Gift Details ♥
Reader Style: afab
Character: Smoker
Vibe: SFW Yandere
AU: Modern AU
Prompt: Roughed Up 

Summary: Coming to terms with the idea that someone sent an assassin to kill you in your own home is hard enough. Having him call you perfect is a completely different problem.

Content Notes: A last name is provided for the reader in the story for narrative purposes.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You ran hard for as long as you could, until your lungs burned and your feet ached. Your legs are wobbly as you continue to walk, forcing one foot in front of the other. Your heart is a drum line in your chest, and it's almost nothing to do with the mad dash you just finished.

Someone tried to kill you.

You could hardly even know why. Maybe it was something your parents had gotten involved in? Maybe you knew the wrong kind of people? Maybe someone thought you knew something when you didn't. There wasn't anything you could think of that would spur someone to come for your life like that.

With an assassin? You?

But you couldn't dwell on it too much. You didn't have shoes on, and your socks were tattered and soaked. You were in jogging shorts and a tank top, because you'd just been lounging around and nearly ready to go to bed for the night when he'd arrived.

One minute it was just you, the next it was you and him.

Dumb luck alone had allowed you to escape, you weren't arrogant enough to think differently. He was probably cursing himself for letting you even see him at this point, but no matter how much you checked, you couldn't see anyone following you.

That shock-white hair of his would certainly stand out enough, even at night.

You needed to find a marine, or a hospital. Even just a business that was open right now so someone could call emergency services for you. Going to a hospital seemed like a risk, but you could file a report while you were there, and maybe, hopefully, someone would be willing to listen to you, and able to help.

Your luck held out and you stumbled into a diner. The late-shift cashier took one look at you and offered you a place to sit, and a warm cup of cocoa. She had the local marines on the phone and had someone come get you.

You told your wild tale to the young pink-haired marine that had come to pick you up, and he seemed to take you seriously. He was going to take you to the hospital and send someone over to your apartment to verify the break in and the state of your home. He reassured you not to fret, even if everything looked completely normal he wouldn't dismiss your claim - but the more evidence they could find the better.

He let you eat the muffin the night shift cashier had given you while you were sat in the back of his cruiser. When you got to the hospital the staff took you in and officer Koby stayed with you. You talked about the event for a second time while he tightened up his notes as the nurses looked you over.

Koby stepped out and had a few conversations on a snail radio, but then he'd come back in and fill you in. Your apartment was, unfortunately, ransacked. While this lent weight to your claims, it was hard to say what the person was actually there for - you or something in the apartment itself.

"My Captain is going to be here in a few minutes, and he's going to ask you some more questions. He's seen your apartment, and taken some pictures, so he'll have more pointed questions for you." He explains, a reassuring smile on his face. You're becoming more and more grateful for Koby. With everything else it's nice to have someone be so reassuring like this.

That reassurance is washed away, however, when his Captain arrives.

Shock white hair. The scar. The scent of smoke.

You almost point, you almost scream, you almost lose your cool and insist that that's him! That's the one that was standing in your apartment trying to kill you!

But you already know, from how Koby spoke of him while you waited. You already know how flimsy your fantastical story sounds, and how easily it could be made to look like you'd lost your senses, tossing your own place to besmirch the highly decorated and well-loved marine captain.

No one would believe you.

Koby gives you a reassuring smile. "I know he looks intimidating, but Captain Smoker is really good at his job. Don't let his demeanor scare you."

He can't kill you here. He can't. If he does everyone would know, and he certainly can't do it with his enamored subordinate right there.

Smoker's face never breaks from the slightly irritated and mostly neutral expression. He treats you flawlessly like he's never seen you before.

"Koby. Give Helmeppo a hand with the final report." Smoker commands. "I won't be long, there's not much to ask."

"Sure, Captain." Koby gives you a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay, miss. Please rest easy after this."

Swallowing, you nod. There's nothing you can say to keep your lifeline from leaving, but if death is the inevitable end to your terrible night then so be it. It would seem that your luck had simply been unable to hold out a little longer.

Smoker looks down at you. The cold hard eyes speak volumes and he sits down beside your bed slowly. You don't have the capacity to return any kind of glare, but you don't look away from the intense gaze until he looks away from you, and down at the paperwork in his hand.

"Miss Kobayashi," He begins.

"Takahashi." You reply.

There's a pause, but he doesn't even look up. "Nice try. Miss Kobayashi, it seems your report is valid, I just have a few questions for you."

"I... have one." You manage, but even as you say the words you feel your throat go dry.

Smoker closes the folder and leans back in his chair, regarding you coolly. "Do you know what your parents did for a living?"

Did. Your stomach knots at the implication. Your parents had left on a business trip some weeks ago, and you hadn't heard from them recently.

"They... tra-travel a lot..." You begin, fighting back the tears and trying not to assume anything you don't actually know. "Something about sales and business contracts. I don't know, really."

"Hm." He opens the folder, looking over things again. "And you don't live with them anymore?"

You shake your head. "I moved out... j-just this past summer. I'd graduated and found steady work, and we... we were all comfortable with the idea of it." You explain.

"And the work you do?"

"... Data entry. It's... nothing really, but it pays well enough."

"Are you afraid of me?"

You can feel his eyes on you, and it takes everything you have to look up and return his gaze. "... Yes."

"What was your question." He says after a moment.

"Am I going to die?"

"Possibly."

Your body relaxes. There's something about his tone that feels more final than the open ended-ness of his word choice.

"Not going to beg?"

"Would it make a difference?" You smile sadly, not even looking at him when you ask.

"Historically, no." He writes something down on the file he's been holding and sets it down on the chair as he stands up. "But, you're..." He breathes in slowly, making you look up at him. The look in his eyes is different from before. "Perfect."

"I'm-." Your voice stops in your throat as the man in front of you turns into smoke. It fills the room and wraps around you so carefully before throwing the window open. You don't know what to say, or do. Your mind can't wrap itself around the idea that this man has turned into smoke.

You expected him to drop you from some height. To return you to your apartment and kill you there. To fill your mouth and lungs with the smoke he was, and suffocate you with his own existence.

But nothing like that happened. After some time you were deposited against a wall. You don't even know when you entered a building, but this room, well-lit as it was, had no windows. Where ever the door was, you couldn't see it from where you were.

Cold iron was around your ankle, and the creak of a bed-frame fills your ears as your body settles against a surprisingly fluffy mattress. The smoke collects back together and his tall, wide frame looms over you. The look in his eyes unnerves you, but there's nothing you can do about it now.

He reaches out carefully, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. The shape of the word he used earlier brushes against his lips before he steps back and gives you space. For a moment you're certain he's going to lean down and kiss you.

"Listen to me, and you won't die." The hand that had caressed your cheek is under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "You'll be good for me, won't you?" His thumb moves over your bottom lip gently.

You nod. You don't know what it means to be good for him, but you'll do your best. He's said he won't, but he certainly can kill you, and if he was ordered to kill you, it might not matter. All of this, might be for nothing.

You can feel tears well up in your eyes. You're too off-balance. The last few hours have been too tumultuous. You couldn't really wrap your head around it all, and you couldn't shake the feeling that despite your struggle to this point, you weren't going to make it.

"It's okay. No one will find you." He promises, and with a terrible, heavy, cold clarity, you believe him.