truly feel his size, the way he uses it to pin you exactly where he wants you.
âNoahâŚâ Your voice trembles, desperate, pleading for something more.
He only hums in acknowledgment, attention returning to the slow, drawn out tease of his fingers, gliding between your folds, over your clit, then down toward your hole, circling until your hips shift, and you clench at the faintest pressure.
âSo needyâŚâ he coos, teasing. âYou shouldâve made yourself finish if you didnât want to be teased like this.â Lifting his gaze, he tilts his head as if considering something, the corner of his mouth curling into a sly smirk. âOr maybe you shouldnât have been touching yourself at all⌠or lying to me about it.â
He pauses, and for a second you expect some kind of relief, only to gasp sharply at the sudden sting between your thighs, the impact dangerously close to your clit, hips bucking as you teeter on the edge.
âPerhaps a lesson is what you need.â
Another sharp strike, and this time your gasp breaks into a moan. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your head falling back against the pillows as you lift your hips, chasing after any kind of contact.
Youâre so close, so close to tipping over, the tight coil inside you ready to snap, that when it finally does, it takes you by surprise. Heat rushes through you, your body trembling as everything unravels at once, your control slipping no matter how hard you try to hold it back.
Even as the wave crests and crashes through you, leaving you breathless and shaking, Noah doesnât stop entirely. Instead, he dips his head, pressing soft kisses along your thigh, murmuring quietly, the warmth of his breath sending lingering sparks through the aftershocks.
By the time you come back down, your head is hazy, your body heavy, and he shifts, moving up the bed and over you, settling close before capturing your lips in a kiss that steals what little breath you have left.
bo guys reactions to being called by their s/o who went out with friends and got drunk and now needs to be picked up (always feel this scenario is cute asf even if i donât drink LMAO)
BB!!! oh iâve thought about this before, especially in relation to noahâs đ¤ and agree that it feels like a cute scenario đĽš
NOAH: At some point, when you still had the capability, before all was lost to the steady consumption of alcohol, you called your boyfriend, Noah. It was rare for you to go out, even rarer for you to drink this much, though you were in more than capable hands, and Noah knew that. After all, heâd been the one to suggest you join your friends for a night out, but even over the phone, he could detect the slur in your words.
âBaby!!!â youâd screeched down the line before erupting into a fit of giggles, while Noah sat back in the chair at his desk, rotating side to side as a smile spread across his face. He listened to you drunkenly ramble for a few minutes, reiterating where you were planning to go next and where you needed him to pick you up from later on.
Naturally, Noahâs early, heâd always been a stickler when it came to time. As he sits and waits, he types out a quick âIâm hereâ message, though the delivery notification never comes, no doubt because your phone has died by this point in the night. When he glances up, however, he catches sight of you stumbling out of the bar opposite where heâs parked, staring down at your phone, brow furrowed and shoulders slumped.
Climbing out of the car, Noah crosses the road in a few short strides, approaching you and holding back a laugh at the way you sway. âWoah there.â At the last second, he swoops in, catching you before you can lose your balance completely.
âOh, myâIâm soâŚâ hic âsorry,â hic you slur.
Your gaze narrows briefly, as if trying to place him. Tilting his head, his warm brown boba eyes soften, along with his voice. âBabyâŚâ
Instead of recognition settling in, you huff and stand up straighter, leaning away from him before announcing matter of factly, âI have a boyfriend,â and though he doesnât mean to, Noah canât resist letting out the laugh heâs been holding back, even as he reaches for you.
âI know you do, you goof.â Expecting you to dodge his grasp, heâs surprised when you stay put, studying him again.
Another hiccup escapes the moment you part your lips to speak, sending you wobbling on unsteady legs. âYou knowâŚâ hic âyou look like him kindaâŚâ your words trail off into another slurred murmur.
âOh, yeah?â he teases, his grin stretching from ear to ear, clearly amused.
The second his hands settle at your sides, guiding you steadily toward his car, you quickly add, âHeâs hotter though.â
âOh, is he now?â Another laugh slips free. Part of him is already disappointed by the idea that you wonât remember any of this in the morning, especially when you swat his hands away for being âtoo intimateâ, continuing to remind him that you're taken, spoken for. He just nods and plays along, smiling to himself, fully aware that come morning, heâll relish recounting every second of this.
FOLIO: The shirt had been a gag gift from Valentineâs Day, nothing serious, and yet something you knew Folio would take incredibly seriously and wear with pride, even without being asked. What you never expected, after calling for him to come pick you up, was for him to arrive at the bar you and your friends were currently occupying, sat in a corner booth, wearing that shirt as though it were some form of protection, warding off any drunken and overly friendly strangers as he made his way through the crowd.
âFolio!â your friend squeals, drawing attention to your lovingly adorable, golden retriever of a boyfriend, who had been more than happy to come pick you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. The second your eyes fall to the shirt, you lift a hand to cover your mouth, stifling a laugh behind it.
âNice shirt,â another friend remarks, lips pressed to the rim of their glass as they take another sip, while Folio stands there proudly.
âIt was either this or worldâs cutest Uber driver,â he teases, offering out his hand toward you like a gentleman, helping you up from your seat at the edge of the booth.
For a brief second, you canât resist admiring the rings adorning his hand, and when you take it, you feel the cool press of metal against your skin. Your fingers slip easily between his, intertwining like you were made for one another, his hand fitting yours like a glove.
âWell, you certainly are the worldâs cutest Uber driver to me.â Your free hand presses to his chest as you lean into him, practically hearts in your eyes, a head rush blooming that has nothing to do with the alcohol youâve consumed.
âSomeoneâs getting lucky tonight,â someone at the table sings from behind you, though youâre too focused on Folio to notice who.
âSomeone is getting food, water, and put straight to bed when we get home.â Brushing his hand around your side to the small of your back, he sweeps up along your spine in a slow, affectionate stroke, your body melting further into him as you pout.
âOh, but what if I do that thing you like with my tongueâŚ?â you whisper.
His brows lift in response. Still holding his hand between you, your fingers slip from his as you guide his hand higher, your lips parting, and tongue sliding out. Stunned into silence, Folio just watches, completely mesmerised, as you draw his hand closer. Your tongue brushes against the pad of his index finger before you take it into your mouth, lips closing around it as your cheeks hollow slightly, mimicking the act of performing oral.
The reaction is immediate, he exhales sharply before clearing his throat. âRight. You and me. Home. Now.â
Itâs exactly the response you were hoping for, proven by the gleeful expression that spreads across your face as you slip his finger from your mouth with a soft pop. Tucked against his side, you quickly bid your goodbyes before slipping out of the bar with your visibly flustered boyfriend; the worldâs cutest Uber driver.
JOLLY: With Jolly, thereâs no need to call for him to come pick you up, because heâs already there, waiting.
After spending the better part of the afternoon helping you pick out the perfect outfit for your evening meal with your friends, where he spent the majority of the time complimenting you, slowly helping you dress, and leaving a multitude of kisses over every inch of skin he could reach; your shoulders, neck, collarbone, and more, and dropping you off at the chosen restaurant, instead of returning home to find his own entertainment for the evening, he pulls up a stool at the bar.
There, he nurses a bourbon, flicking through the pages of his latest read, the book heâd tucked into his jacket pocket earlier that evening.
He enjoys the soft atmosphere, just as much as he enjoys stealing glances your way across the restaurant. Watching you in the dining area, he takes in how lively you are, even sending over drinks to your table for you and your friends, because heâs nothing if not a gentleman, and a generous one at that.
The whole time, he never intrudes. He respects your space, and the time you want to spend with your friends. The only reason heâs sitting there, waiting for you, is because he wants to know youâll get home safely, no attempts at ordering an Uber when youâre no longer sober enough to notice the warning signs.
Itâs when you stumble his way on your return from the bathroom that he notices you moving towards him. Quick to catch you, he draws you close and cages you between his thighs as he remains seated on the stool. One hand cradles your face, tilting your head back so youâre looking at him.
âHaving a fun night, my darling?â
His gaze stays fixed on you, admiring the faint flush warming your features just visible in the dim lighting of the bar.
âMhm.â You nod, melting closer, your arms wrapping around him as your hands press against his back. âThough you should know, a really handsome man was sending me drinks all night long.â
Thereâs a playful curve to your lips, and his eyes sparkle in response.
âWas there now?â he hums, keeping his tone neutral as he indulges your teasing.
As you lean up toward him, he dips forward to meet you, brushing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss before murmuring softly, âMaybe you should come home with him.â
Before you can deepen the kiss the way you want to, you breathe out against his, âTell him to take meâŚâ A double entendre, and an offer Jolly could never refuse when it comes to you.
NICHOLAS: When Nicholas gets the call, heâs out the door within seconds, painkillers and a packet of Liquid I.V. already tucked in one hand, his car keys in the other. If thereâs one thing heâll always be, itâs prepared, especially when it comes to you.
Heâd been the one to encourage you when you first ummed and ahhed about whether or not to go out. It wasnât that you didnât want to, you just didnât like the idea of how youâd get back if you ended up too drunk.
âIâll pick you up,â Nicholas had said. Even when you tried to push back, he assured you itâs what any good boyfriend would do, and you can attest to the fact that he is; good, devoted, and an absolute sweetheart.
Itâs why, as he drives over to pick you up, he stops to grab your favorite takeaway along the way, something for you to dive into the moment you settle into the car, as well as a bottle of water to help sober you up while the food soaks up what remains of the alcohol in your stomach.
When he arrives at the location your Find My guided him to, he spots you sitting on the curb, waiting. The second your eyes land on his familiar car, you perk up instantly, only to knock yourself slightly off balance as you try to push yourself to your feet.
In one quick motion, he climbs out of the car and rounds it to meet you. âHere, sweetheart.â Offering a hand, he helps you up, tucking you close to him and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before guiding you toward the car. On opening the passenger side door, a hand comes up to cradle the top of your head as you duck down to climb in, making sure you donât bump it.
âOh, baby, you didnât have to,â you whine, already spotting the provisions he brought along on his way to collect you.
âCourse I did,â he insists, dipping into the passenger side to pull the seatbelt over you and click it into place, while youâve already reached for the bag of food, immediately diving into your fries.
âMake sure you drink that water too, and thereâs a Liquid I.V. packet there for you.â He gestures toward the cup holder between the front seats before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
Then he pulls back out of the car, walks around to the driverâs side, and climbs in, giving you one last glance, taking in how content you look in his passenger seat, before driving off.
dors encore jusqu'au jour oĂš tout ira bien* - noah sebastian x f!reader
*sleep on until the day when all is well
warnings: Swearing, discussions of mental health, depression, burnout and relationship issues
word count: 5.9k
note: This is a hefty one. It gets very angsty in certain parts, but if you know me, you know that I cannot bring myself to write a bad ending. Regardless of that, please think of yourself first and feel free to sit out on this one if youâre not in the headspace to dip into almost 6k of angst. Thank you to @deathblacksmoke and @circle-with-me for your feedback <3
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Youâre not sure when it happened.Â
It feels like one day everything was fine and the next heâs pushing his dinner across the plate as if itâs the most revolting thing heâs ever seen.Â
Youâve never seen Noah like this.Â
Sure, he gets quite sometimes. He has days when he locks himself behind the door of the studio and only emerges to eat and to take a bathroom break.Â
This is different, though.Â
When you think about it, you canât remember the last time youâve seen him smile or heard him laugh. Youâre sure that it canât have been long, surely you havenât missed him tumbling into his hole.Â
You donât realise how bad it actually is until he starts to miss appointments, until you have to convince him to get out of bed just to have breakfast with you. He retreats back into the safety of your bedroom as soon as heâs finished with what you know to be too little food. You know that heâs only coming downstairs for your sake. And somehow that makes it worse.Â
You sit in silence for a long while on that morning. Youâve watched him wither for too long already. And maybe thatâs why you call Nick that morning, hoping that he can give you some kind of insight. Nick has all the answers, he always knows.Â
He doesnât this time.Â
All he can offer is what you already know.Â
Knowing Noah, heâll be resistant to help until it's almost too late. Still, you make your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom. They feel impossibly long today. Itâs not like youâre going to break horrible news to him, but you know your boyfriend well enough to know that heâll deny that anything is wrong. Heâll insist that everything is just fine, even when you both know that the exact opposite is the truth.Â
The worst thing, you think, is that you donât know why he feels like this. Youâve tried to ask him if heâs looking forward to the shows, to playing the new songs, but all you ever got in response was a half-hearted shrug. Watching him lose all passion for the thing he loved had broken a little piece inside of you.
You knock on the door before you crack it open just a little bit.Â
âNoah?â you ask softly, not sure if heâs still awake or if sleep had already taken him over again. Â
No reply.Â
You force yourself through the crack in the door and close it as quietly as you can. Heâs curled up on his side, turned away from the door. The sight breaks your heart even more. His body moves with slow breaths, and youâre still not sure if heâs awake or not.Â
You sit on the edge of the bed behind him. You place your hand on his back, and he jumps at the touch, shrinking further away from you.Â
âYou donât have to say anything. I donât know whatâs going on in your head, love, but Iâm here.â you canât stop the tears from falling as you speak, âI donât know how to help you, but we need to do something. Iâm worried about you.â
He stays silent, but you can feel him draw in a deep breath under your palm.Â
âNick thinks that you should think about cancelling the shows.âÂ
You regret it as soon as youâve said it.Â
The look on his face when he finally turns to look at you hurts more than anything else. The anger that suddenly radiates from him makes scoot back from him instantly.
âAnd why the fuck would I do that? This is none of your business. I donât go around telling you how to do your job, do I?â he seethes, âYou have nothing to be worried about.â
âYouâre obviously not well. Iâm just trying to help.â you reply, feeling awfully helpless.Â
Noah sits up, his back still turned to you.Â
âIf you think you know me so well, you should know that Iâm fine. And I donât need your help, either. Maybe you should find someone else to pity.âÂ
Heâs out of the room before you can say another word.
Deep down, you know that the anger isnât real. You donât know what has its claws in him, but you know that itâs bad.Â
You donât know where he disappears to after that.Â
The studio is empty, and his keys have disappeared from the little chest of drawers by the door. A part of you wants to abandon him then and there. If he wants to soak in his misery, let him. But at the same time, you know that he needs you more than ever now, even if he isnât ready to see that yet.Â
You get a text from Jolly not long after that, letting you know that Noah showed up at his door looking all kinds of messed up. He lets you know that heâs out cold on the sofa for the time being, but that there needs to be a conversation before long.Â
Jolly drops of a clearly miserable Noah the following morning.Â
âYou should shower before they get here.â Jolly says curtly as Noah disappears up the stairs once again.Â
You both watch in silence as he disappears into the bathroom, and you let out a sigh when you hear the shower turn on. Without asking, youâre wrapped into a tight hug and finally the tears youâve been holding back all day break free from you.Â
âI talked to him.â he says, still holding you close, âI think he understood. The Nicks will be here in a bit, and weâll talk about cancelling the shows.â
âThank you.â you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.Â
He gives you another squeeze before releasing you from the hug, âHow are you doing? I know this has to be hard on you too.âÂ
You do feel a little bit bad for pouring your heart out to him like this, but it feels good to finally talk to someone besides yourself about any of this.Â
Before long, your conversation is interrupted by the bathroom door opening again. You think Noah resembles a wet puppy more than he does a man, and it makes you feel impossibly bad for him. He stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped into one of the hoodies you know he likes, watching you intently. His hands wring together nervously, brow furrowed so deeply that youâre sure that it aches a little. You excuse yourself and swiftly come up to meet Noah.Â
âCan we talk?â he asks quietly, barely managing to meet your eyes, âI want to apologise.â
You follow him into your bedroom.
Noah sits down at the foot of your bed. You sit next to him, a hands' width away from.Â
âWhat I said â that was not okay. I shouldnât have said that.â he remains focused on his still fidgeting hands, âIâm really sorry.â
The way heâd looked at you a day earlier still lingered in your mind, and even though you know that he didnât actually mean what he said, you canât help but feel hurt.Â
âI know you are. I know you didnât mean what you said. It still hurt.â you reach for his hands, interlacing yours with one of his, âBut weâll be okay. I just need you to talk to me. I donât know what to do if you donât talk to me.âÂ
Noah squeezes your hand just a little bit, âIâm sorry that I let it get this bad.â
You pull him into your arms and Noah folds almost instantly. His head drops to your shoulder. The fabric of your shirt grows a little damp, and the silent sob that shakes through his body makes your chest ache.Â
The other two arrive within the next thirty minutes, with Folio running a little late because he once again misjudged the time it would take him to get to your place. You stay in the living room while they talk in the kitchen, despite Noahâs protest. As much as you want to sit with him and hold his hand, you know that he has to do this on his own. In the end, the conclusion is that the shows need to be cancelled so that Noah will have some kind of chance to recuperate. You overhear his quiet admission that maybe he has piled a little bit too much onto his plate, that heâs tried to do too much in too little time. You know that all heâs ever wanted was to see this band do well, and when they finally got that, heâd done everything he needed to make sure that theyâd stay up there. And now, in retrospect, you know that you should have tried to do something earlier.Â
Hindsight is evil like that.Â
The three of them donât stay for dinner. Nick stays for a while longer, but you can tell that Noah longs for the house to be quiet again. And he practically falls into your lap as soon as youâve sat down next to him again. Your fingers card through his hair, just how he likes it, while you sit in silence. He falls asleep a little while later. His brow remains furrowed, and you can easily tell that heâs clenching his jaw. You let Noah rest like this for a while, before you carefully slip out from under him. He stirs a little, blinking up at you with drowsy eyes. You kneel down next to him, placing your hand against his cheek.Â
âIâm gonna order us something for dinner. How do you feel about Korean?âÂ
His expression only changes minimally.Â
âWe can get whatever you want.â Your thumb drifts across his cheek, âBut you need to eat something, darling.â
You end up heating up a portion of frozen tomato soup for each of you. Youâre sure that you see a faint trace of a smile on his face when you place the grilled cheese in front of him.Â
For the first time in weeks, you think that things are looking up.Â
Despite your best efforts, you watch him sink deeper and deeper into this hole. Heâs distant, drifting along as days pass and turn into weeks, and you feel as if thereâs nothing that you can do to make it better. Youâve managed to convince him to see Ash at least once a week, but even that had felt like an uphill battle. You feel awful for making him leave the house when he so evidently doesnât want to do that. At the same time, it feels like the only thing you can do besides holding him close when it gets so bad that he wakes in the middle of the night, body shaking with bitter sobs that sear right through you.Â
You know that you canât force Noah to talk. But at the same time you wish that heâd at least divulge a little bit of what is going on in his head, maybe that way you could do more.Â
You think that heâs coming up on the other side when you find him in his studio one afternoon. It isnât until you actually step inside the room that you notice his face buried in his hands. In a split second, you find yourself kneeling at his side. At first, he doesnât move, remains stuck as he is.Â
âTalk to me, Noah. Please.â You plead, placing your hand on him as best as you can with this weird angle, âI want to help, but I donât know what you need if you donât talk to me.â
Reluctantly, he swivels the chair towards you, allowing him to somewhat drape himself over you. The silent tears break your heart even further. Youâve seen him cry before, more in recent weeks than ever before, but this feels different. He sinks down in front of you, utterly broken down. And all you can do is hold him close, whispering soothing things to him. You donât know if your words even reach his conscious mind, but maybe they sink into him somewhere, maybe deep down they find a home in him.Â
âIt doesnât work. I canât do it any more.â He whispers after some time.Â
Your fingers card through his hair, trying to get him to look at you, but Noah resists, keeping his face pressed against your shoulder.Â
âWhat doesnât work?â You ask softly.Â
Instead of giving you an answer, he throws a hesitant look towards the still opened editing software on his monitor.Â
âOh darling.â You sigh, wrapping him even tighter into your embrace.
âThis is all I have.â He says feebly, âThis is who I am.â
âNoah.â
He pulls away just a little bit. The only way you can describe the look on his face is panicked.Â
âWhat am I going to do if I canât do the one thing Iâm good at any more? I â I donât know what Iâm going to do.â He hiccups in between words, and itâs evident that heâs barrelling towards a panic attack, âI canât lose this.â
He descends into rambling, chest heaving frantically, and for a second you feel so very helpless. It doesnât matter what you say, your words wonât reach him, no amount of itâll be okay can fix this, and it hurts so terribly.Â
You place your hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you as a last ditch effort.Â
âLook at me, Noah.â Youâre not sure where you find the energy to be this firm with him, âI need you to listen to me now, okay? Iâm here. Iâm not going anywhere, no matter what happens. The guys arenât going anywhere. The band isnât going anywhere. Whatever happens, weâre all here. Your friends are here, and we love you so much. It doesnât matter how much time you need. Weâll all be here when youâre ready. And even if thatâs in a month or a year. And if it gets worse, and you never get there again, weâll still be here. No one is going to leave. I wonât leave.âÂ
Heâs quieted down to sniffles by then. His cheeks are so awfully red and splotchy, and you donât think that youâve ever seen him look more exhausted before.Â
âI know this is scary. And I know that we can make it through this, but I need you to talk to me. Watching you suffer through this in silence hurts a lot. I feel so helpless watching you fall apart like this.â
âIâm just so scared of losing all of this.â The admission comes so quietly, âWhat if we canât keep up with the demand? What if we canât ââ
âWhat happened to doing whatever you want regardless of how itâll sell?â You reach for his hand instead, âI know this sudden rise felt good, but this is not sustainable. You canât spend months on the road, barely sleeping, just so you can keep up with all of this. This â the band, the fans, the music wouldnât be here without you. All of you.â
You squeeze his hand tightly.Â
âWeâll figure this out, Noah.â You press a kiss to the back of his still trembling hand, âI promise.â
He lets out a heavy breath, folding in on himself just a little bit.Â
âIâm sorry that you have to deal with this.â He sighs.Â
âI would do it over and over again. As often as I have to. And I know that youâd do the same for me.âÂ
Noahâs the one who brings up the idea of a vacation. He doesnât make a direct suggestion, but you find a print out of an Airbnb in Oregon on the kitchen table one morning, and thatâs good enough for you. Youâre glad for any kind of active participation heâs willing to give. Itâs been a difficult few weeks, but you think that heâs starting to feel a little better. On some days, you think that heâs almost back on top. Heâs all smiles and sweet words, just to fall back down the next day. Itâs a slow climb, but youâre moving forwards.Â
Oregon will be nice.Â
The drive is nice, albeit awfully long. Noah had admitted that he didnât feel good enough to drive, and youâre glad that heâs able to see what he is and isnât ready for. He seems to be quite comfortable navigating and selecting music, though. You donât say anything when you hear him humming along to one of the songs, afraid that itâll make him shrink back into his shell. Hearing his dumb little laugh at a street sign reading Weed gives you a little bit of hope.Â
In the months since Noah had been at home, the intimate side of your relationship had been practically non-existent. For a while youâd felt as if you were living with a friend rather than your boyfriend of three years. Noah had never one to shy away from intimacy, your relationship had always been interlaced with soft touches and kisses. To watch him recoil at your touch had been incredibly hurtful, even when you knew - or rather hoped - that it was only a momentary thing.Â
By the time your first week in Oregon is almost over, you dare to let your hands wander across his chest once again. Itâs strangely foreign. Youâd been so used to touching him like this, and now it almost feels as if you have relearn everything again.Â
Youâve laid awake for the past hour. He looks much more relaxed now compared to some weeks earlier. The persistent furrow in his brow is slowly easing, and his sleep seems to be a little more restful.Â
You do feel a little bad for disturbing his much-needed rest, but you canât help yourself. He looks so beautiful in the warm morning light falling through the open sliver in the curtains.Â
Your fingers trail across the streak of light that runs across his tummy and chest. The muscles twitch beneath your touch, but he doesnât quite stir yet. You try to keep your touch as gentle as you can. Noah only wakes when your fingers brush against his hip. He stretches, letting you a soft noise as he does. Thereâs no protest when you trace up the length of his side. Heâs still so sleepy, eyes all soft and warm, and you absolutely have to kiss him.Â
He leans into your hand when you place it against his cheek. You draw him in for a kiss for what feels like the first time in months. Itâs so gentle and chaste, barely there, but it seems to ignite something in Noah. A second later you find yourself on your back, with him hovering above you. One of your hands drifts along his back, before it settles at his waist, guiding him towards you.Â
Itâs over as quickly as it has started.Â
âI canât.â He says quietly, forehead once again dropped against your shoulder.Â
âItâs okay, honey. We donât have to.â You soothe, carefully threading your fingers into his hair, âWe can just have a little cuddle instead.â
âI canât.â He looks absolutely miserable when he detaches himself from you, âIt doesnât work. This is so fucking embarrassing.â
You realise then when he means. The agony and embarrassment on his face make you wish that you could just magic it all away.Â
You want him back, not just for yourself but because you can see that this is torture for him too.Â
âIâm sorry.â Noah adds quietly, âIâm â Iâm gonna go to the bathroom.â
You donât let go of him though and his efforts to leave are quickly squashed when he flops back down next to you.Â
âCan you look at me for a moment, Noah?â He meets your eyes so hesitantly.Â
He almost looks as if heâs just waiting to be told what a disappointment he is and somehow that hurts even more.Â
âItâs okay. Iâm not upset, and I donât think less of you because of it. Itâll come back.â You say earnestly, hoping that heâll take at least some of it to heart, âYouâre still my boyfriend and I love you so much regardless of what you can or canât do at the moment. I know you love me, you donât have to sleep with me to show that.âÂ
Heâs quiet for a moment, eyes flitting across your face nervously, before he settles into the slightest hint of a content smile.Â
âI donât deserve you.âÂ
âYou do. You deserve to be treated with love and respect, especially when you need it most.âÂ
âI just wish that I could give some of it back.â
âYou have. And in time you will again. But right now, itâs my turn to make sure that you know that youâre safe and loved.âÂ
His expression changes into something you canât quite place yet. Maybe itâs realisation, maybe itâs relief, or a mixture of both.Â
Noah shifts a little closer to you, taking your hands into his, âThank you. Youâve been so patient with me.â
âOf course. Itâll always be you and me, okay? Weâve gotten through so much, weâll get through this, too. Youâve already come so far, and Iâm so proud of you.â
At the end of your second week, youâd called the owners to extend your stay for another week. Being away from home like this was good for him and if he needed a little more time here then so be it. You could thankfully afford that luxury.Â
You find him furiously scribbling in a notebook when you come back from the store one afternoon. You couldnât remember if heâd brought one of his or if heâd borrowed yours, but whatever had sprung into his mind was important enough for him to need to get it onto paper immediately. You watch him from the doorway for a moment, not wanting to disturb him just yet. Instead, you bring the rest of your shopping into the house as quietly as you can. Noah comes to meet you at the door just as you bring in the last bag.
âYouâre back quick.â he states somewhat blankly.Â
âDidnât want you to be alone for too long.â you reply, tossing the pack of toilet roll towards him, âCan you get one of the bags?âÂ
His face turns down into a frown, before he reaches for one of the bags and marches off into the depths of the house.Â
As much as his overall mood has improved, itâs still so changeable. The smallest thing tips him off and you either end up at each other's throats or with you cradling him in your arms while he tries to quiet down his tears. Youâre so tired of the fighting, though. You donât mind doing this for him, in fact you do it gladly, but sometimes it exhausts you. The boys had been your greatest crutch, checking in with you once in a while to make sure you were also taking care of yourself, and you are more than grateful for it. All three of them had been so incredibly supportive in their own ways. As soon as youâd mentioned that you were heading up to Oregon for a bit, Folio had sent you link after link with recommendations of things to do and look at. You hadnât had the heart to tell him that you were glad if youâd get Noah to sit outside with you in the evenings. You had eventually managed to convince Noah to go on little walks with you, just to get him out of the house and moving a little bit. In the end, he had been the one who had dragged you out of the door in the morning so that you could get to that one nice spot before the tourists got there.Â
Noah is nowhere to be seen when you enter the kitchen. The bags are haphazardly placed in front of the counter, with no sight of him anywhere.Â
Your call of his name remains unanswered.Â
When you donât see him on the bench out on the back porch, you make your way through the house, checking various rooms until you find him once again sequestered away in the bedroom.Â
âBaby?â you ask softly, âEverything okay?âÂ
Noah makes a somewhat indignant sound then, and you swear that you see him rolling his eyes.Â
âNoah.âÂ
âYou can stop babying me. Iâm not incapable of living without you.â he shoots back, âYou donât need to hound me all day. Iâll be fine.âÂ
âI just want to ââÂ
He scoffs, âI know you just want to help. And why do you think I need your help? Iâm not â I donât need you to pity me.âÂ
The first tears fall before your jaw has the chance to tremble.Â
You try not to listen to the bitter words he hurls at you. They slowly chip away at your confidence.Â
âIâm not some lost puppy you need to take care of.âÂ
Somehow, thatâs your last straw.Â
âYou know what, Noah. Iâm sorry for putting my life on the back burner for you. Iâm sorry that I tried to help the man I love.â you turn on your heels, leaving the room before he can throw more vitriol your way.Â
Your feet carry outside and down the pathway towards the river. Your chest feels so awfully tight. Thereâs only so much you can take, and hearing him discredit everything youâve done for him feels as if heâs struck a sword straight through your chest. You collapse on the low bench in front of the firepit you havenât had the chance to use yet. As much as you try to convince yourself that he doesnât actually mean what he said, you canât quite bring yourself to do so. The anger on his face seemed so real. Maybe you had gone a little overboard with your care. All you had wanted was for him to feel better, you had never meant to overstep.Â
It feels so heartbreaking.Â
Out of all the fights youâve had recently, this one feels the most devastating. Although, youâre not even sure if you can call this a fight.Â
You donât know if you can come back from this.Â
The longer you sit in silence, the worse the feeling gets. Somehow, you had hoped that heâd come out and find you, that heâd try to fix it. Instead, youâre out here on your own, shivering as the air gets colder and colder. Youâre not sure how long youâre out here, but no matter how much you try, you canât will yourself to head back inside.Â
The call of your name barely reaches you, not even the orb of the torch youâd brought two days into your stay makes you look up. Itâs only when his figure crouches in front of you, hands desperately smoothing along your shoulders and face.Â
âYouâre freezing.â his voice trembles when he speaks, âFuck, Iâm so sorry.âÂ
His sweater is draped across your shoulders, his warmth sinks into you almost immediately.Â
Noahâs hands curl around yours, holding them just a little bit too tightly. Heâs shaking like a leaf. Itâs too dark to make out the intricacies of his face, but the fear is obvious.Â
âIâ I couldnât find you inside. I didnât know where youâd gone.â the words rush from his mouth so quickly that he stumbles across a few of them, âIâm so sorry. Letâs get you inside. Please, my love.âÂ
When you donât immediately move, his forehead drops to your knees, hands tucked under him so that he can press his lips to your palms.Â
âI wish I could take it all back. Iâm such an ass. Fuck, you do so much for me and I canât even say thank you for it.â another kiss to your palms, âPlease come inside with me. I donât want you to get ill because of me.âÂ
Noah rises to his feet, slowly pulling you with him.Â
His hand remains wrapped around yours, as if heâs scared that youâll vanish again. Through the open sliding door, you can already smell what you think is a pasta bake. Nothing fancy, but he always manages to whip up something good and warming for you.Â
He ushers you towards the table, making you sit down on one of the chairs. Within a moment, he places a somewhat cooled cup of tea in your hands.Â
âI thought that youâd gone to the other bedroom and I â I feel so bad that I never checked. I just wanted to give you space after all of that and â and now this.â he sits on the chair next to you, hands writhing in his lap, âI donât know how I can fix this. What I said â I keep fucking up. Youâve given up so much for me, and this is what I do in return. I canât take it back. I said all of that, and I know that it was incredibly hurtful. But if thereâs some way that youâll forgive me â it doesnât matter what you need from me â Iâll do it. But if you need me to ââ he swallows back tears and maybe thatâs when you realise how serious is about this, âIf you need me to leave I will. I can be gone by tomorrow if you want that.âÂ
âDonât leave.â your voice feels so rough, so shaky, âPlease.âÂ
The tears that roll down his cheek feel so loud when then drop onto the hardwood below your feet.Â
âI wonât.â his hands find yours once more, âWe can fix this. I donât want to feel like this any more, but â I need you. I donât know if I can do it on my own.â
You look at your joined hands. Youâve always thought that they fit together so perfectly, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle made exactly for each other. Thereâs no one else who fits you like he does. Sure, you could try and jam two pieces together, but itâll never be right like this.Â
âI told you that Iâll always be here, didnât I?â you say, still looking at where his hands flex around yours, âI meant that. I donât know if I could love anyone else.âÂ
His lips press together so tightly that the colour flees from them.Â
âWeâve come too far to give up on this now, Noah. Weâll figure this out, but we need to be better â both of us.â
âI know.â he casts his eyes low, âWhen weâre back home Iâm gonna get myself back into therapy. I promise you that Iâll get myself back on my feet.âÂ
You free one of your hands from his grasp, so that you can bring it up to his cheek, âWe can make it through this. Weâll be alright.âÂ
Noah eyes you for a moment before he finally speaks up, âCan â can I kiss you?âÂ
Even if you wanted to, you canât stop the smile from breaking onto your face, âPlease.âÂ
He surges forward then, pressing his lips to yours so sweetly. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping you close to him until youâre both breathless.Â
âI love you, but I think your pasta is about to burn.â you whisper after a few more blissful moments.Â
Noah jumps up with a swear, and for the first time in months you can see his previous self break through this shell.Â
Thereâs a tentative plan for the band to return to the stage in late January, giving you another two â almost three months â of this quiet life. Sometimes you think that Noah feels quite comfortable being just a boyfriend and not a trillion other things on top of it. Every day he rises a little easier, seems a little more secure in himself again. Slowly but surely the music returns into his life, and before long heâs pushing his notebook into your field of vision again.Â
âCan you have a look at this? I donât know how I feel about it.â he asks, slumping down next to you.Â
You put down your phone and pick the book from his hands. Youâve always loved his boyish handwriting. Something tells you that this isnât meant for Bad Omens or anyone else's eyes. Itâs surprisingly confessional, a somewhat fictionalised account of the last few months that all in all wraps around a single steady thread â you. Itâs not a hymn to your efforts, but rather an acknowledgement of everything you had given him and sacrificed because of him.Â
Noah's hand wraps around yours. The crowd a few meters away from you roars as the screen changes once again.Â
âYouâll be fine, honey.â you soothe, squeezing his hand tightly.Â
âFeels like Iâm doing this for the first time.âÂ
Itâs been almost a year, of course heâd be a little nervous. But you know that heâll do his best, and thatâs all everyone could ever ask for.Â
âI know. I canât be with you up there, but Iâm right here. If you need me, Iâll be right here.â
He nods, more to reassure himself than to acknowledge what you said.Â
âYouâre almost up.â someone says from behind you.
Noah shakes himself out of his stasis.Â
âAlright.â he says to himself, âWish me luck?âÂ
âYou donât need luck.â you pull him in for a kiss, âI love you. Go do your thing.âÂ
âI love you.âÂ
He steals another kiss, before he pulls that damned ski mask over his head. Just a moment later heâs up the stairs and as soon as you hear their screams you know that the little bit of fear that still sat on his shoulder has melted away.
From your position you can watch the show quite comfortably. It takes Noah a moment to get back into the stage persona, but once theyâre through the first song, it feels as if he had never stopped doing it. Seeing him back on his feet like this fills you with absolute joy.Â
Theyâre nearing the end of the set when Noah actually addresses their somewhat forced break.Â
âWeâve been away for a little bit. Iâm sorry if that messed with your plans, but it was a long time coming. Weâre all incredibly thankful for what youâve made possible for us, and weâve always tried to give all of that back. Maybe we â Iâve tried a little too hard. What Iâm trying to say is that itâs thanks to all of your support that I could take this step back, and Iâll never forget that. But I also have to thank someone else.â he turns towards you, giving you that smile of his that makes you feel as if youâve just fallen in love with him, âThank you for everything. I couldnât have done this without you.âÂ
Whatever he says after that is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. Noah leads them into the last song of the set so effortlessly.Â
The past months still linger with you, and they will for a while longer. In the end, it was worth every single tear. Youâd fought tooth and nail for this â both of you had. And youâre so glad that you did it.Â
As soon as the set is over, Noah comes barrelling down the stairs towards you. Youâre wrapped into his arms. You return the embrace immediately, holding him to you as tightly as you can. For a long moment, both of you remain silent, content to just hold each other close.Â
âThank you, my love.â he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, âFor everything.â
Summary: Noah wants what he can't have.
Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader
Notes: still getting back into writing so I'm sorry if this isn't the most eloquent work out there.
âWhen can I see you again?â
It sounds like a whisper, soft and gentle, but Noah can feel the shame it brings, burning up his ears. He keeps his head down, glancing over to the rest of the band, they are all still elated from the show, laughing loudly and shouting over Matt while he grumbles over something.
And he is euphoric too, itâs how he mustered enough courage to call you in the middle of the night. Itâs only after he hears your groggy Hello? that his smile falters. What was he doing? Surely you were tired from work, too exhausted to entertain him for a couple of minutes.
But he can hear you humming thoughtfully on the other end of the line, as if you were seriously considering his question. The quiet rumble of the TV in the background makes him feel relieved that he didnât quite startle you awake with his sudden call.
âI dunno,â you finally say. âWhenever you invite me over, Mr. Concrete.â
Noah closes his eyes, he can almost hear you smile and he lets out a light chuckle in response.
Right now? He wants to say, but thereâs a bit of pride dampening his sudden urge to ask youâno, beg youâthat if you miss him as much as he misses you, you could be packing your bags tonight and join him for the rest of the tour in the morning.
But you have a job, Noah knows this well. You have responsibilities and a life that he isnât truly a part of, but there are times where he can see himself carefully entangling his life with yours. There are days where he dreams of waking up with you next to him in his tiny bunk bed, just like how there are nights where he's scouring for your face as he greets an audience in a city far away from homeâfar away from you.
It's all pathetic. And well, he is pathetic.
You yawn without meaning to and that pulls him back from his thoughts. He clears his throat and takes a quick look at his watch: 12:27 AM. It's too late for you to be up, he thinks.
"I'll be going to the LA show, though," you say after another yawn. "My PTO was approved, so hey, I'll definitely be seeing you then."
But that's not what I want, Noah wants to say, and instead he says, "Oh, nice."
He wants to cringe at his own attempt to be aloof. He wants to confess he hates that the show in Los Angeles is two months away, and two months is a long time without you. Because as soon as the tour is over, it's back to the studio, back to missed calls, cancelled outings, and late replies to text messages.
And all Noah wants is to see you.
There's another stifled yawn and the low rumbling of the TV dies out. He can hear you shuffling around, and that makes him panic. It's been two weeks since he's heard your voice and he's not quite ready to let go.
I miss you. Noah can feel the words lingering dangerously on the tip of his tongue, he swallows again, hoping that his confession sinks to the bottom of his belly and quenches that anxiousness that's been twisting his insides. Instead, he gives himself a coughing fit.
"Don't die on me, Noah," you laugh. "Or I'm going to need a refund."
"Sorry, sorry," he's quick to apologize. "I had a bit of a rough start tonight andâ"
"Yo! Noah, dude, we have to go."
Noah turns to see Matt, staring him down with his arms crossed. He silently curses him and Matt responds with a raised eyebrow. Of course, they needed to be back on the road for the next show and Matt, ever the perfectionist, had made an overly detailed itinerary that included bathroom breaks for everyone.
"I'll let you go now." Noah grumbles, "Matt's being an ass."
"Oh! Oh! Tell him I said hi."
"Yeah, that's not happening," Noah says, laughing softly once he hears you protest back. He tells you goodnight and you mumble something that sounds like goodnight, and as soon as the line goes dead, he sighs.
"I miss you," he says to no one, and heads back to join the rest of the band.
Feeling lonely, you decide to call your boyfriend, Noah, while he's on tour.
After hours of agonising and thinking through other possible options, you decide to call Noah. You pick up your phone from where it's been lying on the coffee table all morning long. Your hands are slightly shaking as you click on his contact and call him.
As you wait for him to pick up your call, you begin to regret your decision. It's too late to back out now, though. Even if you were to hang up, he'd still call you back eventually, wondering what it was that you wanted from him.
It's not long before he picks up, and his smooth voice flows from your phone speaker.
"Hey love, what's up?" He asks.
He's so casual about it, yet your heart still jumps. It's the first time that you've heard his voice in three days.
Three days. It's been three days since you've spoken to him.
He hasn't texted you since then, either.
"Just wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm doing well! The boys and I went to this awesome pizza place today. It was so good."
You nod, even though he can't see it.
"We should go there together sometime," he adds on, almost as an afterthought.
"Yeah," you quietly mumble.
"Anyway, what's up? Why are you calling?"
You take a deep breath. "Justâwanted to talk to you."
He pauses for a moment. "Is everything okay at home?"
"Yes! Everything is fine," you rush to reassure him. There's no need for him to worry about you while he's busy with work. "Just missing you, is all," you quietly admit.
"I'll be home soon, baby. Just one more week," he quietly reassures you.
"I know. I know that. It's justâ" you cut your words off. You can't bring yourself to say it. Admitting how you've been feeling feels impossible. It feels like you shouldn't do it. It feels like you should keep it all to yourself.
You're just being silly, after all.
"My chest hurts. I just feel so lonely," you quietly admit.
Noah pauses before responding. "IâI'm sorry, baby. I know that I've been pretty distant lately."
He sounds a little bit sheepish, but you can hear the underlying defensive tone.
You nod silently, trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. "I know. You've got a job to do. You're busy. I get that. But I haven't talked to anyone in days, and I miss you. I can't help but feel lonely."
He's silent.
You let out a dry laugh that's devoid of humour. "Y'know, I keep checking my phone, hoping that someone will reach out. It sounds so silly."
"Have you tried texting one of your friends?"
You can't deny that he sounds a little bit uninterested. You swear that you can hear him let out a quiet sigh. You try to ignore it. You try to not let the thought crawl in underneath your skin.
"They'veâI think I've been bothering them a little bit too much. I always text them first. I decided to justâstay silent, and hope that they would reach out, y'know? But they haven't."
It's getting a little bit more difficult to hold your tears at bay now. You know that you've basically been neglected by the people you love the mostâyet admitting to it feels like a whole new type of pain.
You can hear someone talking to Noah in the background. "Listen, I've got to go now. The show is starting soon. I'll call you back later, okay?"
You have to hold back the sob that threatens to escape you. You don't quite know why you're reacting like this. Still though, it feels like your heart is shattering into little tiny fragments with each passing minute.
"Mmh," you hum, willing your voice to not give away the fact that you're barely holding back tears. Noah's words shouldn't hurt this much.
