Honey bee🐝 @unluckyhoneybee - Tumblr Blog

May 12

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: noah x reader (pirates au)

Series summary: Stuck in a life you don’t want, your only way out is a deal with a pirate, and that’s how your journey on a ship of outlaws toward a new life begins.

Tw: violence, death/killing, blood

Series mastelist

The cards slapped lightly against the wooden crate between you as Ruffilo dealt.

The sun was low and soon it would begin to paint the sky a thousand shades of orange and red. A few voices drifted across the deck: someone was laughing loudly somewhere behind you, and you could hear the faint creak of ropes and wood. That background was starting to feel familiar.

You adjusted your seat slightly, one leg tucked under you as you picked up your cards, fanning them out in your hands. It was a position you would never have sat in just a few weeks ago, and now here you are, sitting like a man.

A few seconds passed in quiet, just the two of you and the soft shuffle of cards being adjusted. Then, he spoke.

“So,” Ruffilo said, placing one of his cards down. “How’s it going?”

You looked up at him.

“On the ship,” he clarified, like it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s… okay.”

He hummed, like he expected that answer.

“Just okay?”

You shrugged slightly, placing a card down. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

“That is the truth.”

Ruffilo studied you for a moment, then leaned back just a little, one arm resting loosely on his knee as he considered his next move.

“And with Noah?” he asked.

Your fingers paused over your cards.

You thought about the past few weeks.

It had… changed. Maybe. You weren’t sure.

You thought about the mornings when you’d ended up near him without really meaning to, standing by the railing while he pointed something out in the distance, explaining currents or wind patterns.

You thought about the knots. The way he had started showing you one, slow at first, like he assumed you’d struggle, and then the brief pause when you had repeated it back without hesitation.

“That’s… not bad,” he had said.

“Not bad?” you had replied.

He had tilted his head slightly, watching your hands. “Alright. That’s better than I expected.”

You had rolled your eyes. “I used to travel with my father. I’m not completely useless.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he had muttered.

You shifted slightly where you sat now, your fingers brushing the edge of your cards absentmindedly.

You let out a quiet breath through your nose at the memory of the arm wrestling day.

He had been so sure of himself, leaning back, smirking, rolling his sleeve up like he knew he was going to win.

And then he lost.

You had laughed. Not even tried to hide it.

“Oh, don’t—” he had started.

“You lost,” you had said immediately.

“The table wasn’t stable.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

You remembered the look he had given you then. Both annoyed and amused, like he didn’t know whether to argue or just let it go.

Back on the deck, the sound of a card hitting the crate pulled you back. Ruffilo had played his turn, watching you now.

“Well?” he asked. You blinked once, refocusing, then finally placed your own card down.

“It’s… okay,” you said.

He raised a brow. “That’s the same answer.”

You shrugged again, “We talk,” you added after a moment. “Normally.”

“Normally,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

“He tells me things sometimes,” you went on, your gaze dropping briefly to your cards again. “About places. Things that happened at sea.”

Ruffilo nodded slightly, like that tracked.

“And?” he prompted.

“And nothing,” you said, maybe a bit too quickly. “Why you keep asking anyway?”

“Because Noah doesn’t trust people easily.”

“And?”

“And,” Ruffilo continued, glancing down at his cards before looking back at you, “he brought you on board anyway.”

You let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly.

“We had a deal,” you said. “I helped him, he had to take me away. That’s it.”

Ruffilo’s mouth twitched just a little at the corner, not quite a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly. “What?”

He shrugged. “He could’ve left you there,” he said. “Or thrown you overboard halfway through the trip if he really didn’t want the trouble. But he didn't. ”

You huffed lightly, shaking your head. “I don’t think Noah has much to worry about,” you said, a hint of amusement slipping into your tone. “I’m half his size. What exactly am I supposed to do, betray him and overpower the whole crew on my own?”

Ruffilo looked at you for a second. Then he let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like a laugh.

“That’s not the point,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Then what is?”

“It’s not about whether you can take him down in a fight,” he said. “If that was the standard, he wouldn’t trust half the people on this ship. No offence, but he just... doesn't trust rich people. Or people with power.”

“First,” you said, your tone sharpening without raising your voice, “my family was well off because my father worked hard for it.”

Ruffilo didn’t interrupt.

“Second,” you added, placing one card down a bit more firmly than necessary, “I don’t have any power.”

Ruffilo watched the card settle on the crate, then lifted his gaze back to you. “You were supposed to marry a governor, right?”

You frowned. “…Yes, but—”

“For him,” Ruffilo cut in, “that’s the same thing. The governor also works for the king. That’s money, and power. And he doesn’t like that.”

“Well,” you said, a small shrug following, “good thing I didn’t marry him, then.”

“Why? You care about being a little more likable to Noah?”

You blinked once, caught off guard for half a second before your expression settled again.

“No,” you said quickly. “I was just saying.”

A small pause.

Ruffilo held your gaze for another moment, like he was deciding whether to push further or not. Then he gave a short nod, looking back down at his cards.

“Alright,” he said simply. “If you say so.”

In that moment, you didn’t question it, you didn’t stop to wonder why Noah seemed to hate “rich people with power” so much.

He was a pirate. It made sense. Of course he did. Any of them hated rich people with power.

It wasn’t something worth thinking about any further. At least not then.

But later, months later, you would look back on that conversation and realize how easily you had brushed it aside, and you would think that you had been stupid not to listen more carefully.

Because there had been something there.

Something you hadn’t understood yet.

And you still had so much to learn about Noah at that time.

The evening was quiet.

The sea was calm, the wind steady but gentle, and the ship moved with a slow, almost rhythmic sway. Lanterns had been lit along the deck, their warm glow soft against the darkening sky, and the last colors of sunset were fading into deep blue.

You were sitting near the side, not too far from the others.

Someone had a bottle passed between them, someone else was lightly arguing about something that didn’t seem really important to you, and someone was laughing.

Noah was there too, a few steps away, leaning slightly against one of the posts, one arm crossed loosely over his chest as he listened to something Davis was saying, or only half-interested if the way his gaze drifted toward the horizon meant anything.

For a moment, everything felt… normal.

Then, a voice broke the peace.

“Ship!”

The word cut through every sound and every head turned at once.

“What?” someone asked, already standing.

“There!” the voice insisted, pointing toward the distance.

You followed the movement instinctively, your eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to make sense of the dark line on the horizon.

At first, you saw nothing. Then... another ship.

Noah was already moving before anyone else spoke again.

“Let me see!” he called out, stepping forward, his posture completely different now.

“Starboard side,” someone answered quickly.

He moved closer to the edge and someone passed a telescope to him.

“…Royal colors,” he said.

The words spread fast.

“Royal?”

“Are you sure?”

“What are they doing out here—”

“Shut up,” Noah cut in.

Silence followed.

He didn’t take his eyes off the ship.

“Merchants?” Ruffilo asked, stepping closer.

“No,” Noah replied immediately. “Too clean and organized.”

A small pause.

“Officials,” he added.

“Orders?” Ruffilo asked.

Noah didn’t hesitate.

“We take it.”

Ruffilo nodded.

“Move,” Noah said, already turning. “Get ready. Quiet until we’re close.”

People scattered into motion, ropes were checked and weapons picked up.

You turned slightly, your gaze finding Noah again as he moved past you, already giving out another order, already halfway into something that felt completely different from the man who had been standing there just minutes ago.

“…Noah—”

He stopped, turned, and looked at you. For a split second, something in his expression shifted, like he had forgotten you were there and now he didn’t know what to do.

“Go to your cabin.”

You frowned slightly. “What—”

“Now.”

“Noah...” You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

“I said go.”

It was an order.

A few heads turned briefly in your direction before snapping back to their tasks.

You froze for a second, caught between the instinct to argue and the very real understanding that this was not the moment.

You turned before he could say anything else, already moving toward the stairs, your steps quick, more out of the sudden tension than anything else.

Behind you, the deck was no longer calm and all you could hear was orders overlapped.

You didn’t look back, you went down the stairs, through the corridor, and then into your cabin. You closed the door behind you, a little harder than necessary, your breath slightly uneven.

For a moment, you just stood there, listening.

At first, it was muffled and distant, but soon it grew louder.

You could hear boots above your head, running and shouting. Then a crash, then a sharp sound of metal against metal.

The ship shifted, more aggressively this time, like it was cutting through the water faster.

You moved closer to the door without fully realizing it, your hand hovering near the handle.

You heard a distant shout. Then another, closer.

Something heavy hit the deck above.

Your heart started beating faster, each sound sharper than the last.

You heard voices you didn’t recognize, another crash, louder this time, then, absolute chaos.

You stayed there.

At first, you told yourself you would just wait until the noise settled, but it all seemed like it would never end.

The sounds only grew louder.

You heard steel against steel.

Again. And again.

You took a slow step back from the door.

This wasn’t… this wasn’t what you had imagined when you thought about leaving. About escape. About the sea. You had thought about distance, about freedom, about something different from the life waiting for you on land.

Not this.

Not blood. Not fighting in the dark. Not the reality of what being on a ship like this actually meant.

You had been so fucking stupid.

This had been a terrible idea from the start but you did it anyway.

Another crash shook the wall beside you, like something, or someone, had been thrown against it.

You pressed your lips together, your fingers curling into your palms.

This is wrong.

They are killing people.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t be on a ship that attacks others, that turns calm evenings into violence.

What were you thinking?

What had you expected?

Another shout echoed, closer now. Followed by a sharp, pained cry that cut off too quickly.

You shook your head once, like that could push the sound away, like it could make this feel less real.

This was your choice.

And suddenly, it felt like a terrible one.

Then... a violent impact slammed against your door.

You flinched hard, stumbling back a step as something heavy hit the wood with a dull, sickening thud, strong enough to rattle the hinges.

For a second, everything went still.

Then the door shifted, opening slightly.

The latch hadn’t held completely under the force, and now it stood slightly ajar, the thin line of the corridor visible through the gap.

You stared at it.

You shouldn’t look.

You knew that.

But the sounds were right there, just beyond that door, and now there was a space, a crack in the barrier that had kept you separate from it.

Your body moved before your mind could stop it, you took step forward, then another. And slowly, carefully, you reached the door and pushed it just a little more open.

There was blood.

Not a lot, not yet, but enough to make your stomach twist instantly, and then you saw Noah. He stood just a few steps from your door, his back partially turned to you, one foot braced against the shifting floor as he fought.

His white shirt, if it could still be called that, was torn at the sleeve, and a dark stain spread along his arm, blood seeping through the fabric where a cut had split it open, but he looked like he didn't even notice.

The man in front of him was not one of the crew. Even in the chaos, in the dim light of the corridor, and the movement, there was a clear difference.

His clothes were finer, structured and marked with details that caught the lantern light in brief flashes, like metal clasps and polished buttons. It must have been an uniform of some kind. He was obviously one of the king's men, and he had sword in his hand.

He striked forward, aiming clean and direct blows meant to end the fight quickly. Noah met him head-on.

Steel clashed again, loud and sharp in the narrow space.

The man lunged.

Noah stepped aside just enough, their blades sliding against each other with a harsh scrape before he twisted his wrist, redirecting the strike.

The corridor was too tight. Too close.

There was no room for wide movements, no space to retreat properly, and the ship’s constant motion only made everything worse.

Another strike.

Faster.

The man pressed forward, forcing Noah back half a step, then another, their boots slipping slightly against the blood-slick wood.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Noah’s shoulder hit the wall, then he moved again. He stepped in, too close for the other man to adjust in time.

His hand shot out, gripping the front of the man’s coat, pulling him off balance just enough, and then the blade flashed.

You didn’t even fully register the motion before it was over.

The edge of Noah’s sword dragged across the man’s throat in one clean, fast movement.

Blood spilled instantly, dark and heavy, pouring over the man’s collar, down his chest, too much, too fast.

A wet, choking sound tore from his throat, cut short almost as quickly as it began.

Your breath caught in your lungs and for a moment, you couldn’t move.

The man’s head tilted back slightly, his grip on the sword loosening as his body failed him, his knees buckling beneath him.

And then he fell. The sound of his body hitting the floor echoed in the narrow corridor, followed by the slow, spreading pool of blood beneath him.

You almost screamed, but you swallowed the sound at the last second, your hand flying to your mouth as your entire body went rigid.

You couldn’t look away.

There was blood everywhere.

On the floor. On his clothes. On Noah’s hands.

Noah stood there for a second, his chest rising and falling, his grip still tight around the sword.

Then he lifted his head and his gaze found you instantly. There was no regret for what he had just done in his eyes, no second thought, no guilt for the man lying dead at his feet.

But for a second he looked just sorry about but the fact that you had seen it. Seen him like that.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, and neither of you moved.

The lantern light flickered between you, catching on the blood still dripping from his blade, on the stain spreading across his sleeve and on the body between you.

And just like that, whatever had been in his eyes disappeared.

He looked away first, then he turned, stepping past the body without another glance, his boots leaving faint marks through the blood as he moved down the corridor, already gone before you could realize.

Your hand was still on the door, and you didn’t even notice you were moving until you pushed it shut.

The wood met the frame with a dull sound, and suddenly, everything outside was muffled again, like a murder hadn’t just happened a few steps away from you.

Your back hit the door as you stepped away from it, your legs giving out before you could stop them.

You sank to the floor, and hands came up to your head almost instinctively, fingers tangling into your hair as you tried to breathe.

You stayed there, curled slightly into yourself, your elbows resting on your knees, your head bowed forward.

And you didn’t move when the sounds outside continued, when more distant clashes echoed through the ship, when voices rose and fell and eventually began to thin out.

Time passed, but you didn’t know how much precisely, and slowly, gradually, the noise started to fade.

The chaos softened into scattered movement, then into quieter voices, and eventually into something almost like silence again.

Disgust sat heavy in your chest. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly against your hair.

You kept seeing way he had fallen, the blood, the sound of his body hitting the floor.

You hated it.

You hated what you had seen.

You hated what this was.

A ship that attacked others in the dark. A crew that fought and killed like it was just another day, living in a world where that… was normal.

Your breathing slowed, but the feeling didn’t leave.

Eventually, your thoughts shifted.

Were they all alive?

Would you have cared if some of them died?

You thought about Davis.

He had always talked too much, he spent his time with you, treated you... like a friend, and he had been kind to you.

Yes.

You would have cared.

More than you wanted to admit.

About Ruffilo too.

And same with Folio.

They weren’t just names in your notebook anymore, they were… people you were really getting to know.

And if one of them was gone—

You exhaled slowly... it would hurt despite everything. You almost felt like a hypocrite for thinking that.

Then you thought about Noah.

You went still, and your fingers loosened slightly in your hair, your hands slowly lowering as your gaze drifted unfocused toward the floor.

If someone walked in right now and told you he was dead, would you care?

Your gaze landed on the small table beside your bed, and you saw the shell, so pretty and so out of place in a moment like this. Still, he had given it to you like a child who gives one of the few he owns to someone he cares about as a way to apologize.

He was an killer.

A pirate.

A criminal.

You forced yourself to hold onto them and to let them be enough to judge him.

It was as if the Noah who had given you the shell, the one who had helped you with your clothes and who liked to tease you all the time was a different Noah from the murderer and the pirate.

And desite everything, you knew.

You would still care.

A sound from outside your door pulled you out of your thoughts. It was just a dull scrape, something heavy dragging against the wooden floor, slow and uneven, accompanied by low voices, but you didn’t need to see it to understand they were moving the body.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, sitting on the floor and listening, until the dragging sound faded.

You swallowed slowly, then pushed yourself up, your movements stiff, your legs slightly unsteady as you stood. For a moment, you hesitated, your gaze flickering toward the door again.

Then, before you could change your mind, you stepped forward and opened it.

The corridor was empty.

There was no body laying there anymore, but traces of blood remained, darkened streaks along the wood, already drying but still smelling.

You stood there for a second, just looking, then you stepped out.

You moved toward the stairs, your hand brushing lightly against the wall as you climbed, slow like you were still almost expecting something to jump out at you.

But nothing did.

When you reached the deck, lanterns were still burning, casting their warm glow across the wood, and the Specter had steadied again, rocking gently against the waves like it usually did.

There was an empty barrel lying on the ground and a few pieces of wood scattered around, evidence of the fight, but that was all.

The crew looked… fine.

A few men had blood on their clothes that clearly wasn’t theirs, but they were standing, moving, and talking.

They looked all alive and there was laughter, even.

Your gaze shifted slowly across the deck, then further, and you saw the other ship.

It was still there, pulled alongside yours, its dark shape looming close enough that you could make out details now. Only pirates moved across it now.

Of course that’s how it ended.

You tore your gaze away and moved further onto the deck, scanning the faces around you until you found Ruffilo. He stood near a set of crates, speaking briefly with someone before turning slightly and noticing you.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

The question was strange, like you hadn’t just heard and saw men die a few moments ago.

You looked at him. There was a brief pause before you answered.

“Did you kill them all?”

“No,” he said. “Most of them got away. Took the lifeboats.”

Your gaze didn’t leave his.

“We took the ship,” he added after a moment, gesturing vaguely behind him toward the other vessel. “And whatever they had on board.”

A small pause.

“Yeah. Of course you did.”

He let out a quiet breath, “Pirates do what pirates do.”

“I saw a man get his throat cut open a few steps away from me.”

“Yeah, Noah can be…” he started, then paused, his brow furrowing faintly. “Impulsive, sometimes.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

He ignored that, or chose to.

“He’s not... He’s not a bad person.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond because Ruffilo’s attention shifted past you, and you turned slightly, following his gaze.

Noah was walking across the deck, already mid-conversation with someone else before he even reached you, like the blood you had seen on his hands had never been there.

He stopped near Ruffilo, not even sparing you more than a brief glance.

“We’re heading to Devil’s Hook,” he said. “We’ll leave that ship there.”

Ruffilo nodded once. “Got it.”

Noah didn’t wait for anything else. He turned immediately, and you moved before you fully decided to.

“Noah.”

He didn’t stop.

You followed him.

“I don’t remember agreeing to extra stops,” you said.

That made him glance back, just briefly, not slowing his pace.

“Well, princess,” he said, almost casually, “you’re already here, so you’ll come to terms with it.”

You frowned, keeping up with him as he crossed the deck and reached the stairs.

“It’s not far anyway,” he added as he started down. “Think of it as a detour. You might even enjoy it.”

You let out a quiet, incredulous breath as you followed him below deck.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.”

Lantern light flickered along the wooden walls as he walked ahead of you. You crossed your arms loosely.

“I’ve never even heard of that place,” you said.

“That’s because it’s not on normal maps,” he replied without looking back.

“Why not?”

He turned a corner, and you followed immediately.

“Because it’s not meant to be,” he said simply. “It’s mostly a pirate island. People stop there to trade, resupply… things like that.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Fantastic,” you said. “Another place full of criminals. Exactly what I was hoping for.”

He huffed lightly at that. “Relax,” he said. “If you come out for a bit, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

You raised a brow behind him. “How reassuring,” you muttered. “Should I feel honored to be escorted?”

He didn’t answer that.

For a moment, the only sound between you was your footsteps against the wood.

Then you spoke again.

“So... don’t you have anything to say about what just happened?”

“About what?” he asked.

“About what?” you repeated, disbelief slipping fully into your tone. “You killed a man in front of my door.”

“I didn’t plan for it to happen there,” he said. “It just did.”

Your hands tightened slightly against your arms.

“That’s your fucking explanation?”

“Yeah.”

“Noah.”

“It’s the truth.”

For a second, neither of you spoke, he turned away again, reached a door and pushed it open without hesitation. You followed a step behind, stopping at the threshold as he walked inside.

The room was larger than yours. There was a bed against one wall, a table with scattered items, maps, a few things carelessly left where they had been used last. There where weapons within reach, some books and notebooks.

It was his cabin.

You stayed by the doorway watching him as he moved further inside like this was just another normal moment in a normal day.

“You really said that like it’s nothing,” you said.

He didn’t look at you, just reached for something on the table, pushing a few things aside.

“Because it is.”

Your brows pulled together.

“No, it’s not,” you snapped. “You killed someone.”

“And?”

You stared at him.

“And?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s all you have to say?”

He finally looked at you. “They weren’t good people.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.”

“How?” you shot back immediately. “How can you possibly know that every single person on that ship deserved to die?”

Something in his gaze darkened at that.

“First, they escaped. Most of them. Second, they work for the king,” he said, “That’s enough.”

“That’s not enough,” you insisted. “That doesn’t mean they all deserved—”

“The king’s a piece of shit,” he cut in sharply, “And anyone who works for him is just as bad. They can all rot in hell for all I care.”

You stared at him, taken aback for half a second.

“Why?” you pressed. “What makes you so sure?”

He let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if the answer was obvious.

“Because they sit in their gold and pretend everything’s fine while people starve and die,” he said. “Because they take and take and take, and the only ones who pay for it are the ones who have nothing to give.”

His jaw tightened.

“They kill innocent people,” he added, quieter now, but somehow sharper. “The king kills innocent people.”

You held his gaze.

“And you don’t.”

It wasn’t really a question, more of repeating what you knew he was thinking.

“I kill people who deserve it.”

“How do you know?” you asked. “You can’t possibly know exactly what they’ve done, you can’t know every—”

“I know enough.”

The way he said it stopped you for a second, like there was something behind it you couldn’t see, something you didn’t understand and that he wasn’t going to explain.

You were about to say something else but he reached for the edge of his shirt and pulled it off in one quick motion.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second before your eyes instinctively dropped, then immediately flicked away, then back again despite yourself.

His torso was bare now, the lantern light catching over skin covered in tattoos, in ink winding across his arms, along his ribs, disappearing over his shoulder and down his side.

And scars.

Thin lines, thicker ones, some older, some not.

Your gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, to his arm.

The cut was worse than it had looked before. Blood still seeped slowly from it, running down along his skin.

He didn’t seem concerned.

He grabbed a strip of cloth, then a small bottle from the table, uncorking it with his teeth before pouring some of it over the wound without hesitation.

You winced.

“That’s not how you—”

He ignored you.

The alcohol hit the cut and he barely reacted, his jaw tightening just slightly as he reached for the bandages.

“You’re going to make it worse,” you said, stepping a little closer despite yourself. “You need to clean it properly first—”

“I am cleaning it.”

“That’s not—”

He wrapped the cloth too quickly, too tight, the movement careless.

You exhaled sharply.

“You’re obviously doing it wrong.”

He said nothing.

You took another step forward.

“Noah—”

Still nothing.

You watched for a second longer, then shook your head.

“You’re going to end up with an infection if you keep doing it like that.”

“Do you want to do it?” he asked sharply.

His eyes held yours. Challenging.

You knew that look, like he was already expecting you to back down, like the question hadn’t really been a question at all.

He didn’t think you’d say yes.

You saw it.

“If you let me,” you said.

The words came out before you could think them through, and a second, neither of you moved.

Something flickered across his face, and you knew that your answer surprised him.

You weren’t entirely sure why you had said it.

Maybe because you wanted to prove him wrong.

Maybe because you knew you could do it better.

Maybe because, despite everything, despite what you had just seen… you cared. At least a little.

He exhaled quietly through his nose, then gave a small, almost reluctant nod.

“Fine.”

You stepped closer and moved inside the room properly this time, letting the door rest half-open behind you. The lantern light shifted slightly as you approached him, your focus narrowing to his arm.

The edges of the cut weren’t clean, and the blood hadn’t fully stopped, still slipping down his skin in slow, dark lines. You reached for the cloth he had been using, then the bottle, your fingers brushing briefly against his as you took it.

“Sit,” you said. It seemed the most logical thing.

He didn’t argue. That, more than anything, made you glance at him for a second before you focused again.

You poured a small amount of alcohol over the cloth this time instead of directly onto the wound.

“Hold still.”

“I am—”

“Just—don’t move.”

He went quiet.

You pressed the cloth against the cut.

His entire arm tensed instantly, you felt it.

The slight tightening of muscle under your fingers, the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath. But he didn’t pull away.

You worked carefully, slower than he had, cleaning the blood away bit by bit. Each time you pressed a little too firmly, you felt his body react again.

He was trying not to show it.

“Sorry” you said at some point. Like the fault was yours.

Stupid.

“I'm fine.”

You glanced at him briefly.

“That was a lie.”

A faint breath left him, “It was not.”

You didn’t argue, just kept going. The cloth dragged lightly over the cut again, and this time his fingers flexed slightly at his side.

You noticed.

You softened your touch just a little after that, more careful now, even if you didn’t say anything.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet, compared to the chaos from before.

You could hear just the sound of your movements, the faint sound of the Specter, the soft shift of his breathing.

Once the worst of the blood was gone, you set the cloth aside and reached for the bandages.

“Lift your arm a bit.”

He did. This time without comment.

You wrapped it slowly, making sure it was tight enough to hold, but not enough to cut off circulation like he had tried to do. Your fingers brushed against his skin more than once.

You were close.

Closer than you had been before. Close enough to notice the details you hadn’t earlier, the flowers tattooed on his skin, the warmth of it, the smell of salt and alchol and sweat. You didn’t comment on any of it and when you were done, you tied the bandage securely and let your hands fall away.

“There,” you said.

A small pause.

Then you stood up and stepped back.

He looked down at his arm, flexing his hand slightly, testing it. There was another brief silence before he spoke.

“…Thanks.”

It was quiet and not forced, and for once, there was no sarcasm in it.

Suddenly, you realized how intimate that moment was starting to feel. The lantern light had softened everything, Noah was not wearing any shirt, and your hands that had just been on him.

You swallowed.

You took a small step back, then another, like distance could reset whatever this had become. Your fingers came together in front of you, restless, unsure where to put themselves.

“It’s… very late,” you said, trying to make your voice sound normal. “I think I’m going to sleep.”

Noah just glanced up at you.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Of course.”

You nodded quickly, definitely too quickly.

“Goodnight,” you added, already turning.

You didn’t wait and left before he could say anything else, stepping out into the corridor and letting the door fall shut behind you a little faster than necessary.

Only once you were back in the hallway did you realize your breath wasn’t steady. And you didn’t slow down until you reached your own cabin.

The door clicked shut behind you and the sound lingered for a second in the quiet, then faded into the low creak of the ship.

Noah exhaled slowly.

His shoulders dropped just slightly.

“…Right,” he muttered under his breath.

He dragged a hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck. His other hand flexed absentmindedly at his arm, the one you had just wrapped.

The bandage held. Better than he would’ve done it.

Of course it did.

It had been… a nice thing to do.

Unnecessary, but nice.

He glanced down at his arm again, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric like he was testing it, but his attention wasn’t really there anymore.

He kept thinking about you and the way you had stood there, stubborn and irritated (as always), arguing with him like you actually expected him to listen.

He thought about the way you had stepped closer anyway, about your hands.

His fingers stilled.

For a second, he could still feel it. The pressure, careful but firm. The way you had adjusted when you realized it hurt more than he let on, the way you hadn’t said anything about it.

He leaned back against the wall behind the bed, exhaling slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before lifting again, unfocused.

Having you on the ship was... complicated.

More than he had expected.

At first, it had been simple. A deal. A temporary, even if probably long, problem. Something he would handle and then forget about once you were gone.

But now... it wasn’t simple anymore.

You argued with him, you looked at him like you didn’t agree with anything he said, you laughed when he lost any game or bet, and he secretly liked it. You also noticed things, too many things.

And now this.

He wasn’t used to… whatever this was, and he didn’t even know what to call it, didn’t know if he should ignore it, push it away, or just let it sit there and pretend it didn’t matter.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the door again.

It didn’t.

That was the point.

None of it did.

In a few months you’d be gone, where you were supposed to be, to a life that had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with this ship and crew.

And that would be it.

He wouldn’t have to think about you.

About the way you looked at him.

About the way you talked to him.

About the way your hands had felt on his skin...

He sighed trying to push the thought again once more.

No.

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

He pushed himself off the bed, reaching for a clean shirt without thinking too much about it, pulling it on.

He thought about the man he killed again.

When he had said he didn’t mean for it to happen in front of you, he hadn’t been lying. It had just… happened to be there, and he had done what he had to do.

Because he knew.

Because he had seen enough to not hesitate anymore, not when it came to men like that, to ships like that, to anything tied to the crown.

There were things you didn’t understand.

Things you couldn’t. Things you wouldn’t.

And that was the point.

Some things stayed buried for a reason.

And he wasn’t about to start digging them up now. You weren’t going to find anything out anyway.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @ichoosetenderomens @theservantbones @pacificbutbmth @theanarchymuse95 @ykaaretsfood @noahsebastiann @nogoodsailors

shbto tags: @novainpolaroids @enzocoquette @lifeirreverent @shobolanya @crystallizedtime @mushroommelody1

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