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rogue-durin-16 · 5 hours ago

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HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XX/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, nudity? (Is that a warning?), depictions of wounds, death.

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble I'm so done. Anyway, here's the shower scene, enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The basement was too quiet. Not silent—quiet in the way a place goes after someone's last breath was wrung out of it. No shouting, no talking; just tears and shivering —and Jackson's body on a stretcher laid on the floor, with an itchy blanket covering his torn face and the stillness of his chest.

No one acknowledged Don when entered the cellar turned bunker. No one cared enough.

"Y/n," he called gently. I blinked away the patrol's darkness to stare at him. "Speirs cleared the officers' showers for you." His gaze flicked to Jones momentarily. "I'll stand watch."

I limited myself to nod, offering the ginger a quiet 'okay'. I, too, turned to check on the distressed Lieutenant, who seemed to be doing his best to navigate a situation he hadn't expected to deal with.

"Go." He allowed, still caressing Vest's crown. "Sergeant?"

"Sir?"

"Get that checked at the aid station."

I tilted my chin, an instinctive move that shifted my attention to the shoulder that didn't hurt yet.

"Will do, Sir."

Malarkey stretched out his arm for me to go with him, and only came down limply at his side when we fell into step together.

We moved in silence through the cold, mindful to avoid getting too close to the river. The mud on my uniform crunched when I moved. My fingers ached. My legs moved on habit.

"I'm sorry." I whispered after taking the third turn.

Malarkey gave me a sideways look. "For what?"

"For the showers, earlier. With Jones." I clarified, sparing half a second to examine my friend's expression in the dark. "Didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"That kid was born with a stick up his ass." He commented distractedly, pushing the officers' billet's door open. "You didn't put it there, did you?"

I cracked a tired smirk as I followed him inside a much nicer space than the one Second Platoon had huddled into.

"You really shook him, though." He went on, turning on the hallway's flickering lightbulb. "Taking off your shirt like that? Think he's never seen a woman naked. Probably had to go lie down after." I breathed out something close to a laugh, tired but genuine, and followed Don to a door tucked away behind the main house. "At least you get to take a fancy shower."

"Lucky me." I muttered, taking a look around me.

The officers' showers were smaller, yet definitely of better quality than the company's communal tent, solid walls and tiles protecting the pair of showerheads jutting out. The inside was dim and smelled faintly of rust and lye, pipes groaning somewhere behind the cement.

"Take your time." Malarkey reassured me before I could even ask how long did I have. "I'm not moving."

"Y/n," The ginger called from the opposite corner of the room, where he stood with his gaze trained on his boots. "Anything happened?"

I shook my head affirmatively and began peeling off the uniform piece by piece, each layer heavier than the last. My sweater clung to dried blood and dirt.

"During the patrol?" I inquired, pulling my undershirt over my head, flakes of dried something—sweat, blood, grime—fluttering to the floor.

"This morning. With Lieb."

I froze on the spot, half a second too long. "Define 'something'." I tried to play off the halt in my motions as a struggle caused by the straining pain puncturing my back.

Malarkey let out a tired sigh. "He made you cry?"

"What? No," I threw a confused glance over my shoulder to meet his eyes on the ruined mirror hung across from us. "where'd that come from?" I didn't give him the chance to question further, scared of where his suspicions would land if he caught me off guard again. "We had an argument. You know how it is with him."

"That's it?"

I nodded. "That's it."

That seemed to settle my friend's uneasiness, although I wasn't sure if he bought it or was just humoring me. He sure didn't look like he had the energy to dig deeper.

The faucet opened with a screech, giving way to what soon turned into a scalding purge.

At first, nothing came off; the filth clung to me like skin. My palms turned gray with it, my nails filled with sludge. The blood down my arms—Jackson's, I realized in a nauseous wave—ran down the drain in thin, pink streaks. More and more of it. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin turned red.

Aside from the promised bruises a bad landing had earned me, there must have been a gash across my shoulder blade my body had forgotten to tell me about.

The water ran brown, then rust-colored, then finally clear. I got rid of my underwear and hung it nearby. My scalp stung with the hot water, matted locks slowly untangling until I could fully run my fingers through it all.

The knots on my muscles eased up, and the scorching feeling became soothing in a way that made a lump crawl up my throat.

"Don, I need a minute." My words were rushed and quiet, which told the man more than he needed to know. With a decided ''course', he stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him.

The moment the lock clicked, I broke. A single sob stole the breathing out of me, and, due of the rare moment of privacy, I allowed myself to feel it. Just for one minute, arms around my stomach, eyes shut, shaky shoulders that wouldn't settle.

Just one minute to rinse myself clean inside and out.

More than most would get.

JOE'S P. O. V.

I told myself it was just the uniform.

That's why I walked over to the officers' billet. That's why I folded her spare shirt and pants under my arm like it mattered. Like it wasn't just a poor excuse to see her again. Thanks to the full moon, the sky was still gray like it hadn't moved all day. The ground squelched under my boots.

Malarkey was right outside what Luz had described as the gateway to the officers' showers, his hands in his pockets, head hanging low.

"She got a clean uniform?" I questioned, mostly to announce myself, stopping a few feet short from the Sergeant.

"I was gonna go grab one."

"No need to." I motioned at the folded ODs I carried. "Saved you the trouble."

"Saved me the trouble." Malarkey repeated with wary eyes, but he still pushed the door open just enough to call through. "Y/n? Lieb brought you a clean uniform."

At first, there was no reply. The water was still running and for a second, I doubted she'd heard Malarkey at all. Then her voice came out, a bit jagged, a bit rough, but loud enough for us to hear.

"Tell him to leave it in."

The ginger left the door ajar and tilted his head to the showers, arms folded over his chest; his go-to way of holding himself together lately. "You heard her."

"Right." I circled his form to reach the entrance, but hesitated half a step out. "Hey, I was thinkin'," my tone was strained, as if I was pretending real hard something didn't matter. "maybe I could take it from here."

Malarkey raised an eyebrow. "Take what from where?"

"Someone's gotta stand watch, right?" I began, doing my best to keep my demeanor even. "I ain't got shit to do."

There was a beat of silence in which I had to fight the urge to resort to my usual attitude, triggered by the ginger's squinted eyes trying hard to read between lines. To my surprise, he didn't make a single question. Just took a step back and, darting one last glance to the showers, warned me, "don't make it worse."

Yeah, right, I thought to myself, 'cause it's always that simple with her.

I stepped in, the air thick with steam, the sharp sting of soap and something older. Maybe copper. Or dirt. Or maybe the months of rot boiling off skin and soul.

The weak light buzzed overhead like it could give out any second. I didn't look straight at her. I didn't have to —the cracked mirror over the rusted sink caught enough.

Her back was to me; water traced the curve of her spine, slow, reluctant lines cutting through reddened skin. Bruises bloomed along her shoulder, dark and angry. There was a tremble in her arms I chose to blame on the cold.

I crossed the small space and crouched near the stall. "I'll leave it here." I informed her, setting the uniform down and away from the water's reach.

She mumbled something that reached my ears as a 'thank you', one hand braced against the wall and her forehead pressed to the tile.

"Want me to wait outside?" I questioned, taking two strides in the door's direction with no real intention of crossing it.

"You can stay."

So I did, leaning on the concrete wall, searching desperately for something to do with my hands.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Since when do you ask for permission?" I scoffed at her question, although my fingers had already dug into my jacket's pockets for a cigarette I was placing between my teeth and a lighter that wouldn't catch. "Lighter's in my pants." She added, like she already knew I'd ask.

I didn't say a word; just made my way over to the pile of discarded overused fatigues and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for, doing my best to focus on lighting the cigarette and not on how easy it'd be to see her —actually see her—. Just a slight tilt to my left, no reflections, no distance, just the soft silhouette of her body, battered and bruised and perfect. It wouldn't be the first time I saw her, but it was starting to feel like it.

Maybe it was the privacy offered by these showers, the quietness begging to be broken, or the ghost of her lips still making mine tingle.

Light the damn cigarette. Once. Twice. The flame caught and I took a long drag, tossing the lighter back over the olive fabric.

It wasn't until I had returned to my previous spot that I spoke again, voice too controlled to sound natural. "Regiment wants another patrol tomorrow night. Same roster, same plan."

The water shut off with a sharp clank. She stood there a second. "Wonderful." She said, "Wanna bet on who goes down in this one?"

Y/n stepped away from the drain and the wet tiles, grabbing her soaked underwear and wringing it out. My eyes kept stealing glances on the mirror, catching flashes—her hip, the rise of her ribs, the old scar near her navel.

Our gazes met twice before she even pulled up her pants. She didn't comment on it.

"To be fair, chances are it’ll be me." She commented, almost offhandedly.

"Think that's funny?" It came out sharper than intended, but then again, wasn't that how it always went with her?

"You're the one who said I'm getting sloppy." She grabbed her bra next and rinsed it without much care. "Maybe you're right."

I heard it in the lack of bite or sarcasm. Something off, making it sound more like a confession rather than a smart quip.

"Something happen during the patrol?"

She turned a little —enough to catch my face in the mirror, this time with intent. Her own were flat. "Fell off the stairs while we were grabbing the prisoners. Landed on my back." As if on cue, a small wince twisted her face when she turned further. She held the bra loosely in one hand. "Can you help me clasp this?"

I was moving before she finished the sentence.

Up close, her back was a goddamn mess. A new scrape cut through her shoulder blade; skin torn in uneven streaks over purple and blue. I let my fingers graze the bruise as I reached for the hooks, and took my sweet time —time I didn't really need for the simple task. She didn't flinch.

She didn't move, either. But I lingered for too long, my mind wandering places where it had no business going.

"You're being weird." A call-out I didn't want but needed. My touch exchanged her damp skin for the cigarette trapped between my lips.

"I'm not being weird."

She turned around, chest rising slowly beneath the now clasped bra, arms slack at her sides. I reached instinctively, brushing off a small streak of something—mud, maybe, or ash—on her collarbone that had refused to detach during the shower.

"Stop."

There it was. That tone she used when she wanted to pretend she held some kind of moral high ground over me. The one that got under my skin the most. I paused before lashing out. Exhaled through my nose, looked off to the side so I wouldn't have to look at her.

"We should talk." I stated, rubbing my forehead.

"I don't feel like it."

Again.

I snapped before I could think better of it. "Look, I don't fuckin' care how you feel." I tore the cigarette from my mouth and put it off on the sink. "We should talk."

She crouched to grab her undershirt, and threw it on like a barrier between us. "You're acting like talking would fix us."

Us. The nerve.

"Can you not be a bitch for five seconds?" That shut her up. Her mouth opened a little, like she might have found the will to actually say something, then closed again. "We kissed."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's what you wanna talk about?"

No.

I wanted to talk about the shit dazing my mind since God knows when, all of them related to her in some degree; about how everyone but her seemed to notice she was driving me crazy; about the way I thought kissing her stupid would fix whatever was wrong but only made it worse.

"Now? Yes." I half-lied, because this was the best I would get.

She bent over. Didn't look at me as she tugged on her shirt, focusing on the buttons instead. Then came the sweater. More layers to guard herself.

"It was just a kiss."

"Just a kiss." I echoed, gaze digging into her form with a mix of confusion and resentment.

"Just that." Her voice wasn't cold, but it was empty. I found myself unsurprised by Y/n trying to make herself believe it. Because it couldn't be true, could it? "I felt fuckin'... awful and I needed something to…" she sighed. I searched for the truth behind her irises. Couldn't find it. "That did the trick, okay? It doesn't have to be anything else."

It doesn't have to be anything else.

I blinked at her, standing still while she put on her boots, digits slightly shaky when she laced them up.

It doesn't have to be anything else.

She threw on her new jacket, scrambling to bunch up the old uniform in her arms. Her lighter found a new home into her breast pocket.

It doesn't have to be anything else.

"Joe?"

"Alright." A step back, two, I pivoted on my foot, signalling her to follow me out of the showers. She complied without pushing it.

It doesn't have to be anything else, she said.

Like I could choose what it was. I couldn't.

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ohwell-itsme · 9 months ago

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Oh, you don't understand, I grew up in isolation searching for evil in my heart so I can't be hurt saying I'm not human at all and playing dead in my room sometimes it feels like I am already centuries old but I still think of myself as a child and I'll never have enough time I was never good at lying, but I can't help thinking "if I am too earnest, they will kill me like a dog" because I've always been other, even where I'm supposed to belong, and it's hard not to be bitter, learned not to be forgiving because there's people who never change, but they do hang around and they'll say that it's good that I am passionate and unique but I can't get along because what I really am is selfish and sensitive and I think that mother is a wound that pours into you and it never stops bleeding, and love is only salt in it I'm entitled and I'm bitchy, too queer and radical, but not really, actually too passive, ignorant and escapist, wouldn't care, I mean, my mother says with full conviction that I don't like anyone, when my sister once again is firing questions about favorites and connections, isn't she wrong, though? hard to tell I still get lonely, that is for sure, I am a safe distance from everyone and they can't reach me, no, not even if we both try, because it all looks fake through my lenses, sometimes I think we're all just manipulating each other into getting affirmations, putting on masks, like it's not our nature to be cruel and we play nice to get something good in return, maybe I only ever speak when I try to get praise or throw it all up when I can't hold back no more, but who knows.

After so much time alone, you get weird, weirder than you can naturally be or get on purpose, 90% of human behaviors are annoying, things that don't personally interest me are a bother, but I grit my teeth and try to be more normal, just like I do when I agonize over myself being annoying and refuse to give in to the instinct to bolt. It is largely a pain to be around other people, I don't have the energy for it most of the time, I can't do small talk or platitudes and I am bossy in creative projects, sometimes it's more like, maybe I need to give people a breather from me so they still like me, but mostly I just sink into things to do alone, I could be alone for ages, if the immortality came with no longer having physical needs, that'd be great, I might still sometimes indulge, but mostly I'd forget to, I'd waste a few decades on games, maybe start getting into more books later, and puzzles, and just walking around, travelling when I can, maybe second or third century in, I'd be like "I should start maxing out my skills" and try learning again, it wouldn't go very well, since I like getting the general idea and saying that's enough about most topics, I would take two things seriously: experimenting in the kitchen and being overtly studious about shows/visual novels, making notes and docs and all the prep for writing I never get around to; maybe I'd get into painting too, not drawing tho, and I wouldn't try to be good either. Again, given that I don't have needs and don't have to submit to capitalism, I could actually end up writing out my stuff, go somewhere where I can be alone, with the only distraction being myself, and write, without worrying about what I have to do next, like shopping or sleeping, I could actually get somewhere like that. Maybe eventually I'd figure that learning some type of fighting and increasing my body strength is also beneficial, so I have an easier time traveling further away and partying alone. Maybe at some point I'd decide to live in the wild, at least for a while, but probably not, or at least, not in the woods. I'd try to get better at recognizing plants, but fail to memorize their names. A few centuries in, I'd start to do stupid things I used to be afraid of, because I felt like the adrenaline of it was only shortening my lifespan. I'd dye my hair every color. I still would never have sex. I'd try to become a cryptid or otherwise start an urban legend or something like that. Keep on changing my identity and trying to get famous and seeing if people will say that I look like myself. Invent a sandwich and keep on telling people like it's already known until it sticks as a classic of unknown origin. Make up words. Be an unsettling presence. Relationships already are fleeing and last a miniscule part of my life, why would I be worried about that? It's always just for a little itty bit and it's never close enough, and it burns and breaks and leaves a scar. People don't like knowing me, they like it when I'm somewhere in the orbit, occasionally popping in, showing my best face, and then I'm cool and wise and inspiring and I like how they're reacting too.

#I thought I was getting somewhere with that train of thought but I didn't #vent #and it's a weird vent #messy thoughts.

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homunculus-argument · 2 years ago

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I actually really like the thing when you're starting to get the hang of a new language, enough to understand and say simple sentences but you gotta get creative to get more complex thoughts across, like a puzzle. I remember a time in the restortation school when a classmate who wasn't natively finnish but did her best anyway dropped something and sighed, telling me "every day is monday this week. I have had four mondays this week." And I understood.

I don't think I speak much of spanish anymore, but in the nursing school training period I did there, I did manage to get by with making weird Tarzan sentences. I got a nosebleed at some point and startled another nurse. Not knowing the words for "nosebleed", "humidity", or "stress", I managed to string together: "This is ok. It is hot, it is cold, I have a bad day, I am sad, I have blood. This is normal for me." And she understood.

And sometimes you just say things weird, but it's better than not saying it. One time, I was stuck in a narrow hallway behind someone walking really slowly with a walker, and he apologised for being in the way. I was not in any hurry, but didn't know the spanish word for "hurry", but I did know enough words to try to circumvent it by borrowing the english "I have all the time in the world."

The man burst into one of those cackling old man laughters that they do when something in this world still manages to surprise them. He had to be somewhere between 70 and a 100 years old, and I guess if there was one thing he wasn't expecting to hear today, it would be a random blond vaguely baltic-looking fuck casually announce that he is the sole keeper and master of the very concept of time.

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bi-writes · 4 months ago

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ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts

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megalony · 8 months ago

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You Called My Wife?

This is a new Jake Seresin imagine, my first request for Jake and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.

Enjoy.

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Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.

If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.

His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.

It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.

They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.

Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.

He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.

He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.

He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.

Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.

It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.

He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.

After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.

He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.

It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.

A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.

"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.

The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.

He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.

When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.

He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.

He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.

"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.

He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.

"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."

He didn't know what happened.

One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.

His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.

But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.

The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.

The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.

The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.

An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.

The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.

Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.

It felt like he'd been shot in the head.

He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.

His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.

The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.

"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.

The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.

"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.

His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.

"I'm sorry-"

A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.

"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.

Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.

"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.

He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.

The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.

He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.

He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.

"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.

The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.

"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.

Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.

His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.

Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.

He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.

He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."

True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.

By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.

"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.

They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.

He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.

"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."

Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.

Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.

A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.

"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.

"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.

***

"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"

He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.

Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.

Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.

She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.

The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.

"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.

"He's with a doctor, come with me."

(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.

She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?

She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.

"What happened?"

"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."

(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.

That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.

Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.

It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.

Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.

Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.

"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.

Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.

"You called my wife?"

The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.

There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.

"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."

Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.

"You're married?"

"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.

She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.

With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.

He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.

Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.

For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.

With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.

"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.

He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.

"How bad is it then?"

Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.

He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.

His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.

All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.

"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.

"I can think of a few things."

"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.

"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.

He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.

"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."

Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.

"When can I take him home?"

"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."

Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.

A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.

Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.

"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."

"Copy that."

"Thank you for patching him up."

When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.

The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.

"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.

She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.

"But I know you love my war wounds."

#imagine #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

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bats-and-the-birds · 11 months ago

Text

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

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melminli · 4 months ago

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Ddakji Man

summery - you were always struggling to make ends meet, despite having three separate jobs and you doubted that that would ever change. it felt like you were working out of your own casket and it would probably be more sustainable to invest in one at this point.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: slight arguing, cursing but nothing too graphic tbh

"Are you sure that you don't want to come?" One of your friends asked you a little sadly since you were about to leave the group. They rarely got to see you anyway, did you have to leave so early? "You never come with us when we go out for a drink, we miss you there, you know?"

You smiled a little tiredly as you strolled casually through the streets. "I'm sorry guys, I just have to work tonight." you tried to explain. Besides, I'm fucking tired and just want to get some sleep before then. I miss my bed.

Your best friend pouted as she hugged you from the side and you welcomed it, even if it made walking a little more difficult. "It's always work this work that. Live a little for once, all this stress is not good for you. You need a break." she spoke up before a thought came into her mind that made her a little furious. "Don't tell me that you're using work as an excuse to cancel on us. We can do something else if you want to. I'll even invite you, come on!"

You took a tired breath. I don't have any energy for this. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to get drunk with you and I'm not being sarcastic or anything." you clarified. Besides, I wouldn't work this much if I didn't have to.

"All right." she gave in unhappy. "We'll catch you one of these days, I can feel it..."

You laughed softly. "Please do," you replied and stopped in front of the stairs that led to the subway. This was the place where you had to part ways with the others and you did with a few more hugs. You enjoyed spending time with them and loved your friends with all your heart, but you were still happy to be a bit on your own now.

So you plugged in your cable headphones and played your current favorite song at the loudest volume before checking when the next train was going to arrive. Another twenty minutes? The last one must have just left. You decided to just sit down on a bench and wait while staring blankly around and quietly mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

A few minutes later, a person sat down next to you and you could see out of the corner of your eye that it was probably some kind of businessman or something. You didn't look closely out of politeness and turned your gaze somewhere else after checking the time on your phone.

"Excuse me." the unknown man tried to get your attention, but as expected, you could barely hear him over the booming music. He placed his briefcase in the space between you before leaning closer to your figure and looking towards you with a smile and finally, you seemed to notice his stare and turned in his direction. You took out one of your earbuds as you met his gaze. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The man leaned back again. "I haven't said anything yet. I wanted to ask if I could talk to you, do you have a moment?"

You looked around a little uncomfortably as he maintained uninterrupted eye contact with you. "Ehm, well..." you stumbled slightly over your words. "I'm not religious or anything, sorry," you replied, having no patience for another discourse about Jesus and the church. This is the fourth time this week, lucky me. You thought to yourself as you were about to put your earplug back in.

The salesman held a hand in the air to stop you from doing that to keep your attention. You just looked at him uninterestedly and waited, it was going to be a while before your train arrived anyway. A smile graced his face after you were willing to listen to him again. "That's not what I wanted to talk about, I just want to offer you a chance."

Your face tightened a little in disgust and you were quite irritated by now. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer and didn't say anything else, so you had no choice but to interpret his words. He doesn't look like that kind of guy, but I guess it's always the ones who look the most decent. "Listen to me asshole," you said openly this time, all politeness gone as you pointed at his chest with your index finger. "I don't know you, maybe you're one of those men who try to talk in riddles to seem mysterious or something, but right now it just sounds like you're looking for someone cheap to fuck." you replied as you tapped his tie with each syllable and leaned a little closer to him as you whispered. "And I'm not cheap, so you might want to look elsewhere."

This time it was you who grinned as he looked at you in surprise and he let out a small grunt after you finished your sentence. The salesman straightened his tie while watching your figure before reaching for his briefcase and revealing its contents, "That's too bad, but also not what I was talking about," he replied as you looked at the money and colored paper in confusion. "Have you ever played Ddakji?" He asked you as he took out the red and blue paper. You just shook your head. "That's no problem at all, we can still play it if you're up for it."

Your gaze alternated from his hand to his face. Oh, so he's crazy. You finally concluded. I guess he is too handsome to be just a normal guy, huh. You turned your head away from him, something about the whole thing just seemed perverse to you. "No thanks, I'll pass."

"You sure?" He asked again, knowing he'd convinced you as soon as he brought the money into it. These people are all the same, she'll snatch the paper right out of my hands after I start talking a language she understands. "Every time you win, you get 100,000 won from me." He began, watching the look on your face. "But if I win, you owe me 100,000 won and -"

You sighed and interrupted him. "Yes, I'm sure. I still don't want to play with you, okay?"

This time the man looked at you with a cold, icy stare. A few minutes passed like this and you just tried to ignore his gaze, but then he started talking again. "All right. 200,000 won." he finally said, but couldn't seem to get your attention back. He tried again. "Is it because you've never played the game before? We can have a practice round if that would make you feel more comfortable." he tried again and got irritated when you continued to ignore him. He looked around the area as he considered his next move. Is she waiting for me to increase the prize money further? These people usually jump up happily at the first amount since they're so desperate. He tried to collect himself again. "500,000 won." he finally said. "I've got the money right here, you just have to go for it."

When is this stupid train coming. "Look, I don't want your fucking money, understand? I'm not a gambling addict or -"

"You may not want it, but you need it," he said, annoyed. This has never happened before, is she stupid? He then spoke out your name and described your miserable living situation as if you didn't already know about it yourself. "You also have quite a lot of debt for someone who is still relatively young, are you seriously going to turn down the money I'm offering you? For what, to prove a point or something?"

You didn't know what this man's fucking problem was, he should be glad that you didn't want to take his money, and how did he even know all this? You got up from your seat next to him when the train finally arrived and turned to face him one last time. "Fuck you," you told him and then went to the doors. You even looked out of the window at him as soon as they closed before you, to show him your the middle finger.

The man in the suit watched your figure irritated until it was gone and then, took the little card out of the inside pocket of his suit, that was meant for you. He turned it over a few times in his hand before closing the open briefcase with his other one. He had already played and lost a few Ddakji games in his life, which was the point of the whole thing - to recruit players for the actual game. However, the thought of what awaited them there meant that he was still in control of the situation. He was always in control of the situation. "I didn't loose, we haven't even played." he tried to reassure himself.

And yet the whole conversation with you left him feeling like he was utterly defeated.

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clare-875 · 7 days ago

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Distraction or Devotion (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader Summary: You think your love is one-sided, but is it? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Jealous Zoro, Soft Zoro, Alcohol A/N: Been obsessed with Zoro lately 😅 [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You were transfixed by him.

Roronoa Zoro.

He had found his way into your heart and had taken the undue liberty to consume all of its devotion. You didn't know how friendship had morphed so suddenly into the hopes of something more, but that was the predicament you found yourself in now.

What had started as general respect for the other had turned into sparing sessions, light bickering and laughter, drinking and confiding in the other. The days spent at sea spared you much time to get to know the green-haired swordsman, no matter how rigid he stood behind his walls. You chipped and chipped away at them until he let you in on small details, let you pull laughter from him and let you linger in his presence.

The bond you both shared was built on loyalty and an undying trust forged through time and trial. You knew to him, you were a rare individual: one he trusts, one he protects, a comrade and a friend. But to you, the more you chipped away at his walls, the more you got to know the man, stoic and strong and silent, the more he crashed through your own borders and delved straight into your heart.

To you, he was everything, but everything you were so sure you could not have.

"Oi, [y/n], you're zoning out again."

Your eyes snap upwards, and you are met with the sight of Zoro, his sharp eyes on you as he lifts an ungodly amount of weight back and forth over his head, mimicking the movements of his swords. Both of you were out on deck, the only crewmembers that lingered outdoors apart from Luffy, who was somewhere on the figurehead.

"I'm sorry, were you desperate for my attention?"

You tease as you go back to the duty of polishing his swords, a frequent task you found yourself undertaking, but one you did not take lightly. You knew how much Zoro treasured his swords, how much worth was forged upon their blades. They lay heavy in your hands: heavy with responsibility and the weight of Zoro's trust. You didn't know of anyone else he would allow to even breathe near his swords, let alone touch them.

The thought of that made your heart warm.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on your training?"

"Tch, whatever woman, I only said something cause you looked like you were about to fall asleep on the blade. Next time I'll just watch it happen."

You roll your eyes, but a smile lingers on your face as your eyes meet his. The sun had fallen, just mingling with the ocean as it delved deeper into the Earth, bringing forth warm lights that traced the muscles on Zoro's skin. His irises swim in the fervour of the lights, and you swear you see something deep within as he abruptly breaks away from your gaze, the pink on his cheeks surely from his workout and nothing more.

Nothing more, right?

There is more silence as Zoro shifts his focus to his weights once more, the rhythm of his training the only sound that touches the cooling air, until you decide to break the quiet.

"Hey, Zoro..."

You murmur, eyes locked on the blade carefully placed in your lap and the cloth that delicately traces it until you see your own unwavering reflection.

"Yeah?" Zoro grunts as he brings down the weights towards the deck.

"Have you ever thought about love before?"

There is abruptly the seizing of movement, but when your eyes travel upwards again to meet his, he merely looks at you incredulously.

"What kind of question is that?"

You grin at his expression, but continue on, nonchalantly, despite the way your heart pounds against your chest at your own boldness.

"Oh, come on, Zoro. You've never been tempted? I can't count on my hands the number of times women have literally fallen at your feet. Beautiful women, too good for you, of course, but nonetheless."

A beat of silence, and he answers.

"Nope, never thought about it."

His words are blunt, and he continues his training as though nothing was said. You can't deny the slight disappointment that filled you at his abrupt words. But you decide to push a bit more. You want to know more, more of what he thought about you. If you had a chance, if another claimed his heart, if his words were true.

"Really? What about Tashigi? She even knows her way around a sword, you know-"

"Nope."

"Perona? You guys literally spent two years together-"

"So? Still no."

"Hiyori? You two seemed all cosied up-"

"No."

You roll your eyes, unsure as to why your heart starts to feel heavy even as he rejects women you were so sure he could sweep off their feet. Maybe it was the lack of interest in the topic of relationships. Maybe it was the voice in the back of your mind mocking your hopes that he would turn around and say he would choose you instead.

"Nami, Robin??"

You ask, a teasing tone in your words despite the smile that strains on your cheeks.

"What? No way, they're crewmates-"

"You've actually never been tempted? They're literally all so perfect."

You sit in slight disbelief, analysing his expression, but his gaze does not falter, and he reveals nothing. If anything, you witness the tightening of his jaw as he moves to a silent rhythm. You wonder if you have pushed the topic too far.

"It's nothing against them, I have a responsibility and a goal. To become the world's strongest swordsman and to see Luffy become the pirate king. I don't have time for distractions."

His words are blunt to you as they are confirming. You allow the silence to consume the space between the two of you for a moment longer, and yet your heart twists unbearably.

He doesn't have time for distractions.

Of course, he doesn't.

You had witnessed more than anyone the way he trained from daybreak to sundown, every minute for the dream he held, and in support of Luffy's ambitions. What time could he spare for relationships, for women? He already had so much on his mind, so much responsibility on his back. And yet, a question leaves your lips before you can stop yourself.

"Not even time for me?"

You whisper, but Zoro misses your words, his eyes trained on his weights, the crease between his brows a show of his concentration, but the glint in his eyes, one that unravels frustration.

Why? Maybe this conversation was one he did not wish to partake in.

"Did you say something?"

Zoro's words touch the air once more, as sunlight travels his face until it lies static as he meets your gaze again.

"Nothing," you say, more dejected than anything else, despite knowing you should feel unsurprised. You watch as he continues his workout, the air solemn as you let out a quiet sigh, unsure why your heart feels so heavy despite a lack of rejection.

You supposed it was the lack of recognition that had done it.

In-tune crew members had already witnessed your gravitation towards the swordsman, but it was clear to you that your affections were not recognised, nor could they be considered anything beyond friendship by Zoro. Though stupidly relieved to know that he did not have a favourite among the women you listed, you felt stupid in your hopes that maybe, just maybe, you were his favourite.

That he recognised that the way you polish his swords as you do now wasn't out of mere generosity but deep-rooted admiration and care. The way you saved a seat for him beside you at dinner wasn't out of mere friendship but out of hope to get to know him more. The way you seek him out and spend hours by his side, even when there is nothing to be said, was from a yearning to be beside him for as long as he would let you be.

You loved him.

Roronoa Zoro.

Loved the way he would smirk when he teased you to the point where you were sure to combust. Loved the way he is so protective of crewmates in battles, his strength and loyalty unmatched. You loved the way he was so unwavering in his values, so predictable in the best of ways. Loved the way that he cared and was kind, no matter how hard he tried to keep up the tough-guy facade. You loved the quiet moments stolen with him, the way his eyes would soften in the presence of you and the presence of crewmates, the faint smile he bears when he has had too much to drink.

Loved the way he would listen quietly.

Loved the way he ruffled your hair.

Loved the way he searched for you after battles.

You loved him.

But as you watch his devotion to his swords, to Luffy and to his crew. Deep down, you had resigned yourself to knowing that you could never be anything more than a friend. No princess, swordswoman or model could turn his head. How could you?

What did you offer that they didn't?

Emotion fills you suddenly, but you force it away, scolding yourself and quickly finishing off the last of your task. Zoro releases his hold on his weights, stretching lightly as he readies another workout, but he is surprised as you stand and go to walk away.

"Hey, you okay?"

He asks, and you hate the way your heart lurches at his concern, the way you can feel his eyes burning into your back.

"Yeah, I just promised Sanji I'd help him for dinner, I'll see you later!"

Your words are as cheerful as you forced them to be, wandering towards the kitchen unseeingly. You don't see the way Zoro's brows furrow in his confusion, the twitching of his hands as though he wants to stop you and ask why you would indulge in the cook's company over his own. But he merely nods and continues his training.

You merely walk away.

.....

A week has passed, and you didn't know what you were doing.

Were you moving on? But from what exactly?

Exploring other opportunities? Maybe, but why?

You weren't rejected.

Didn't have the hammer beat down on your budding devotion to the swordsman. You were just provided an unspoken resignation by his words.

"I don't have time for distractions."

Like, ever? Was that long-term, short-term, or were you even a card in his hands that he would play?

You were confused and downtrodden, but you were also tired.

One-sided love.

So focused on possibilities and what-ifs, you had forgotten how exhausting it can be. How burdenous longing can be. How the dichotomy of your mind and of your heart can feel like you're being torn in two. Was that dramatic? Maybe a tad. But you now realise how long you have loved Zoro, the years you spent by his side. How can you teach yourself to let go, even a little bit, to seek distance so that if he does choose to reject you in the future, you are not utterly shattered?

You hate that you still hope.

Hope that because you had not named yourself, and because he had not rejected you, that you still had a chance, even if it was years down the line. You grit your teeth as you take a rough swing of your beverage, alcohol burning as you force it down your throat, trying to quieten your mind, trying to forget your feelings.

"Hey, slow down, it's not water, you know?"

And there it is, the provocative tone in his words. The glint of amusement in his sharp eyes as he catches your gaze. The swordsman laughs at your distasteful expression as he downs his second bottle of the night.

"I know that, but do you? You're downing that like it's nothing."

You ask incredulously, deadpanning at the way liquid disappears from bottles. He smirks, much more at ease next to you and with his sake, though he couldn't let you know that. Couldn't let you see how you have him so wrapped around your finger. Couldn't let you know that the smile you bear had him fighting to remain nonchalant, to remain strong in the face of temptation. The temptation in your lips, in your gaze, in you.

"I know, but I can handle it."

You roll your eyes at that.

He notices, but you turn away quickly, hiding your gaze in the dim light of the bar the two of you found yourselves in. Zoro can hear his Captain laughing with a stranger, can hear the love-lorn cook as he talks to Nami and Robin, can hear Brook chatting with the musicians in the bar, and yet he finds himself next to you. He always finds himself next to you. Always you he looks for after battles, always you he sits by when he naps, always you who lingers when he works out, always you he celebrates with, always you.

He wonders why you have been acting strangely this week.

Recently, it hadn't been you who lingered, or you he sits beside. You hadn't been saving the seats you usually do for him, with your bright eyes and wide smile. More often, you had been absent as he worked out, left wondering why the empty space you usually sat in was left cold and dull without you. More often had he taken notice of the unspoken things you do - reminding him of dinner, polishing his swords, filling the quiet in between - disappearing. He wondered if he had taken you for granted.

Even now, as he sits next to you, the closest he has been for days. You are quieter, more sullen, more lost in your mind. The heart in his chest that he didn't know could fluctuate in the face of another, missed you. God dammit, he missed you. And he didn't know what he had done wrong.

You take a glance to your side, only to see that Zoro was now lost in his head, drinking from bottles, with thoughts behind his eyes. You are about to ask what burdens him, but your pursuit is interrupted by that of another.

"Excuse me, love? Can I buy you a drink?"

Your gaze snaps upwards when you meet the eyes of a stranger who has approached your side without your notice. He hadn't been the first to approach you tonight; in fact, you were used to men approaching you with hope and admiration and lust twisting in their irises. It had been so easy before to brush them off in favour of Zoro's company, so easy to say no. But you find yourself considering the offer. Zoro is still distracted by a thought you cannot see, and this man was charming and attractive.

What harm was there really?

"Okay," you say, your words more unsure than you hoped they would be, but the man does not care nor seem to notice, all too pleased to have you on his arm. That is, until you feel a sharp tug on your other hand that lies limp to your side. Your gaze snaps to your left, and you are met with sharp eyes you have memorised all too well.

"Oi, where are you going?"

Zoro's voice is low, protective, his hand lingering on his swords. But his irises betray confusion, and was that hurt that lingered on the crescent edges? Zoro's insides twist uncomfortably at the sight of your hand on another man's arm.

You never indulged in the company of such men; why now?

"I'm just getting a drink, Zoro."

You say confusedly, missing the smirk on the man beside you, missing the tension in Zoro's jaw as he meets his cocky gaze. You feel Zoro's fingers twitch against your skin, his grip not painful but sure against your skin. He didn't want to let you go. But you were now confused.

Why was he acting this way?

But before you can say anything, Zoro lets you go silently, and the man next to you takes you to the bar for a drink.

.....

When you make your way to the Sunny, the sun has touched the horizon, leaking light onto the earth.

Your eyes were trained on the pavement, steps slow and deliberate, but your mind was churning. Along the way, you had seen crewmembers sprawled together on the streets and in bars, but paid them no mind, knowing it was merely a symbol of them having had a good night. Happy to see them indulge in an evening of laughter, drinks and food and each other. You hadn't expected to be out so long, but you found the need to wander a little.

The man who had taken you to the bar was okay at first, that is, until you saw the lust that travelled his features, move to his hands. He had mocked your crew and Zoro in his drunkenness. Had earned himself a good slap to the face and your swift absence, only for you to find that Zoro had left the bar already. You had only been gone for an hour at most, but following everything you had walked the length of the island several times, leading to the sun rising, signalling the beginning of another day.

You travel up the steps and onto the deck, expecting silence, expecting nothing. But you are surprised to see the swordsman, your mind had lingered all night on - had lingered years on - sat looking to the horizon with a pile of bottles scattered around him. Your heart picks up pace quickly, both in concern at the sight of him so adrift he does not notice you and of the devotion you still try to bury. Approaching hesitantly, you are met with the strong scent of alcohol, a sign that he has drunk too much, despite himself.

"Zoro?"

You murmur, nudging his shoulder gently, unsure of his reaction. He turns to you slowly, eyes masked in rare emotion, bottle clunking onto the deck from his grasp, spilling its contents. You furrow your brows, but his voice is low as he speaks to you, avoiding your gaze once more.

"How was he?"

You are taken aback, shocked that despite his inhibited state, that is what he suggests to you. Though you suppose that is what conclusion you would come to if Zoro disappeared with a woman, only to return to the Sunny in the daybreak.

"What's it to you?"

You ask lightly, watching the way his grip tightens on his own skin, sharp eyes on yours as he watches you closely. He is about to bite back until he watches you sigh and pick up the bottles that have been scattered and some shattered, cleaning the mess he has made. He meets your eyes that are on his, and he sees the concern you bear. His heart twists painfully against his chest as he pictures you with the man he left you with.

You.

You were meant to be his.

You were his angel, the one he protects, the one he looks to in quiet moments and laughs with in the confines of the other. He was meant to be the one you adored, the one who came first, the one you sought out. He was the one you were meant to nudge teasingly and drink with and celebrate wins and comfort losses with. He was the one you were meant to grace your presence with. Not some leechy stranger, not some unworthy man he can only now picture in your bed, in your arms, in your heart.

"I asked first." He says, voice quiet, tone low, eyes adrift again.

You smile half-heartedly at his stubbornness, but as you brush away bottles and put them away, you let the silence linger for a while. Once you are done you sit by his side, Zoro hates the way his heart spikes just by your warmth, you hate the way your heart does the same.

"He was an asshole."

You say, feeling Zoro's gaze meet the side of your face as your voice touches the air, but you do not turn yet, admiring the sun as it rises higher. "Wanted me in his bed long before our first drink, talked shit about me, talked shit about our crew..." You feel as Zoro tenses at your words, and that is when you meet his gaze, his eyes widening at your gentle smile, at your adoring eyes, at your proximity.

"... talked shit about you."

You grin as you see his eyebrows twitch, but you don't move, overindulgent in his presence. Yes, you might not be his, not now or ever, but you would take what you got, even if it was the show of his protectiveness from time to time. But to Zoro, he was fighting so hard not to allow his hands to travel to yours, to spill the words he constrained. You turn away quickly before you get too lost in his gaze, though he is already too far gone in yours.

"That was the last straw, you know," you grin teasingly at the sun, "had to give him a good slap to the face to bring him back to reality, then wandered around the island for a good few hours because somebody decided to leave early."

Zoro's gaze widens a fraction of a millimetre, but you do not catch it, yours still to the sky. You don't notice how his chest loses the tightness that had plagued him the whole night. The way he had used the alcohol he usually loved to force an escape from thoughts of you and the man he had regretfully left you with. He couldn't handle it, the thought, the sight of you with another. Couldn't handle another day where you continued to place distance between the two of you.

Then it comes to Zoro so clearly, after so long in despair.

He loved you.

He can't let you go.

There is a warmth on your hand, and it takes you a while to realise that it is Zoro's hand over yours, hesitant, hovering. Your eyes snap to his so fast, he is almost taken aback. He fights the blush on his cheeks as he lowers his calloused hands onto yours, pulling warmth to your own face.

"Zoro?" Your words are hesitant, but his are blunt and unwavering.

"Don't do that again, woman," he says, voice even, eyes far from yours. Two beats pass in silence until his voice reaches the air again, in turn, rendering you temporarily speechless.

"I think I like you."

There is no teasing in his words, no underlying joke. He is vulnerable under your gaze, touch faltering on skin, uncertainty clouding his mind. But to you, a wave of shock travels through your system, and you can't help but let out a yell of surprise.

"What?!"

Zoro winces as he squeezes his eyes shut, not used to the effects of too much alcohol.

"Damn woman, do you have to be so loud?"

You hurriedly silence, before returning to your spot next to him, mind buzzing. Is this a dream? Did you hear correctly? Have you gone and lost your mind? You quickly come to your senses, gathering thoughts that have scattered, until one question clouds your mind.

"But I thought- I thought you said you didn't have time for distractions?"

Zoro pauses, his mind travelling to the conversation the two of you had a week ago. A week ago, when you named women, he could never have considered that way. The frustration he felt when it sounded like you were writing yourself off the list of options, forcing people onto him when all he wanted was you. Was that why you put distance between the two of you? Was that the question that plagued your mind? Was that what you thought?

You hear him sigh, but he pulls you into his side, still a mixture of drunkenness dictating his movements.

"You're not a distraction, just another focus, a vulnerability maybe, that I choose to have," he smirks slightly at your surprise spilling into your stare. "But you're mine, or I want you to be."

Silence touches the air, but Zoro takes comfort in knowing that you have not moved from where you sat, have not moved from his touch, have not wilted under his vulnerable words. In a movement, he feels your hands touch his face, a shine to your gaze that has him blushing to his ears. A hammering against his chest like he has never known.

"I want to be yours."

And somehow, that was all he wanted to hear.

His lips touch yours, in a mix of warmth, of roughness and of the taste of too many drinks. But you feel his hands, strong, secure against your skin, pulling you closer. Your mind is a haze as he moves, still tipsy off of alcohol, still stumbling with nerves, but lost in the place you have wanted to be for so long. He growls low under his breath, his hands moving as though to erase the touch of any other. When you pull away, you are breathless, and so is he. You sit on his lap, and he holds you closer.

A moment of bliss travels the two of you, and yet a yawn comes through your system, exhausted emotionally, of the time spent last night wandering, of the thoughts that raged through your head. And yet now, next to him, you can't find the courage to drift asleep, afraid to wake to your bed and to harsh reality. Zoro seems to be having the same thoughts as you, but in the caress of soft hair, he murmurs against your skin.

"Sleep, woman. I'll be here when you wake up."

Your eyes meet his hesitantly, and though you know alcohol is still in his system, you don't think that is the reason why his eyes soften when he meets your gaze. No, you knew that look, it was familiar, shining with care and softness and that unspoken emotion you had seen all too much before. That unspoken emotion, now free of its speechlessness, is only for you to know. You nod to him, surprisingly comfortable, like everything was how it was supposed to be.

When sleep consumes you, it takes only a beat more for it to consume Zoro, too. Finally free of his burdenous thoughts, of regret, and of needing alcohol to erase his feelings. Zoro now indulges your warmth, the softness of your skin, the weight of you against his broad chest. As a smile lingers on his face, it is then he realises how often you pull the corners of his lips upwards, how often you bring him to a place of peace in a world clouded with anything but.

A distraction? How could you ever be?

He was utterly devoted to you.

And you were now his.

When both of you wake the next day, it is to the incoherent screaming of Sanji, the laughter of your Captain and the agape expressions of Chopper, Brook and Ussop. Nami, Franky and Jimbei look on, unsurprised and grinning. But Robin looks to the two of you asleep in the arms of the other knowingly.

"Finally..."

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 years ago

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What lies within (Tentacle!Monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

It's mating season for monster hybrids. Unfortunately for you, the colonel didn't have time to dump his eggs everywhere. TW and tags: Non-con, size difference, oviposition, monster hybrids, forced breeding, belly bulging, yandere Konig, possessive Konig, tentacles, double penetration. Word count: 3278

The brave new world of opportunities for monsters.

The illustrious life for those who are not afraid of being a hunter in the billion flocks of weak, stupid prey.

There are endless possibilities for the ones who decide to serve in the various armed forces specifically tailored to monsters.

And loads of other bullshit that König had to endure every day on the briefs. Propaganda, advertisement, and weak attempts to make a new generation of monster hybrids abandon their old ways and join either army or contracting forces, making them glorified mercenaries. Jaided and disillusioned, the colonel long abandoned the thoughts that service can be fun, that it can bring him something other than money and occasional bullets in various places.

“Most inclusive workplaces for monsters,” his ass. They were fed bullshit on top of other bullshit, and he is already tired of war – but there isn’t much he can do besides it. The payment is nice, he gets to eat his enemies and tears through entire units of squishy, weak humans who make perfect snacks from their useless fucking bodies.

— So. Abandoned by your team, ja?

Unfortunately for him, sometimes war operations meant that he was not supposed to eat prisoners – he was supposed to take them, hoard them into rounds, and send them for either ransom or whatever higher-ups wanted to do with them. Sometimes, it’s torture for information, sometimes, it’s attempts to bring them to their side if they are worth it.

Sometimes, he just looked in the eyes of a soft, squishy little prey and just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Well…” sometimes” is a very big word. He had never once thought about keeping the POW for himself before he met this stupidly beautiful, soft nurse with a perfect face, nice pair of legs in that ugly baggy uniform, and the most beautiful scent in the entire…

He never thought of keeping the prisoner for himself before he met you.

It was supposed to be an easy mission for you – he can see it from your lack of normal armor. Either you had no idea that KorTac had their own plans for whatever you wanted to do here, or your contractor is extremely cheap. He likes either way – you smell like a human, and he likes dumb humans who would make perfect victims. You smell and look weak, trembling, perfect fucking pray for someone like him. König didn’t feel the need to transform for this battle. Your team ran away like a bunch of bunnies before he ever fired his first shot, but he could still feel his tentacles slowly stir under his hood. He can feel his body transforming without the need to – and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach.

When was the last time he was able to put his eggs somewhere other that cold, unforgiving air?

Even the bagginess of your uniform doesn’t obscure him from looking at the sway of your hips, at the perfect surface of your tummy, and feeling the smell of your ripe, fertile body. Having a strong sense of smell always came like a curse in the team of monsters where showering after a mission isn’t something that is done by many, buy König can appreciate his nose now – he can smell how perfect you are for breeding. How scared, too.

Poor thing, probably terrified of his. König knows how he looks, even in his human form – tall, broad, bigger than any man you saw before, so much more muscular that even with your military training as a combat nurse, he could still break your spine with one hand. His size is something that made it impossible to find a partner normal ways – monsters are naturally too dominant to ever submit to him, and humans are simply too scared to deal with someone like him. He isn’t surprised, no – if anything, he understands completely.

You sob, your voice is melting with incomprehensible pleas and little whines. You are shaking under him – a poor, dumb girl who wasn’t aware that her best shot at surviving was to try and shoot his crotch off before he pulled a gun out of your hands.

— Pl…please, you can’t…you can’t do this! It’s a crime, I was on medical duty, it’s…

König likes humans because they are dumb. Civilian humans are even cuter – run around, thinking their lives are protected by sets of laws and rules that, in fact, don’t apply to the strong – and you, in your full half-military half-civvie glory, are fucking perfect. You whine and sib, tears running down your face when he presses you under him. Your hand hits the hard rocks of the ground, and he shifts slightly, dragging you closer to a softer patch of grass.

He laughs when you are trying to scramble from under him, your lower half is pinned by his weight – he is surprised you can still move. You move your pelvis, trying to get out – and he moans quietly when you start rubbing your crotch against his. You freeze, fear spreading on your face – god, he missed that feeling. When was the last time he got to actually breed someone? Or even just have sex with someone as cute?

— You really think so, Schatzen? That rules will protect you?

He moves his crotch against yours, making you sob a bit more. You’re sweet and compliant, and he just loves breaking soft things like you – it’s a desire to break, to destroy, to make you his. He knows that, technically, forcing himself on women from enemy lines really is a war crime. He also knows that if he’d managed to breed you with his eggs, monster laws would never allow you to separate after mating.

Besides, it's not like he is going to let you go, so you could tell on him. König never believed in love at first sight, but you would be a perfect vessel for his eggs and his tentacles – what else would he need from a wife, right?

— You’re pretty.

He says plainly, his hand goes to rub your chest through the fabric of your uniform. You won’t need those ugly clothes anymore – he’d make sure to buy you something nice and frail that won’t make you too uncomfortable to carry his eggs. Maybe a soft, frail dress or some of those cute maternity clothes when your body starts to change. He can’t wait to see his breasts swelling with milk – even if his unfertilized eggs won’t need it, he certainly would. Even if you’re too weak to handle his load, he’d make sure to get you a nice, firm plug and keep you on his tentacles constantly.

You start to sob even more when you understand what he is trying to do – when he rips your pants to reveal the softness of your cunt and the fragility of your [anties, you actually manage to push your legs against his dick a good few times. He is too aroused to notice – if anything, he likes how fiery you are, your little yells and loud screams for help. No one will come to aid you – he barked the orders for his soldiers to go and fuck around somewhere else while he was busy devouring his little prize. Colonel doesn’t like having an audience – if anything, he is saving your dignity right now. If anything, he is remarkably soft when he pushes one of his long, red tendrils down your body, massaging your pussy through your panties.

You’re moist already when his tentacle finds a way to your labia. What a slutty nurse you are – getting off the enemy colonel breeding you in the middle of the battlefield. Your tears mean nothing when he is too busy massaging and pressing and playing with your sticky, puffy folds – poor girl, so deprived of attention that even the weird texture of his extensions only fuels your desire.

So fragile, so perfect – and so, so wet that your adorable white panties are already become transparent, sticking to your soft pussy. When he takes you home, he’d make sure to forbid you from wearing any underwear at all – you would meet him dressing in nothing but his shirts, a hand on your tummy to support the weight of your eggs. Walls of your pussy clenching on the plug he’d make to insert in you every morning.

— Don’t…please, don’t, n…

You whine ever so sweetly, trying to close your legs so he won’t be able to touch you. It’s futile, just one of his tendrils is ten times stronger than your hands. He gets through your closed legs, buried in the moistness of your sweet, perfect pussy. You taste heavenly – just one minute enough to make him hungrier than before. König’s mating season was often postponed due to constant adrenaline rushes and things he takes to enhance his battle abilities – but he can feel eggs pressing at the inside of his body now, preparing to be released in the sweet heat of your body. But he has to prepare you first.

— Quiet now. It won’t hurt unless you want it to.

His tendrils are coming to moisten your pussy even more – sweet numbness filling your body from the lower stomach and right to your head. Knowing that you must feel dizzy and just a tad bit dumb, König can’t wait but chuckle. He likes you empty-headed, adorable dumbness in your eyes. He knows that he doesn’t know you, that you might even already have a boyfriend on the civil side of your life – but he doesn’t care. His mind doesn’t easily fall for just anyone, but if he saw a perfect vessel in you, there is no escape. At least he is nice enough to be gentle.

You whimper slightly when he pushes the first tendril inside of you. Too impatient to use his hands or tongue to make you feel a bit more at ease – after all, you are still on the battlefield, even if your friends abandoned you to get picked up by KorTac. Too impatient to soothe you with his words, he uses one of his smaller, thinner tentacles to push your pussy walls, make you squeeze him and milk for all his worth. You are wet, but not enough to take him without crying. Hot and soft, the cold texture of his extensions contrasts with your body too much – you are shaking, he can feel slight vibrations at the soft walls of yours.

Fitting him like a glove, too perfect to exist – he just wants to take you with him, to flip you on your tummy and push all of his tentacles inside. You’re tight and warm, you make him go crazy from desire. It’s weird how a strong and mighty colonel can be so charmed by just some enemy nurse, but when you whine slightly and try to adjust your body to fit more comfortably under him, he just knows that he has to take you. That, no matter how much you are crying and praying for him to stop, you want to be used by him. Perhaps, with certain training, you would want his eggs, too.

Second tendril caught you by surprise. Just when you started to adjust to the weird, slimy feeling of something writhing inside of you, spreading your tight walls around it and clashing with the heat of your insides, a second, bigger one started to press on your clenched folds. You wanted to beg, to ask him to stop – you’re too tight for this, too small, you would never be able to take even just one of his tentacles, you were…

But his tendrils press easily, he accesses lube spreading between your legs. You are sobbing from the feeling, and he is laughing. His hand goes to rip the upper part of your clothing, revealing your midriff. Fingers pressing on your tummy, just to feel his tentacles inside – he laughs when the skin of your stomach is tensed up, revealing the outlines of his extension. God, he can’t wait to make your body swell from him. Even though the eggs are not bearing his children, he can imagine you and a bunch of little ones – you’d look much better like this than pretending to be a nurse. Honestly, what were you even trying to do on the battlefield?

— Stay still, ja?

— Too much! Please, n…no more…

— Poor thing. You’ll feel so much better after I add the third one.

He knows that he is overstepping a bit, that your body isn’t used to taking something as big as his tentacles – but König also knows that his pre-cum makes you feel dizzy warm. Acting like a natural aphrodisiac, you won't be able to resist relaxing under him. The lubricant is enough to allow his other tentacle to force himself in your ass – he isn’t going to breed that hole yet, but it doesn't mean that he can’t use it.

He groans loudly when your asshole clenches around him – he had to stretch you quite a bit, that sweet numbness of his precum isn’t making you relaxed enough to take him whole, but he is managing, one agonizing centimeter after another. At the point you’re out of breath, with your face all flushed, he already knows he fucking won – he knows that you, poor, fragile thing, isn’t going anywhere. He would say that he feels horrible about forcing you like this – but this is the start of a new, better life for you. Being the bride of a monster of his rank is a dream for any lowly human like you. Can go as far as to say you’re lucky he ever laid his eyes on you.

— Stop, please…’s too much.

— You feel good, Katzen. Relax, and you’ll be even better.

— I don’t…please, just let me go, I…

— Is this your first time with a monster?

— Yes.

— Gut. Would break you in for me.

He laughs at your whimpers, his hand goes to cradle your face in an almost soft expression. He gently presses his fingers across your skin, making you all nice and warm for him – he wants to kiss you all over, but the only thing he can do in his more monstrous form is to press one of his shorter tentacles against your lips, mocking the way normal people kiss. You sob, but he presses the tip on your mouth, passing it through your teeth – you would feel better after ingesting his pre-cum, can even clench around him so more, chasing your own pleasure.

König wants you to feel good, so he presses his hand against your face, allowing you to tremble and cry as much as you want. He wants to be nice to you, so his other hand presses on your clit, finding the tense bud and breaking the nothingness between your legs. You tremble even more when he starts to spread your folds around his fingers, both of his tentacles working to milk your holes and spread you as much as possible.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when both of the tendrils working on your pussy suddenly change their direction – they start to spread your walls instead of just fucking it. You feel exposed and vulnerable, he can see the pink flesh and glossiness of your cunt. It’s embarrassing for you, and he knows it – but god, you’re too fucking perfect to pass.

You don’t even manage to ask him what he is doing when you feel something much larger pressing against your pussy. The biggest of his tentacles – almost as thick as an arm, pushing inside of you. He had a purpose, a desire to do something with you that you could never understand – silly humans know nothing about his biological need to push his eggs somewhere, of course, but you’re just fucking perfect. Too perfect to pass on this opportunity.

You plead and cry when he presses further, a little bump on your tummy is obvious now, with each centimeter of his tendril pushing. When he finally bottoms inside of you, pressing directly against your cervix, you are too fucked out to even think.

It’s painful, you think. Three thick tentacles roam inside your pussy, pushing and grinding against your gummy, tight walls – and another one of his extensions in your ass, writhing and massaging your insides.

It’s pleasurable, you feel. The tentacles are uneven, cold, each little bump makes you cry out from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling is something you could never achieve with a normal dick. He cradles your face and chuckles softly when you moan and cry at the same time when he gently presses his red tendril against your soft lips, and you part them because you don’t want to resist anymore. Because you can’t resist anymore.

— So good for me. Such a good girl, liked being fucked by the enemy.

— I don’t like it! He laughs at your misery, pushing his tentacles back only to fuck you harder. He can feel the tension multiply in his stomach – he feels the movement of eggs forming from inside and pushing down the biggest one of his tendrils.

When you first feel the pressure of an egg in your pussy, you want to scream.

You scratch on his hands like a wild cat, clenching on him like crazy. If he didn’t see horror and shock on your face, he’d think you wanted him. You are tight, tighter than you were before – your pussy is closing around him, not letting him go, and he can only smile to himself when he feels every little bump sending electric shocks right into your core when you feel his eggs traveling from the start of his tendrils down, to your soft, welcoming womb.

God, you will look perfect, all swollen and helpless – he can bring you a fucking collar, maybe push you on his lap and parade you as his precious wife for everyone to see. His scent lingers on your body, no matter if you want it or not. Silly human, you try to fight him like you didn’t lose the moment you let him pin your body. So perfect, he thinks of where you were before he found you. How many partners do you have, and how well would you play the role of his little breeding machine.

He massages your tummy, with each egg taking its place in your womb. Soothes tense skin and whispers sweet promises in your ear when you cry and try to push him away. So perfect, so sweet for him – he doesn’t know the fuck he lived without you.

When the last egg takes its place, making you bulge from all the weight inside of you, he can finally calm himself down enough to bring his human form partially. When he finally retracted his tentacles from your tired, sensitive body, not forgetting to press against your clit a good few times to prolong your unwanted, exhausting orgasm, he could finally press a kiss on your lips.

You’re a mess – torn clothes, covered in cum and thick transparent slime, trembling and crying softly. You close your pussy around every one of his eggs like a good girl, and he knows you would be a perfect mating partner – but god, you need a good shower and soft mattress so he can try to fuck you again in his human form, and steal all the hugs and silly affections he wanted.

— Will you let me go?

He laughs, picking you up swiftly. So fragile in his hands, he doesn’t even want to think about letting you roam freely.

— Of course not, Schatzen. Just get used to it, ja?

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere

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katsu2ji · 3 months ago

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fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact with you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of you laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you'd done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

#⋆.˚ s writes!#— jjk!#jjk #jjk megumi #jjk fushiguro #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x y/n #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi

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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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fatecantstopme · 7 months ago

Text

Help Me Remember

Pairing: Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Summary: Your memories have been taken from you and it's up to Dean to get them back.

Warnings: Angsty af, memory loss, canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (M & F receiving), light face fucking, unprotected sex (P in V), biting (minimal), dirty talk.

Three Weeks Ago

"God almighty, what is that smell?"

You were doing your best to avoid inhaling too deeply--the stench uncomfortably strong. "Rotting flesh."

"Dead body?" Dean asked.

You nodded. "Several, I think."

"Great." Dean stepped in front of you, the instinct to protect you always foremost in his mind. He stepped through the open doorway, quickly enveloped by darkness.

You heard him grunt lowly and you stepped forward, trying to see through the darkness, but even your flashlight didn't penetrate it much. "Dean?"

When he didn't respond, you felt a tightening in your chest. "Dean?" you called again, a little louder.

The silence was deafening--sending cold chills down your back as you stepped farther into the room. "Babe? Answer me."

You took another step forward and your foot collided with something sturdy on the floor in front of you. You trained your flashlight downwards and inhaled sharply as the light illuminated a body at your feet. "Dean!"

You dropped to your knees beside him to check for a pulse, foolishly opening yourself up to attack in such a vulnerable moment.

The last sound you heard was a dark cackle coming from your right just before you were plunged into complete darkness.

Dean awoke with a low groan, rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing in his head. It took him several moments to get his bearings and remember where he was. As soon as the memories clicked in his mind, he called out your name. You didn't respond and he felt a cold desperation wrap around his heart.

"(Y/N)!" he yelled as he pulled himself off the floor. "Sweetheart? Where are you?"

He was met with complete silence, making his blood run cold. He couldn't find the flashlight he'd been carrying, so he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it into the darkness around him.

He immediately noticed the stench from earlier had dissipated, as had the total darkness that surrounded him in the moments before he'd lost consciousness. His flashlight had barely cut through the blackness, but his phone was able to light up the majority of the room around him with relative ease.

The room was completely empty. Not a single rotting corpse to be seen. No cause for the smell from earlier, nor any sign of what had caused the room to be plunged into complete darkness. More importantly, there was no sign of you.

Dean immediately ran from the room, hurriedly searching the rest of the abandoned home in the hopes of finding you passed out like he had been. When he'd searched every room to no avail, his panic had risen to untenable levels.

He called your phone, but it immediately went to voicemail. He left a frantic message before hanging up and calling Sam.

His brother answered on the second ring. "Dean? Everything okay?"

"Is (Y/N) with you?"

Sam could hear the panic in Dean's voice, causing his heart to race. "No...she was with you on that hunt in Colorado."

"I can't find her anywhere."

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

"I mean, I got knocked out and when I woke up she was gone. I've searched the whole damn house--she's gone, Sam!"

"Okay, breathe. She wouldn't leave you, so she's gotta be there somewhere."

"Well something knocked me out, Sam--and whatever the hell it was had to have taken (Y/N/N)."

"That doesn't make sense, Dean. You said it was a ghost--a basic haunting."

"Yeah that's what we thought it was! Clearly we were wrong."

"Alright, alright," Sam said in a soothing voice. "I'll pack a bag and head your way--we'll find her."

Dean let out a pained sound. "Hurry."

"I will."

**********

Present

You groaned in annoyance, rolling over in bed to slam your hand on the snooze of your alarm. When the incessant noise stopped, you sighed quietly, staring at the ceiling as light filtered in through the window.

You wanted to get out of bed and go to work about as much as you wanted to get hit by a car, but unfortunately the bills wouldn't pay themselves.

You dragged yourself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before getting ready for work. Thirty minutes later, you were grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

When you reached the office, you sat in your car for a few minutes, gathering whatever strength you had to get out of your car and walk through those doors. You hated your job--this office life was simply not for you. It was boring, but the paycheck was decent and you didn't have any other options.

You'd only had the job for a few weeks--it would be embarrassing to quit so soon after starting. Besides, the work was easy and your coworkers were nice enough.

You sighed quietly before getting out of the car and heading into the office building. You were greeted by several of your coworkers and you said your good mornings as you made your way to your office.

The day passed by uneventfully, just as every single day of the past few weeks seemed to. When 5pm rolled around, you packed up your things and left for the day. You decided to stop and get Chinese food on your way home--the urge to cook about as far away as the country of China was.

After picking up dinner, you made your way home. As you pulled into your driveway, you noticed an old black muscle car parked in front of your neighbor's house. You thought it odd given your neighbor was out of town, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came as your stomach grumbled hungrily.

You grabbed your things and headed inside, dropping your keys and purse by the front door. You tugged your shoes off, silently cursing whoever created high heels. You sat your food on the kitchen island and went to the fridge to grab a beer.

You plopped down at the island, quickly pulling the containers of delicious food from the bag. You groaned happily as you took a bite of food--finally sating the grumbling of your stomach.

Mid-bite, you heard a noise upstairs, causing you to freeze. You listened closely, almost certain there was someone in your house. You grabbed a large knife from the knife block on the counter and made your way slowly towards the stairs.

You went up them as quietly as you could, stopping on the landing to listen for more noises. You heard movement at the end of the hall, where your office was. You made your way toward the room, holding the knife in front of you.

When you rounded the corner, you saw a man standing in your office, looking through your desk. You steeled yourself before stepping fully into the room, yelling "hey!" as you entered.

The man looked up at you and froze, eyes flicking between your face and the knife in your hand. "Woah, easy there, sweetheart."

"Who are you and why are you in my house?"

The man looked slightly confused. "It's me, (Y/N)."

"How the hell do you know my name?"

The man started to come around to the front of your desk and you stepped towards him, brandishing the knife in what you hoped was a menacing manner. The man was significantly larger than you, but you didn't feel the fear you expected to feel. You felt oddly certain you could hold your own against him in a fight--which made zero sense to you. You'd never been in a fight in your life.

"Easy, (Y/N). Just put the knife down and we can talk."

"You broke into my house, asshole. No way am I putting down this knife."

His hands were still up in the air, but he didn't seem any more afraid of you than you were of him. "Okay, sweetheart, just relax. I can explain."

"Stop calling me that--I don't know you."

The man looked hurt by your words, but he seemed to shrug them off. "Sorry, sweet--shit. Sorry." He slowly lowered his hands, waiting for you to make a move. When you didn't, he lowered them completely. "My name is Dean Winchester."

He waited for a moment, hoping to see a flash of recognition on your face--but your expression remained blank. It was like a stab to the heart, but he continued. "Your name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You're 33 years old. Your parents' names are Lily and Carter. You were born in New Mexico, but you spent most of your formative years in London. You came back to the U.S. after the death of your parents when you were 19. We met a couple years later on a hunt in Arkansas. We've been inseparable ever since."

The hand holding the knife was shaking almost uncontrollably. There was no way he could know any of those things--you didn't talk about your parents or your childhood with anyone. Hell, you barely mentioned the existence of a personal life.

"How do you know all of that? I don't talk about my family with anyone."

"You did with me."

"But I don't know you--I've never seen you before in my life."

"Yes you have...you just don't remember."

"Excuse me?"

Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Three weeks ago, you and I were on a hunt in Colorado. It seemed like a routine hunt...but something went wrong. I was knocked unconscious and you disappeared. I've spent the last three weeks searching for you."

"I've never been hunting a day in my life."

"Look, I know it's confusing and I understand why you don't believe me, but I swear to you, it's the truth."

Much to your surprise, every instinct in your body seemed to believe him...to believe this man you'd never seen before, to trust the man who'd broken into your home, to believe the insane story he was telling you.

You slowly lowered the knife and exhaled shakily. "I don't understand what's going on, but my gut instinct is to trust you."

Dean exhaled gratefully. "You can trust me."

"If you're fucking with me--" you raised the knife for emphasis, "I swear I will beat the shit out of you."

Dean laughed softly. "I'd expect nothing less."

You shot him an odd look and shook your head. "You hungry? I have Chinese food downstairs."

"Sure. I could eat."

You nodded towards the door. "You first sunshine."

He walked ahead of you, making his way down to the kitchen with you in tow. He sat down at the island and you sat across from him, setting the knife on the counter beside you.

"Want a beer?" you asked.

"Absolutely."

You pointed at the fridge. "Help yourself."

Once he had his beverage, he sat back down, eyes watching you intently. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, so you called him out on it.

"It's just...hard to see you like this."

"I'm sure it is. It's uncomfortable for me too."

He winced. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I've just really missed you."

You finally took a moment to really take in his features. You'd be lying if you said he wasn't the most attractive man you'd ever seen, but what really drew you in were his eyes. Sure they were a beautiful shade of green, but it was the warmth in them that made you feel comfortable. It was clear to you this Dean Winchester guy cared about you, even if you had zero clue as to why.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he answered.

"What am I to you?"

Dean inhaled sharply and his gaze drifted to the countertop in front of him. It was clear he wasn't sure how to answer that question--or if he should answer it. "I'm...I'm not sure I should answer that."

"I'm a big girl, Dean. Just tell me."

He looked back up at you, but when he opened his mouth, he didn't answer your question. "What do you remember of your life?"

"What?"

"Just tell me what you remember."

"Everything you said about my life was true. My name, my childhood, my parents...their deaths. I remember all of that. I remember moving back to the U.S....but I don't remember meeting you and I certainly don't remember hunting."

"So what have you been doing for the past 14 years?"

You closed your eyes for a moment, the memories infinitely more clear than the ones from your childhood. "I went to college and got a degree in marketing. Dated off and on, but no one had long-term potential. I had a few shitty jobs before finally landing the one at my current firm. I've been there a couple weeks, but I've got a corner office, a good paycheck, and decent coworkers."

"And do you like it? Marketing?"

You paused, considering your options before deciding to answer honestly. "It's boring, in all honesty, but it pays the bills."

"Do you ever think maybe you're meant for something more?"

You stared at him in surprise. You didn't know how he could possibly know that...you'd never shared that particular thought with anyone. You'd always felt that way--for as long as you could remember. "Yes," you whispered. "How did you know that?"

Dean smiled at you. "Because you are meant for more, (Y/N/N). You've spent the last 14 years doing more--you've saved countless lives. Hell, you've helped save the entire planet more than once."

You laughed loudly, thinking he must be joking. When you noticed his expression was completely serious, your laughter died instantly. "You--you can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious."

You scoffed. "No offense, Dean, but I've never saved anyone--let alone the entire planet. I think that's something I would remember."

He gave you a sad smile, pain lacing his gorgeous features. "There's so much you don't remember, (Y/N/N)."

The pain on his face matched the tone of his voice--and it sent a piercing pain into your heart. A pain you couldn't possibly begin to understand. "What else don't I remember?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think you're ready for all of that, sweetheart."

This time, you didn't correct him. The pet name made your chest ache--and you had a feeling this was a common term of endearment from him. It made you want to understand the nature of your relationship. "Then just tell me one thing. What am I to you?"

Dean exhaled slowly, brilliant green eyes fluttering closed. He was desperately trying to remain objective, but it was nearly impossible. He felt like he owed you in some way and he knew he couldn't lie. His eyes met yours once again and you were stunned by the depths of emotion swimming in those green orbs.

"I feel like I owe you the truth, but I don't want you to freak out. So just...please just let me talk before you respond."

You nodded and waited for him to continue.

"Like I said before, we met a few years after you came back to the states. About 11 years ago, to be exact. I remember the first time I saw you like it was yesterday. You were so beautiful--almost painfully so. I felt drawn to you immediately, but you wanted nothing to do with me. I suppose it only made me want you more." He chuckled fondly at the memory. "You were pure fire back then. No one could control you, not that I'd ever dare to try. I think I fell in love almost immediately. You were everything I'd ever wanted, but I uh--I had a bit of a reputation in the community. A not-so-nice reputation when it came to the ladies...and unfortunately for me, you were well-aware of it."

Dean shook his head sadly. "I still don't know why, but you decided to stay with me and Sam--my brother. The three of us hunted together and sometime during the year that followed, I managed to win you over. You were crazy enough to fall in love with me--and we've been together ever since." He paused. "So to answer your question, (Y/N), you're the love of my life. My best friend, my partner, my confidante, my whole world. You're the woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with and I'll be damned if I don't make good on that promise."

You sat in stunned silence, unsure how to feel about his revelation. One thing was for sure, you knew he was being honest. Every fiber of your being told you he loved you--every instinct you had screamed that he meant every word he said. It nearly broke your heart to have no memory of the feelings he was referring to...you couldn't reciprocate his words. As far as you were concerned, he was a stranger to you. You had no idea how to respond--nothing you could have said would have comforted him.

After several moments of silence, you finally looked up at Dean, meeting his teary gaze. "I believe you," you whispered.

Surprise lit up the handsome man's face. He hadn't been sure how you'd respond, but he hadn't thought you'd believe a word he said. "I meant every word, (Y/N/N)."

"I'm sorry I don't remember," you murmured sadly.

He offered you a small smile. "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm gonna find a way to get your memories back--to get our lives back."

"How?"

"If you're okay with it, we'll go see a friend of mine. She might be able to help."

You might be crazy for being willing to go with this strange man...but your gut told you there was no other choice. You hated the life you lived and if there was even a chance the life Dean was describing was real, you had to take it. "I'm in."

Dean smiled warmly. "That's my girl."

**********

Dean didn't explain who exactly you were going to see, but he did tell you it was quite a distance away. As such, you'd have to stop in a motel along the way.

Dean kept the conversations in the car away from the life--from hunting. He wasn't ready to explain all of that yet, especially if there was even the slightest chance you would run away screaming. He needed you to trust him and mentioning monsters wasn't likely to keep things calm.

It was late at night when he finally pulled off into a roadside motel. "It's not the Ritz, but it'll do for a night," Dean commented.

You offered him a smile and followed him into the dingy room. You tossed your bag onto the bed nearest the door and Dean immediately picked it up and moved it to the other bed. "No way in hell are you sleeping by the door, sweetheart."

You looked a little surprised, but simply shrugged your agreement.

Dean winced. "Sorry--I just worry about your safety, that's all."

You smiled. "It's alright. I get it."

He tossed his bag on the bed and sat down to take off his boots. "You can get the first shower."

"Alright, thanks." You grabbed your stuff and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

Dean made a call to Sam as soon as the door to the bathroom was closed. He'd already called his brother and informed him that he'd found you and told him where you were headed. Sam was already on his way to you, speeding along the highway in your direction.

"Hey Sammy."

"Hey Dean. How is she?"

"She's okay. She's in the shower right now. Where you at?"

"Probably an hour out now. What motel did you stop at?"

Dean gave him the location and room number. "Call me when you get here and I'll let you in."

"Have you told her I'm coming yet?"

"I mentioned you earlier...but I'm trying to keep her as calm as possible. I don't want her to freak out."

Sam sighed. "Alright, but you might wanna mention it before I get there."

"Yeah, yeah. I will. See you soon."

20 minutes after the call ended, you came out of the bathroom, feeling reasonably clean. You'd spent more time in the shower than you'd needed to, if only to try and calm your racing mind. A lot had happened in the last five hours and you were mentally and emotionally exhausted.

When you came out of the bathroom, you collapsed on the musty-smelling bed and sighed.

"I know it's not a great place, but maybe you'll be able to get some sleep. I'm sure you're tired."

"Very."

Dean smiled sadly. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick, okay?"

You nodded and rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the rock-hard bed.

Dean eyed you warily before stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door.

You closed your eyes and fell asleep with shocking ease. Mental exhaustion was clearly a great cure for insomnia.

When Dean came out of the shower, he fully expected you to still be awake. He wanted to let you know Sam was on the way so you wouldn't be freaked out by his arrival. Unfortunately, you were clearly sound asleep and he didn't want to wake you. You looked too peaceful to disturb.

**********

You awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning, bladder throbbing uncomfortably. You got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, failing to notice the large figure lying on the couch near the bathroom door.

Your movement woke Sam up and he decided he needed to use the bathroom too. He stood up and stretched, waiting for you to come back out.

When you came out of the bathroom, you caught sight of a large male figure standing near the door. You quickly assessed him and realized it wasn't Dean--the man was too tall. Without thinking, you lunged towards him, fist connecting with the side of his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

He fell back into the small dining table, forcing it against the wall with a loud noise. The commotion was enough to wake up Dean, who shot out of bed ready to fight. It took him only a moment to realize what had happened.

You lunged towards Sam again, who held up his hands to block your attack. Dean jumped towards you and yelled your name, pulling you to a stop.

"It's okay! It's okay!" Dean insisted. "It's just Sam!"

You were breathing heavily, but you lowered your fists. "Who the hell is Sam?"

"My brother!"

Your mind cleared slightly as you remembered Dean mentioning Sam's name earlier in the evening. "Oh shit," you muttered.

Dean turned on the light and Sam rubbed his jaw woefully. "Nice swing, (Y/N/N).

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said softly. "I didn't mean to--I just reacted."

"Well it was a good shot either way," Sam said with a pained chuckle.

Dean laughed softly. "At least your instincts are still strong."

You winced a smile. "Let me go get some ice."

Dean stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm. "I'll go get it. Stay inside."

You could tell he was worried about your safety and it made you wonder what he wasn't telling you.

Sam sat down at the table and continued to rub his jaw. "It really is good to see you, (Y/N). Despite the punch."

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I didn't know you would be here."

"I figured that out," he said with a light chuckle. "Don't worry about it. It was a solid punch."

Dean came back in with a full ice bucket. He handed the bucket to Sam and chuckled. "Damn dude, she got you good."

You winced, feeling terrible for hurting him.

Dean noticed your discomfort and turned to you with a gentle smile. "It's alright, sweetheart. He's had a hell of a lot worse. He'll be fine."

Sam nodded his agreement. "He's not wrong. I'm alright."

You punched Dean in the arm in annoyance.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You could have told me he was coming!"

"You were asleep! I didn't wanna wake you."

You sighed. "Alright fine, but quit keeping things from me, Dean."

He nodded, rubbing his arm. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"I'm going back to sleep. Let me know when it's time to go."

The brothers watched you crawl back into bed and Dean let out a soft sigh. "I think I'm too awake to sleep now."

"Same," Sam muttered.

The two sat at the table in silence, allowing you to get a couple more hours of sleep before it was time to head back out on the road.

**********

"So who exactly are we going to see?" you asked curiously.

Sam shot his brother a look from the backseat of the car. Dean glared at him in the rearview mirror and the younger man stayed silent.

"A friend of ours from when we were kids," Dean answered. "Her name is Missouri."

"Missouri...hmm. Do I know her?"

Dean nodded.

"How can she help me?"

"She's uh...well she's really..."

"Perceptive," Sam finished for him.

"Yeah, perceptive."

You gave Dean an odd look. "Okay then."

"Just...trust me, okay? She's the best there is. She can help."

Two words remained unsaid, living only deep in Dean's heart. I hope.

When the car pulled up in front of the house, Missouri immediately knew who it was. She met the three of you at the front door, a smile on her face.

"What do I owe the pleasure of a visit from all three Winchesters?"

Dean froze for a moment, which didn't go unnoticed by Missouri. Nor did you miss her use of the words "three Winchesters".

You shot Dean a silent reproachful look and Missouri tsked loudly. "Dean Winchester, what did you do?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't do anything, Missouri. I swear."

Missouri's gaze landed on your face, her expression softening instantly. "Oh honey..."

Her expression frightened you, as did her extremely perceptive gaze. It felt as though she was looking directly through you.

"Well come in you three. It's cold out here."

The three of you followed the older woman into her home. She gestured for you all to sit in the living room while she went to the kitchen to make some tea.

"Why did she call me a Winchester?" you asked Dean in hushed tones.

Sam gave his brother an 'I told you so' look and waited for his response.

Dean sighed. "I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday," he admitted. "(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was your name, until six years ago."

"What happened six years ago?" You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

"We got married," he answered softly. "You decided to change your name...and you've been (Y/N) Winchester ever since."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to freak you out. I'd already unloaded a lot of information on you. It's hard to look your wife in the eyes and realize she doesn't remember you--it's even harder to tell her what she means to you."

"But you told me how much you loved me...why couldn't you admit we're married?"

Dean shook his head. "I really don't know, sweetheart. I think I was scared you would run. It had been so hard to find you and I didn't want to risk losing you again."

Tears welled in your eyes and you placed a soft, comforting hand on his arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean."

He looked up at you, expression matching your own. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, though he desperately wanted to kiss your lips instead.

"Tea, everyone," Missouri stated as she entered the living room.

You immediately took the cup she offered you gratefully. "Thank you."

She nodded at you, giving you a warm smile. "Now I know you boys don't like tea, but there's no alcohol in this house."

"I'll take a cup, Missouri," Sam said.

She handed him a cup and gave Dean a stern look. You had a feeling the expression had nothing to do with his not liking tea.

"Now why don't you boys tell me what brings you all the way out here."

Dean sighed. "You mean you don't already know?"

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

"Oh I imagine it has something to do with (Y/N)'s memories, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Surprise lit up your face. "How did you--?"

"I see your husband left a few things out, didn't he? Do you want to share, Dean?"

Dean winced and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, well--umm...Missouri is--well, she's psychic."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

"Psychic," Dean repeated.

You turned to look at Sam and he simply nodded. Your gaze shifted back to Missouri who gave you another sad smile.

"It's true, honey. That's why I know about your missing memories. I can see the block in your mind...and the fake memories replacing your real ones."

"Fake memories? What do you mean fake memories?"

"How did your parents die?" Missouri asked seemingly from nowhere.

"A car accident," you answered in confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dean and Sam exchange glances. Missouri sighed quietly and shook her head.

You tried to catch Dean's gaze, but he kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him, suddenly fascinated with the pattern of the rug.

"Are you saying my parents didn't die in a car accident?"

"No, dear. They did not," Missouri answered.

"But I remember--" you fell silent as Missouri's words came back to you...'fake memories'. You shook your head. "I don't understand."

Missouri gave you a pitying look. "When you were 19 years old, your parents were murdered by something inhuman. A creature known as a ghoul. The ghoul appeared to you as your mother after it had killed her in an attempt to kill you, but you realized it wasn't your mother. You grabbed a wooden candlestick off the mantle and bashed the creature's head in, managing to kill it without even knowing what it was."

You were frozen in your seat, caught somewhere between disbelief and utter terror. You pushed the terror down, allowing the disbelief to prevail. You jumped out of your seat and yelled, "You people are crazy! Ghouls don't exist!"

Dean stood up and grabbed your arm to keep you from running. "Ghouls are very real, (Y/N). That experience changed your life forever. From that moment on, you knew the things that go bump in the night were real...that they murdered innocent people all over the world. It's why you came back here...to find answers and learn how to hunt them."

You shook your head vehemently. "No, no, that's not possible. They died in a car accident!"

Dean turned you to face him completely. "We met on a vampire hunt in Arkansas. Sam and I had identified the case and we ran into you early on in the hunt. You more than proved your abilities during that case and I asked you to come hunt with us. I didn't want you to keep going alone--it was too risky."

"What are you talking about?" you cried. "Vampires aren't real! None of this is real...it can't be real." Your knees turned to jelly and you would have fallen to the floor if Dean hadn't been holding onto you. He pulled you into him and you sobbed into his chest, finally allowing your tumultuous emotions out.

Dean held you tightly, tears of his own threatening to fall. He didn't know how to make you believe any of this--it sounded insane to him and he'd been raised in the life. He had a hard enough time convincing people who had literally seen a monster that they were real--this was so much worse. You couldn't remember all the monsters you'd killed in your life, so why would you ever believe a word any of them said?

"We might seem crazy, (Y/N), but I think if you allow yourself to believe it for even a moment, you may find it's not as crazy as it sounds," Missouri said gently.

You sniffled softly and turned to look into her eyes. You were still wrapped in Dean's arms--it made you feel incredibly safe, despite the situation. You focused on that feeling and tried to relax your breathing. Every single part of you was certain Dean would die to protect you...if that was true, then the love he had for you was real too. If his love was real, then so was your relationship--your marriage. If all of this was true, then maybe what he was telling you was true...maybe monsters really were real.

Missouri saw the moment you began to believe them--your eyes showed your emotions, but it was your mind that gave you away. She could sense your belief, just as she could sense the false memories swirling around in your mind.

"A witch," she said softly.

Dean's entire body went rigid. "What?"

"The missing memories and the replacements...it's the work of a witch. An extremely powerful one at that."

"Are you sure?" Dean whispered.

Missouri shot him a glare that told him exactly how certain she was.

"A witch?" you questioned softly, pulling away from Dean to look at his face.

"My least favorite type of monster."

"Witches are monsters?" you asked.

"Most of them," he responded.

"This kind of magic is dark," Missouri muttered. "Messing with someone's memories...it's very dangerous magic. The skill needed to not only block out the real memories but replace them indicates this is a very old witch. This type of magic isn't common these days."

"Demons?" Sam asked.

Missouri shook her head. "Older."

"Demons?" you squeaked out. "Demons are real too?"

Dean rubbed your arms comfortingly. "Yeah, sweetheart, but we don't need to worry about that right now, okay?"

You exhaled shakily. "How do I know what memories are real and which ones aren't?"

Missouri stood up and took your hands, forcing Dean to release you. She looked into your eyes, gaze extremely focused. After several moments she spoke. "Your childhood is intact up until your parents' deaths. Everything else up until three weeks ago is a false memory."

"Fourteen years?" you gasped. "Fourteen years of my life is a lie?"

Dean could see you start to spiral, instinctively reaching for you to try to ground you. "Baby, baby, hey--hey...focus on me, okay? Everything's gonna be okay."

Your eyes met his and your breathing began to slow once again. His warm gaze brought you back to earth, calming you in a way only he could. You felt calm--you felt safe. "Thank you," you whispered.

He pulled you into him for a tight a hug, placing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

Both Sam and Missouri felt as though they were intruding on a private moment. Missouri gestured for Sam to follow her out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked softly.

You looked up at him. "I think so. It's--it's a lot to take in."

"I know, sweetheart. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but everything we've told you is true."

"What happened three weeks ago, Dean?"

"What I told you before was true, but I left out a few details. We were on a hunt...a routine haunting. At least that's what we thought it was. When we got there, it was dark inside and it smelled like rotting corpses. It was strange, but not exactly out of the ordinary for a haunting. I went into a room ahead of you and I was knocked unconscious by something--I don't even remember what it was. When I woke up, you were gone."

"Could a--a witch do that?"

Dean nodded. "Easily. Especially if they're as powerful as Missouri thinks they are."

"So what do we do?"

"We find a way to restore your memories...then we hunt this witch down and find out why they targeted you."

"What if we can't?"

"Oh we'll find the witch. Don't worry."

You shook your head. "What if we can't get my memories back?"

Dean's expression betrayed his fear, if only for a second. "There has to be a way. There has to."

"There is," Missouri stated as she reentered the room with Sam in tow. "But it won't be pleasant."

"Can you do it?" Dean asked.

"I'm a psychic, Dean, not a witch."

Dean looked crestfallen.

"But I know someone who can help."

Dean looked back up. "Who?"

"Her name is Bethelia Logan. She's a very old, very powerful witch."

"Absolutely not!" Dean yelled instantly. "I'm not taking (Y/N) to a witch."

"Don't yell at me, child. Do you want her memories back or not?"

Dean started to argue again, but you placed a gentle hand to his chest, silencing him. "Do you trust her?"

Missouri nodded. "I would never send you to someone I didn't trust." She pointed at Dean. "You should know that."

Dean looked down in shame. He hated witches--hated them with everything in his soul. His hatred existed long before this moment...but now that he knew a witch had stolen your memories? He'd kill every witch on earth if he could.

"Where can we find this Bethelia Logan?" Sam asked.

"She lives in the mountains of Montana. Partially for the nature and partially for the privacy. She's not particularly friendly to strangers, but if you tell her I sent you, she'll help you."

"Are you sure she'll help us?" Dean asked.

"I'll send her a message. She'll help."

Dean looked down at you, wanting the decision to be yours and yours alone.

"You have her address?" you asked, a resigned smile on your face.

Missouri gave Dean the address and wished him luck. She said her goodbyes to the boys before sending them out the door. She stopped you before you could leave, wanting to say something in private.

"You are a strong woman, (Y/N). I have always thought that. You will need all your strength to get through this, if you choose to go through with it."

"What do you mean, 'if'?"

"The magic used to take your memories was very powerful black magic...and it will take very powerful black magic to reverse it. Such magic is dangerous for the user and for the person it is used on."

Realization dawned on your face. "Will I survive it?"

Missouri's expression softened, sadness darkening her gaze. "I don't know, honey, but it will likely be the most painful experience of your life. Which is why it must be your choice to go through with it. Yours, (Y/N)--yours alone."

You looked towards the Impala where Dean and Sam waited for you. You turned back to look at Missouri, a soft sigh leaving your lips. "Thank you for telling me."

"I love those boys like family, just as I love you, but Dean isn't like a normal man. He loves more deeply than anyone I have ever known--there isn't anything he wouldn't do for you. Don't tell him what I've told you, (Y/N). He won't let you make this choice on your own if you do...not because he doesn't trust you, but because he doesn't want to lose you."

Tears filled your eyes as you regarded the older woman. "I don't know how to explain it, but I know how much he loves me. I know what he would do for me. I need to remember why--desperately."

Missouri sighed quietly. "You've always loved that boy more than he believes he deserves, but in truth, he deserves all of your love. I've never met two people more perfect for one another--even if you never remember your lives together, I know you will love him that much again."

You nodded, allowing her words to wash over you. You knew in your heart she was right--you could see yourself falling in love with him, so it didn't surprise you that she believed it too. "Thank you, Missouri. For everything."

"You are so welcome, (Y/N) Winchester. Now go--and be safe."

You gave her a tight hug before walking away to join your husband and his brother on what would turn out to be the most harrowing journey of your life.

**********

It was a 16 hour drive from Missouri's home to Bethelia's home in Montana. You were quiet for most of the ride, reflecting on everything that had happened, as well as Missouri's final words to you. You half-listened to Sam and Dean's conversation, but your mind was elsewhere. You knew you had an important decision to make--one you apparently had to make entirely on your own.

Dean noticed your quiet demeanor and it worried him more than he cared to admit. He had to wonder what Missouri had said to you before you'd left, but he didn't want to press you for answers.

"Sweetheart, why don't you get some sleep?" Dean suggested softly. "I'm gonna drive through the night."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you asked softly.

"We do it all the time. Don't worry," he assured you.

Sam nodded his agreement. "If he gets tired, I'll take over."

"Over my cold dead corpse," Dean grumbled.

You laughed lightly and Sam rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'll try and get some sleep."

You turned your body slightly, leaning your head against the car window. You tried to get comfortable, but the cold metal and freezing window made that impossible.

Dean noticed your discomfort, watching you shift back and forth for several minutes. "Hey baby," he said softly, getting your attention. You turned to look in his direction.

"Come here, use my shoulder." You looked up at him and he offered you a gentle smile. "I can tell you're uncomfortable."

You angled your body to lean across the seat, resting your head on his shoulder. You sighed softly, finally finding a comfortable position. You were asleep within minutes. Dean glanced down at you and smiled before placing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

Sam watched the interaction from the backseat, a mixture of sadness and joy weighing on him. He was glad Dean had found you, but he was terrified of what would happen when they made it to Montana. Sam wasn't stupid...and he knew a lot more about magic than his brother did. He knew it was going to be extremely dangerous to try and fix your memories, and he worried it wouldn't end well. He didn't want to mention his concerns to Dean as he didn't want to scare him. He knew exactly what his brother was like when someone he loved was in danger.

You awoke several hours later to rays of morning sun shining through the windshield. Your head was still resting against Dean's shoulder and he felt you stir slowly.

"Good morning beautiful," Dean whispered softly.

You looked up at him with a smile. "Mornin'." You pulled yourself up into a sitting position and stretched.

You felt Dean's gaze on you, so you turned to look at him. "What?"

"Nothin'."

You raised your eyebrows. "Then why're you looking at me like that?"

He smiled. "You're just so beautiful," he said softly. "I can't help but stare."

You blushed and looked away from him. "Not this early in the morning," you mumbled.

He chuckled lightly. "Nice try, sweetheart. You're beautiful 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. 366 during leap year." He shot you a wink, which only caused your blush to deepen.

"You're too much," you giggled softly.

He reached over and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You're just right."

"What did I do to deserve you?" you asked softly.

Surprise lit up his handsome face. "Deserve me? Other way around, baby."

You shook your head. "I don't think so."

He glanced over at you again. "There's a lot you don't remember, (Y/N/N). Trust me when I say I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."

"That's not what Missouri thinks."

"Huh?"

"She told me you think you don't deserve me, but she said you deserve all the love I have to give. She thinks very highly of you, you know."

The look of surprise covered his face again. "I think highly of her too."

You smiled, reaching across to grab his hand. He looked over at you with a smile. "I can see why I fell in love with you."

His heart skipped a beat, hearing your words had a profound effect on him. "I'm still not sure how I won you over, but I'll always be grateful for your love."

You leaned across the seat and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I can't wait to remember everything," you whispered.

He shot you a warm smile, but it quickly faded to sadness.

"Dean?" you murmured.

"I know what we're going to do is extremely dangerous. I'm no fool, (Y/N/N)...I know Missouri warned you. I don't want you to do anything out of some sort of obligation to me, okay? I would rather die than lose you."

You touched his cheek gently. "I didn't want to worry you."

"I know. I'm willing to bet she told you not to tell me anyway."

Your mirthless chuckle was confirmation enough. "For the record, any decision I make is because it's what I want to do...and I need you to respect my decision."

Tears welled in his eyes, but he nodded. "I'll try."

You shook your head. "It's not a request, Dean."

He sighed. "I know you can't remember...but I'm not good at these types of situations. I tend to be a little reckless when someone I love is at risk."

"Missouri may have mentioned that too."

Dean chuckled. "Of course she did."

Sam began to stir in the backseat, a loud yawn alerting you both to his consciousness. "We there yet?" he mumbled.

Dean laughed. "We've still got another 4 hours or so."

"You want me to drive?"

"No one but my baby gets to drive Baby."

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Did you just call the car 'Baby'?" you asked.

"The three things I love most in this world are, you, Sammy, and this car."

You laughed heartily, rekindling Sam's laughter and sparking Dean's laughter. You might not be able to remember it, but you knew deep in your soul that these two people were your family--and somehow you loved them even without the memories to back it up.

**********

It was mid-afternoon when the three of you finally pulled up in front of a small house in middle-of-nowhere Montana.

"Do you think Missouri called her?" Dean asked.

"We better hope so," you murmured, pointing at the various signs in the yard warning people not to trespass.

"Yikes," Sam muttered.

Dean sighed and got out of the car, you and Sam following close behind. Before Dean could raise his hand to knock on the front door, it opened to reveal a surprisingly young-looking woman.

"Can you read?" the woman snapped.

"Missouri Moseley sent us," Sam said quickly.

The woman's expression softened immediately. "Well why didn't you say so? Come in, come in!"

You followed her inside and she gestured for you to have a seat in her small living room. The three of you sat down beside each other on the small couch.

"I'm Bethelia," the woman said as she sat in a chair across from you. "You must be the Winchesters."

The three of you nodded.

Bethelia looked at you closely. "I see you've been touched by black magic."

You nodded slowly. "So I've been told."

"Can you help her?" Dean asked.

Bethelia hummed quietly. "I can, but I am not certain you'll want me to."

"Missouri warned me it would dangerous."

She nodded. "This type of magic is very strong. I cannot guarantee you will survive."

Dean froze beside you and you blindly reached out to grab his hand. You squeezed it reassuringly. "What do I have to do?"

"(Y/N/N)," Dean pleaded.

Bethelia watched you carefully. "You have to be willing to risk everything to retrieve your memories. As you are now, you can make new memories with the ones you love, even if you cannot remember the past. But if you choose to work with me, your life may be forfeit."

You'd spent every waking hour since leaving Missouri's thinking about what you would do. Now, faced with the question, you found you knew your answer without a shadow of a doubt. "I'm willing to risk it."

"(Y/N/N)," Dean pleaded a second time. "You said it yourself--we can make new memories...we can fall in love all over again."

You turned to look into your husband's bright green eyes, both of which swirled with emotions the depths of which you couldn't even begin to understand. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Bethelia rose, immediately understanding what you needed. Sam took a second longer, but quickly followed Bethelia from the room, leaving you and Dean alone.

Dean immediately rose from his seat and began to pace. "You can't do this, (Y/N). It's not worth the risk."

"It's my decision, Dean. I don't need your permission, but I would like your support."

"I can't give you that--I can't...I can't lose you."

You stood up and grabbed his hands, stopping him in front of you. "I know it's hard, but it's worth it to me--it's worth the risk. I need to remember, Dean. It's my life and if the last few days are anything to go by, then I'd give anything to remember the last eleven years with you. Anything."

He looked down at you, finally allowing the tears to slide down his face. Your heart broke as you took in his pained expression, fear evident in his gaze. "I want to remember everything about you--every moment, every heartbreak, every painful memory, every joyful second, every loving embrace. I want to remember what it's like to love you--and be loved by you."

You reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks, and you found yourself wishing you could take away his pain. You didn't want to die, but you didn't want to live a lie--you needed the truth and the only way to get that was to restore your memories.

"I need to remember."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into your palm. He would have traded places with you in a heartbeat, sold his soul to save you, set fire to the world to keep you out of harm's way...but he couldn't do any of those things. He was powerless to protect you and it was killing him.

"I know you're strong," he whispered. "but baby, I'm terrified."

"I know," you murmured. "I know."

You rose up on your tiptoes, gently pulling his face down to yours. You pressed your lips to his in a heated kiss--a kiss you tried to infuse with every complicated emotion you'd felt in the last several days. His body instinctively melted into yours like you were made for each other--like you'd done it a thousand times before.

When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours. "I need you to trust me," you whispered.

Dean closed his eyes. "I trust you."

You exhaled shakily as you pulled away from him. It was killing him, but he couldn't make this decision for you--all he could do was give you the one thing you asked for.

"I support whatever decision you make...and I love you," he said softly. "I'll always love you."

You hadn't really expected him to support you, so hearing him say those words gave you an added boost of strength you didn't know you needed. You touched his cheek one last time before walking away in search of Bethelia.

"You are ready," the witch said from the doorway, her words a confirmation, not a query.

You nodded. "Let's do this."

Sam went to his brother's side, giving him a reassuring clap on the back. There wasn't really anything for him to say, but his presence was enough to calm Dean.

Bethelia turned to address the two men. "No matter what happens, you must not interrupt the spell. If you do, you risk her mind as well as her life. Do you understand?"

They both nodded.

"It will be painful," she said to you.

"I know," you whispered.

She simply nodded and gestured for you to follow. She guided you to a dimly lit room filled with hundreds of candles. The room was obviously home to a large amount of spell work, but much of the space had been cleared to make room for a large mat in the center of the floor.

"Lie down, (Y/N)."

You did as she asked, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

"You may wait in the hall," Bethelia addressed Sam and Dean. "Do not cross the threshold. Do not interrupt the spell. Do nothing."

You turned to make eye contact with Dean. "I'll be alright."

He nodded, desperate to believe you. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," you whispered back.

"Let's begin," Bethelia said, silencing any further conversation.

You closed your eyes and sent out a silent prayer to any deity who might be listening--a prayer for strength, for survival. It was the last coherent thought you had before your mind was overwhelmed with a blinding pain you couldn't describe.

Sam and Dean watched from outside the room as you writhed in pain, cries of agony ripped from your throat as Bethelia worked her magic.

"I can't watch this," Dean gasped out, turning on his heels and practically running for the front door.

Even outside, he could hear your screams--each one like a knife to his heart. He didn't know how long he stood there, he had long since lost count of your screams, the seconds between them all but disappearing.

Sam had remained inside, standing watch over you as best he could. Much like Dean, his chest ached with each of your screams--he hated seeing you in so much pain.

After what felt like an eternity, silence fell on the small home--a silence more deafening than any scream. Dean waited for a few moments before running back into the house, terrified of what he would find.

When your limp body came into view, he tried to enter the room--tried to reach you, but Sam grabbed him and held him back. "Dean, you can't! She's not done!"

Dean struggled against his brother's hold, every instinct dying to go to you. He watched in terror as you remained still as death, not a single sound escaping your sweet lips.

"(Y/N/N)..." he whimpered.

Bethelia's chanting had ceased, her small form kneeling beside your body as if waiting for something.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the home, a war was raging inside your mind--a battle between who you were and who you believed yourself to be. Memories were fighting for their rightful place in your mind--false and real, a distinction your fragile psyche couldn't make.

The only thing you knew for sure was your name: (Y/N) Winchester. You knew it with the same conviction that you knew gravity was real. Your certainty gave way to another: Dean Winchester was the love of your life. Flashes of moments from the past few days flew through your mind, but the ones you focused on where the memories you didn't recall.

You saw the joyful moments filled with laughter and jokes, the painful moments filled with tears and loss, the passionate moments with nothing between your bodies but sweat and desire, and the loving moments that grounded you--kept you from giving up even when life was unbearable.

You felt his love for you wash over you in waves, drowning you in an ocean of passion you didn't wish to escape from. But then you felt your love for him, the depths of which you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Whatever you'd imagined you'd felt for him paled in comparison to reality--he was tied to your soul so completely you wondered how it was possible to have lived without his memory for more than a moment.

As these memories and emotions solidified within you, the false memories began to fade away, replaced by the real ones that had been locked away in the darkest recesses of your mind. Millions of memories flooded your mind, filling the gaps in your life, making you whole once more.

Dean, Sam, and Bethelia watched in silence, waiting for something to happen. Dean wasn't even certain you were breathing, but he was terrified to ask...he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Bethelia began to look more and more crestfallen as time went on, the minutes ticking by in painful silence. Sam's gaze was focused on her, praying her expression would turn hopeful once again.

Dean's gaze, on the other hand, was focused entirely on you--on your face. He was looking for any sign of movement, of life...anything to calm his aching heart.

An hour had passed since the spell had begun...twenty minutes of silence had stretched on after your screams had ended. They were the longest twenty minutes of Dean's life.

He had begun to lose hope--fearing the worst, but afraid to voice it. Suddenly, you gasped for air, bolting upright as you sucked in gulps of oxygen. Dean ran to you, breaking free of his brother's relaxed grip--not giving a damn if he was allowed to enter the room or not.

He dropped to his knees beside you, reaching out to grab your face. "(Y/N)? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

Your eyes met his and his breath caught in his chest. Those sweet (y/e/c) eyes he loved so much were full of recognition--full of love. "Dean," you whispered hoarsely.

He wrapped you in a hug so tightly you thought he might squeeze every ounce of air from your lungs, but you couldn't be bothered to care. You were squeezing him back just as tightly, feeling at home in his arms.

He leaned back to look at your face again, brushing your hair back to see you more clearly. He hadn't realized how different you'd looked when your memories were gone--not until this moment. As he looked at you, he noticed all the little things he hadn't taken the time to pay attention to before. Your skin seemed to glow with love and warmth, your eyes sparkled more brilliantly than they had in the past few days, and your smile was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

"Baby?" he asked tentatively, needing to hear the confirmation from your lips.

"I remember," you whispered softly, leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

He wrapped his arms around you again, tugging you close, and kissing you with as much passion as he could muster. The moment was so pure, so full of love, that both Sam and Bethelia were moved by it. The love the two of you shared was beyond what an average person would ever experience--incomprehensible to most.

When you finally separated, Dean leaned his forehead against yours. "You scared me for a minute," he admitted.

"I told you I'd be okay," you murmured. "Have a little faith, my love."

He smiled. "God I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Dean finally pulled away from you and rose to his feet. He took your hand in his and helped you up, your body still weak from the intensity of the spell.

You smiled warmly at the two people standing a few feet away. "Hey Sammy. Miss me?"

Sam grinned and stepped forward to wrap you in a hug. "Of course I did."

When he stepped back, you addressed Bethelia. "I can't thank you enough."

Bethelia smiled and gestured between you and Dean. "This right here? This is thanks enough. It has been a long time since I've witnessed a love this pure. I feel honored to have been able to witness it again."

You looked up at Dean as he smiled down at you. He kissed your forehead and you leaned into him. "I feel honored to be able to experience it--especially knowing what it's like to live without it."

"I know the feeling," he murmured.

"Not to bring the mood down, but I remember what happened in Colorado," you said softly.

Sam and Dean looked at you, both waiting to hear what you recalled.

"I saw you on the floor--unconscious--and I let my guard down. I was terrified you were dead...that's when she got me."

"The witch," Dean stated quietly.

You nodded. "She knew my name--knew yours too. All she told me was she wanted you to pay. She didn't explain what she meant."

"Why the hell did she target you if she wanted me to pay?"

"She had to have known what losing me would do to you--that it would hurt you more deeply than anything she could ever have done to you directly."

Dean felt a mixture of sorrow and anger. No one was going to get away with hurting you, not as long as he drew breath.

"All I remember after that was the pain...so much pain. Then I woke up in a house in a city I've never lived in before with a whole life I didn't remember. But as far as I was concerned, that was my life. It felt so real--up until the day you waltzed in."

Dean reached out and touched your face. "Anyone who dares hurt you is destined for a short life."

You'd known he'd want to kill the witch, and to be honest, you didn't blame him. Hunting monsters was your life--and this witch certainly counted as one. "We'll find her Dean."

"Damn right we will. I'll put a bullet right through her skull. See how she likes having her mind messed with."

You placed a gentle hand to your husband's arm, trying to calm him. "For now, let's just focus on the good things. I have my memories back and I'm with you. That's what matters."

Dean nodded and offered you a weak smile. "You're right, baby. You're right."

You turned to Bethelia with a smile, thanking her once again, as did Sam and Dean. You were surprised when Dean gave the witch a hug--he wasn't an affectionate man by nature, especially with strangers, but she'd saved your life in his estimation...so she got a pass.

"You're the only witch I've ever liked," Dean commented as the three of you prepared to leave.

Bethelia laughed. "There are others like me out there, I can assure you. We're not all monsters, hunter."

Dean nodded. "Perhaps not."

You grabbed his hand and tugged it gently as you started toward the Impala. "Come on, handsome. It's time to go."

The three of you piled into the car, waving goodbye to Bethelia as you pulled away.

"I'm so ready to go home," you mumbled with a yawn.

"Me too, baby."

"Me three," Sam added.

"Do you want to stop at a motel to rest?" you asked softly.

Dean's gaze rested on your face, drinking it in like he was scared he'd forget it. "Not a chance, sweetheart. I wanna get you home as quickly as possible."

The hungry look in his eyes belied his hidden meaning and you silently hoped Sam didn't notice. "Try not to drive too fast," you teased.

"I would never," he said in mock offense. He pressed firmly on the accelerator and the Impala shot down the road at an assuredly illegal speed.

You laughed and shook your head, knowing full-well Dean would get you home in one piece, even if it was a little faster than it should be.

**********

Fourteen hours later, you were back home in your beloved bunker in Lawrence, Kansas. What should have taken nearly sixteen hours, was shortened by Dean's intense desire to get home.

"Oh I missed this place," you said with a smile as you entered.

"You didn't even remember it existed until a few hours ago," Dean chided.

"I missed it without even knowing what I was missing...kinda like I missed you," you teased back.

He smiled, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. "Not nearly as much as I missed you."

You leaned back into him. "That could be because you actually remembered me."

"There's not a chance in hell I could forget you." He pressed gentle kisses to your neck down to your shoulder.

"As happy as I am to have you back," Sam interrupted. "Could you two get a room?" His voice was light and teasing, which made you laugh.

"Oh come on, Sammy--it's nothing you haven't seen before," Dean said with a grin. "Just a man loving his gorgeous wife."

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. "I'll go get my noise canceling headphones. You two have fun getting reacquainted."

You watched Sam walk off towards his bedroom, a small smile playing on your face.

"So you think we should get...reacquainted?" Dean murmured against the shell of your ear.

"Aren't you exhausted from all the driving?"

"I'm never too tired for you, baby."

You turned around to face him, leaning into his strong body. "I think you should take me to bed then, Mr. Winchester."

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Winchester." Dean slipped his arms under your round bottom, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He held you closely as he carried you towards your shared bedroom.

As he made his way to your room, you spent every second pressing kisses to his face sweetly, tangling your fingers in his short hair.

"You better stop that or I might take you right here on the table," he growled lowly.

"It's not like we haven't before," you giggled.

Dean groaned. "I don't wanna scar Sam for life--otherwise, I'd have you on every surface in this damn bunker."

"Maybe later then," you murmured as you kissed his neck affectionately.

Dean moved more quickly, the need to get you into his bed becoming overwhelming. As soon as he made it into the bedroom, he kicked the door closed, pressing you against it as he attached his lips to yours hungrily.

You gasped slightly before returning his passionate kiss. You tugged on his jacket, silently begging him to remove it. He pulled away just long enough to rip his jacket and flannel off before kissing you again.

His strong hands slid up under your shirt, moving upwards to tug it off over your head. His lithe fingers unsnapped your bra with practiced ease and pulled it forward to reveal the swell of your breasts.

"I've missed these," he murmured, lips immediately finding their home between the valley of your breasts. He took his time nipping and sucking at each one, playing with your nipples just the way you liked.

Your fingers dug into his scalp as you held him close to you, reveling in the feeling of his lips on your body. Your core pulsed with aching need, but you ignored it as best you could. You didn't want to rush him...not after all this time apart.

Dean loved how soft you felt against his toned form--he couldn't describe how much he'd missed touching you so intimately. This wasn't the first time the two of you had been torn apart from each other, but it had been the toughest time for him.

He felt your soft hands clutching at his shirt, desperate to remove it. Dean smirked against your skin before turning around and tossing you onto the bed. He tugged his shirt off over his head and threw it across the room, giving you a clear view of his impressive torso.

He started to climb onto the bed, but you stopped him. "Pants too, please."

He chuckled. "Impatient, are we?"

You shook your head. "I just want to see your perfect body on display--just for me."

He raised his eyebrows, but did as you asked, removing his pants slowly, eyes locked on yours.

You could see his hard member straining against his boxers, practically begging to be touched. You crawled across the bed, coming closer to him, eyes trained on your target.

"Whatcha doin' baby?"

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, tongue darting out to dampen your lips. "Wanna taste you."

Dean exhaled sharply, but there was no way he was going to say no to your request. He watched as you rolled over onto your back, head hanging off the edge of the bed. His breath caught in his chest as he realized your intentions. "You sure?" he whispered.

You grinned cheekily. "Come on pretty boy--use me."

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, quickly ridding himself of his last article of clothing. He gripped his large cock tightly in his right hand and stepped forward. He tapped against your mouth gently. "Open wide, sweetheart."

You happily obliged, mouth opening as wide as you could to accommodate his size. He slid slowly into your warm, wet mouth, groaning softly at the feeling.

You made a little noise of pleasure, wrapping your hands around his muscular thighs to get more comfortable and pull him even closer to you.

Dean's motions started out slow, but he quickly lost himself in the feeling of you, listening to the delicious sounds you were making. Within moments, he'd begun fucking your face properly, obscene sounds escaping his lips.

"Fuck--that's it baby. S-so good for me."

You moaned happily, fingers digging into his skin as you continued to take him deep in your throat. He leaned forward to grab at your breasts, massaging them and pinching your nipples as he thrust, which only increased your enjoyment.

Dean felt his orgasm quickly approaching, but he wasn't ready to cum just yet. He eased his cock out of your mouth and took a step back, chuckling softly at your whine.

"Don't worry, baby--I'm nowhere near done." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your messy lips before rising back up to his full height. "Get comfortable, sweetheart--it's my turn."

You quickly rotated your body so your head rested comfortably on the pillows at the head of the bed. Dean wasted no time joining you on the bed, quickly unsnapping your jeans before pulling them off along with your panties.

He wedged himself between your legs, lowering himself to lie flat on the bed. He inhaled deeply, face mere inches from your aching pussy.

"You smell delicious, baby--can't wait to taste you."

Dean's tongue slipped out of his mouth, running a thick stripe up your pussy before sliding between your lips to begin his assault.

Your hips shot off the bed, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He didn't want you to be able to squirm away while he gave you as much pleasure as he could.

Your fingers entwined in his hair as he ate you out like it was the last thing he'd ever do. It felt so incredibly good and your moans of pleasure spurred him on.

"D--feels s-so good."

He moaned into your core, the vibrations making you cry out in pleasure. He sped up his ministrations, years of practice with you making him an expert on your body.

"So close," you whimpered.

Dean slipped two fingers inside of you, curling them to press against your g-spot rapidly. Within moments, your orgasm crashed into you with violent intensity, hips jacking off the bed despite Dean's attempts to hold you in place. He kept up with your movements, not stopping until you pulled him up by his hair.

He licked his lips with a smirk, enjoying the lingering taste of you. His normally bright green eyes were dark with arousal as he looked at your blissed out face. He hovered over you, eyes scanning your face as if to memorize every inch of it, before leaning down to kiss you deeply.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you. You loved the feeling of his strong body against yours, enjoying the warmth emanating from his heated skin.

"I need you, (Y/N/N)," he whispered against your lips. "Please."

"Wanna feel you inside me, Dean--make me forget my own name."

He growled lowly. "I can do that for you, baby. Only thing you'll be able to say is my name."

You moaned softly, lifting your hips to press against his, earning a sharp inhale from his lips. He slipped his cock in between your folds, entering you completely with one harsh thrust.

You cried out at the feeling of fullness, slight pain mixing with the pleasure. No matter how many times you'd made love to this man, he never failed to make you feel incredible. Every time was like the first time in the first few moments, before quickly morphing into an unforgettable experience with someone who knew your body better than you did.

"Move baby--please," you begged.

He always waited for a few moments, never wanting to cause you any undue pain, but as soon as those words left your mouth, he began to thrust into you in earnest.

"Shit, sweetheart--missed this sweet little pussy. Squeezing me so good, feels like heaven."

"Harder, Dean--please."

Dean shifted his body to give you what you needed, thrusts now deeper and faster than before. His fingers dug into your hips so tightly that bruises were sure to appear.

Your moans reverberated throughout the room, spurring Dean on. His own noises were absolutely sinful--and you loved hearing them. Your nails dug into his muscular back, trying desperately to ground yourself in the sea of pleasure.

You felt your orgasm approaching and you voiced as much to Dean, who was already well-aware.

"Want you to cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you make a mess on my cock."

You whimpered, clinging to him tightly as he continued his measured thrusts. "Dean..."

"I've got you, gorgeous. Let go for me."

You cried out in pleasure as your second orgasm washed over you, body shaking beneath his, waves of pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Dean worked you through your high, waiting until your body stopped shaking before gently rolling you onto your stomach. You tried to lift your hips to accommodate him, but he gently pressed you back down into the mattress.

"I've got this baby girl, just get comfortable."

He slid into you, laying his body on top of you, covering you like a heated blanket. The angle of his thrusts instantly sent you spiraling--body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart--how's this pussy still so fuckin' tight?" he growled in your ear.

You were clenching him tightly, intense pleasure slamming into your core with each thrust he made. You could hardly breathe--the pleasure already so blinding.

"You're close again, aren't you? I can feel it, baby," Dean murmured against your neck.

You couldn't do anything other than moan and whine as he fucked you deeper into the mattress. He was right--you were on the brink of another blinding orgasm.

"I wanna fill this sweet pussy up, baby--but I can't do that until you cum for me."

You whimpered softly, Dean's thrusts continuing.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"Don't stop--" you gasped.

Dean continued his motions, not changing a single thing. He knew you were close--all you needed was a little push. His lips were so close to your shoulder, brushing softly against your skin. On a particularly hard thrust, Dean bit into your shoulder blade, drawing a scream of pleasure from your throat as you came around him.

He slowed his motions, not quite ready to cum, but not wanting to stop. He kissed the bite mark gently, making sure you felt his love for you in each kiss.

When you'd come down from your high, Dean eased you onto your back, cock still buried deep inside you. He began slow, gentle thrusts, waiting for you to refocus on him.

After several moments, your eyes finally met his and he smiled warmly. "There you are."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I'm right here, baby."

"Want you to fill me up," you begged softly.

Dean groaned. "You keep squeezing me and looking at me like that and I'm a goner."

You gave him a weak smile and clenched your pussy as tightly as you could. He gasped softly, hips stuttering slightly.

"Cum for me, Dean--please."

"Gonna f-fill you up, baby...s-so close."

You wrapped your weak legs around him, holding him against you. You placed a gentle palm against his cheek, forcing him to continue looking at your loving expression.

His thrusts had become sloppy and his breathing labored. A few more thrusts and he exploded inside of you, cries of pleasure leaving his lips as he filled you up. His spend leaked out of you as his thrusts began to slow to a halt, lips pressing into your sweaty skin in gentle kisses.

"I love you," he whispered repeatedly. "So, so much."

Finally, Dean collapsed on top of you, softening member still inside of you. The two of you laid like that for several minutes, entangled together comfortably. You held him tightly, almost afraid to let go.

Dean slowly began to lift himself off of you, leaving you cold and empty. You whimpered softly, reaching for him as he got off the bed.

He turned to you and smiled. "I'm coming right back, baby. I promise."

He moved slowly towards the sink in the corner of the room before returning with a warm, wet washcloth to clean your mixed spends from between your legs. Each touch made you shiver, but his gentle voice grounded you.

"I've got you, baby. Almost done."

Once he'd finished, he tossed the washcloth across the room before crawling back into bed with you. He laid down beside you and tugged you into him. You angled your body to lay your head on his chest.

The two of you laid in silence for so long you began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. He had to be tired after that drive and the exertion of your love making, so you didn't blame him.

Just as you began to drift off to sleep yourself, you heard Dean's soft voice. “Babe? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you said softly.

“Do you want that normal, apple pie kinda life?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head against his chest. “Absolutely not."

“Really? Not even a little?”

You looked up at him, expression softening. “Not even a little. I happen to love our life. I love living in a weird underground bunker. I love driving all over god’s green earth in our ancient Impala. I love staying in seedy motels and eating shitty diner food. I love saving people and hunting monsters. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“Because I get to do it all with you.”

He smiled at you, gaze exceptionally tender.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better than this beautiful, messy life of ours.”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly. “I love you so damn much, baby.”

“I love you too, Dean Winchester. Always.”

You settled back against his warm chest, listening to the solid beating of his heart. You knew tomorrow would bring another battle, another problem to solve, but for right now, you were exactly where you needed to be--in the arms of the man you loved with all your soul, feeling safe and loved...finally home.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x wife!reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural smut

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wonderlandcrown · 2 months ago

Text

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑀𝑦 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒

𝑉𝑖𝑙 𝑥 𝑌𝑢𝑢(𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

a/n : book 5 spoilers, also Vil didn't know Jamil overbloted until book 6. reader is gn and referred to as "Yuu, the prefect, you, they/them pronouns"

genre : light angst, romance(pining)

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛💜♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

Someday my prince will come Someday I'll find my love And how thrilling that moment will be When the prince of my dreams comes to me He'll whisper, "I love you" And steal a kiss or two Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil was reluctant to stay in Ramshackle during VDC, "A messy room equals a messy mind", is what he tells his dorm mates. Though he understood that the prefect didn't choose to stay there, Vil Schoenheit was never a fan of unclean spaces.

But Vil had bigger problems at the moment, Neige will undoubtedly show up for the competition, and his dream- no, his goal will be in jeopardy.

The headmage did say that the prefect was quite talented in bringing people together...

Fine then, if staying in a dingy dorm means having a chance at winning against Neige, he'll do it.

"How thrilling, " Vil thought, "will my moment of victory be."

Someday I'll find my love Someone to call my own And I'll know him the moment we meet For my heart will start skipping a beat Some day we'll say, "I do" Things we've been longing to Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil noticed the scars around the prefects hands, undoubtedly the result of going through no less than 3 overblots, not to mention all of them happened under a year!

Vil scoffs, Crowley must be more incompetent than he thought if he allowed a poor defenseless student to get caught up in so much trouble; or is it Yuu who is careless?

He originally saw you akin to something like a pathetic wet cat : lost, clueless, naive.

Though he'll admit he was quite wrong, your occasional sharp jabs towards the trio of potatoes(Ace, Deuce and Grim) didn't go unnoticed by Vil. He thinks you're quite funny, you act so brazenly and sarcastic around your friends but around strangers you suddenly become quiet and well spoken, you remind him of the difference of his personalities on camera and off.

Though that's the only thing he and you have in common.

Vil remembers perfectly well the glare Yuu shot at him when he cursed the delicacies Trey gifted the younger spudlings. It was a necessary measure! You're smarter than your friends, you should understand that they would've tried to break away from the diet Vil gave them.

Vil doesn't understand, he doesn't understand those potatoes, didn't they agree to this? Don't they want to win? If they do they should listen to him, he knows what's best, he's been trained for countless competitions since he was young, these diets, these restrictions have been imposed onto him ever since then and they will be forevermore.

For them, it'll only be a moment before they're back to their normal lives, so why can't they understand? Vil understood ever since he was young, so why can't they?

He's been longing for the chance to stay on stage until the very last moment, so why can't Yuu just do what he says and help those idiots cooperate with him.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, he shouldn't dwell on unnecessary things for too long, lest he stray from his goal.

Somewhere waiting for me There is someone I'm longing to see Someone I simply can't help but adore Someone who'll thrill me forever

"Hey, uh, can we discuss something? "

It was already late afternoon, Epel had screamed at Vil and ran away from the dorm and one of your friends, Deuce, he remembers, ran after him. But they haven't been back.

He lets out a sigh, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"What is it?" Vil turns to face you, usually during the breaks between the VDC groups training, you pass around water bottles and some snacks(not cursed by Vil this time). Though this time you carry nothing, it's expected, the rest of the group only have a break because two of the members ran off to who knows where.

"I think you're being too harsh on them. " Vil scoffs, "Excuse me? They're the ones being too careless, they're not serious enough. " Vil glares at you, nose scrunched. You betray his expectations, really, he expected you to be more mature about this.

You only look at him in the eyes as a response, he notices your tense frame, you must've been planning to tell him this for a while now.

"..Epel ran away." Vil lifts an eyebrow, "And? Are you just here to state the obvious?" He hears you click your tongue, you're irritated with him? Why must you be so mean to him, prefect, all he wants is to win, is that so much to ask for?

"Look, I understand your efforts, what you do to achieve your dreams is commendable, really, "

Dreams? How dare you use such a childish word, the Vil Schoenheit doesn't dream, he has no time for that.

"but you need to realize that not everyone can handle, well, you. We want to win, obviously but uh, you're already so accustomed to this type of stuff but we're not.."

Hm? Oh, prefect, you're flattering him, so you're saying that he's so glamorous to the point that the normal spudlings can't even begin to compare?... Vil's kidding obviously, but the compliment has made him more inclined to listen to you.

"Dear prefect, I may see your point.. Though you must realize that diamonds are created under pressure, and the headmage has been far too lenient." You sigh, brows furrowed, "Tell me about it.. Again, you're not wrong, there are limits. Even the seemingly strong gems can crack if they have internal flaws."

My, isn't this new.. Prefect, it's been quite the long time since someone dared to question him, in such an interesting way no less.. Most people either agree with no objections or slander his views vehemently (Rook and Epel, Vil's looking at you) Congratulations are in order for managing to intrigue Vil of all people.

You're confused on why Vil's smiling, so.. fondly at you, did you do something wrong?

"Prefect, if you don't mind, how do you feel about joining my nightly routine tomorrow, I think you have many interesting topics to share with me."

Someday my prince will come Someday I will find the one Though he's far away he'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true Oh, please make my dreams come true

"The winner of VDC is.. ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY, LED BY THE ONE AND ONLY NEIGE LEBLANCHE!"

The crowd cheers endlessly, Vil feels his heart grow heavy with that same, twisting, horrendously ugly feeling of envy. His feet feel like they're on fire and Vil has to pretend the camera flashes are irritating him in order to blink back the tears.

It's ok, it's fine, the loser has to fall and Vil feels like he's been plummeting since then, now, and perhaps forevermore.(please don't let it be so)

It's even worse when Neige pulls him into an encore, his hand pressing on one of the bruises on his arm, a scar gained from his overblot. But Vil's heart only winces when he thinks of you, he thinks of your scars, you must have so many, you've been through so much..

Vil is so, so sorry, he wants to cry and beg for your forgiveness, for Rook's, for Epel's, for everyone's forgiveness. What he did was so stupidly immature, how could he just betray his own expectations, everyone expected Vil Schoenheit to be level headed, mature, and beautiful. So why? Why must he be everything except that?

Everything after his overblot was a blur, really. He thought his career would go up on smoke, everything he worked for would've been gone. Vil stared at his phone, waiting for a ping from his manager, informing him that his overblot, his weakest moment, was leaked for the whole world to see. Vil sits at the vanity, normally he would be staring into his reflection, but now he can't even bear the thought of looking at the mirror.

Suddenly he was met with a knock on his door.

"I'm not expecting visitors, if it's not urgent then go find Rook, or the prefect."

"Vil, I am the prefect."

Vil immediately sits up right, brushing away the few strands of stray hair, before inviting you in. "Come on in."

You quickly slip inside his room, closing the door behind you with a click, Vil tilts his head, usually he would never do this, unbefitting of the mature image of Vil Schoenheit, but since it's you, he finds himself at ease without putting on his performative mask. "I see you want privacy, is it personal?"

"Yeah, I.. wanted to see how you're doing. " Vil doesn't hold back the bittersweet smile, "You really are kind, don't worry about me, you should've ran away when you saw me overblot, why didn't you?"

Why didn't you? You should've ran away the moment you saw blot dripping from his lips and eyes, yet you stayed, you stayed during his overblot and all the others. Vil wants to know, how is one person so caring yet sarcastic, so plain yet so interesting, so normal yet.. Vil feels like he's never met someone like you before.

"Why didn't I? What kind of question is that, the better question is how could I leave a friend during his weakest moments?"

See? Caring yet sarcastic, Vil giggles at your response, "You should know when to stop helping people, dear. One day you'll get irreversibly wounded and there's nothing I could do to help you at that point." Vil's tone is light, though he feels an aching sensation when he imagines a fatally wounded Yuu.

You sigh, taking a step closer to Vil, "I'm not that weak, so don't think of stuff like that." The housewarden of Pomefiore only gives a tired smile, plain yet so interesting, he thinks. You're a magicless being somehow willed with such tenacity that befits the values of the Beautiful Queen, Vil might be inclined to take a few lessons from you.

It takes a while before Vil notices you're staring at him, you look at him as if you were looking at a poor, caged animal. "..Is there something else you want to tell me?" You don't respond, you only continue to look at him, at his clothes, at his hair, then you stare at him in the eye.

Vil feels a lump form in his throat, you're looking at him in such a humane way, not the lovesick expressions usually adorned on his fans, not the scowls of jealousy from the haters. You look at him as if you see something beyond the masks he wears.

Unlike what most people think, Vil Schoenheit actually has two masks, one he adorns when the camera rolls, which from there he has many others to choose from. The second he wears to retain the strict and regal image of Pomefiore, the one who rules this dorm with an iron fist, where he is both hated and loved.(not that much different from his career)

But you, you're looking at none of the two, he never saw anyone else other than his own father and Rook wear this expression. Someone who sees beyond what is presented to them.

"You're tired." Vil finally hears you say something, "I'll go draw you a bath." Your words were authoritative and left no room for arguement, it reminds Vil of himself. As the actor watches you walk into his bathroom he feels a warm sensation course through him, it's been quite the long time since he was the one on the receiving end of these affections.

No, affections is too intimate a word, but Vil can't think of any other way to describe it.

You can't see his expression now, prefect, but do know that you made Vil Schoenheit of all people cover his face to hide his blush and smile. So normal yet Vil's never met anyone else like you.

Vil hears the sound of water flowing coming from the bathroom, he hopes you finish your task soon, Vil has never felt what yearning for another's presence was like until now.

Vil already has his hunter and poison apple, so tell him what you'll be? What role will you take on to complete the Beautiful Queen's camaraderie? Will you be his raven, dutiful, working from the shadows; or his mirror : showing him what you see, beyond what Vil presents himself to be.

Vil shall wait for your answer, prefect.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬

a/n : someday my prefect will come - vil schoenheit. first fanfic tbh, there were pacing issues but I don't think it's that bad for a first timer. reblogs are appreciated

edit : chapter 2(not a continuation of this) is out now, go on my blog and search the tag "the songs of love", also you can tell me in the reblogs or comments if you wanna be tagged for chapter 3

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brawberryz · 2 months ago

Text

The fallen warrior

Batfam Yan! × Negleted! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / M.list

Tw: yandere behavior, manipulation, murder, torture, isolation, child neglect, child abandonment, mommy/daddy issues, use of katanas/knives, gore, eating disorders, hallucinations, corruption, dark themes, religious themes

The devil is real

He's not a little red guy with a tail and horns

He may be beautiful

Because he was a fallen angel, and God's favorite

A fallen angel destined to burn in the flames for his actions

You kept looking at your food without touching it, it was another lonely night in the mansion

It was the same old routine

Getting up

Training

Going on a mission

And 'eating'

Even though that food entered your mouth years ago, every time a bite entered your mouth you ended up throwing up

Any normal parent would have started to worry because their child wasn't eating

But you knew your family didn't care, nothing mattered

You got up from the table and threw your food on Titus' plate

You went back up to your room, the only noise in the mansion was the thuds of your footsteps on the old floors of the mansion

You opened your room it looked as dirty and messy as ever, it was far away from all the other rooms

You walked in and closed the door as you took off your clothes and left them lying somewhere in the room

Your bathroom felt cold and lifeless, some shampoo bottles lying around and other things you didn't even remember you had

The cold drops from the shower fell down your scarred body, your body shuddered when the soap touched those unhealed scars

Your body was full of them, in a way you felt disgusting about it

Some were from battles lost or won, others you caused yourself but they all had a story to tell

You leaned against the shower wall as the water fell on you

You felt tired

Tired of this life

Tired of having to pretend that you weren't affected by what others said about you

You could still remember those moments, you just stayed quiet and bowed your head

You were just a dog, a pet

A pet that would do anything for a prize

And that prize was their attention

Sometimes you thought about retiring from everything, being a person "normal" but you knew it was impossible

The only thing you knew how to do was hurt others, you were raised to be a weapon

A monster

They took an innocent child and turned him into a weapon to fulfill the whims of others

A bird whose wings were broken so that it could never fly

A bird in which it sees other birds flying from its cage

A bird that also wishes to be free

A bird that wants to be free

When a child grows up without love in their family

Being ignored and hurt all the time, most people believe that they will end up being aggressive people

Full of hate and resentment

And although it is a valid response, it is not always the case

They grow up feeling ashamed

Ashamed of themselves

Ashamed of not being able to be themselves, ashamed of not being able to show their emotions

Ashamed because they believe they are not enough

They believe that love must be earned

They believe that because their parents never gave them the affection they needed meant that they were never enough

They are afraid of not being loved

Of making a mistake and being ignored again

Of being hurt again

Ending up distancing themselves from everyone, being ashamed of being helped

Ashamed of asking for help

Broken people who unintentionally end up breaking others

And they also end up breaking themselves more

Your body moved faster than normal, this was supposed to be an easy mission

That's what your father told you, you just had to stop another stupid plan from your riddler and everything would be fine

But it wasn't, his riddles were confusing but you were smart and it was easy to solve them

But then you realized that it was all a trap, he had snuck the bomb somewhere else

It was all a trap, a very clever trap

You had little time but I wasn't going to let innocent people die

You arrived faster than you thought, you broke one of the building's windows to enter the place

You went through the entire abandoned place until you heard the crying and calls for help from some people

You entered the large room and found people inside a transparent box

Next to them was the bomb connected to a cable, you had to be fast if you didn't want people and this whole place to end up destroyed

You tried to deactivate the bomb but it was in In vain, you even tried to destroy them but it was in vain

So you decided to free the people, you took all those scared people to a fire escape and told them to get down as fast as possible

I wasn't going to let everyone get crushed

You sent a call to the batcave saying you needed help

You weren't going to be able to get all the people near this building to leave

In a few minutes it was going to be destroyed by the bomb and you needed help

It was the first time you asked someone in the family for help, you always did it alone

You never asked anyone for help, you thought you were weak

Your mother came from a dangerous family, full of sorcerers and powerful assassins

And your father was literally batman

You couldn't be weak, you couldn't allow yourself to ask for help

But now you really needed it

You were strong

But sometimes even the strongest needed help

When you were sending the signal you heard a cry, this one didn't sound like the others

It seemed more childish and scared

You walked through all the halls following the sound

It was supposed that only these people would be here but you were wrong

In a small room there was a little girl crying while she was lying on the floor

You approached her trying to calm her down, saying that everything would be okay

She clung to your suit scared that something would happen

"Calm down little girl, I'll get you out of-"

And then you heard it, the sound of the bomb

The clock had stopped meaning that the bomb was going to explode right now

This wasn't supposed to happen, there was still too much time before the bomb was detonated

"Shit!"

All you could remember was the sound of the bomb exploding and the building shaking, the girl cried louder and you tried to protect her with your own body

The building ended up falling leaving a mess all over the street, broken cars and you could hear the ambulances and firefighters approaching the area

You felt your body weak, you thought you had received all the damage

Since you could swear that almost all the games in your body were broken

"Hey little girl, are you okay-"

You couldn't believe what you saw, your arms and suit were covered in blood

The lifeless body of the girl, that scared look was still in her eyes

She was dead

No, no, NO!

This isn't supposed to happen, heroes are supposed to save everyone

And now because of you someone as innocent as a child is dead

Your body couldn't move, you could only cradle the lifeless body of the little girl

Your mother was right

A monster will never stop being a monster even if it acts nice

Your mother's soft hands cleaned your blood covered body

"Mommy is so proud of you honey, you did perfect"

You could only watch as the water in the bath turned red as the blood left your body

But you could still feel the blood

It was like it was stuck to your skin, no matter how many times you tried to clean it off that blood never went away

Your mother's hands cradled your face

You accepted the affection she gave you, it was rare that she acted so kind to you

There were times where she acted like you were the best thing that ever happened to her

And there were other times where she simply treated you like garbage

She gave you love and understanding and then took it all away from you

It was a cycle that repeated itself all the time, you wanted her to always be proud of you

You wanted her to hold you at night when those nightmares kept you awake

Her love was so shallow and fake

Your hugs felt so cold and uncomfortable

Mom

Am I still young?

Can I sleep in your arms?

Would you still love me after all I did?

Look into my eyes and tell me

Tell me I'm enough

Tell me I've done enough

Please

Just look at me

Look at me

Your eyes slowly opened, you felt your body burning

You saw the bandages that covered your body, and one of your arms was in a cast

Great

Now you weren't going to be able to train in peace anymore, although you didn't care

When you were with your mother and her clan they made you fight even if all your bones were broken

A simple broken arm wasn't going to stop you, and your family would never care

You had been on the verge of death too many times and they never cared

You got up from your bed staggering a little but you held on to the small piece of furniture next to your bed

You mentally told yourself that you could do it

You weren't weak

You couldn't see yourself weak

You left your room limping a little, with every step you took you felt your bones hurt

You passed by Bruce without even looking at him, you didn't want to see him or talk to him

"You have a broken arm"

Your father said making you stop

You sighed tiredly, you didn't have enough spirit to talk or argue with him

"I know, I'm not blind"

When you were about to leave you felt a hand on your shoulder, that sudden contact made your skin crawl

Since the first time you arrived at the mansion you had had very little contact with him, only some morning greetings that were rarely returned

"You're hurt, you must rest, now"

He gave you those looks that he only gave to criminals when he was being batman

But he didn't intimidate you, he never did

You pushed his hand away with a sharp movement

"Don't touch me, don't pretend that you care about me when we all know that you don't"

You said for the last time before leaving through the halls without even listening to what he said to you

You didn't want to hear it, His words weren't worth it

You didn't need him, you were fine on your own

All people were cruel and mean

In a world as selfish and evil as this, you're either the prey or you're the hunter

And you stopped being the prey a long time ago

After that strange and awkward encounter Bruce was left wondering

What was wrong with you?

Why are you acting so angry? He thought it was because of the recent events of your previous mission.

But something about your rejection made his chest hurt. Why are you rejecting him like that?

Maybe he wasn't the best father, but he tried

Well, he tried to be a good father to others

But not to you

Those thoughts kept him awake at night

He couldn't even have a quiet day without that thought of guilt consuming him completely

He tried to get close to you for a few days But all he got was a dirty look and an insult

You refused any kind of interaction from him, you didn't even let him touch your shoulder

He thought you just didn't like physical contact, but when he saw you hug Alfred it made something inside him flare up with anger

And soon your attention became more than just an interest, it became an obsession

Why did you treat others so well but not your family?

And this strange behavior did not go unnoticed by the others

Richard was the first to notice it, he saw how Bruce tried to spend more time with you

Which seemed strange to him, before Bruce seemed too disinterested but now it seemed as if something turned on inside Bruce

He thought he was just being paranoid or plotting something

He decided to go talk to you, surely you would have answers!

"Fuck you" was the only thing that came out of your mouth when Richard asked you something

Richard's face changed drastically when those words left your mouth

Why were you so defensive?

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard, fuck you I don't care what happens to Bruce, if you want answers go and ask him, don't be fucking me up with stupid questions"

You said one last time before closing the door to your room in his face

Richard was left processing everything that happened

What the fuck was that?

He knocked on the door again but no one answered

Why were you rejecting him like that?

He's supposed to be your older brother! Why did you treat him like that

Although well, he doesn't remember the time that either of you talked

But you should have at least had one conversation, right?

God...

He really screwed up

You thought Richard would be the last person to bother you but sadly that wasn't the case

It felt like the whole family had come together to notice you existed for the first time in your life

And you hated that

You hated being treated like you didn't know what they did to you

But you weren't going to give in that easily, if they wanted something from you they could fuck off

You weren't going to let anyone hurt you again

I'm not your friend

I'm not your partner

I'm not your sister

And I'm not your daughter

I bite

"Hey (name)!, do you-"

"Fuck you Tim"

You didn't even give him time to speak when those words cut through you like knives

You didn't even think about it, they came out on automatic

He just stood there with the words hanging in his head as he watched you walk away from him

He felt something weird when you so rudely rejected his invitation

You just walked away disinterested, you didn't feel like talking to him

You didn't have time to talk about stupid things

Seriously, what's wrong with this family?

First your father, then Richard and now Tim!?

You need a break right now

Apparently Tim wasn't the only one who started to take an interest in you

When your father sent you and Damian on patrol you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you tonight

But you were wrong

You hated that little demon with all your soul, his mere presence made you want to break his neck or run katanas through his body

You were both agile and it was normal

You two were sons of powerful and dangerous mothers

Sometimes you thought Bruce had some fetish for women who could easily kill him

The patrol was "normal" or if you could call it that

You could feel Damian's penetrating gaze on your neck

"What the hell is wrong with you? You've been looking at me like that the whole patrol"

You said without thinking when you two stopped at a building to rest

You couldn't stand it anymore, you were a direct person and you were tired of having to put up with his childish behavior

"Nothing's wrong with me"

"Liar"

You accused him, you knew when someone was lying or hiding something from you

Damian didn't answer and ignored you the whole patrol

And it's not like you cared

But what Damian hadn't told you was that he was jealous

The previous week he saw you hug a child and give him affection on a mission

Bruce had sent some members of batfam on a rescue mission

And seeing you comfort someone made him jealous, why did you treat a strange child that way?

The way you hugged that child and whispered to him that everything would be okay made his blood boil with jealousy

He's supposed to be your real brother, why did you treat a stranger better than him!?

It wasn't fair

He wanted that affection too

And he wanted it just for himself

You could say that Jason was the worst, one day he just decided to show up in your room and force you into the mansion's library

You protested for him to put you down but he just ignored you

He literally had you on his back like a sack of potatoes, he made you sit down reluctantly in one of those comfy chairs

He sat down next to you and started reading

Was this some kind of joke!?

He literally pulled you out of your comfy bed and then brought you here to sit down doing nothing??

"I'm leaving"

"No, you're not"

You said without flinching as he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and made you sit back down

You just grumbled and swore

You sat there for hours, you started to tease him thinking that this way he would let you go

"Can I go now?"

"No"

"And now I can go now?"

"No"

"I can-"

"NO"

He said that last word annoyed forcing you to sit down again

This day was going to be very long and strange...

And as the days passed this obsession grew more in them

To a point where they didn't even let you make your own decisions

For some strange reason you had some family member watching your every move all the time

It got to a point where it was just suffocating

And you tried to escape, maybe you could go back to your clan

I was sure your mother would welcome you with open arms

Yeah, you betrayed your clan and killed almost half of their sorcerers and assassins but it was for a good reason

But this time you weren't going to be so lucky

They weren't going to let you escape from their clutches so easily

"LET ME GO!"

You screamed trying to free yourself from your father's grip but it was in vain

He had you pressed against the cold floor of your room, he had caught you just as you tried to escape

You tried to fight but it was in vain, in size and strength he far surpassed you

"I didn't want to do this (name)"

"What are you talking about-"

You could barely finish your sentence when a scream of pain came from your annoying

You could feel that scream completely tearing your annoying

Your father

Your own father had broken one of your legs

You could feel how that place swelled and the only thing you could do was cry

He carried you in his arms while you tried to scratch his body But it was in vain

In this pitiful state you could never go anywhere

Your wings had been torn from your body, causing you to fall into that eternal fire

You fell like a jerk when he is shot by his prey

Maybe one day your wings will grow back

And you will be able to taste that sweet wind

But all you can do is admire that paradise that seems so far away but at the same time so close

Locked in a cage, of course the cage gives you love and food

But that will never change that it will continue to be a cage

An angel with cut wings

And a bird with broken wings

They both have the same dream

To be free

I like writing angst because people can't see when I'm venting and projecting

That aside, I hope you like this shit

I might make the story longer if I'm not too lazy

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uvobreakmylegs · 3 months ago

Text

Unforeseen

for fun this year @hypnoswrites and I both wrote Illumi fics for Valentines Day. no connection between the fics, just more dead fish eyes for love day this year :D

here's her fic~

Red Thread of Fate Soulmate AU with Illumi x reader

💕Happy Valentines Day💕

Warnings: assassination, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping

Word Count: 13.4k

Most days were rather dull for Illumi, he had to admit.

They largely consisted of the same limited activities: travel somewhere, accept a job, locate and kill a target and then be paid for doing so. Sometimes he met with the client if such a meeting was necessary for any reason, but most clients were satisfied with the transaction taking place through the butlers, so these days Illumi rarely needed to take part in a face to face meeting.

Sometimes days were different. Sometimes Chrollo required his services, which Illumi took, much to the annoyance of his father. Sometimes Hisoka decided to bother him, and Illumi would hold back on taking out his annoyance on the magician since it felt like getting rid of him at that moment would be a waste. Sometimes it was Illumi himself causing the detour in his routines, halting his work for something that he determined would be of use to him in the long run, such as the time he had spent taking the Hunter exam. But such things didn't happen often.

Aside from those instances and his frequent trips home before he went back out on a job, the routine largely stayed the same.

Travel. Kill. Payment. Again and again.

And while Illumi was in no way dissatisfied with his life was it was currently, it felt as though there was something missing.

Namely, his soulmate.

Like most who were capable of using nen, Illumi learned of the connection after he mastered gyo and subsequently found that invincible red thread around his finger. The explanation of what that thread meant was followed by strict instruction: that once the thread grew taut, it meant that his soulmate was nearby, and when that happened, he needed to find whoever it was on the other end of the thread and secure them. As with everything his parents told him, Illumi listened carefully and remembered their words, and not a day had gone by since then that he would check on the thread whenever he was away from home, wondering when the time would come that his soulmate was meant to meet him.

The meeting was something Illumi thought of often. For years following the day he learned of soulmates, he found himself gazing at that thread on his finger in the quiet moments during long hours of travel. The more time wore on, the more he wondered who was at the other end and why he hadn't yet met them. At first, when he was still in his training, he had expected that he would meet his soulmate once he had fully mastered nen. But that had been quite some time ago and no such thing had happened, thus his assumption had been false. So Illumi was left to wonder why it hadn't yet happened. Wondering why, after all of the time he spent traveling for jobs, the thread continued to lay slack and dead and refusing to lead him to that other person.

But patience was one of the qualities of a good assassin, and thus, Illumi waited. And until the day came where he would find the person that fate had decided belonged to him, he would continue with that same routine.

Travel. Kill. Payment.

Again and again, always working hard to do his best to uphold the Zoldyck family name, and always trusting that he would find his soulmate whenever fate would determine that the time was right.

It ended up being on an a day that was overcast, when the clouds were dark and looming overhead above him. When Illumi stepped out of his hotel to take care of the current job he had been hired for, he did what he had always done and glanced down at his left pinky finger, anticipating that it would be the same as always. But that was the day that the routine was broken as he realized that the thread around his finger was tight for the first time in his life.

When he saw that the thread was finally, finally taut, a surge of anticipation swelled within him.

For whatever reason, the time was now. While it was a mild inconvenience that he couldn't immediately go to his soulmate due to the fact that he was in the middle of a job, it made Illumi quicken his pace as he was eager to get it over quickly. With the large briefcase that the client had instructed that he take with him in hand, Illumi kept his eyes on the thread as made his way to the site where his first target was, watching as the thread grew tighter with each passing step, indicating that he was getting closer to where he would find the one at the other end of the thread.

Illumi expected that he would see them while he was on his way to his job. Perhaps passing by on the street or in a nearby shop. Based on how the thread seemed to be staying still on his soulmate's end, it appeared as though they were staying put. Again, he was spurred forward, a small smile appearing on the assassin's face as he thought of being able to take what was his, to have that connection he had heard spoken of so often from others.

He continued, getting closer and closer to the cafe where his first target was waiting and he still had yet to come across his soulmate. When it got to the point that the cafe was within viewing distance, Illumi began to wonder if they were in that same space as the target. An odd coincidence that his soulmate would be there, but perhaps that was fate playing its hand again. Even if his soulmate saw him with the target, it wouldn't matter. As long as nothing alarming happened between himself and the target in his soulmate's vicinity, it would be of little consequence.

But when he was finally across the street from the cafe and he caught sight of that person he had been waiting for, he froze.

Despite the clouds that had gathered over the heart of the city and their efforts to hide the sky above them, bits of blue and the bright light of the sun managed to break through every now and then. Such was the case when an opening in the clouds appeared just then, allowing forth a thin ray of sunlight that came down and settled on an area with a particular person sitting in the middle of it.

You.

You sat at one of the outdoor tables at the cafe, your index finger trailing across the plastic cup that held your sweet looking drink while the toe of your shoe tapped incessantly on the pavement beneath your seat. The slightly chill air that blew by caused you to shudder slightly, and you glanced behind yourself to look inside the cafe building, as though you were considering moving inside so you could be out of the cold. When you saw that no seats were available, you frowned to yourself and ultimately stayed where you were.

Still in that sunlight and with everything in the surrounding environment pointing to you. And as you sat beneath the spotlight that nature had created for you, Illumi watched intently from the other side of the crosswalk, taking in everything about you and only tearing his gaze away for a few scant seconds to stare down at his own left hand to make sure that what he thought he saw was correct: that the red thread which was attached to his pinky truly connected him to you.

No matter how many times he checked, there was no mistaking it. His eyes that followed the thread always brought him back to you and no one else.

His soulmate.

It should have been a good moment, as it was a moment he had been anticipating for a long time now. When Illumi saw you at last, saw your face for first time after imagining it for so long, it should have been a moment where he felt at peace upon witnessing his other half.

Instead those feelings of anticipation died immediately upon seeing you, and all Illumi felt in that moment was a mild confusion accompanied by immediate concern.

It didn't appear that he was the only one who was concerned.

Despite your attempts to appear casual, it was evident from your expression that you were nervous, and your gaze kept going to a long, thin parcel that sat upright in the seat next to you. From the way you glanced about, it was clear that you were waiting for someone. As if to further prove that point to him, you took another sip of your drink as you glanced at your phone, checking the time before you scanned the area that surrounded you.

It all matched up.

Concern turned into irritation – with whom exactly, Illumi wasn't sure yet. But someone was to blame for this, someone was responsible for this situation that felt like a horrid joke. This wasn't something that should've happened, not to him. Even though he found himself hoping that he was mistaken and the real target was within the cafe building behind you, taking up one of those seats you had wished to occupy, all of it simply matched up too well.

The time was 11:15.

The location was The Nest Cafe.

You were clearly waiting for someone to arrive.

And Illumi was certain that you were waiting for him.

It felt like too much of a coincidence that you would be there for any other reason. Not at this time and with that parcel in the seat next to you, not with the way you looked at the other people in the vicinity, subtly glancing up at those who walked by close to your table in anticipation of any one of them approaching you. And if that wasn't enough, your appearance matched with who he was told would be there waiting for him to perform the exchange.

Everything pointed to you being the one he needed to meet for his job. If that truly was the case, then that meant you were his target.

One of the those he had been hired to kill.

The assassin stared at you as his mind began to race. The disbelief of how such a thing could happen, how this much of a coincidence could occur consumed him. How you had landed yourself on the radar of Edgar Farley and how you had angered him to such a degree that he decided to spend extra for Illumi to torture you and your accomplices extensively before your existence was snuffed out.

Of all the things that could have happened, how in the world had he ended up taking on a job that required him to kill his own soulmate?

Illumi didn't notice that his grip had tightened too much on the handle of the briefcase until he heard it crack, and that sound was enough to snap him out of his all consuming thoughts. He needed to continue, he reminded himself. As a Zoldyck, he needed to complete the job for the name of his family, regardless of the unforeseen circumstances which involved you.

Of course, he wasn't going to kill you, which would mean he would need to come up with some sort of solution for the sixth body Farley was demanding.

Illumi let out a small, barely audible sigh as he gathered himself up internally.

He would figure it out. There was surely a solution that would allow him to have you and complete the job without any fuss. He had no doubts on that.

But for now, his focus needed to be on getting you somewhere out of sight.

With that, Illumi waited for the light at the crosswalk, and once it turned green, he began to make his way towards you, once more keeping his eyes on you and the thread as it grew smaller and smaller.

You noticed him quickly after he had crossed the street, and when you realized that he was staring straight at you, you turned your full attention to him, straightening yourself up in your seat when you saw that he was approaching you. When he stopped in front of you, it took you a moment before you spoke as you glanced down at the briefcase he held. Illumi saw the way your pulse quickened as the gears began to turn in your head, as you came to the assumption that he was the one you were waiting for.

Illumi spoke first, calling out your name in a questioning tone.

You nodded cautiously.

“Are you, uh-”

You faltered in the middle of your sentence, seemingly taken aback by the way he was looking at you.

Was the way he was staring at you that strange?

Regaining your voice, you tried again with “you're here for the…. Uh, the thing, right?”

…… That was how you were describing this?

“Yes,” he answered.

“Ah. Okay then.”

You got up from your seat, but then stopped as you looked down at your cup.

“Did… Did you want a drink, too?” you asked.

Illumi shook his head.

“I'd rather we head off.”

“Okay. That also works.”

You took one long, last sip before tossing the cup into the appropriate receptacle before hurrying back to the table to grab the parcel, tucking it beneath your arm as you looked back at him.

“The hotel is down that way. It isn't too long of a walk. A little bit less than seven minutes,” you told him.

Illumi nodded silently, then followed once you began to make your way down the sidewalk. Keeping his eyes on you, he found that while you were once again trying to hide it, you were clearly nervous. There was a jitteriness to your step, and your fingers kept playing with one of the edges of the parcel, slowly picking at it more and more with every moment that passed as you made the walk to the hotel.

You then stiffened as though a sudden thought had struck you, and you turned your head while you walked as you asked “sorry, I should've said something beforehand about us walking. It's not an issue, right? If it is, I can get us a taxi.”

“It's not an issue,” Illumi calmly replied.

“Oh, okay then. That's good.”

Your free hand then went up to nervously scratch at the back of your neck and you let out a shaky exhale that you must have thought he wouldn't be able to catch.

Why were you doing this if it made you so nervous?

It appeared that just being involved in this situation that was causing your distress. Perhaps you actually recognized how awful this plan was; the group you were part of appeared to be a foolish lot, with none of you seeming to truly know what you were doing. Illumi hoped you weren't the ringleader, as this get rich quick scheme was already pathetic, and he found himself disappointed that you were participating in it. He'd be even more disappointed if he knew you were the one to come up with it.

At least once he was done here, he wouldn't need to worry about you being able to do anything too foolish. The leash he would keep on you would be too tight for that.

You glanced over at him again, and he grew concerned when he saw your eyes furrow in worry upon meeting his gaze again.

Were you perceptive enough to realize that something was wrong?

That turned out to be unlikely, as when an elderly man who stood a few steps in front of you sneezed unexpectedly, you jumped, and the parcel nearly dropped from your hands. No, it didn't seem likely that you were aware of anything amiss; you were simply nervous about the situation as a whole.

Illumi frowned slightly as he watched you. Your nervousness was only an additional negative in this situation. Your lack of nen meant it would be harder for you to understand the connection, and if you weren't relaxed, you were guaranteed to not feel it in a timely manner.

As much as he hated to admit it, Illumi doubted that he would be able to ease your nerves and get you to trust him, and especially not in such a short time.

There was no choice but to take you by force. While that would cause issues that would be detrimental to the connection opening for you, it was better to go through with that. The time it would take for you to accept him would be longer, but that was the safest option he had.

The silence stretched over the two of you, though it didn't seem to do much to assuage your nervousness. As Illumi continued to follow you, his gaze once again went to the parcel being carried beneath your arm. That was the item that had been the source of this entire conflict, that the client desperately wanted back. Why Farley was willing to have him kill over a piece of art, Illumi couldn't fathom, though his own opinion hardly mattered in this instance.

But as he looked at the parcel, he found that something about it felt…. Off. From what he was told about the art he was to retrieve, the dimensions of what you carried didn't seem to match up with what had been described to him. He turned his gaze back to you, boring into the back of your skull as he grew suspicious over what exactly you were carrying. Things definitely didn't need to be complicated by you not having the painting in question.

He'd find out what was going on soon enough, he supposed.

The first bit of relief within you was seen when your shoulders loosened slightly as you looked beyond the path in front of you and caught sight of a hotel. While it was better than the average cesspit hotel with clientele that consisted of drug users and married spouses in the middle of an affair, the hotel was also considerably cheaper than the place Illumi had checked out of this morning. As he followed you in through the front doors, the assassin glanced about at the lobby. There were a fair amount of people milling around, all of whom seemed to be there from out of town for some kind of sporting event. No one bothered to even glance in your direction or his when you made a turn to the left and began to lead him down a hallway on the first floor.

Again, he wordlessly followed you as you made your way to a nearby stairway, and when you looked back at him again, you asked “are you cool if we take the stairs? With all those people around, I figure it's best that we avoid them if we can.”

“I have no issue with that,” he answered. As he followed you into the stairway, he spoke again, his voice echoing slightly against the barren walls as he asked “but why are you worried about people seeing us?”

“Ah, just…. You know. If we're stuck in a small space like an elevator, then people are more likely to take note of us. See us up close, and possibly say something to the police about us if something happens,” you said.

Illumi's eyes narrowed as he asked “are you expecting something to go wrong with the exchange?”

“N-no.”

“Then why the worry?”

“Just….. Just to be safe. Just in case,” you answered, “better to err on the side of caution, right? Neither of us want to be seen with something stolen, right?”

“I suppose.”

It was more than likely for the best that you were going out of your way to avoid the other guests at the hotel. Despite having how you had seemed to calm down some once you arrived here, it seemed as though his questioning had made your nerves shoot up again, and he didn't need you drawing attention to the both of you in such a way.

The way you became nervous so easily was likely going to be a tough issue for him to tackle, however. After all, you would become an assassin like him once the two of you were married, and the fact that he could easily see you freezing up in the middle of a job didn't bode well.

That would need to be trained out of you.

But he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he needed to solve this current set of issues with you before he could consider your training. And at the moment, he felt as though a big issue was quickly being taken care of. With every step he took as he followed you up the several flights of stairs, the he was getting closer to having you alone in a controlled space. That in and of itself was enough to give him a slight sense of relief.

It seemed as though you were of the same opinion, as once you made it to the hotel room in question and entered after Illumi had, you were quick to shut the door and flip the lock, breathing in deep before letting all out in a shaky sigh.

That time he chose to make a comment.

“You don't seem well,” he said.

You startled slightly, your eyes growing wide before you tried explain it away.

“I don't?” you asked, “I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, so maybe that's why. Sorry about that.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Illumi asked.

Once again, you seemed surprised at the question.

“Force of habit, I guess,” you eventually got out.

Stepping by him, you moved towards the center of the room, where a small couch and coffee table were sitting in front of the single bed. An item sitting atop the table caught his attention: one of those portable money counting machines. The transaction would be taking place there, then.

After placing the parcel on the far end of the couch, you turned to him after and you clapped your hands together in a clear attempt to change the topic, forcing yourself to smile at him as you did so as if to convince him that everything was fine. Perhaps it was a way to convince yourself as well.

“So, um,” you began, “I guess I'll start with counting the money.”

Hearing that surprised him a little.

“I don't get to see the painting first?” Illumi asked.

“Um….”

You seemed caught off-guard by that question, and you stammered for a few moments, glancing back at the parcel briefly as you tried to come up with a response. In the middle of that, you oddly took the time to look at the door of the closet that stood behind him, your gaze flitting over to it briefly before you looked at him and cleared your throat.

“Uh, I think I should count the money first,” you told him, “just to, you know, be safe.”

“You think I'm going to scam you?”

“N-no. But it's a lot of money, and we're – I'm taking a lot of risks here.”

Your gaze grew a bit more grim as you added “plus, I heard that the previous owner was something of a psychopath, so I really want to be careful, you know?”

Then why steal from him if you're worried about him retaliating?

As reasonable as it would have been to ask that, Illumi held his tongue.

“Plus, like, even if the painting was fake and I did try to grab the money and run, I don't think I'd get far, you know?” you continued.

“What makes you think that?”

“You look like you could catch me easily. So I think running would be really dumb on my part.”

After a brief pause, you then admitted “the way you've been staring at me has also been intense and you're kind of scary, so I really don't want to make you mad at me.”

Illumi blinked.

“I'm scary?” he repeated.

You blanched, as if you hadn't realized what exactly you had said until he had repeated it. Your panic began to grow again as you started to apologize.

“I'm sorry, that was really rude of me! I didn't mean to say that,” you insisted, “I just meant to say….. Meant to say that I'm not going to try anything shady. That I wouldn't do that to anyone, and definitely not you. I'm really sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you continued “I was told that I needed to count the jenny first, so I'm just trying to do what I was told, you know?”

“….. I see.”

From the way you reacted to his response, it seemed as though you determined that you had said something wrong, as you were quick to then tell him “sorry, I'm not trying to make things difficult. I get why you need to be cautious, because you don't know me and eight billion is a lot to be handing off to a stranger. But I promise, as soon as I'm done I'll let you confirm that it's the real thing.”

There was a hint of desperation in your gaze as you then asked “does…. Does that sound good?”

Ending the charade now would have been prudent. If he did that, he would save himself some time, get the job over with quicker so he could focus fully on you. Knocking you out and calling up the butler that was waiting on standby for him to take you away while he figured out a replacement for you would be the best way to move forward.

But he still wasn't sure what was going on with the painting and he didn't want to sour your opinion of him by torturing you on your first meeting.

So instead, Illumi nodded.

“I understand,” he told you, “I'll wait, then.”

Though it was tinged with nervousness, the smile you gave him was one of genuine relief.

“Thank you,” you said.

Illumi said nothing, but he felt an odd sensation in his heart upon seeing you smile.

Keeping his face as that same blank mask he almost always wore, he settled down onto the chair that sat opposite of the couch. You sat as well, taking the briefcase that he had offered you and setting it on the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly when you opened it, as you likely had never seen that much jenny before in your life.

As you began to count, Illumi thought of what you had said moments ago, the things you had said about him. And as if somehow sensing what he was thinking, you looked up at him again, your eyebrows pinching in worry as you spoke up.

“I really am sorry for what I said, if it offended you,” you reiterated.

“It's fine. It doesn't matter,” he answered.

That was a lie. It mattered a lot. Especially upon realizing that his soulmate was unsettled by him to the point that they viewed him to be scary, of all things. But as he recalled the lovely expression that had been on your face when you had thanked him moments earlier, he decided that he could forgive you.

So again he held his tongue and merely observed you after the two of you had taken your seats, and he watched as you pulled out a notebook and a pen before gathering a stack of jenny and placing it into the money counter after. Shortly after, the silence in the room was broken by the sound of the rustling paper as the jenny was put through the machine and the small screen at the front displayed the total that quickly shot up as more of the money went through. Soon enough that particular stack was done, and you jotted down the number on the screen before setting the stack aside and grabbing another from the briefcase, repeating the process again.

The two of you would be here for a while.

As much as Illumi wished to have used this time to speak with you, it was clear that you wouldn't be receptive to it. You saw this as a business transaction. Any personal questions coming from him would likely only earn him more worried looks and apologies as you desperately tried not to offend him. So he sat in silence while he watched, keeping his eyes on you as you continued the monotonous task.

At the beginning you would glance up at him periodically, only to quickly avert your gaze when you saw him looking at you. Eventually you stopped doing that, and it seemed as though you were making a point to keep your focus only on your notebook, the money counter and the contents of the briefcase.

What exactly makes me so scary?

That question would need to wait until later, as much as that fact irked him.

With little else to do, Illumi glanced again at the parcel. Again, the dimensions didn't seem right to him. And as he remembered the way you had glanced over at the closet, a possible explanation began to form in his mind, but it was one he would likely need to wait for until you had finished what you were doing.

Now that his mind was again on the task at hand, he asked “how exactly did you come upon this piece?”

Tensing at the sound of his voice, you glanced up at him and then immediately averted your gaze.

“Um, I don't think I'm supposed to say anything about that. All that matters is that it's real, right?” you asked in reply.

“We're talking about a stolen art piece. We're both 'taking risks' for this, as you put it. I think I'm entitled to know how you got ahold of this,” he answered.

Your shoulders sank slightly as you appeared to concede.

“We, uh, we heard it was just sitting in storage, that no one had checked in on it in a while. So my roommate figured we could take it and no one would notice,” you quietly explained.

“It seems like he was right because it hasn't been reported missing yet,” you added.

“Your roommate?” Illumi repeated.

You froze. And then you seemed disappointed with yourself as you were forced to admit “my roommate knows a guy who works at that museum where it was stored.”

“Why aren't they here?”

“He's the one who thought of this and got everything set up. The other guys were the ones who took the painting. So this is the part I need to do.”

You quickly looked back to the money counter, once again scribbling down the number listed on the screen.

The more he learned, the more Illumi was convinced that whomever had been the mastermind of this plan – your roommate, evidently – they hadn't thought through it very well. As was usually the case for the theft of fine art. If the thief didn't have a buyer lined up beforehand, they typically had a hard time selling it off for any sort of profit. While exceptions for that rule existed, such as the Phantom Troupe whose notoriety had fans of theirs wanting to buy items that had been in their possession, a small group of first time criminals were never going to achieve such success. This entire interaction had been set up so you and others who thought about stealing from his client would learn a lesson. It was always going to end badly for your group.

The one thing Illumi could be thankful for was the fact that he had been selected to carry out the hit. It allowed him the control he needed to navigate the situation and guide it to an ending where the client was satisfied and you were still alive.

When the process of counting the eight billion finally ended and you confirmed that what was given to you was the correct amount, you shut the notebook, placed the jenny back within the briefcase and then looked to him, saying “everything looks good. I'll show you the painting now.”

Instead of handing him the parcel, you stood up and walked over to the closet that stood in front of the door, sliding it open before you reached inside. When you pulled your hand back out, you were holding another parcel.

He caught on immediately as he asked “is that the real painting?”

You looked back to him, and then nodded.

“Yeah. The one on the couch is a decoy,” you explained, “just in case.”

“Just in case?” he repeated.

“In case you thought it'd be better to take it from me when we were outside,” you said, “I figured since I'm not really intimidating at all, a potential buyer might think of stealing it and leave us with nothing, so I put the real one in here beforehand.”

When he didn't respond to that, your fingers tensed on the edge of the new parcel, looking away as you mumbled “I thought it was a good idea.”

“It certainly shows that you exercised more caution than I gave you credit for,” Illumi said.

“Thank – thank you?” you replied, uncertain if you should take his words to be insulting or not. Regardless of that, you stepped forward as you approached the coffee table once again, holding the parcel out to him to take.

You sat back down on the couch after, watching him as he undid the piece of twine that held the brown paper wrapped around the painting. You were eager to get this over with, as your hand was seated next to the handle of the briefcase, twitching every now and then as if you wanted to grab it and leave. In your mind, this ordeal was almost over, and you would soon be able to return home to your cohorts with your ill-gotten gains.

His attention was brought to the painting as he unwrapped it fully and pulled it up to inspect that it was the genuine article.

The painting was moderately sized and featured a scene that could likely be found on the cover of an average historical romance novel. At the center of the piece was a maiden upon a balcony, having just swung her legs over the railing as she sat atop it with her ankles peeking out beneath the skirt of her dress. A short distance beneath her was a knight upon his horse, reaching out to her as if beckoning her to take the leap, an assurance her that he would catch her. And in the background that featured a room that led to that balcony, a door had been forced open, with several men charging in, no doubt with the intent of grabbing the maiden before she could flee with her knight lover.

While the art of the painting was detailed and could be considered beautiful, and the piece certainly told a story, Illumi couldn't fathom how and why such a silly painting managed to cause so much trouble, much less why the owner was so incensed at it's theft that he was willing to pay so much for it's return. And if it had been that precious to him, why had Farley left it in that museum in the first place?

You leaned forward in your seat, scanning for any hint of change in his expression as he looked it over.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“It's acceptable.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You're spending eight billion and you just find it 'acceptable'?” you asked.

“All I care is that it's the genuine article,” he told you.

“Oh. Okay then.”

With a note of finality in your voice, you straightened up in your seat, your hand once more grasping the handle of the case as you said “so if you're satisfied, then we're done here, right? Transaction closed?”

Illumi nodded slowly.

“Yes, I suppose that's correct.”

“Okay then. Do you want to leave first, or should I? I'm fine if you want to go first, but I'm not sure how much time I should wait before leaving myself.”

“You aren't leaving,” he told you.

“…..”

The silence stretched out through the entirety of the room as you stared at him, your nerves slowly but steadily growing once again as you looked at him in confusion.

“But I need to take this back….?” you questioned.

“That isn't happening.”

“W-why?”

“Because I'm an assassin and I've been hired to kill you,” Illumi said, “therefore, I cannot allow you to leave this room with that case.”

You stared at him silently, your eyes widening in shock as his words sunk in. Your gaze went down to the floor as you began breathing heavily and you began to tremble. You accepted it. No questions about what he was talking about or if he was trying to joke around – you could tell he was serious.

Illumi was ready for you to do something in response. A normal reaction would likely be to run from him, either to escape out the door or the window. Both had their own pros and cons, though if it was Illumi in this situation, he would likely choose the window. Whether or not you would do the same remained to be seen. Though it was possible that you might choose to fight back, not that you would be able to do much against him. He had trained for as long as he had remembered, so no matter how strong you may potentially be, there was little chance that a civilian like yourself would be able to overpower him. The best you would be able to do would be to throw items in the room at him, and that would still be next to nothing.

He was overthinking things, because as he looked at you, he didn't see any ounce of fight in you. You were still gazing down at the floor, and while your breathing had slowed slightly, you were still in distress. If he were to guess, this must have been a worst case scenario for you, one that either the members of your group or you yourself had said couldn't possibly happen, that your luck wouldn't ever be so bad.

You even said that the client was a psychopath, so why you thought this wouldn't happen was still a mystery to him. At least he would make sure you wouldn't be making such terrible decisions in the future.

Illumi waited for you to act, already mapping out in his head what he would do in response to whatever you chose.

He waited.

And waited.

And Illumi felt confusion growing within him once more as you didn't act.

You weren't running.

Time was ticking by, and you stayed on that spot on the couch, only moving to slump backwards against the seat. Instead of attempting to save yourself from a man who just told you that he was an assassin, you stayed still, refusing to move at all. The exact opposite of running.

Illumi's brows furrowed as he asked “why aren't you running?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his question.

“Why?” you repeated, “I guess…. I mean, what's the point? I'm in a room with you that has only one exit, and I'm pretty sure you'll catch me if I run. Actually, we had a conversation about that just a few minutes ago, didn't we? And you seemed to agree with me. So why should I bother making things worse for myself by running?”

He frowned, not liking the way you had given up so easily and accepted your fate.

“You won't even try to fight back?” he asked.

“Again, what's the point? I can tell just by looking that you're stronger than me. I don't wanna get into a fight that I know I'll lose,” you said.

Illumi blinked when you said that, hearing one of his own lessons that he had ingrained into his younger siblings coming from your lips catching him off guard momentarily. Despite not even knowing of him before this day, you already knew one of the lessons he had intended to teach you.

Within an instant, Illumi felt a bit more hopeful for you. While you seeming to accept your death was far from ideal, he was certain that he could make you unlearn that response.

You were his soulmate, after all. Teaching you would be easy.

“You do have a good point – I am stronger than you. As you are right now, you could never defeat me,” he told you.

You didn't react to his statement, instead continuing to stare down at the floor dejectedly.

“But it isn't good that you're giving up so easily. In the future, if you find yourself in this position again, you should find an escape route and remove yourself from the situation.”

At that, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him strangely.

“In the future?” you repeated, “what future? You said you were going to kill me.”

“I said that I was hired to kill you,” Illumi stated, “but that doesn't mean I'm going through with it.”

And with that, there was a bit of hope in your eyes, a bit of life breathed back into you as you straightened up, now watching and waiting intently for his every word as you now believed that there was a way out of this. Of course, there was, but it wouldn't be in the way you expected.

You gulped before you asked “you…. You're going to let me go?”

“No.”

Your shoulders sank again as Illumi continued with “I'm not killing you, but I also can't let you go. If I did that my client would find out and that would cause issues for myself and my family.”

“So then…. Then what? What happens to me? Why are you sparing me?” you asked.

“I need you alive,” he said.

“Why?”

“I'll explain that later.”

“Why?” you asked again, your voice growing a bit more fearful.

“Because I have no time to discuss it now,” he said plainly.

With that, he stood up and closed the distance between the two of you. You still didn't move when he approached, not even to scoot away to the other side of the couch. You simply sat there, cowering and fearful as you stared up at him.

“You said it was your roommate who put you up to this, correct?” he asked.

At that your eyes widened slightly before you frowned, only now realizing your slip up in having mentioned that fact.

“…. I shouldn't have said that, should I?” you asked.

Illumi nodded at you.

“In any other situation, that would have been a poor choice on your part,” he told you, “but it doesn't really matter all that much now. Your name as well as the others was already given to me. I was just made to go along with this so I could recover the painting.”

The assassin grabbed at your bag, opening it and rummaging through until he found your wallet. Shortly after he had your ID in hand, and he read the address that had been printed on the card.

“Is your roommate home right now?” he asked, not looking away from the card as he did so.

“….. I think so.”

“Will the others from your group be there?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I see.”

Illumi pocketed the card before looking back to you.

“… If I told you to trust me, I'd be demanding too much from you, wouldn't I?” he asked.

“…. A little bit, yeah,” you admitted.

Nodding at your answer, Illumi said to you “I appreciate you being honest with me.”

Then the assassin stood back up -

And with a quick strike of his hand at the back of your neck, you fell over on the couch as you were knocked unconscious.

Without missing a beat, Illumi pulled his cellphone from his pocket and went about dialing the number for the butler who was meant to pick him up once this part of the job was finished with. As expected, the call was picked up before the first ring had finished.

“I need you to come to the back of the Arcadia Hotel,” Illumi told the butler, not bothering with any sort of greeting or an explanation.

“Understood, Master Illumi. I'll be there within ten minutes,” they answered.

The call ended just as quickly as it had started, and Illumi looked back to you. Even in unconsciousness, you still appeared to be in distress as your brows were furrowed and you were frowning. Not even sleep could relieve you of your worries, and as he stared at you, Illumi felt an odd bit of anger rising in his chest. You were unprepared for such tasks like this one, yet those people – your roommate and whoever else was involved – had pushed you to do this regardless. They had been so irresponsible and careless that you had ended up on a hit list, and had it not been for Farley going to him specifically, someone else would have killed you.

You would have died easily had it not been for the strange coincidence of him being the one to take the job.

The thought of you dying made his anger worse, and for a brief moment, that rage seeped out, quickly filling the small space of the room and making the lights flicker from the force of it.

You didn't remain unaffected by it, either, as when you were hit with with the force of his anger, you shuddered in your sleep.

Within an instant, that anger petered out.

And without thinking, Illumi moved, hoisting you up into his arms and then settling back down onto the couch with you in his embrace. Your cheek rested against his chest while your pliant body molded against his in a comfortable fashion. An idle thought came to mind – with where your head was resting, were you able to hear his heartbeat that was next to your ear? Would you be able to tell such a thing as you were now?

That seemed to have broken Illumi out of his stupor as he blinked once again. Now truly taking in the sight of you on his lap, he realized he had acted on impulse, not really thinking about his actions when he had pulled you into his grasp. It felt strange. Physical acts like this one – to hold someone to himself – were not actions he was used to. Everyone within his family were inclined to keep physical contact to a minimum, and outside of his family, there was no one that he would allow to touch him, not without them paying for it after.

But with you, it had come naturally and with no hesitation on his part. One look at your face had driven him to hold you, as if to ease your distress while you slept. Such things that he was feeling for someone he hadn't even known an hour, and all because of a thread that you couldn't even see.

Illumi's hand went up to stroke your hair, his fingers trailing gingerly through the strands as he quietly murmured to himself “the soulmate bond is a strange thing indeed.”

Strange, that it would drive him to do something he had never once been inclined to do.

But at the same time, it felt good.

He stayed like that with you, holding you and caressing you gently. While the time passed by peacefully, the gloomy clouds that could still be seen outside the hotel room window parted, allowing the sun to filter in with a warm glow.

When Illumi's cellphone rang, it caught him off-guard. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he found himself surprised when he saw that the aforementioned ten minutes had passed, and the butler was no doubt calling him to inform him that he had arrived.

Had the time truly passed so quickly?

His mouth set in a small frown as he lifted you back into his arms, adjusting you before he stood up and carried you out of the room.

Under normal circumstances, the butler wouldn't have needed to call for him for any reason. Any other time, Illumi would have been waiting at the aforementioned spot long before his ride would have arrived. That he had gotten so distracted simply from holding you was somewhat worrying, and he hoped this sudden distracted attitude was a one-time thing due to him finding you.

The butler he had called for was standing at the ready when Illumi walked out through the employee only door of the hotel, and they bowed respectfully when they saw him. Their gaze narrowed ever so slightly when they saw you unconscious in his arms, but they said nothing, waiting for their master to speak first.

Illumi did just that once he had reached them, stopping before them to ask “what is my schedule for the next few days?”

“During the time you spent with the target, another request came in for your services, Master Illumi,” the butler said, “two days from now, in the Kakin Empire.”

“Give it to Milluki; I'm sure whatever it is, he can handle it,” Illumi told them.

“And if Master Milluki is not available…?”

“He's always available. He never leaves home unless someone makes him.”

The butler nodded and listened intently as the assassin continued “don't bring me any assignments for the next few days. I need my schedule completely clear.”

“For this person, Master Illumi?” the butler asked as they once more looked at your unconscious form.

Illumi stared back to them intently as he said “this is my soulmate. You'll show them respect.”

At that, the butler immediately understood, bowing their head as they answered “of course, Master Illumi. My apologies.”

“You'll look after them while I complete my current job,” Illumi said, “should they wake up before I return, you will tend to their needs while keeping them safe.”

“Of course, Master Illumi.”

The butler then moved to take you from Illumi's arms, but stopped when he gave them a long, hard stare.

“Open the door,” the assassin ordered.

Moving quickly, the butler did just that, opening the back door and holding it wide for him. Illumi then carried you into the car's interior and set you down onto one of the long seats, handling you gently as he did so. As he pulled back and began to step out of the vehicle, he found that he was remiss to leave you. But as he still had a job to complete, there was nothing to be done about it.

After exiting the car, he waited for the butler closed the door before turning to them one last time.

“Don't speak of the discovery of my soulmate to anyone,” he ordered, “I will let my family know in my own time.”

One last time, the butler nodded in understanding, and they waited until Illumi began to leave the area before they took their place back in the driver's seat and drove off. Illumi couldn't help but take one glance behind himself as you were driven away. Despite knowing that with the way you were laid out on the backseat and that he wouldn't be able to see you, something still caused his head to turn as he watched the car move further away, as he watched the thread from within the vehicle become more slack with every bit of distance put between the two of you.

When he returned to the hotel room to grab the painting was when he realized another mistake, an oversight on his part. Illumi froze after he entered, catching sight of something on the couch where the both of you had been sitting not so long ago:

The briefcase.

With the eight billion jenny.

The jenny that had been Farley's payment for the job, that he had intended to give to that butler so he didn't need to drag it with him when he killed the other targets. Yet it remained on the couch.

Illumi had been so concerned with getting you to safety, he had managed to forget it completely.

Pursing his lips, a small scowl made its way onto his face as he stepped forward, determining that he had no choice and that he would need to take both the briefcase and the painting when he went to the apartment where your roommate was. It was obnoxious, but he wasn't going to call back the butler.

Admitting that he had forgotten something would be far too embarrassing.

The car was driving along a lonely stretch of the two lane highway while the sun slowly descended to the earth, casting the sky in golden colors as it sank lower and lower. It had been a while now since they had left the boundaries of the city, and there was still some time before they would reach the intended destination. But with a freshly filled gas tank and a driver who was more than capable of withstanding the hours of driving that were left on the journey, Illumi doubted that there would be any delays from this point. They would arrive at one of the Zoldyck's many homes in due time, and then Illumi could get to know you.

He was currently staring at you, just as he had been at the start of the journey. After the hit job that took longer than expected to complete due to his targets being spread out and the added stress of finding someone to act as a replacement for you – all taken care of with a single needle and the disfigurement to the heads – Illumi had been eager to see you again. Though there had been a slight disappointment on his end when he entered the car and saw that you were still unconscious, he quickly overcame that when he took advantage of your current state in order to place you so that your head rested on his lap.

Just like in the hotel room earlier, it wasn't an action that he was accustomed to – he had never considered doing something like that for someone before this – but with you, it felt right. Natural.

And as he lightly brushed his knuckles against your cheek while you slept soundly under his watch, he found that he felt content. After years of waiting, of fruitlessly searching, he finally found you. Not under the best circumstances, that was for certain, but seeing how things had ultimately turned out, it was all worth the wait.

Though there did remain the matter of your reaction once you had awoken and how you would receive him once he told you the truth.

A small frown once more graced his lips. Teaching you nen and showing you that way would be the best way to prove it to you, though it would take some time. While he had no issue spending that time, he felt another pang of disappointment hit him. He liked you as you were now; pliant and accepting of his touch, as more than once when he had stroked you, you had leaned into him, subconsciously seeking him out. It felt nice, an acknowledgment of the connection that some deeper part of you surely recognized. That you would likely be resistant to him once you were awake was a shame, but one that was unlikely to be avoided.

Learning about you wouldn't come about quickly, he feared. It would take time to tear down the walls you would no doubt build around yourself. So getting to know what you were really like, the areas in which the two of you were similar and the ways in which you differed, and the way that he hoped that you would be loving with him, as was so often spoken of, all of that would only come in time.

With that in mind, Illumi was making an effort to cherish this moment on the journey, when he could caress you all he wanted without you making a fuss.

But not long after, it seemed as though that moment was coming to an end.

He noted when you began to stir awake, your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth turning into a frown as your consciousness slowly but surely returned to you. With your head still resting on his lap, Illumi watched you intently, keeping his hand on your hair. The reaction you would have when you woke up was bound to be a bad one. You would likely remember most of what had happened before he had knocked you out and you would respond with that same fear as before once you saw that you were laying in the confines of such a small space with a man who had told you he'd been hired to kill you.

Illumi anticipated how you might lash out at him, perhaps attack him if you thought you might be able to catch him off guard. Although, based on the way you had reacted back at the hotel room, it wasn't hard to imagine that you might beg him to let you go, perhaps even cry while doing so.

The mental image of you with tears in your eyes had a bad taste form at the back of Illumi's mouth as he found that the thought displeased him.

…. Hm. Just from the thought alone?

His eyes went back to the thread that connected him to you, and once more he felt a small amount of amazement at how powerful the connection was already. But with you not knowing nen, how long would it take for you to sense it?

The fluttering of your eyelids had Illumi's gaze snapping back to your face, and once more he watched intently as you were now waking up.

The look he could see in your eyes when they first opened was best described as being dazed. For a few moments, you were looking around the interior of the car, but sleep still had some hold on your mind as no reaction from you as you did so. Not until your gaze drifted upwards and you caught sight of Illumi looming over you. And even then it took a few moments of you gazing at him before your mind truly became awake.

Illumi watched as the dazed look in your eyes dissipated, the sleepiness being replaced with wide eyed shock and horror as you remembered him, your once slack jaw tightening and the breath now coming out of you harsh and fast through your nose, betraying your utter panic. You had your full attention on the assassin, staring up at him and not daring to move, even when you realized just where he had chosen to place your head during the time you were unconscious.

He didn't like the way you looked at him, but Illumi supposed that he shouldn't blame you too much for that reaction. He also supposed that he would need to be the one to start a dialogue between the two of you, as you seemed too terrified to speak.

Yet you managed to do something unexpected.

With your voice croaking out of your throat and your lips barely moving, you managed to get out a single “hi.”

Illumi blinked in surprise, but then chose to copy you as he responded with a similar “hello.”

He stayed quiet after, giving you the opportunity to speak on your own again.

You did just that. After your gaze went back to your surroundings, you looked him in the eyes again as you mumbled out “we're in a car.”

“We are,” Illumi agreed.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Why else would we be in a car?”

“Ah, right. Sorry. That was a stupid question.”

You were having an easier time speaking, though the wild look of panic in your eyes had yet to go away.

“Can I…. Can I ask where we're going?” you then said, your gaze now on what little you could see through the tinted windows.

“Somewhere safe.”

“…. Safe for who?”

“Safe for us both.”

You blinked.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

Illumi raised an eyebrow as he replied “I should think you would understand what that means. I don't believe I've said anything confusing.”

“I mean, well……”

You glanced away again before saying “it just feels like you're being a little vague with what you're saying. Plus, you could be lying to me.”

Illumi cocked his head as he asked “why do you think I'm lying?”

“You weren't being very truthful earlier,” you reluctantly answered.

He frowned at that.

“You're saying that I lied to you?” he asked.

You nodded.

“When did I lie?”

“With the whole exchange,” you mumbled, “you were pretending to be a buyer.”

“I never claimed to be. You only asked if I was there for 'the thing',” he pointed out.

“But you're an assassin.”

“I never said that I wasn't.”

“You lied by omission.”

Illumi's eyebrows raised slightly.

“Not mentioning something counts as lying?”

“….. Yeah.”

That answer had come out more mumbled, as though you weren't willing to admit that he was right.

It was rather cute, but commenting on that fact was unlikely to be received well in that moment.

As you had quieted down, he took the opportunity to speak as he said “regardless of if I was lying or not earlier, I'm telling the truth when I say that I intend to keep both of us safe. I hope you believe me on that. It's the least you could do after the trouble you've caused for me today.”

You looked up at him in confusion as you repeated “trouble?”

Illumi nodded, repeating the word “trouble. With you getting on that hit list, you put me in an awkward situation.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.”

You hadn't relaxed much since waking up, but it seemed to be a good sign that your voice wasn't shaking quite as much anymore.

“I never imagined I'd manage to fuck up badly enough to make things difficult for an assassin,” you added.

Under normal circumstances, Illumi would have considered such a reaction – such words – to be odd, especially coming from someone who knew that he had been hired to kill them. But as he thought on it more, perhaps it wasn't so strange. You were his soulmate, and while you had spent the majority of the car ride unconscious, perhaps the physical contact made with him keeping your head on his lap had been enough to awaken the connection subconsciously.

To test that, Illumi reached a hand towards your cheek, eager to see what your reaction would be. When you did nothing other than stare at his palm before it made contact with your skin, he felt as though he was proven correct. When he began to softly stroke your cheek and he felt you stiffen slightly before relaxing in his touch, the assassin couldn't help but smile.

This was going even better than he hoped.

Finally responding to your last statement, Illumi told you “it's alright. Everything managed to work work out regardless.”

“That's good, I guess.”

You gulped before taking in another breath, and then you spoke up again.

“Not that your lap isn't….. Comfortable, but are you okay if I sit up? Continuing the conversation like this feels awkward,” you said.

Despite not wanting to grant that request after enjoying the time he'd had with you in that position, Illumi pulled his arms away and leaned back slightly as he answered “of course.”

That you sat up immediately and scooted just a few inches away was again displeasing to Illumi, but he told himself that it was good that was all you were doing. That you were being so reasonable was a very good thing for himself, as well as for you.

Looking about the car once more, this time while sitting up, your gaze lingered briefly on the butler in the front seat, as though you hadn't noticed them before. Whatever you made of their presence was unknown as you tore your gaze away to look again at Illumi.

“Can I ask more questions or do you want me to shut up?” you asked.

“You may ask as many questions as you like,” Illumi told you, “I will answer to the best of my ability.”

“Ah. Okay. Um…”

Your fingers played with the hem of your shirt while you formulated your question, something Illumi found his gaze drawn to. He remembered the way in which you had toyed with the paper of the decoy parcel, and it seemed to him that you had a habit of fidgeting whenever you were nervous.

“You said…. You said you were hired to kill me, right?” you asked.

Illumi nodded.

“And you…. Didn't?”

“You're alive right now, aren't you?”

“I mean, I think so,” you said, “this would be one weird afterlife to end up in.”

“I just – I don't want to sound ungrateful,” you added, “but I have to admit that I'm really confused about why I'm still alive. I really thought I was going to die earlier – you said you'd been hired you to kill me, so I don't get why you didn't go through with that.”

“It's because I can't kill you,” Illumi answered.

You picked up on his choice of wording as you repeated “Can't? Not 'won't'?”

“Exactly. I can't.”

“Why?”

Without wasting a breath, Illumi said “because we're soulmates.”

Upon hearing that response, you didn't reply. You stared up at him blankly, blinking every now and then as though you were still processing his words. Seconds ticked by as you stayed like that, and Illumi stayed quiet in turn. As he had been telling himself before, he should anticipate a reaction of disbelief from you. Based on your current temperament, you likely wouldn't lash out, though if you were to do so, it would be from desperation and panic.

“Soulmates?” you repeated, “is that similar to love at first sight or something? You saw me and felt I was the one?”

“No. When I say we're soulmates, I mean that the two of us are literally soulmates.”

Illumi lifted up his left hand as he told you “there's a thread that spans the space between the both of us, that connects the two of us together. We're meant to be with one another.”

You looked to his hand and then to your own.

“I'm…. I'm not sure I see a thread,” you said.

“That's because you aren't able to yet, but it's there.”

“…… Oh.”

Illumi blinked at your lackluster reaction, wondering if that really was all you had to say about that.

But you next response was what truly surprised him, as after taking a moment to seemingly mull it over, you let out a small response that simply consisted of a single word.

“Okay.”

Illumi blinked again and he stared at you, uncertain if he had really heard you say what he thought you said. Even the butler who had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange glanced back with a puzzled expression on their face.

Upon seeing his reaction, your eyebrows furrowed and your anxiety began to build again.

“Was…. Should I not have said that?” you asked, “were you really joking when you said that?”

Your question snapped Illumi out of his slight stupor.

“I wasn't joking,” Illumi clarified, “I'm telling the truth. You're my soulmate.”

Upon hearing him again, you nodded slightly as you let out a soft breath. And then you said it again.

“Okay.”

…. You were accepting it that easily?

Illumi wasn't sure what to say, and that in of itself was strange for him.

He must have been looking at you strangely again because your nerves only continued to grow.

“Did I say something wrong? You don't seem very happy,” you said.

“… I'm a little surprised,” Illumi admitted, “I thought it would take more to convince you on account of you being unable to see the thread yourself, at least at this moment in time.”

“Ah, I guess that is a little weird,” you said, scratching the back of your neck as you added “but if that's what you say is the truth, then I'll believe you.”

“You'll believe me?” Illumi repeated.

“Y-yeah. I mean, if you kill people for a living and you chose not to kill me, then you must have had a good reason not to, right? And if you say that it's because we're soulmates, then I'll trust that that's the truth. You told me to believe in you, right?”

Remembering his words from earlier, he nodded in agreement as he confirmed “I did say that.”

You nodded in turn as you said “so I believe you.”

It looked as though you were going to say something further after reiterating that last point, but when you opened your mouth, you seemed to reconsider whatever you had planned on saying. So you shut your mouth and remained silent while you went back to fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, though you made an effort to relax yourself as you leaned against the back of the seat.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” you said, “it's a bit much to take in, but I'll manage.”

You then spoke up once more as you asked “can I ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to my roommate and the others?”

“They're dead.”

You went quiet after Illumi's blunt response, and though he could see that you were once more attempting to keep your expression level, the panic in your eyes was easy to spot.

“Their bodies will have been handed over to the client by now, as well as the painting that your friends stole,” he said.

“…. But…. Does he know about me? Or did you not tell him?” you asked.

“I told you before: he was already aware of your involvement. He knew all of you, and he could have disposed of you on his own. He went out of his way to choose me because he wanted you four to suffer,” Illumi answered, “but not to worry. I found a solution in your case. Farley has no idea that you aren't dead. Even if the unlikely happens and he comes across you, he wouldn't dare do anything to you, not if he wants to risk bringing down the wrath of the Zoldyck family upon him. Once we are married and you have my name, he'll be none the wiser.”

Unfortunately, it didn't appear that you truly heard him, as when he told you that you could have been disposed of earlier, a look of dread passed over you and sweat started to bead on your neck. When your breathing grew harsher, he grew concerned once more. And when you suddenly clamped both of your hands over your mouth, Illumi stopped speaking completely, his gaze narrowing in question.

“What is it?” he asked.

“….. Could we pull over?” you asked back, your voice muffled by your hands.

Upon hearing that, Illumi grew suspicious as he asked “why?”

“I'm gonna throw up.”

“…. Oh.”

Within seconds the car had pulled over to the side of the deserted road, and a few mere moments after that you were on your knees in the nearby grass, your arms holding yourself up as you violently emptied the contents of your stomach, gagging while tears began to fall down your cheeks.

Perhaps there had been something in that drink you had gotten at the cafe that didn't agree with you, Illumi thought to himself. Though regardless of the cause it wasn't an ideal look, especially not for someone who was going to marry into the Zoldyck family. But he found himself willing to forgive you for it. You would need to learn to toughen up but for the time being…. For the time being he would offer you some grace and refrain from commenting on it.

It also might ensure everything would go smoothly between the two of you if he treated you gently.

He then caught sight of the way the butler was looking at you. They were still at their place at the door, holding it open with a water bottle in hand that was clearly intended for you. But as they gazed at the state you were in, there was an obvious look of disgust in their eyes. As they watched you while you were on your knees and retching, it was clear that they thought little of you, clear that they felt you were unworthy of the position within the family that they served.

A rush of anger swelled within the assassin when he saw that look.

The butler noticed instantly when Illumi fixed his death glare upon them, and they were quick to bow their head in submission, wordlessly apologizing to him for their transgression.

Neither said anything, though the butler did visibly tense when Illumi approached him. Instead of disciplinary action, the assassin simply snatched the bottled water from the butler's hand before making his way to your side. Once your vomiting spell had come to an end and you were merely left gasping and coughing, he had knelt down beside you, holding the water out for you.

“Drink. Vomiting leads to dehydration,” he told you.

You took the bottle without question, using it first to wash out the taste in your mouth before gulping down half of the contents in several long gulps. When you pulled the bottle away to breathe out through your mouth in what sounded like relief, Illumi placed his hand on your back and rubbed it soothingly.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked after a moment.

It took you a moment to respond to his question, but you eventually nodded 'yes'.

“That's good.”

Illumi's hand settled on your shoulder as he then asked “do you think you can get back into the car?”

That time, the moment you took to answer was even longer than the last one, but once more you gave a nod in response.

“Sorry for making you stop,” you answered as you pulled yourself to your feet, “I figured you didn't want vomit covering your nice seats.”

“It wouldn't have mattered. Such things can either be cleaned or replaced,” Illumi answered.

He tilted his head to the side as he asked “do you need me to carry you?”

Once more you froze for a brief second, but then you shook your head and gave him a small smile as you answered “the car isn't that far away. I'll be fine walking.”

“Thank you for offering, though,” you quickly added.

“Of course.”

Though secretly, Illumi wished you had said 'yes'.

It was made up for soon after once you were both sitting in the car's interior once more. When Illumi sat down next to you, close enough that his arm was brushing against yours, you didn't make any move to get away from him, instead allowing him to remain close.

As the car started up again and began to drive off, you spoke up to ask “does anyone else know about this?”

“That you were my target?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Only you, myself and the butler. And they won't inform anyone,” Illumi told you confidently.

“But doesn't the client know me?” you asked.

“The matter for the client has been settled. I very much doubt he will remember your name or your face come tomorrow.”

“So as long as I stay with you, I'll be safe,” you said, seeming to state that fact out loud more to yourself.

Illumi replied anyway, saying “of course. Protecting one's soulmate is only natural.”

You nodded in understanding again while you fiddled with the water bottle, picking at the plastic labeling with your fingernails.

You weren't completely at ease then, Illumi determined. Despite what you had told him, there was something that was making you nervous, and he found himself thinking that perhaps it was him. You were the one who had said he was scary, after all.

It was a shame that you would lie and say the things you thought he wanted to hear, but once again he told himself that this was still better than what he had been expecting. Even if you weren't being truthful, you were being compliant, and that made things easier for him, as opening the connection for you would be less difficult if you weren't fighting him.

He wanted to talk with you more, learn more about you and get to know how you truly felt about all of this-

But as had now become a pattern, what you did next surprised him.

You leaned against him, the tension in your body slowly leaving while he felt the weight of your cheek resting on his shoulder.

Illumi blinked, looking down at you with his lips parted slightly as he felt a warmth blooming in his chest from the contact. Just as it had those times before, the feeling of you against him was strangely intoxicating. But unlike earlier, this time you were conscious for this moment, and not only that, you had been the one to initiate it.

He noted the way your eyes flitted about and how your expression grew in worry upon seeing his reaction. It seemed as though you were going to pull away.

He was fast to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you in closer.

You stiffened slightly, but eventually relaxed as you shifted to a more comfortable position, resting your head against him once again, though there was still a hint of that tension in you.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

“….. It's a little scary that you could've killed me,” you told him.

“Ah, I suppose it was,” he admitted.

Illumi leaned back into the seat while continuing “it was the last thing I had ever expected. To think, that my client would hire me to kill my own soulmate. How are odds like that even possible?”

You stayed quiet after that, but when he glanced back down at you, he saw the gears in your head turning.

“…. Maybe you were supposed to get me as a target,” you then said.

“Of course I was supposed to; Farley hired me specifically,” he told you.

“No, I mean….”

You turned in your seat to face him fully, which came as an annoyance to him as you pulled away from him slightly. You then clarified “with us being soulmates, we were supposed to come together eventually, right? Maybe… Maybe my getting mixed up in that and you being hired was meant to be. Maybe if that hadn't happened, we never would have met. Like fate.”

Illumi blinked.

Then he gazed up while he grasped his chin thoughtfully as he considered your words.

“I hadn't thought of that,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“No. I was far too focused on getting out of the situation to consider that,” he admitted, “but with the unlikeliness of it all, that may very well be the only explanation.”

Illumi looked back to you, smiling as he said, “I think you're right.”

You smiled in response.

It was the second time you had done so, and once again, it was tinged, tainted somewhat, with that hint of fear. It confirmed to him that you were saying what you thought he wanted you to, making an effort to play nice with him. But even if your words had been born out of that, they rang more true than you thought.

You would come to that realization at a different time.

Illumi pulled you in again, and you didn't resist as he did so. With you comfortably resting against him once more, he found that he felt at peace. He finally had what he had been searching for – his illusive soulmate, brought to him under the most unexpected circumstances, but still sitting safely in his arms.

While you weren't as receptive to his words as you were portraying yourself to be, Illumi was certain that he could change that.

And he was certain that would take no time at all.

#reader insert #yandere x reader #illumi x reader #yandere illumi #illumi zoldyck #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere hxh #hxh x reader

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