can you write something soft and fluffy for noah total drama PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLE
pairing(s): Noah (TD)/GN Reader
— summary: Noah complains about his job but he really does get to do the coolest things and often, he brings things back to you
— no y/n use, no pronoun use - GN reader, 2nd person, allusions to Canadian celebrities, PG bed sharing,
— AH! I spent so long on this! I think I pumped out the last one and got right to work on this. I hope it doesn't feel too rushed- I probably could have made this longer but I didn't want to get too repetitive or anything. I like where I ended here. Once again, pretty vague ask but it also worked in my favour, clearly. That said, I have yet another Noah TD (guys, someone req a woman, for the love of-) request so that will be out at some point soon too. So I guess, anon, if you hate how I wrote this one, look out for the next. Anyway, thanks anon! Enjoy!
this request was made by an anon.
It starts small, as most things do.
Early on in his career, when he's still running Chris McLean's coffee, he finds himself on a movie set. A real one. Not the set of a crappy, cheap reality show. Not the barely holding imitation of a movie set he saw over the Aftermath Show throughout Action.
Here, he was surrounded by big name actors and directors who got make good scripts better.
While running to the nearby café, he hits his speed-dial and finds himself hardly even waiting for your greeting before rambling on about it. You give little more than a quiet, sluggish, "H'llo?" before he's off.
"Chris brought me to filming! He's been off getting primped and plucked- or whatever- for his scenes the last two-ish hours?" He steps into the building on hasty feet, tacking onto the short line. "So I've just been helping Chef out and observing. Lord, I feel like I've glimpsed my future or something." He exhales shakily, joy clear in his tone.
As he reaches the counter, he holds his phone between his cheek and shoulder, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. He scans the overhead menu briefly, "Just, um, one red eye in the largest size you have and a caramel iced coffee in the same size. Low ice please, or my boss might kill me." The black card Chris gave him to use is the first in the wallet; he scans the piece of plastic and enters the pin with only half his attention.
"Sorry, coffee run." Noah murmurs, taking his phone in his hand and moving to the next counter. "But seriously there are some really big names here. I think I saw that one guy you like on the set list, it's an alliteration, I think- something Reynolds. Like-"
That seems to catch your attention.
"What?" You exclaim sharply. "Tell me you can get an autograph! Noah! I swear-!"
Noah huffs a laugh, retorting warmly as he tucks his wallet back away. "Is that all you got from this?"
"Man, it's like five a.m. Call me back in four hours if you want excitement." You scoff softly. He hears the faintly shuffling of fabric over the speaker before your sympathetic voice, "No, sorry, I'm excited. Promise. This is cool."
His chest feels warm with the attempt at sympathy, his grin pulling even wider. He picks up the drink tray as the barista leaves them at the side counter and readjusts his hold on his phone. "Nice try— I appreciate how much effort that must have taken. Go back to bed."
You sigh softly, "No, I'm up. Might as well get a run on my day." He hears a quiet 'thunk' followed by a soft, murmured 'ow!'
He can almost picture you hitting your head on the backboard. It pulls a loud snort out of him as he exits the café, "You sure about that? Don't really sound entirely lucid over there."
"Oh, hush." You mutter, "I'm gonna go get ready. You know what to do?"
"Network until I have a chance to leave McLean in the rearview mirror?" He offers, amused.
"Exactly." You yawn softly, "See you when you get home."
"See you." The call ends with a soft 'bzzt' of vibration. Shoving his phone back away, he runs to get to the crosswalk and heads back to set.
Though the day has a sort of resonating thrill to it, Noah is beyond thankful to get back to your shared apartment that night. It's just past midnight and the apartment is filled with little more noise than the ringing of the fridge. He toes off his shoes at the entrance, not minding to fix them when they end up upside down, and treks toward your bedroom.
Usually, he might stay up for a couple more hours and try to make some headway on storyboarding his own project but there's a tension festering in his forehead, threatening to overload his senses. The idea of doing anything other than curling up under the covers and passing out sounds horrifying.
Slowly, he creeks open your bedroom door and steps inside. He leaves his bag at the nightstand and pads around to find something to change into. You stir but thankfully, stay asleep until he has already slipped halfway under the comforter.
"How many times," Noah curses at the sound of your voice, "Are ya gonna wake me today?"
He lets his shoulder drop and settles against the pillow with a sigh, "Shit, sorry." He drags out the last syllable, a whiny note in his voice.
You throw an arm over his side, tucking your head into the space between you and yawning. "Just make it up to me t'morrow, kay?"
He agrees and even though he's gone before you wake up the next day, you consider it made up when you find the torn-away title page of a script, autographed and inconspicously left on your bedside.
Slowly, he begins to bring you more stuff— one for each event Chris takes him to once his job finally escalates from coffee-running receptionist into something more adjacent to assistant.
Theres the occasional selfie he gets with a cool celebrity as proof of his stories, small pieces of the set he snags when no one is watching, and the odd prop that he can manage to shove in his bag. The next one that really sticks out comes months later.
Noah texts you through the entirety of Revenge of the Island international premiere, mostly telling you about the kids he's been tasked to babysit.
You're out at the grocery store when it begins; your phone starts vibrating with the intensity of a call. As you pull it out of your pocket you find a string of texts.
18:07 - Noah: U are so lucky u chose a sane career path
18:07 - Noah: Sam is genuinely a downgraded harold
18:08 - Noah: Holy shit hes making me miss harold
18:08 - Noah: Tell harold i said that and we r breaking up
You grin at the screen, pausing in front of the peach counter.
18:09 - You: no we arent
18:11 - Noah: No we arent
18:11 - Noah: Still
You have some sympathy for the kids he's with and you're sure Noah does too; you remember the horror stories from your boyfriend's time on Total Drama. An actual shiver runs down your spine at his description of Dakota:
18:38 - Noah: SHE HAS A TAIL THAT WASNT CGI
18:40 - Noah: Shes like a solid foot and a half taller than me
18:41 - Noah: Her hair in like actually fried off and its stained green
18:43 - Noah: Shes definitely achieved a dream fake tan. Too bad it was achieved through extreme chemical exposure.
But slowly, they seem to fall back into the initial glamour of being on a reality show, even despite the surely traumatic experience they had on the island. So half-way through the night, the tone of his texts shifts towards the kids just screwing with Noah.
19:14 - Noah: Two of these kids have told me grab them drinks like im their assistant
19:15 -Noah: Chris is laughing at me
19:15 -Noah: Im going to kill him i swear
19:17 - You: think abt the money
19:19 - Noah:
19:19 - Noah: Fine
19:20 - Noah: But if the mic cable trips him then theres no proof i put it there
He is certainly not happy to be stuck around so many teenagers and the paparazzi but eventually, you notice that the kids grow on him.
20:32 - Noah: Is it messed up to spec on these kids sexuality
20:33 - You: nah
20:33 - You: they r only like 3 years younger than us
20:35 - Noah: This kid zoey is so into jo
20:35 - Noah: Like also her bf mike but like she looks at jo like shes into her
20:37 - You: …i thought you were gonna say Anne Marie seemed like a lesbian
20:37 - Noah: HOW DID I MISS THAT
He mentions Dawn and Brick with the most frequency.
With Dawn, it's comparisons to British wizard books and mentions of how cool she seems. Close to the end of the night, he's talking about how he's slipped off with her to find somewhere quiet to sit while everyone else is celebrating. He hardly even mentions that they're together. You end up on a call with him for a little, while you're driving and unable to type. She pitches in occasionally, which is the only reason you actually register that shes there.
Shortly before you turn off the call, you hear Brick chirp up distantly, saying something about getting himself and the rest of the teenage contestants home. Noah ends the call but seems to continue texting you on the way back. Brick makes up the majority of the content, between complaints of how unmanagable most of the kids are, he mentions Brick's politeness, not sounding unlike a broken record.
Noah is dropped off by Chef around eleven-thirty, meaning you're still awake and are curled up on the couch with your laptop when he returns. He smiles lazily in greeting, pulling his tie loose and just barely kicking off his dress shoes before collapsing next to you, a heft in his movements.
"Have a good night?" You ask, lowering your screen just a little and looking at Noah.
He hums, bringing his planting his feet on the couch cushion and sitting with his legs pulled close. "It was decent enough." He rolls down one of his sleeves, "Got something you might like."
You see a flash of red around his wrist briefly, before what seems to be string is pulled off and offered up in his palm. Your eyes settle on the woven embroidery bracelets in his open hand and you raise an eyebrow, taking it tentatively, "Where's this from?"
"Zoey made it for me." He shrugs, though you see the tugging at the corner of his lips. In the same motion, he puts his feet back down and stands up. "It's cute but you'll get more use of it, I think." He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before turning. "Gonna shower— I'll be back!" And with that, he turns into the hall and disappears down the hall.
Your eyes fall back on the bracelet. It's simple: made up of thick, red 'V' shapes with the occasional disturbance of teal and beige rows. The sight makes you grin and you have to wonder, how many of kids he 'loathes' so much have his number in their phones now?
Then, nearly a year later, you think your used to the things he brings back. You have a box dedicated to them: each little momento kept safely in the back your closet. You'll have to get a bigger one soon. There's a half dozen autographs, trinket souvenirs from farther travelled trips, and a notebook that gets taken and returned everytime he goes somewhere because Noah thinks it's fun to keep track of weird requests celebrities have asked of him. If there was a fire in the apartment, you actually might consider running back for them. Though, this— this is the most unconventional of them.
You aren't quite sure what you're looking at, what with Noah pacing back and forth in your kitchen, making wild gestures and holding a little white card between his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
He's expressing gratitude to whoever is over the line with him, over and over, honestly freaking you out; you question if you should check his forehead for a fever for a while.
By the time the call ends, his face is reddened and his cheeks have perked with dimples you rarely get the chance to see so deeply. He shoots over to you on clumsy feet, nearly tripping over himself as he pulls you into a tight hug. The two of you sway back and forth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. You want to ask what in the world is happening but whatever excitement is rolling off him in waves seems to infect you, and you can't get the words out around the resulting, face-splitting smile.
After a couple minutes, he finally seems to calm a little, pulling away and holding the card out to you. "Know what this is?"
"What?" You ask, taking the card into your hands and trying to read it.
You expect for him to say something, though if he was going to, he doesn't get the chance. "Holy shit." You breathe, pulling the card closer in case you misread it, "Does this mean-"
He confirms it with a humming nod as you look up at him. He asks, "That a studio's interested? Yeah." He seems near breathless with the confirmation.
"Of course, they are!" You pull him back into you, nuzzling into him. "Of course. You're brilliant. They'd be idiots not to see it."
He chuckles, "Don't get your hopes up; they could still back out."
"They won't!" You exclaim, totally sure of yourself. "Not a chance. Noah, this is it!"
He breathes you in, hands curling around your back, clinging onto your shirt. "You're right. They won't." You can practically feel the curl of his lips his face tucks into the curve of your neck. The two of you stand there for a long time.
That card doesn't ever find its way to the box. You resolve that you'll have to frame it later. It's the best part of your collection, after all.
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— I often worry about not making my readers interesting enough since they're supposed to fit such a broad audience. I think I escape that here but idk. Let me know if I don't, I suppose.
— My page has been through a lot of changes in the past 24 hours, just to make it easier to navigate. So I hope the masterlists and stuff look better. If any links are broken- definitely let me know. I think it's easier to have multiple, especially since the number of works I have is actually getting to a point where if I didn't change it now, it would be a royal pain later. Anyway, yeah- that's all. Leave a comment, like, or reblog: I appreciate when y'all do that. Maybe send in a request. Take care of yourselves, as always. Later.
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