ᵎ!ᵎ cain montgomery + gn! reader
🗡 warnings/notes: mdni!!!, canon adjacent, blood (no gore), implied murder, dkill spoilers, not edited or revised I just needed to put this on paper, finally writing for games and such yippee!!!
He swallowed hard as the wash cloth swiped across his skin, crimson etched into the threads of the grey fabric - ruined. He usually would do the clean up himself and watch the blood swirl down the drain in a haze; but you caught him in the doorway to the bathroom and he crumbled into you.
Your touch was gentle, precise, as you wiped away the remnants of the night. Blood that was speckled across his cheeks now stained another cloth Guisseppe would ultimately throw out. You held his chin within your other hand, rubbing small circles onto his jaw bone that made his heart squeeze.
You turned his head softly, fingers still on his jaw and he watched you frown. "You got hurt, stupid." He knows. The deep cut near his collar bone, next to the sigil on his shoulder blade, that bled into his shirt.
"I'm fine." Direct, but soft. Always gentle with you, though he'd taunt and tease, and never one snap even remotely in your direction.
"You're not a good liar, Mr. Montgomery." You jeered, pulled back his collar, and sighed. "It looks deep."
"Stop calling me that, freak," said through a huff. He rolled his eyes at the name, but he knew upon hearing it he was in deep shit. "You should see the other guy."
You rolled your eyes and his dreams were dashed of making you laugh to change the subject. "You're deflecting."
"I've never done that in my life." He knew the way you stare through him, like you can see every cell and bone of him. It used to run a chill down him that you could read him so easily, now he finds himself letting you crack the spine to his literature. He doesn't need to say anything else now, as you scanned over his face like your favorite book; because to you, he was. Read fluently without so much as a single mistake. There was a twinge of worry in your eyes once you saw it, the yearning and tragedy, but a ghost of a smile appeared back on your lips and he reciprocated.
"No, of course you haven't," you chuckled. There was a lapse in conversation while you cleaned his wound and the rest of the blood that splattered him. The bathroom smelled metallic, the sink a mix of water and crimson as you wrung out the wash cloth, and his stained shirt now strewn in the trash. He watched you the entire time, eyes never leaving you swipe after swipe from the cloth in your hand, taking in the surrounding he found himself in. Three in the morning, covered in blood, sitting on the counter of your shared bathroom, and reaching to you for normalcy.
"You should be asleep, it's late."
"It's early, and you should've been home hours ago."
"Aww- how romantic, you stayed up for me," cooed through a cheshire smile. "I'd prefer some candles or something next time though." He felt you press harder into his shoulder as you cleaned him up, a small smirk on your lips as he winced. "Fuck- I could've done this myself, y'know? I'm a big boy."
You settled between his legs once you were finished, standing between them as he remained on the counter. "Only this once," you teased, "I need some good karma." Your hands settled on his knees before looking over your handy work. Gauze and bandages across his shoulder, far from a nurse's doing, but it got the job done.
"How generous of you and your karma, I'll be sure to put a star next to your name on the good noodle board."
"'Last time I help you, asshole." Your hands reached for his chest to shove him from the counter; however, his hands caught your own and held them tight. A smile etched into his lips, wide and playful, painted on beautifully before he felt you squeeze his hands. Just for a moment he felt himself slip, teetered off the edge of a tightrope but found his footing once more before it was too late.
His lips twitched and hazel eyes went blank for a fraction of a second, but nonetheless you smiled. Allowed him to navigate the treacherous waters of his own mind himself, but with a calming touch and a candy sweet tone to remind him he wasn't alone.
"Some good noodle you are, trying to push my ass off the counter." His smug smile returned to its rightful place, lips pulled up again as if it never flickered away. "What if I fell and died? Huh?"
You squeezed his hands again with a laugh before pulling away, "you'd find a way to haunt me. You'd watch me change like a perv and throw random shit at me." Hazel eyes lingered on you as you padded past the counter and to the door. Just beyond was a shared bedroom, the one he snuck through hoping he wouldn't wake you.
"So nothing would really change," he scoffed and hopped down from the counter. There was a sting in his shoulder that made him grit his teeth, but ignored it once you pulled open the door. "Not even an 'I'd miss you so much babe, you're the love of my life! What would I ever do without you!'"
He heard you laugh and he felt the world pause. Stopped in the doorway, leaned against the frame, and eyes locked onto you as you sat on the edge of the bed and grinned at him. You said something to him he couldn't make out, words in that saccharine tone you always use, with a glimmer in your eyes that made him weak. Your eyes were dark from lack of sleep, clothed crumpled from tossing and turning in bed, and fidgety hands from unsettled nerves even after you laid eyes on him.
He blinked, trying to clear his head of the lingering thoughts of worry, again and again until he ultimately gave up. An uphill battle he couldn't win in the dead of night and sleep deprived. Worry knitted within blood vessels and bone, and wove into his heart; pulled taut with every passing second he gazed at you. Worried you may lose interest, worried he may be apprehended, worried he may lose you, worried it would all be his fault.
You stood up, smile faltering as you eyed him in the doorway. He watched you, one foot in reality and the other far away, step closer to him until you were in front of him and stop. Your fingertips touched his cheek, cold and soft, and he instinctively leaned into it. "Get out of that pretty head of yours," your voice was soft, full of care, and dripped with love. You turned yet another page to his novel and his soul shifted, dialed and changed until it landed in the shape of you.
He reached for you, fingers grabbing at the fabric of your shirt before finding purchase on your waist once he pulled you close. No longer covered in blood, no longer sitting on the counter in the bathroom, but finding normalcy in the touch of your skin. You felt his smile return against the skin on your neck, "love you," he hummed. "I guess you can get your good noodle star back."
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