inspired by an ask from @ichoosetenderomens and introducing dealer!noah
cw: 18 + 𝖒𝖉𝖓𝖎. dealer!noah, light mention of selling drugs, hurt/comfort, blood, violence against noah, enemies to lovers, cleaning up wounds, situationship mention, brief mention of cheating.
It’s the middle of the night, and the last person you could’ve ever anticipated seeing at your door is Noah. A bloody hand shoots out, blocking the door as you try to close it. His cracked lips, split and still oozing crimson, part just enough for your name to slip past them. It sounds pained, winded, and of all people, Noah is the one seeking you out for help.
It’s almost pitiful, the sight of him, beaten down, bloody, and barely standing.
“Please…”
The usual disdain you feel for him is swallowed by your compassion. You don’t like the guy—you never have, but you can’t stand to see him like this, something grotesque and broken. One arm cradles his ribs, and even breathing makes him wince.
Your first thought is the hospital, but even as you open your mouth to suggest it, the words die on your tongue, replaced with another, reluctant thought. “Come in.”
You shuffle back, opening the door wider as he drags himself inside and over to your couch. Your heart pounds as you hurry to the kitchen, fingers trembling while you wet a cloth—something, anything to clear the bloody mess of his face.
From the kitchen, you hear the couch creak under his weight, followed by a low, pained grunt. When you step back into the living room, you find him sprawled across it, entirely unconcerned about being in enemy territory, so to speak.
“I don’t know why you bothered coming here.” You scoff, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. You’ve never seen anyone in this state before—not even your on again, off again boyfriend. Part of you wonders if that’s what this is—a job gone wrong. You know what your boyfriend does; a local dealer with his hands in too many pockets, and Noah was one of them.
“Because you always have such a warm disposition and hospitality.” Even winded, his snark makes you grind your teeth.
You huff and sit beside him on the couch, reaching out to dab at the blood. His left eye is swollen shut, his cheek puffy with bruising, and a cut along his forehead keeps trickling blood down his face. “You look like shit,” you mutter, cringing every time he winces under the pressure.
“You should see the other guy,” he wheezes, clutching his side like he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will.
“You should really go to a hospital.” You try to sound sincere, but the judgment in your tone is hard to mask.
“You already know the answer to that.” And sadly, you do. Hospitals mean questions, and Noah isn’t exactly fond of answering them—though you chalk most of that up to his stubbornness.
“Well, if you’re not gonna help yourself…” You press the cloth harder against the cut on his head. He hisses, and a flicker of satisfaction curls in your chest. “Consider that a reminder not to do something so stupid next time.”
You don’t catch it, but Noah rolls his eyes, taking the cloth from your hand. You shift away, putting a little distance between you.
“You know he won’t be happy if you’re here, right?” you say carefully, hinting at your sort of boyfriend.
Noah’s mouth curls into a sneer. “Are you sure about that, pretty girl? Last I heard, you two had broken up. And, well—he’s been looking pretty cozy with a couple of new girls.”
He says it nonchalantly, but you can see the strain it costs him to keep up the act. It gives you a tiny bit of satisfaction anyway, though your jaw tightens as you fight to keep your face neutral, refusing to let him see the flicker of jealousy or hurt.
You walk away, partly to catch your breath, partly to busy yourself, returning with a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. Setting the bowl on the table, you take a seat beside him and reach for the now bloodied rag in his hand, setting it aside before wetting the new one.
“So, are you actually going to tell me what you were doing, or…?” You’re trying to prod, though you already know Noah won’t be easy to crack.
Taking his hands, you start dabbing gently along his knuckles, where the skin is an angry red—bloody, split, and already beginning to bruise. It’s obvious he’s been in a fight. You can’t help but think he’s gotten lucky, you’ve seen enough to know how much worse it could’ve gone.
His silence grates at you, and you press again.
“You’re in my house. Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
You tilt your head, brow arching slightly. He just shakes his own and looks away.
“Come on now.” He hisses under his breath but doesn’t pull away, allowing you to settle his hand in your lap. Not even his tattoos can hide the marks left behind. “You know how I feel about that,” he mutters.
By that, he means you having any knowledge of what goes on in his world—or in your now ex boyfriend’s. You’ve never mixed with drugs, and as far as you knew, neither of them did beyond packaging and selling, but Noah’s reputation in their circle speaks for itself.
“Firstly, I’m not some little girl,” you snap. “And secondly, you’re no one to tell me what I can or can’t know—or what I can or can’t be involved in.”
He looks faintly amused by your defiance, and it only makes you roll your eyes. As if he has any right to dictate what you do, where you go, or what you know. He’s never hidden his dislike for you or your presence during any of the deals, but you’ve never cared much what he thought. You just wrote him off as some guy with a bruised ego over your lack of interest—or maybe he’s just an overall dick.
“Is that so?” There’s a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when you look at him, almost like he’s proud of you for standing up to him. You respond by rolling your eyes again, bringing a hand up to his face and turning it away from you, forcing a soft whine from him when the movement sparks his pain once more.
“So, are you gonna tell me?” you ask again.
He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether to trust you, before settling on his answer.
“Wrong place, wrong time. That’s all.”
“That’s what you’re going with?”
“It’s the truth.”
Something tells you it’s only half the truth, but it’s enough—for now. You don’t have the energy to push him any further.
EARLIER THAT NIGHT
“And what did you call me out here to have a little chat about, hm?”
Noah watches as his boss—your sort of boyfriend, steps out of the car, boots crunching against the gravel as he approaches. There’s a notable height difference between them, but Noah doesn’t count on that working in his favor, not with two associates—thugs really, flanking the man on either side.
“You need to stop bringing her around.”
The words come out sharp before Noah can stop himself. He knows it’s not his place to speak, but his tone carries like a warning, as if he has any say in what this man does beyond their working relationship.
“I must be mistaken,” his boss replies coolly, “because it sounds like you think I care at all about your opinion—or about what I choose to do.”
As he steps closer, Noah’s jaw tightens. He turns his head slightly, trying to swallow the anger bubbling in his chest. The truth is, he might not like you, but he hates even more the thought of you—someone innocent, being mixed up in this mess.
“Then are you gonna tell her about the dodgy pills you’ve been selling?” Noah fires back.
“I don’t know what you mean, dear boy.”
The mockery drips from his tone, and before Noah can react, a hand slaps against his cheek—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting. The grip lingers, fingers squeezing his face in a parody of affection, before a sudden knee drives hard into his stomach.
Pain explodes through him. He doubles over, breath knocked out, coughing as he drops to his knees on the gravel.
“Now,” his boss says evenly, “if you think you can start calling the shots with your little teasing threats, maybe you need to be reminded of your place.”
Noah barely has time to register the words before another blow lands—this time to his ribs. He gasps, struggling for air, trying to swing back, but the two thugs are already on him. They seize his arms, holding him wide open for the next hit.
A fist crashes into his cheek. Then another to his forehead. Then his eye. Skin splits under the force, blood spurting and mixing with the dirt. Noah chokes, gagging as he tastes iron on his tongue.
Another punch. A kick to his ribs. Then another, and another—each one duller than the last as his body starts to give out. He slumps to the ground, the world blurring vision fading at the edges until everything goes black.
When he finally comes to, there’s nothing. No voices, no footsteps, just the faint hum of engines somewhere in the distance and the low buzz of the city alive at night.
Groaning, Noah pushes himself upright on shaky legs, wincing with every movement, every breath. There’s only one thought in his mind, one place for him to go.
WTF, those Darius photos got me FERAL. My mind is full of thoughts of him + dealer!Noah 🙇🏻♀️
OH MY GOD!!! So!!! I was planning on having Darius be stalker!jolly’s friend who comes to visit and play with you 😏 but now I have to include him with dealer!noah, right? him and folio (street racer vibes folio), because… hot hot hot 🥵 RIGHT?! But also, Darius being the devil’s advocate who’s always telling Noah to let you off the leash he has you on, to let you have a little fun. He’ll even share some of his own stash with you if you ask nicely (see: beg). He may look mean and intimidating, but he’s a sweetheart deep down, and he very clearly has a soft spot for you, which naturally makes Noah just a little 🤏 jealous and possessive even though you’re not officially his.
