ʚ•Aurelia♡

᧔ෆ᧓ ∙˚ ⋆ ᧔ෆ᧓ ⋆ ˚ ∙ ᧔ෆ᧓

No masterlists yet...(too lazy)

Brian:

Doesn’t see the appeal at first but mans is open minded so he’ll check it out with you. Isn’t really impressed when you show up to the site just burning a bunch of small trash. It’s only until you pull out a whole flamethrower out of your ass does he learn theres actually levels to this shit.

Finds it cute that you love fire so much. Your designated trusted adult who ensures that you don’t get hurt while the flames burn hypnotically. Eventually he’ll also be pulled into the trance that is the flame but he’ll deny it. You can see it in his eyes though.

Subconsciously, he’d pick up small pieces of trash that you might like to burn later. Even if it means pulling over randomly on night rides and getting weird looks from both Tim and Toby that he’s picking up random trash on the road. The both of them are now under the impression that he’s a new environmental activist.

EJ:

Loud obnoxious figures irritate him. So he’s initially reluctant to speak to you. He does understand though that pyromania is a disorder and takes you seriously. Always there to treat your burn marks since you’d frequently come back with your skin injured.

Slowly he recognizes his affection for you and how you’re not as obnoxious as he originally thought you’d be. Sure you own a flamethrower for fun, but you know how to maintain it safely.

Sets up neatly organized time spans of when you will burn things down to relieve your urges. As long as your hobby isn’t self destructive nor does it necessarily hurt anybody; he’ll adapt to it to stay alongside you.

Helen:

He also has a pretty freaky hobby; he can’t exactly judge. He’s initially not so enthusiastic to be with someone who can be so destructive until he sees the aesthetics of the glowing bright fire contrasting with the dark of the night now does he understand the appeal.

All forms of art are subjective; and your art just so happens to be fire. He’ll watch you set things on fire and watch how the glow of the fire sets an orange hue overcast on your features—along with the big grin of satisfaction on your face.

He’ll first ensure your safety; that you don’t get too close to the fire and then later on draw your features with that familiar orange hue glowing on your features to immortalize your passion for flames. (you two are actually kind of in the same boat whether he likes to admit it or not)

Jeff:

At first he’s just interested in you because of your destructive tendencies, however he gradually comes to terms with your passion for burning things down and actually finds it quite charming.

You’d own a whole ass flamethrower and he’d find that hilarious and charismatic at the same time. Doesn’t really understand that burning is the goal rather than seeking out destruction of property.

Will “borrow” your flamethrower at some point so you’ll have to hide it for the safety of the rest of the world. You’d settle for a daily afternoon burn of random trash you’d find on the streets and suddenly Jeff magically turns into a tolerable human being.

Liu:

He’s uncertain at first about purposely burning things down for no reason. So when he finds out that you’re holding back specifically just for him—it warms his heart that you’re considerate for him.

He’ll eventually open up to the idea and finds that burning can actually be a pretty good destresser when performed safely and with the right intentions. Also considers how it can be good for the environment since you’re getting rid of litter on the ground.

Sometimes he’ll take pictures of your smiling face as the ashes of the fire surround your excited figure. You’re just so beautiful when you’re happy. Walking back home at night after a big burn is his favorite time of the day.

LJ:

You have a very fascinating hobby to him; it’s destructive but not quite malicious—he’ll be thrilled if you invite him out to go burn things with you!The act doesn’t exactly stick with him—but if it makes you happy, he’ll gladly accompany you along to your burn sites and ensure your safety.

Perhaps the hobby will slowly grow on him. It never ends up so, he’s more just pleased to see you happy doing something you love, even if it is setting things on fire. Humans are such interesting creatures

Eventually he’ll just settle for finding you small scraps of trash that you can pile up and burn, he’s content with just helping you! The satisfaction of building up a pile of trash to then burn it down every afternoon becomes your daily routine.

Nina:

Very supportive of your hobby, she’s experienced in burning things down herself but it’s not really a hobby of hers. She’s very open minded though and requires minimal convincing to go with you!

Burning things down together becomes her favorite pastime with you. It’s just the right amount of chaos and mischief for her liking! She’ll dazzle up your lighters with glitter and stickers, with permission ofc.

Do not let her know you own a flamethrower, she will genuinely smother you to death with affection. Might just love you a little too much, you’re just so perfect for her <3. And she’d never burn anything without inviting you first.

Tim:

He’s not so open minded at first, little does he know; you both have much more in common than he may realize at surface level analysis. He wouldn’t think much of you until he asks Brian for a lighter, Brian doesn’t have one and you offer yours to Tim, suddenly now you aren’t so bad in his cards.

Perpetually having a lighter around with you is a bonus. Convenience is sooo sexy in this man’s eyes. It is, however, a bit of a risk to be keeping a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in the same pocket though.

More on the passive side when watching you burn things, he’d rather just observe than actively participate. He does however, make sure that you don’t get too close to the fire that you’d risk any burns and injuries.

Toby:

He’s a bit of a pyromaniac himself—if you’re half as crazy as he is, he might just fall in love with you even harder. All he really needs is someone who can match his freak and accept who he is and he’ll adore you.

Will take you on dates where you two just burn things down together, how romantic <3. Takes you to secluded locations such as abandoned buildings and such to blow up cars and cans, and you can set anything you desire on fire.

If you own a flamethrower? He might just propose to you on the spot because wow you are just the definition of perfection in his eyes. You two will burn the world down together <3

Brian:

Grunts and occasionally lets out a few low groans. Buddy might not cost you a noise complaint but it’ll for sure necessitate a new bed frame cuz it just snapped. Whoops.

Do not be fooled though—this man can and WILL whimper, you just have to reach his most sensitive spots to elicit anything vaguely over a gasp but overtime as you learn more about his body can you get this man to finally whimper for you.

I will NEVER fall for nonchalant men propaganda. ALL men can and will whimper; if they wanted to they would.

EJ:

Mostly silent—well, at least to your ears while he makes you scream like you’re being brutally mauled. Any noises he makes are completely unbeknownst to you.

All noises filling the room consists of you screaming in pleasure and the sound of the bed creaking back and forth, mayhaps a little skin slapping against each other action.

If he does make any noise, you probably won’t be hearing that any time soon. Since your main concern is your poor bed frame being violently rocked every night.

Helen:

He doesn’t grunt nor does he whimper; he’s a healthy area in between. Letting out soft gentle moans. I don’t take him for the type to be particularly loud, however he’s definitely not silent either.

Just loud enough that you can hear him and not the neighbors if you were to be doing the dirty in a place with thin walls. Not that he’s ashamed of voyeurism or anything—he’ll gladly be louder if you want him to be.

I think this man would have gorgeous moans and would deff mumble about how beautiful your body is and how you’re the perfect muse.

Jeff:

Tries to grunt as a front but when he gets close his voice subtly gets higher and higher as his cool falters and lets loose. His high pitched moans are so beautiful I could nut on the spot.

It's truly a shame that Jeff does it rarely because his hoarse voice goes so well with the occasional higher moan. Usually he muffles his own sounds by biting into your neck and drawing out blood.

Does not give a fuck about your neighbors and might even agree to be a little louder if it means making their lives a little harder. Adores voyeurism if it means showing off to others that you’re his.

Liu:

Cries and whimpers. Both at the same time, with the sounds he’s making; you’d think that he’s the one being railed to oblivion. Bros so passionate you might even start crying with him.

He gets so embarrassed whenever he realizes he’s being a little too loud that he can hear your neighbors muttering amongst each other. He’d bury his face into your shoulders to hide his embarrassment

He’s so sensitive when it comes to you it’s actually adorable, please give this man lots of love once you’re done, he deserves it ♡ྀི

LJ:

Whatever sounds he releases are beyond the range of either grunts or whimpers. He’s loud, in the sense that the sounds emitting from his throat are unintelligible.

But to be fair, he’s rocking your world so good you don’t even notice; the only thoughts filling your mind being how good he’s doing you while your neighbors file for the 3rd noise complaint this week. It’s Tuesday.

Somehow your bed is still intact. Good for you! Because that shit is not lasting till Thursday.

Nina:

Whimpers and pretty moans. Very loud in bed like crazy with no restraint and absolutely no regard for your poor neighbors just trying to get a good night’s rest.

She’ll be screaming your name on the top of her lungs at a concerning volume. You’ll have to muffle her sounds by kissing her—it’s all part of her genius plan.

the neighbors absolutely despise you and she shamelessly just smirks whenever they look at you two knowingly. She loves claiming you as her own—even at the expense of others ♡ྀི

Tim:

Dare i say this man groans most of the time but when he’s extra sensitive, he whimpers. Not too loud and not a lot but a subtle quick whimper every now and then when he’s feeling extra needy for you.

When he’s tired after a long day of work; there might be a chance that he’ll let you take charge and those nights he completely lets loose.

Prefers to claim you by marking you—leaving bite marks all over your neck. Your neighbors don’t need to hear your private moments together.

Toby:

As much as i’d love to say he whimpers, he’s most likely not too sensitive down there (·•᷄∩•᷅ )

Fuck realism though—for my mental health Toby definitely whimpers desperately, pathetically, breathlessly, cutely, pitiably, tearfully, charmingly, and adorably.

Even if he isn’t sensitive, he’ll still be loud as fuck if you’re into that because he loves you!

Gawd he hates being stared at but if it’s from your neighbors after you’ve basically had an entire karaoke session last night? He takes pride in knowing they’re gawking with the understanding that you’re all his.

Idk why i took this so seriously ngl ts was an IMPORTANT assessment to me.

Ben:

He’s so creepy. The moment he decided that he wanted you; you never really had any real privacy since that day now did you? You’d always have a strange feeling whenever you’d watch movies on your tv—were horror movies always this unsettling?

When you’re not home, he breaks in through your tv and goes straight for your underwear drawer. Absolutely shameless. He’s got one of your shirts on his pillowcase to inhale your scent. God help this man cuz he is so down bad for you it’s actually unhealthy. Will he ever act on those thoughts? Prolly not.

Stalks your socials constantly. You’ve posted a particularly revealing photo on instagram? It goes straight into his folders. He’d look for models on Pornhub that look similar to you but it’s no good. He wants the real thing!

When you’re trying to get off at night? He’s watching. Studying exactly how you like it and what kind of guys you prefer. He would almost feel jealous that you’re watching those other dudes if only his hand wasn’t already plunged into his pants.

He’s not all that bad; when you’d fail to set the right time on the microwave he’d fix it himself to prevent your house from catching on fire. He wishes he were with you so you’d see just how competent he is to have around.

Acts all tough and confident when others ask if he’s ever gonna confess to you, he knows the answer and that’s a fuck no. Every time he’s considered telling you about how he feels, he’d meet your gaze, get flustered, and back out

He’s not very good at hiding his feelings in front of you—sometimes he’d gather the courage to call you beautiful but that's said so often you’ve just assumed he was just being friendly. Would scream into his pillow when you’d take it platonically.

When he gets a 2 player game; his first thought is to invite you to play with him. He’s so confident on the outside when he invites you but don’t be fooled by that face—internally he’s screaming hoping that you’ll accept.

Poor Jeff has to deal with Ben’s long rants about how good you looked and how you looked at him for 5 consecutive seconds straight. “Dude just tell her how you feel or I will” Mans is so sick of his ass (he may even be a little jealous)

Brian

You don’t mind having a broken window lock every week right? Sends random anonymous bouquets of your favorite flowers to your doorstep every week to make up for the locks.

He’s a romantic at heart under unpreferrable circumstances. You hardly ever meet and that frustrates him. You’re diurnal like a normal person and he’s nocturnal. On nights where he doesn’t have any missions to keep him busy, he takes that time to listen to you sleep through the walkie talkie he hid inside your room.

Sometimes when you’re pleasing yourself in the middle of the night, he’d listen in intently through the poor static quality the walkie talkie provides.

Though the quality of the audio matters little to him because regardless, your voice is still your voice. And he’ll take that to touch himself to the beautiful sounds you make when you pleasure yourself. Imagining how you’d sound with his hands on you.

In the short amount of time your schedules overlap, he always makes time to formulate an excuse to meet you. Even for a short amount of time. It almost freaks you out how Brian is always there to find you but he just tells you that he frequents the same cafe you go to every morning.

He’s willing to cut his already sparing sleep short to watch you walk home to ensure your safety, you always look so anxious when retreating home—he just wants to make sure that you’re safe from whatever’s troubling you.

If another man tries to get close with you, a bit too handsome, laughing a bit too hard at your unfunny joke? He’s leaving a mysterious note on your front door when you get back home reading:

‘So sorry for his car crash tomorrow’ (he’s not sorry) and then the next day; your perfect prince charming is never to be seen alive again.

—Don’t worry though, he’ll be there to comfort you if you really cared about him at all. Mostly, you’re just disappointed because this is the third man to take interest in you who’s either suffered fatal accidents or just ghosted you.

“Brian…I’m scared that you’ll go just like every other man who stays around with me :(“

“Don’t you worry about me sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere” He promises you, and he stays true to his word, he does in fact stay—longer than any other man who’s shown interest in you.

Jeff:

Denies it hard internally at first but then realizes that nobody is even accusing him of being interested in you; he’s arguing with his own mind about how he feels about you and he’s actively losing!

He saves his attitude when it comes to you—cuz you don’t piss him off of course! You’re just really nice and he can’t find an excuse to be an ass to you.

He thinks of you when he steals stuff, subconsciously picking something out for you too. Don’t get the wrong idea! These are just gratitude chocolates for the time when you patched up his wound when EJ was too busy to tend to him. He didn’t know it was Valentine's Day!

So what if you’re at the top of his contact list even before Ben? You just talk so damn much it’s not his fault you’re so damn needy for his attention (He’s the one who texts first the more often).

Ben subsequently has to knock the realization into him first when they were playing video games together and Jeff was thirsting over an NPC who has particularly similar features to you.

“Yeah she’s hot.” Jeff says.

“She kinda looks like y/n, don’cha think?” Ben remarks, hiding a coy smirk as he glances over to watch Jeff’s expression.

“...”

“Holy shit.”

He’s going through a world altering revelation. Give him a moment.

Unlike Ben, Jeff is a fucking liar because even now that Ben pointed out the obvious—Jeff still denies it! He’s given up on lying to himself but he’s still going to flat out deny it to you, Ben, and everyone else despite his feelings being evident.

It’ll take another man trying to sweep you off your feet to get him to finally step up and act all possessive over you like he wasn’t yapping about how him having a private server with you and not Ben is completely platonic!

Nina:

Copies your mannerism from how you walk down to the way you breath when you’re in pain. You’d have a unique way of sitting and she’s slipping pictures for reference and taking down notes to learn your vocabulary. Subtly alters her appearance to match with your aesthetic and comments about it after like it wasn’t done on purpose.

“—No way! You’ve got that shirt too? I have the same one!” She says to strike up a conversation with you as if she hadn’t stalked you the day you’ve bought it and got the exact same style identical to yours.

She may have a little stalking problem, but she just wants to keep you safe! Watching you sleep at night is peak protection

You’re a nerd? Into any fandoms? What a coincidence; She’s in exactly every single one you’re into! Somehow she always knows exactly who your favorite characters are despite you never telling her that information. Whenever you’d query her regarding the topic; she’d simply brush it off as just a hunch.

“You just have the look of a (character) fan!” Whatever that means…

You should totally cosplay together!

Be wary of your belongings though, they might end up getting lost! You’ll never see them again. Better not miss them because they mean the world to Nina and her collection of little trinkets she stole from you.

Perhaps they might even end up in places where the sun doesn’t shine…just saying—you’re scent covered all over your missing pen you’ve let her borrow for “just a second” is just too irresistible to her!

Trust me, you don’t want that pen back. Just move on with your life to do better things. Don’t ask her about it its better to just forget.

She’s always with you <3 more often than not without your knowledge. She’s more than willing to skip out on a few missions if it means a few more minutes watching you. Stalking and watching you sleep are very productive ways to spend her time!

And if you choose to ask her to hang out with you? Of course she will! She isn’t busy! The faceless man definitely didn’t assign her a crucial mission for tonight. Sure of course she’ll help keep you company when you feel unsafe because you feel somebody watching you sleep at night!

Toby:

Constantly keeps a watchful eye on you like a loyal dog whenever he has the chance. Offering to come with you wherever you go; you’d be blind to not see the signs. Toby is not as subtle as he thinks he is.

Breaks into your house every chance that he gets just to take in your scent and sometimes lays in your bed to breathe in your private space. Nuzzles into your blanket rubbing his head against it like a needy cat.

Steals whatever dirty laundry he can get his hands on. (You can guess what he does with it) Feels guilty afterwards though, half cuz he feels like a perv half cuz he wishes it were you touchin him like that.

Your socials are his main attraction. He often finds himself scrolling down to your oldest posts and oftentimes accidentally likes a particularly old photo. You never notice but in his mind, you’re thinking about what a disgusting creep he is.

Mornings after he jerks off to the thought of you; he’d pick out a treat from the convenience store or a trinket from a dead body and hand it to you, avoiding eye contact.

Seemingly for no particular reason; he just does it because he feels guilty about what he did the night before—unable to meet your gaze afterwards, his head shyly tilted to the ground.

Has no idea just how adorable he actually is on the outside—definitely the kind of dude who’s so caught up in his own feelings he doesn’t even notice yours until you outright tell him to his face.

He always has to be around you at all times. Your presence helps calm him down; you’re so kind and pretty and fun to be around, the way you smelled this morning was slightly different from your usual scent. Could it be that you bought a new perfume?

Before he realizes it—he’s already yapped Tim’s ears off about you while they’re on a mission. The only thing filling the silence is Toby rambling about you, streets are saying that Tim takes an extra cigarette break for every day that Toby keeps fawning over you.

When Tim or Brian isn’t around to listen to him, he goes off to bother someone else. He just has to voice out his adoration for you! (To everyone but you) but don’t worry, you know. Word spreads and Ben isn’t very good at keeping secrets.

Even Brian rats on him “So when ya finally gonna reject Rogers?”

They’re so mean.

You better not be getting too close with other men because Ben is definitely going to over exaggerate how close you and the other man really are to Toby just to give him a little nudge into confessing to you.

Somehow Jeff is the most Vanilla out of the lot. How did I even do that (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Ben:

Thick faced, your stomach hurts just watching him throw in chips and ice cream of all sorts filling up the cart with your nutritionist’s biggest nightmare diet.

You’re honestly kind of envious of his lack of basic human needs because his absence of a physical stomach enables his absurd diet without having to worry about things like nutritional value.

Essentials? You mean junk food? Hell yeah he’s got those. You have to pick out a cart of your own for your own basic needs because Ben has zero space in his own cart for even a toothbrush when it’s bloated with carbohydrates.

Very loud. You’re thankful that there’s nobody nearby cuz this dude is crashing the carts, knocking the shelves off balance  and alerting everything within the entire neighborhood that you’re there.

Probably the worst out of this entire list to bring along with you.

At least he’s helpful when transporting your groceries home though that about all he contributes :p

Brian:

Trusted adult n#1

Knows exactly what you’d need in the apocalypse. Goes straight for the toilet paper, flashlight batteries, ducktape, all of that; it’s like second nature to him—allowing you to go off to find some treats for yourself.

If you forget anything—don’t worry he’s already got that covered. He’s so competent when it comes to you that he’s already grabbed your favorite snacks in cart when you realize you’ve forgotten them.

Efficient but he’s also eyeing the gun store right across the street like an unfaithful husband gawking at other women. Waiting for you to be finished so you two can head on over there once you’re done.

He’s alright but you always feel like you’re in a hurry with how fast he’s walking along the isles as he drops items into your cart without having to look at them. You wish that he’d look at you with the same yearning he’s looking at that gun store with.

EJ:

By this time the fresh meat is most likely rotten so he has plenty of room for soap and toothpaste. He doesn’t really need anything in the grocery store so he just follows you around pushing the cart.

His heightened senses allow him to detect any potential nearby threats but the closest thing to a threat around you is the mold growing on expired food. He redirects you when you get a little too close to the biohazard areas containing spoiled food that might damage your respiratory system if inhaled.

Recommends to you foods with long shelf lives and high nutritional value—he’ll never eat them; it's purely just for you. He doesn't judge you if you grab a few unhealthy snacks either, if you gotta eat you gotta eat.

Quiet and ensures your safety, great choice of companion to bring along with you.

Helen:

Take up a good amount of space in your cart with cleaning products that you have to use a completely separate cart just for him. You want to scold him but that would be counterproductive; his heart is in the right place.

Food isn’t much of an issue for the both of you since he has plenty of human flesh in his fridge at home that you can cook but he still goes out of his way to pick out some treats for you.

Stays in the sealed food sections, don’t want to smell the stench of whatever’s going on inside of the frozen foods area—probably contaminated with a mold based virus already.

Meticulously ensures that nothing is out to get you two while you’re out grabbing groceries. Bless his heart if he spots a roach because after that; you’re all on your own for the rest of the trip until you’re done. 

Don’t worry, there’s no zombies in there! He’ll just be waiting outside where there’s no roaches. Made sure to bring his own cart with him outside to save you the hassle of dragging his weight with you.

Quiet; doesn’t speak excessively. His biggest weakness? Filth. Which may prove a disadvantage but other than that, you’ll have a productive trip with him.

Jeff:

Complained his ass off when you asked him to accompany you.

Expect zero shame from this man. Similar to Ben, he throws in the complete kidney destroying feast—however unlike his pal, Jeff can’t digest as much junk as Ben without repercussions, you’ll have to stabilize his priorities so he doesn’t accidentally poison his system with soda and coming down to a case of kidney boulders while simultaneously acting nonchalant about it so he doesn’t comment about you constantly nagging him.

You have to secretly throw away some of the junk he put in his cart while he’s not looking and replace them with somewhat healthier options to regulate his options. He doesn’t notice if you do it sparingly.

He’s acting all high and mighty that he’ll be the one to protect you if it comes down to that but flinches when a rat passes by to then immediately deny that it happened.

Why would you even bring him along anyways? You’re better off just leaving him at home and picking up what you really need as the self assigned responsible adult between the two of you.

Liu:

He's kinda js happy to be there, pushing around the cart and following you around as you fill the cart with what you deem essential; politely making suggestions on what you should grab along the way. It’s kind of like a normal shopping trip except you're not paying for any of this stuff and there's zombies lurking around outside.

Probably the most behaved of this entire list ngl bros a good boy. He doesn’t give you any trouble and if you come across any rats or bugs, he’s happy to kill them for you (unlike some other neat freak fellow)

Overall—i think he’d be a decent companion to bring along to the grocery store. He’s helpful, doesn’t give you much of a hard time, and he isn’t loud. You’ve got no complaints.

You can clearly tell just how much he just wanted to live a normal life and you’re kind of happy you can provide him that sensation even if it's temporary.

LJ:

Manz has no concept of what is essential in his vocabulary. He’s just throwing in a bunch of random bullshit into your cart. How about this cool T-shirt that says “Tits for brains”? Or these spongebob pants? These cheap barbie dolls are so cute we should keep them.

It’s better just to leave him in the car and do it yourself because this man just tried to eat a bar of soap. “What? It smells delicious!” you’re not about to lecture him about why soap companies make edible smelling soaps.

This reminds you that you have to empty out the candy isles before your darling clown fellow runs out—you don’t want to find out what happens when his stash goes empty so you just have him push around a smaller cart and leave him in the candy isle while you look for the toilet paper.

He’s not much help but isn’t too major of a hindrance at the same time. He’s kind of just there—you know he’ll protect you.

Nina:

One who actually understands what you’d need in the apocalypse. Grabs toilet paper, soap—and of course don’t forget the snacks before inevitably getting distracted by the stench of the rotting meat area of the store.

That place is off limits for sure.

Bugs and rats are not exactly her cup of tea—zombies she can deal with but a rat?? Yeah you’re both in danger. You’d better hope it’s just zombies in here out to get you.

She is quite loud but not obnoxious like Jeff or Ben. If you tell her to keep quiet; she will make an effort to. A fun low cortisol companion to bring along and you’ll be able to get what you need with little hassle.

Tim:

Cigarettes and essentials. The definition of an irresponsible trusted adult figure. He might grab some booze too that he deems good enough to bring if you have enough inventory to grab it.

Alert the entire time just in case of a sudden attack but turns out he was tense the entire time for nothing because there was absolutely nothing in the grocery store except for a rat that ran by starling you—in turn, startling Tim as well.

He’s not typically as jumpy, but around you? He is. Bros just worried about your wellbeing and you keep yelping at rats less than a half a quarter your size.

He’s meh, quiet and guarantees your safety but his mood makes you feel cold. 

Toby:

You know he’s going straight for the breakfast section. Anything with even an ounce of sugar? It’s already in his cart. You’d think that he doesn’t get fed at home knowing damn well you feed him 5 meals a day.

You’ll have to calmly remind him that you need essentials too. If you can still talk from watching him things that he has in his cart; your teeth hurt from just looking at all the sugar he’s got in there.

Of course, he’ll make space for other things that you might put in the cart—but just know that he’s entrusting you with the responsibility of grabbing things you’ll actually need when you get home.

He doesn’t mean it but he’s extremely loud. Steps on discarded trash every 2 minutes and swears he can hear something—it’s just a rat. His heart is in the right place though and if anything comes up, he’ll protect you, you’re sure of that.

Ben:

He’s not very good at masking his disgust—his expression says all you need to know but say you want him to tell you straight to your face what he thinks of it. His expression completely contrasts his words.

“I-it’s great babe…”

“Could you say that with a straight face?”

He tries to distort his expression ever further but he just ends up looking like Rudo trying to smile at Zanka.

“I l-looovee….your c-cookinggg…!” He says in the most unconvincing way possible, doing his darn best not to gag right in front of you.

You might as well give this dude a gold medal for top 10 expressions ever. Best? Worst? No idea.

“Why do you keep making that face?”

“What face? I’m not making a face!”  He glitches out, the kind of glitch that he does when he’s lying.

Brian:

“Lord have mercy” He mutters when the plate is in front of him. He was assuming that the horrid smell in the kitchen was just something burning. Nope! That's his dinner. He hoped that it looked better than it smelled but again, he’s wrong.

Desperately does not want to insult you straight to your face but on god he can NOT survive eating this crap.

Gently redirects the conversation towards grabbing takeout—on him of course!

“It’s great darling but I think I’m still hungry; Let’s just grab some takeout”

“Oh well then I’ll just make some more!”

“NO— *cough* I mean…I wouldn’t like to take advantage of your kindness honey”

“Nonsense! I’d love to cook for you some more!”

“Aren’t I lucky…” He says as he grabs his stomach in preparation for your upcoming kitchen onslaught.

The kind gesture warms his heart but makes his stomach churn.

You know he can’t say anything that’d purposely upset you—and you wonder why he takes you on meal dates so often. 

EJ:

He doesn’t like it but he finishes it anyway since you’ve put in so much effort to cook for him. His stomach is strong enough to withstand the garbage on a platter that you’ve just served him.

“So, how do you like it??” you beam excitedly.

“It’s good.”

“Just good?” 

“Just good.”

He may not find it the most delightful but as long as you serve him something edible, he’ll take it. Doesn’t complain much but doesn’t try to praise your skills more than it deserves nor does he admit that you’re shit

This man eats raw human flesh—he can stomach anything you serve him. He just has to accept that he’s eating salty sugar for the rest of his life.

Helen:

He takes a spoonful and gives it one whiff before immediately determining that it’s no good. 

“It could use some work.”

“You don’t like it?” you reply sadly.

“Your effort is evident; I believe we can make some adjustments though. With enough practice I'm sure you can create something satisfactory.” He doesn’t even take a bite out of it.

The only one in this list with balls big enough to outright tell you straight to your face that your skills need some work; he may not tell you that you’re shit—just needing some improvement.

He loves you but he’s not about to eat shit and contract food poisoning to please you. He still has his dignity; and standards to uphold. But don’t worry he loves you enough to teach you how to not poison him!

Jeff:

He takes one look at the dogshit you’ve just put in front of him and immediately jumps to the conclusion that you’re mad at him. Every single action he’s done within the past few days play out through his head but he can’t figure out why you’re upset.

*dramatic sigh* “What’d I do this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“What is this shit?!”

“Jeff, don’t you want to try my food?”

“Look babe—i don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Alright? I swear i didn’t mean it this time”

It takes hours for the realization to kick in that you weren’t mad at him; just unwiped bootyhole at cooking. 

He tries to apologize but it’s already too late—now you’re mad at him for real. He just insulted your cooking and apologized for something he didn’t even know he did.

You would poison your food the next time he eats it but eating it normally is already lethal enough to kill an adult elephant.

Liu:

He’s survived worse, he can handle a bit of food poisoning for you.

The first serving goes as smooth as he could manage before you proposed to let him eat more.

“Thanks hun!” he says, barely containing the urge to regurgitate. His expression lookin like he’s desperately trying to hold back a shit.

“Aw, you’re welcome sweetie.” Your smile puts him at ease just for a moment before you follow up.

“Would you like seconds?”

“NO” he replies a bit too quickly, almost sounding like he was yelling at you before sitting back down realizing he’s sitting up from his chair.

“Oh well okay, time for dessert then!” you clasp your hands together, assuming that he enjoyed your food.

“D-dessert….?” He mutters, staring off into the distance looking like the hundred yard stare meme. ‘That’s what happens when you try to shield her feelings’ he could just hear Sully’s voice telling him off.

Soon enough lil bro has eventually become a veteran of your cooking (his taste buds have burned off).

LJ:

He loves it unironically—and he’d praise you nonstop about it too. Gobbling up meat jelly and arbys if you serve it and he’ll lick the plate clean. Bros guts are made of tungsten and have no sense of what is bad food.

“My Dearest, this is spectacular!” He eats that shit up no problem. His inhumane stomach is having the time of its life with your food.

Everyone else who has ever tried your food is distraught that you’ve finally found someone who appreciates your slop. Suddenly now people tell you left and right that LJ is your soulmate. 

You’d think that it’s sweet but really people are just grateful that he’s taken you off the dating pool along with your whackass food.

Friends and family now know that if you ever cook for them, he’s the one to call up.

Nina:

“Y/n what is that…?” Nina pokes the monstrosity you’ve put in a plate to serve to her with a spoon and a deadly bubble emerges and releases a toxic pop.

“My famous homemade pasta pie! Made with love special for you” 

“Aw that’s actually kinda sweet” she gulps down her disgust and shakily forces the spoon up to her mouth, it tastes just as bad as it looks.

“How do you like it?” Your expectant expression pains her almost as much as your food does.

She hums a vague response “mmMmMm…!” Nodding, she holds the substance in her mouth; her throat actively rejecting the ‘food’.

“What was that sweetie?”

“Y/n…babe, you know i love you right?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

Immediately throws up right in front of you. 

Tim:

Poor man has absolutely no idea what you’ve just placed before him but all he’s thinking about is whether he should eat it for your sake or pretend to swallow.

“Hun just what exactly is in this?” He pokes it, it makes a toxic pop and determines that it is inedible.

It doesn’t matter what you say cuz he’s already devised a plan to avoid eating it. He loves you but no way is he strong enough to stomach that.

“Yeah, I’m actually allergic to that.” He crosses his arms and leans back on to his chair, mans is so proud of his answer too.

“Oh thats too bad” you frown

“You’ll just have you eat this then! You’re not allergic to green peppers are you?” You bring out another platter, with different ingredients but of equally as disgusting appearance.

“…no.”

Pray for my man cuz he’s gone through a lot of shit but this time he may not be able to survive.

Toby:

This boy physically cannot feel pain but this might just be the closest thing to it if he were to feel pain. Bro doesn’t even know how to stomach the actual shit that you’ve just served to him.

Believes that it might just be an acquired taste and takes another bite in hopes it’ll be better the second time—nope. It’s just disgusting like that. He chews it slowly as you watch him; smiling brightly unbeknownst to the agony you put your poor boyfriend through.

“How do you like it hun?”

“I-it’s um…w-well..” He glances guiltily at your excited expression and decides he can’t—he can’t!

He makes a run for outside and leaves you in the room solely to avoid hurting your feelings

“Wha— Toby! Where are you going?!”

“I’m sorry!” He screams with perfect clarity, even his tics and stutters wish not to disrupt.

“For what!?”

He’s already a block down the road.

From then on he steers carefully to avoid the topic of your cooking in the near future and deflects every time you ask about his opinion on it. Freezes up whenever you offer to cook for him.

Ben:

Speed blitzing that shit no lie. Give him 20 bucks and he’s balls deep into the institution. He’s got the benefit of not needing to use legs so that's lowkey cheating but hey its scientology.

He COULD technically just hack into their system and steal their map like that—but where’s the fun in that? One of the rare sights of Ben actually doing shit other than sitting around like a lazy chud.

Lowkey he’s haunting the shit out of those cultists jumpscaring them through the walls and shattering their entire perception of life that they thought they understood so well. 

Completes the entire mapping of the building and more—makes it to the top floor in record shattering time—he didn’t even have to cut their power off he’s js like that.

Scientology was never heard of again after that incident. Some say they even turned to religion bc of the things they saw in the raid.

Jeff:

Fast but reckless and might trip. Tries to aurafarm but fails miserably and gets thrown out 3 minutes in—the cultists freak out from his appearance but once he trips and falls face first on the floor; his aura nearly dissolves into nothing.

He either makes it to the 4th floor or the 2nd floor; no more no less. Dude’s causing the most damage for the building, all destruction following his path as he pushes down a water dispenser to block the scientologists running after him.

Messy asf with it, definitely cost scientology at least a million dollars in property damages. He’s causing more lawsuit potential than actual mapping im ngl.

Brags about his feats afterwards about how he got to the 4th floor but immediately shuts up acting like he dont give a fuck when Ben says that he cleared the entire building.

Liu:

He doesn’t want to trespass but it’s scientology so he agrees to give it a go. Warns you not to expect too much out of him. Mans is not built for high speed chases; he's getting escorted out the moment more than 3 people corner him.

Sully on the other hand (if you somehow manage to convince him into participating) could definitely clear the building. Slower than Ben, but still quite fast. Bros so dramatic about it too.

Acts like it’s this huge inconvenience to him like he didn’t have the option to refuse. “I’m never doing anything you say again” Bro chillax man. dw he still loves you <3

LJ:

Man he ain’t got a clue abt why the hell he’s doing ts he’s just participating cuz you asked him to. Bros not even doing it for the love of the game he’s js doing it cuz he loves you enough to be participating in your nonsense.

Bro is so fast but also really lanky so he’s kind of at a mobility disadvantage—but I believe he could make it. He’s not built for this but he can do it.

He’s gonna take his damn sweet time but he can complete it eventually. Gets lost sometimes, taking up more time which worries you but don’t worry! He’s just checking out some of the devices they have in there! Human technology is so interesting.

Jumps out of the window when he’s finished instead of retreating down the stairs and drops down next to you lookin like a fnaf jumpscare.

Be sure to praise him after he’s done and give him a few treats while you’re at it. He might even go again if you do.

Nina:

Agile and passionate enough to give it a try. Was even more eager to find out that people were doing cosplays during their runs.

Definitely dressed up as one of her favorite characters and surprised the scientologists with her agility of a professional parkourist. Normally cosplays are hard to move in but Nina makes it look easy.

Moves at her own pace; balancing out the sneaking around and the running for it. Is enjoying herself so much she doesn’t even focus on going deeper, she’s js having fun and somehow ends up at the 6th floor.

Doesn’t even realize how well she did, she’s js having fun but if it gets her praise from you; hell yeah she did that shit!

Toby:

He loves chaos—immediately jumps to the opportunity, matter of fact, he might be the one who suggested it in the first place when he saw it online and realized that there was a nearby scientology building nearby.

Pretty confident in his cardio prowess. He gets surprisingly deep; prolly around the 2nd to the last floor before he gets disoriented around the huge ass building—security catches up to him and he’s forcibly escorted out of the facility. 

He didn’t really wanna complete the entire mapping; he just wanted to participate in the challenge. He’s in it purely for the love of the game to wreak havoc. My sweet little pyromaniac <3

It was a good try; give him some love for at least giving it his all! Very happy to just be participating, he had loads of fun even though he didn’t complete it.

My usage of words is so elegant and demure.

Helen was never one to rely on others. He always found that people were much too troublesome to deal with—hence why he chose a lifestyle of solitude and significant distance from society. With no friends and minimal human interactions, one would say that Helen Otis is…a loner.

His most frequent social interactions being when his recurring clients come to purchase his art, that is when he puts up the face of a gentleman for people who serve as patrons for his work; one in particular however, is an older man who judging by his appearance—one would assume holds immense wisdom. In a way which cannot be any further from the truth.

The man behaves in the sense that he has little to no interest in art—often inquiring foolish questions that no seasoned art enthusiast would ask, it’s honestly embarrassing for him and yet he still returns a loyal and eager wide eyed puppy without fail.

“Why is there an apple in the dog’s mouth?” he asks, despite there being clear artistic intent behind the simple detail– he’ll die of old age before considering to think critically about it for more than 2 seconds to grasp the meaning behind it.

“it’s a metaphor” Helen bites back a snarky comment and replies with a begrudgingly flat tone, holding back the urge to break down the entire artwork down into a deep dive describing each individual stroke put into it.

The man never comments on his harmonious use of color theory, the deliberate placement of visual elements, the backgrounds that set up exposition for the settings, the little details that tell a compelling story without speaking a word—he just looks past all of that.

Yet despite his ignorance, Helen refuses to create more minimalist styled simplistic designs for his art works. Art is his passion and he would have to be abducted by otherworldly entities before he would allow an illiterate old bag to discourage him into becoming a minimalist.

“Ah, my daughter would definitely like this one” the old man muses at a particular piece he put an effort into creating, without a care of the deeper meaning behind the artwork. Helen wants nothing more than to plunge a knife into this old bloke’s chest and make an abstract art piece out of his heart—but alas, he can’t.

It’s not that the old man has horrible taste in art—quite the contrary actually. He possesses a talent for spotting out Helen’s best masterpieces, he just doesn’t understand the thought process that went behind them.

Because this particular client is a fairly wealthy man who purchased many of his art works—probably one of if not the most frequent customer of his. As much as Helen hates to admit it; the old man is indirectly funding his business to keep selling art.

Despite his lack of an artistic eye, he appears to find joy in purchasing art, and he is a really kind old man, so Helen can’t really complain—even if he is an idiot who can’t seem to fully understand the intent behind any of it. Helen does subconsciously wish his regular was someone who could actually appreciate his art.

“You are a very nice boy, bloody painter” the old man abruptly speaks, catching Helen off guard while he’s actively seething “Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks, Sir.” Helen replies emotionlessly—he can’t have the old man see through him as he’s actively playing out the numerous methods he could use to kill him if he had the chance.

“My daughter really likes your art” the older man comments, a statement that he has continuously repeated numerous times before—Helen supposes that this man really loves his daughter; and his daughter really likes his art.

Helen wishes that his recurring customer had been the man’s daughter instead of him, since the man frequently discusses his daughter; she is always described as this cool, artsy, and elegant woman who considers herself an art enthusiast. 

She is described to always perpetually have her hands constantly full with schoolwork—hence the need for her father to purchase art for her in the meanwhile so she has a destresser.

Despite him telling himself that he doesn’t care about anything this old grouch has to say, he has to admit that he’s at least a bit endeared by the proposition.

“You’ve mentioned that before” Despite the repetition of the topic, Helen can’t help but have his pride stroked with each comment about her enjoying his art—he can sense that this woman would be a true delight to be around if he is ever to meet her.

“Oh did I? I guess that my withering age is to blame.” Wondering to himself, the old man says. He did appear decades past his prime, he can still walk; probably not for long.

“Now that I think about it, I think you’re probably about the same age” He delightfully remarks, excited by the thought of his daughter possibly being able to make a friend.

“Is that so?” Helen simply entertains the attempt of conversation to remain on this man’s good wits so he will think highly of him. Helen isn’t one to cause trouble for the elderly—but he certainly would prefer a younger demographic.

-✧——⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖——✧

He made a mistake—Helen was a thorough person through and through; it came as a shock when he overlooked one singular piece of terribly incriminating evidence, failing to dispose of it, leading up to the police to suspect him.

One single bloodstain he had overlooked was enough for the police to start investigating this as a murder case and linked the evidence back to him when a police officer falls victim to one of the traps he set up in his remote cabin. A small and forgettable mistake screwed him over.

Helen, caught off guard at the moment, had failed to flee to safety and was inevitably arrested for suspicions of murder and setting up illegal traps—his attempts to evade the police had only aggravated their speculation.

That night, while locked away in a jail cell, awaiting his trial to be held—Helen had already assumed his predetermined sentence. Life imprisonment, no—his crimes would have to amount to at least 500 years in prison to amend for.

A death sentence most likely wouldn’t cut it either, considering that death is considered to be too light of a punishment for the amount of atrocities he committed. Mutilation of human remains, abduction, torture, etc.

Elusivity was his leading trait as a criminal—In effect it was his talent for remaining unseen in the public eye or placing down traps for individuals actively seeking him out however as much as his ego refuses to acknowledge, it all came down to luck; only possessing so much prior to it subsequently running out, now he must face the consequences of his unwilling negligence.

Truly it took but a miniscule slip up for him to get screwed over, he already assumed that this was the end of the line for him. He’s been sent to the mental asylum twice now—chances are, he’s unlikely to get sent there a third time.

The officers he was left with are anything but kind. The man who handled him practically threw him into the cell in the roughest manner he could manage. Helen cursed out his entire bloodline when the officer muttered an incomprehensible insult beneath his breath.

 Guards snickering right outside his cell whereas he can faintly hear them, probably being able to make out what they’re murmuring amongst each other if he really put in effort to it; he doesn’t. He cares not about what mere prison guards have to say about him though.

He’s used to being poked fun at—mostly the guards hardly bothered with being physical with him outside of the man who threw him into his cell. Their disdain for him was evident to say nonetheless. 

That night, he fell asleep feeling indifferent.

By the time he woke up the next morning, abruptly everything changed within just one night. The guard who had handled him with aggression hours prior immediately began treating him with basic decency.

“Right this way, Otis” The fury in his eyes so prominent dissipated almost instantaneously.

“Where are we going?” Helen managed to work up the audacity to ask, if the guard was about to drive him up the wall then he may as well ask what is to become of him.

“To the courtroom. Your trial is scheduled for this morning” That was unusual—normally, court trials take days if not weeks to process. Has something come up? 

Helen supposes this could be beneficial to speed things up, providing him more time to compose himself to whatever punishment he’ll be sentenced to. In his mind, he’s torn between 300 years in prison and the death sentence. 

Pleading innocent was beyond his hand of choices. He is absolutely mental, yes, however he’s not delusional enough to believe that he’ll get out of this scott free.

The court room began and as Helen’s defense attorney began, he sensed an entity within the entire courtroom. It unsettled him, however he cannot show vulnerability in front of the judge at a time like this.

The spacious room felt claustrophobic; despite being surrounded by dozens of figures around him, he felt like the only real person to step foot in this room “Mr Otis?” a voice echoed but he couldn’t determine from which direction.

Every sentence rang out going in from one ear to another—Helen was sweating profusely despite the chilly atmosphere across the courtroom, he was being watched. He hated that feeling. 

Of course he was being watched. He’s the defendant, the center of attention within the entire room after all. However deep in his gut, he senses a gaze in the crowd significantly more prominent than the rest. 

Who was that? Helen doesn’t believe in fate or soulmates as much as his twisted mind could comprehend; somebody in the crowd of the courtroom watching over him is much more particular than the rest.

“Mr Otis” The voice repeated, clearly this time. It was coming from his public attorney. “Yes?” Dazed, he muttered; voice barely above a whisper, he couldn’t tell if his attorney heard or not.

 “Please pay attention.” His attorney instructed, Helen followed with a nod, returning to his senses. It was as if the courtroom was managing to move along the trial as fast as they could to release him as soon as possible.

Half way into the session, when it was his turn to plead—the entire situation took a sudden 180 in direction. The evidence piled up against him were unexpectedly ruled out as ineligible as evidence against the defendant by the judge himself despite Helen performing absolutely zero tampering with it

The rest of the trial went as such—witness testimonies were all considered to either be pure coincidences and false claims, somehow—everything, it all played out like Helen was an innocent man who did nothing wrong? The picture was painted and the court of public opinion soon took his side as well.

The peculiar situation left Helen baffled upon the results of his trial being ‘not guilty’ and completely innocent? Helen didn’t even have to plead guilty for lesser crimes—he was entirely ruled out as innocent and now he is free?!

After that ridiculous trial—he was let out with nothing dictating his guilt. As if everything was buried and played off.

He walked out of that trial room completely free of charges, he should be relieved but everything happened so fast he could hardly register what was going on. He felt

“Hello Otis~” A soft voice called out, the kind of voice that you’d hear from a faceless woman who meets you only in your sweetest of dreams. Helen tensed—he suspected that this might be the part where the curtains fall down and this is all revealed to be a stunt—whereas the true trial will then play out accordingly.

Helen turned around to meet this woman’s gaze “Who are you?” he said gravelly—he is then met with the face of a woman who can be the only bearer of that soft endearing voice, you had a familiar yet equally as distant feel to you; he couldn’t quite put a finger to.

“Hm? You can’t see it in the eyes?” You point inwardly towards your eyes, as if that were any decent clue—Helen had never seen you before in his life, he’d know since he possesses an uncannily impressive memory; if you crossed paths before, he’d undoubtedly remember.

 Once the realization hit him, he gasped. “The old man.”  No wonder you felt so familiar to him; the resemblance is present without a doubt—though it did take a second to kick in due to the lack of correlation.

“Very good! You really do have a keen eye, just what I’d expect from you, Helen Otis” Clasping your hands together, you express delight in being recognized with such limited information being distributed from your father. You suspected that he’d go babbling around about you.

So this is the man who created all the lovely paintings you have stored in your halls, you’ve always adored the intricate craftsmanship that was poured into his work. Other artists you appreciate; this man, he holds a special style to his work, the feels that could cause any mentally sane individual to be uncomfortable.

The grotesque imagery that mainstream media simply isn’t ready for yet. You’ve heard that he creates more than just paintings—however, you don’t trust your father’s frail body to be capable of stomaching down the possibility of gore so you decided to never quite put him up to it.

“Y/n, pleased to meet you.” Delightfully, you extend a hand for him to shake, he eyes your hand for a moment; he doesn’t take it, allowing you to make a fool of yourself. How imprudent of you to assume a convict would practice gentlemanly mannerism.

“So you’re his art loving daughter I keep hearing about.” speaking in a monotone voice, his tense demeanor settles into a more placid state. The knowledge of a somewhat familiar soul being the one awaiting him brings him a sort of comfort.

“That’s me!” Swiftly recovering from the mild embarrassment—you cheerfully agreed; your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, Helen wasn’t fooled by your fabricated bubbly demeanor—something was up, you were hiding something.

“Why are you here?” Suspicious, he asks, eyes narrowing, striving to make out what put you off; he couldn’t directly press you on your concerns so he takes a less direct approach on getting you to open.

You saw the doubt in his eyes, realizing that you failed to fix your demeanor in an attempt at getting him to ease into you had failed within the first try—you sigh in defeat and decide to be straight up, completely transparent with him about your intentions of coming here.

“Aw, you saw right through me?” Guilty, you put your hands up to mimic a criminal being caught red handed. “I guess I should be straight up with you huh?” tilting your head, you muse mostly to yourself.

He says nothing, giving you a look of distrust as you practically confess to getting into something shady. There was a clear connection with your presence here and the peculiar court trial provided hardly minutes prior.

“Let’s go…somewhere more private.” you suggest, gesturing towards a private room. Helen does not trust you—after that stunt you pulled, prompting even further wariness towards you, clear as day that you had something to do with his easygoing trial.

Curious  about your possible involvement in his case, he follows you to the room, trusting that he can manage himself stronger than you if you were to try anything uncomfortable with him.

“What happened back in that court room and what do you want with me?” Straight to the point, he presses almost immediately as you plop yourself down onto the chair, without getting comfortable in his position first.

“Okay, uncomplicated now are we?” You giggled, breaths uneven and short under his cold icy gaze—perhaps you had made a mistake bringing him in here all by yourself, completely aware of his dangerous tendencies; you trust that he’s rational enough to not make the mistake of harming you. 

He’s clearly unsure as well, that observation provides you with a slither of confidence in your safety, truthfully, you had made no effort to secure your own safety, simply relying on pure trust that he won’t lash out and make an attempt on your life.

“Answer the questions” Bluntly he states, quite a no nonsense type of gentleman, to the extent that it’s not charming; just coming off as discourteous and unruly.

“Nothing! I’m just a simple woman who happens to be an avid fan of yours” You explain, lying brazenly to his face of your identity in a desperate attempt to firm your grasp on your composure.

“Quit it with the flattery. You didn’t answer my other question.”  Dauntlessly, he growls, taking a hold of your wrist and grips onto it tightly—eliciting a sharp pained wince from you, it appears that your hands are just as flimsy as they are inexperienced in getting dirty.

“-I bribed the entire courtroom to let you off the hook!” You yelped, it feels much more shameful to admit out loud rather than proceeding to commit the act.

“You…what?” Distraught, he lets go of your wrists and sits back down onto the chair. Why would anyone like you put in any effort assisting him with his mistake?

“Would you listen to me? I bribed the courtroom!” A bit disappointed you have to repeat yourself, you replied, rubbing the spot on your wrist he handled roughly. A lady like yourself should fuss over this vulgarness when handling you; you let him get on easier since he does hold a special role in your life.

“Told em the sooner you get out the better, teehee” you amusedly explained. So that explains why they seemed to be in such a hurry to finish off the trial—the result was already predetermined before he had even entered the room. 

“Why would you do that?” Perplexed, he couldn’t quite understand your motives—ridiculous it sounds on paper although according to your shameful demeanor, you don’t appear to be harbouring any deceit. 

“Don’t look so astonished, any dedicated patron would do the same.” You scoff, upholding your title as Helen’s favorite patron whom he has never met. 

“You are aware that I did commit the crimes I was accused of, right?” His eyebrow arches as he voices out a statement that surely could have him end up in a prison cell awaiting his excecution—thankfully it appears there are no secret bugs of security cameras in this room.

“Naturally.” You shrug as if this entire situation is nothing more than pure normalcy of everyday life. Rich people they’re just like us.

“And…you’re okay with that?” Helen almost envies your carelessness in touching up on topics that normal people would freak out upon the slightest hint of suspicion of manslaughter.

“It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, I mean your art is as much of a hint anyways.” You point out the clear obvious—the mindset necessary to design such intricate designs of gory imagery is far from a healthy mind.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t a cold blooded murderer.” Chuckling, you comment fondly—like you knew about his habits all along, but you chose to go along with it anyway because you enjoyed the nuance to his art.

“Don’t call me that” He scolds, the sudden shift in his demeanor caught you by surprise; you swiftly adapted to his coldness by countering it with an exuberant reply.

“My bad—so sorry sir Bloody Painter, my favorite artist!” It irritated him how he genuinely relishes in your praise, you would be a lovely muse to bleed dry and use your blood as paint for his next artwork—he thinks.

“With the amount of money you’ve thrown around for just art; I find it quite hard to believe that you are a ‘simple’ woman who so happens to favor me.” Crossing his arms, he leans back onto the backrest of the chair. You truly were an interesting case, he had to admit.

“I’m a psychologist. How about that?” Vaguely, you said. Elaborating any further than necessary is beneath you, surely he’d be satisfied with that off the table. 

“So daddy’s money?” he asks with the implication that psychology isn’t a great career plan in the long term. You’ll let it slide, just this once due to your confining circumstances of being alone with a technical criminal.

“Oh please, don’t hold him in such high regard—he can hardly tell a CD from a vintage record” You chuckle, it appears you both share the acknowledgement of your father’s sole winning trait which is his complete and utter incompetence.

“I see.” He whispers, awaiting for your elaboration, it takes an uncomfortable glance from him to get you to talk, he still is a serial killer after all—letting down your guard in a secluded room like this could be fatal.

“It’s my mother’s money.” Confidently, you declare with less shame than admitting you’ve committed bribery. Something about your tone feels like a joke; you’re wholeheartedly telling the truth.

“Right, I’ll need a little more trivia than that.” Uninterested in the details on where your funding stems from—Helen continues to press further, hoping to garner a little more details about his mysterious patron and surprisingly propitious savior.

You glance at your phone on the table, gasp as you take a look at the time and stand up “Mhm! We can play 21 questions later!” you slide a card towards his end of the table. “Heres my number and address, call me—or just stop by. Be sure not to break any windows!”

You exclaim as you rush out of the room, seemingly in a hurry. What could possibly be keeping such a laid back person like you busy? He wonders, watching your figure retreat into the background of his vision.

It’s honestly disturbing how easily swayed the system is to go against itself for a move so cheap as bribery. He’d expect no more from the justice system who allowed him to roam freely this long.

For now, he could relish in the tiny victory of discovering why he was let out so carelessly by the system like that—except now an even larger scale issue poses itself to him. He feels indebted to you, as much as he’d enjoy the thought of ripping your heart out through your throat—there is an agonizing burden weighing heavy on his conscience indicating he must repay the favor.

He took his leave after gathering his thoughts and returned to not his home; a hideout he constructed especially in events that the police would inevitably discover his ‘home’. This time however—he was unable to flee before they arrived, figures.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵˚₊

Several nights later; you were getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and washing up your face. Today was a long day of workloads and studying that you hardly even recalled the events that occurred not even a week ago.

It’s like your professors are purposely trying to kill you with all this workload! Thankfully, after finishing up all of the work assigned to you; you are finally provided with some free time, and how should you spend it if not sleeping in of course!

You plopped yourself onto the bed and lied there, still. Your body is exhausted from hardships the daily provides, comfortably sinking into the bedsheets and just as you are about to fall asleep, a figure emerges from outside of your window.

Initially, you had assumed that you were just seeing things due to the fatigue of the long day you’ve had; you blink once, twice, thrice. The dark figure did not go away—even as you turned your head to stare directly at the figure did it hit you that it was real.

“Holy shit…” you murmered, heart rate suddenly perceived in your eardrums as it rapidly rises, what the fuck was that? The figure tapped a gloved hand on your window, prompting you to sit up—

The horror shuns you into submission 

you realize that the dark figure is actually Helen in a jacket.

Unlocking the window for him you scold. “You scared me oh my gosh…” you take his hand and let him into your room, the chilly air from the outside sends a shiver down your spine. That jacket must be as thick as travelling bread for him to not be shivering out there.

“You did advise me not to break any windows, yes?” He remarks, it comes as a surprise to you how he’d follow let alone remember your words. Perhaps this is his gentleman persona speaking to you.

“Climbing through my window? You really know how to make a girl feel special~” You coo; he gives you a perplexed look, flirting with an antisocial psychopath proves much more difficult than you previously assumed.

“Excuse me?” Never have you ever seen a man appear so astounded before. He looks as though you threw his own house keys at his face.

“Nevermind that—Well, what’re you doing here?” Waving off your prior comment, you ask, it’s unusual for him to be the one seeking you out after having grown accustomed to being the one to pursue him, you had expected to set off on a wild goose chase in search for him—not for him to show up on your windowstep unannounced.

“I dislike being indebted to others.” he says “So I’m here to clear things up.” Removing his cloak from himself, he folds it neatly for later when it's time for his retreat. This however, did not amuse you in the slightest.

“You couldn’t wait till Saturday?” You comment, still worn out from the day, unsure of what he does in the day, you imagine him having nothing better to do than sit around waiting for a time to come see you again.

“I’m afraid not.” He says with a blank expression—or you’re too tired to read into it. Does this man seriously expect you to hold up a sober discussion whilst exhausted? What a nuisance.

“It’s no big deal—just keep up the good work and I’ll get my dad to stop by” In hopes that he’ll take his leave right away, you said. Leaving your father the responsibility of dealing with it.

“You…wish not for repayment?” Ego mildly fractured, he’d feel much better about himself if he weren’t indebted to you; now with this misdirection of priority, he’s even more inclined to repay you.

“No. Just get out.” You drowsily dismiss him—uncaring for debts to settle or whatever. Such concepts are entirely foreign to you. If he must compensate you that badly, he could at least allow you to rest.

“I see.” muttering, he in fact does not see. 

 “Why?” Under the belief that humans are selfish individuals who do nothing but bring misery upon each other as an endless cycle, Helen struggles to comprehend the concept of you aiding him expecting nothing in return.

“Ugh, you won’t leave me alone easily, will you?” You groan, trying to be polite is out of the window at the moment for this man does not appear to be leaving any time soon. There goes your rest.

“I suppose not. You constantly appear to be busy and I cannot fit in a proper time span of when you’re not busy” Nonchalantly, he states. Aware of your state but choosing to pay no mind to your discomfort.

Ah, so he’s been stalking you for these past few days, that’s lovely.

“Well, I find it to be quite the win-win doncha think? You get to keep your reputation and I can keep buying art from my favorite artist!” Feigning enthusiasm, you exclaim in hopes that response would satisfy him.

“Why didn’t the old man come that day?” He asks, there he goes again. Questions are all the social interactions this man knows to use when interacting with an individual he somewhat believes he respects.

“I made sure that he didn’t know.”Crossing your arms, the drowsiness begins to dissipate from your body when your father’s whereabouts are mentioned. Helen could not make out why you would do such a thing.

“His old heart is not to concern himself with politics” You spoke almost defensively about your father. So you are the one protecting his innocence—that certainly isn’t cliche. He wonders what kind of woman your mother is.

So the old man truly is a naive soul, perhaps his ignorance is the reason behind his contentment with life. Only a blissfully unaware moron can remain so carefree in such a violent world.

“My agent informed me that you were arrested that night while I was studying for my finals.” You explained quite meticulously, except about none of what you had just proclaimed added up in the slightest. 

“You’re a student?” He repeats, recalling how you stated that you were a psychologist, he is under the impression that your status as a student is countering your own word.

“Last year of college” You clarify, “Studying psychology” 

“I see.”

“Yeah. By the way, how did you even get caught in the first place?” Curious, you lean in—in hopes that your turn has come to propose questioning.

“None of your business” Rudely, he dismisses the query with utmost insolence. He figures that the less you know about him the better, despite all his queries proposed that you so kindly answered with little protests.

“Whatt! You’re so mysterious! Come on, at least tell me how you even got up to my window??” You fight back a scoff—you had just played a one sided game of 21 questions and he won’t even answer 1 of yours? Some gentleman this guy is.

He doesn’t reply. Figures, you let out a sigh—the fatigue suddenly comes back tenfold.

“Are we done here?” Allowing yourself to plop back down into your bed, you say, anticipating his retreat back into the darkness from where he came from so you can take your well earned rest.

“Now before you get comfortable, I have one condition.” Pacing, he fondles with his leather gloves as he appears to be preparing for his retreat back outside.

“Condition?” Raising your head, this comment earns your curiosity, his cockiness is almost absurd.

“For you to continue doing business with me.” He clarifies, putting on his blue suit jacket.

“Oh? Are you in any position to be saying that now?” In a teasing tone, you ask.

“I could kill you.” He says with a flat tone, that murderous gaze staring right into your eyes—attempting to intimidate you, a sharp blade in hand you can see from the corner of your gaze.

“My lawyer knows your name and face, but go figure! I’d love to hear your demands.” You quickly shut down that motion—deterring his fuel to kill you with a soft spoken threat. It’s like you were testing him, whether you were indisputably telling the truth or not, preferably, he’d like not to find out. 

“I could just flee the city.” He says, nonchalance plastered on his expression

“But what fun would that be?” You frowned, full well with the knowledge that you are his only most loyal patron, it would be most detrimental to lose contact with you—as he finds himself strangely attached towards you.

Deciding to lay down his demands anyways, he speaks. “When you buy art from me, don’t send over your father, come as you are.” His gaze particularly focused on yours, he leans forward—longing in his expression. 

“Quite demanding now aren’t you?” You joke; you notice that he is not amused—dead serious actually. To spend the precious time out of your day browsing in this man’s gallery is perplexing.

“Oh fine finee! I suppose I could work out a schedule” You grumble begrudgingly, he truly undermines the tightness of your schedules. To make demands like this is utter poppycock!

“Good. Here’s the new address to my art. Do not hand it to your father.” He states, handing you a blank card with a vague sketchy looking address on it leading up to a particular remote location within the town’s range.

“...is that it?” You ask, flipping the card to check the back, only to find that it’s empty. The contents on it aren’t encoded but entirely hand written with Helen’s pristine handwriting. It doesn’t even count as a card.

“Do you have a problem with it?” Raising an eyebrow, he asks. His arms crossed as he raised an eyebrow.

“I guess not” Despite internally scrutinizing his questionable card making skills, his handwriting is nice. You oughta hand it to him—you suspect that he is one negative comment away from strangling you right here right now.

As he turned his back to you and was about to take his leave, You called out to him. “—wait! Are you open on Sundays?" You ask, 

“No.” Bluntly, he states. 

“Oh” Your shoulders lowered in mild disappointment—Sunday being your only free day, the possibility of being unable to access Helen’s art is disheartening. Helen sees the disappointment in your gaze and reconsiders.

“I suppose I could make an exception for you.” He says, gazing at the floor to avoid watching your expression—telling himself that you are an important client, that losing you would be severely detrimental, nothing more.

“Really?” Seeking assurance, Your gaze immediately lights up.

“Of course, my savior.” He sarcastically said, taking a bow to you prior to hoping out of your window with elegance.

❤︎ --- ୨୧ --- ❤︎

Next Sunday that week, you freed up your schedule—ditching a few friends and several unimportant errands in the process, following the directions to that exact address he wrote down. It led you to a sketchy remote area with a small population of people regulating the area. 

Eventually you came to a stop, reading the address written down. Indeed this was the right place, although it resembles an abandoned shop rather than an art gallery; the card says what it says, you take it he didn’t miswrite anything—he seems to be the meticulous type.

You are immediately hit with a pungent smell of blood and the sight of a gory scene before you. Two body bags hung on the ceiling with a meat hook dripped blood, creating a near unbearable smell of metal filling the room.

“Whoa- did I come at a bad time?” You asked, watching as Helen appears to be in the middle of the process of hanging a corpse upside down, a bucket placed beneath the body to catch the blood, resembling a pig being bled dry.

So he did use blood for his paintings.

You expected the lather, though you didn’t expect the process to be so grotesque to witness in person. 

Despite the disturbing general atmosphere, the scene is quite neat and almost appears aesthetically pleasing if gazed upon through an artistic lens of view. Contrary to how one would envision a crime scene, this one hardly has any blood spilled in view.

The room was spotless and the lighting painted the perfect atmosphere for the given situation. Helen really takes his aesthetics earnestly.

“You came.” Almost sounding surprised, he said. Immediately dropping what he is doing at the moment to turn his attention to you. Guessing by the scene before you, you are his first customer of the day, if not for the entire week.

“Of course I did! Anyhow, I’ve never actually seen the real thing in person before” you gawked at the paintings put on display like a curious child; the gore sitting in the room with you is quite hard to ignore. 

You do notice how most of the paintings in the room appear to be works in progress.

“I see you’re also a major procrastinator!” You comment, intending for it to be a friendly remark of relatability, iIf there even is any hint of relatability inside of that man—you find it hard to believe that he’s even human in the first place. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. We have nothing in common and I most certainly am not a ‘procrastinator’.” he pronounces each syllable with distinct distaste. 

“These are my discarded works that have yet to be destroyed—I plan on painting over them in the near future, I’d hate to waste good material..” Well there goes your one chance at bonding through common struggles.

“Right—I almost forgot.” You chuckle, though your breaths uneven and your laughter is forced out.

“Because us humans just can NOT compare to the great Helen Otis!” Frustrated at this man, you slam your fist on a counter top, specifically on an area free of blood.

He says nothing in response, however he does remove his bloodied gloves and forms a notable expression.

It almost resembles a twinge, a mild pang of regret. You watch him sigh as he turns back to you.

“How about you browse my most recent collection, you entered through the back door.” He recalls what he had you in there for—to sell art since this is your only demand in order to settle his debt in the past.

“I did?” You mutter, that must explain the convoluted state of the room you walked into. Prompting you to sigh in relief that you wouldn’t have to remain in this rancid room for the remainder of your stay.

 You were almost about to make up an excuse to withdraw from the room. An inexperienced individual can only handle so much gore and stench without vomiting for so long.

“Yes, here let me accompany you” He extends his hand for you to take, choosing to turn a blind eye instead of commenting on your mistake, almost looking charming like this.

The common room in his art gala had a nice ocean aroma to it, you almost completely forgot about the scene you two left behind in the back room.

“Ooh!” Watching you oogle at his art flatters him tenfold than when your father held the position of purchasing art for you, imagining how these were the reactions the old croak would come home to after a trip to his gallery.

Naturally, as the art connoisseur you are—you find yourself drawn to nearly every painting in his gallery.

“Pick whichever one you like, it’s the least I could do.” He leans on the doorframe lazily, enjoying the mild amusement having you here brings. He considers inviting you over more often.

The youthful aura you carry around sets the mood of the gallery to a pleasant breathable atmosphere. Helen recalls the times when he could only wish for clients like you.

“Any one piece?” You dote, there's so many pieces you could go for that it’s difficult to pick out just one.

“Father totally underexaggerated how lovely this place is!” You beam in excitement. Each piece carries an abundance of symbolism and metaphors in them with unsettling macabre undertones.

One piece had an odd human-like creature with an unsettling look to it; an uncanny valley. It was in a dark room in the back of the painting—stalking a beautiful woman in a white dress, oblivious and pampering herself in the mirror, the dress representing purity and cluelessness as she is oblivious  of what is occurring just a room away. 

It was clear that she’s the main subject of the artwork but the humanoid creature purposely pulls your attention away from the woman, truly he is the main subject—not the woman. Since what he is about to do to her—the audience will never find out.

Another painting had a woman’s insides ripped apart whilst flowers bloom from the wounds. Her eyes bled red tears; the reflection appeared lifeless along with her pale bloodless lips as blood spills out where the flowers bloom whilst bloody hands coming from an exterior force make an effort to forcibly stitch the corpse up back together to stop the bleeding.

You mused about your interpretations of each piece and the elements he utilized to craft full stories with one single frame. Helen was pleasantly taken aback but not surprised at your artistic literacy.

He decidedly takes a step forward to accompany you “This one represents the meaninglessness of a world without art.” He points towards the art piece your gaze lingered on longer than the others, it seems you were having trouble sorting out the meaning behind it.

It immediately clicked to you then “Oh! So the flowers represent humanity’s ability to create art and the corpse is the world!” you exclaim “Whilst the stitching is the slow death of art culture,”rambling on continuously about your interpretations, Helen watches you proudly.

“Very good.” Helen comments, both proud of you and himself. This kind of experience is exactly the kind of interaction he frequently longed to share with his clients.

“That’s genius!” You applaud the man, appreciating his talent.

“Thank you” he smiles mostly to himself, relishing in your praise. He imagines what other interpretations you’ve made up with his other art works you’ve purchased and kept in your home, it feeds into his ego abundantly.

“You certainly are a bright individual yourself.” Maintaining his gentlemanly attitude, he returns the compliment—only stating the truth he wholeheartedly believes.

“Thanks!” You decided on choosing that painting as your freebie—despite possessing more than enough wealth for discounts to be unnecessary, you take him up on that offer anyways, if that makes him feel any better.

As he prepares the painting for you to accept into your home; you remember one rumor you’ve heard circling around about him, and you must ask him about it immediately!

“There, now my debt is gone. I no longer owe you anything.” He states, pleased that he can check that off his conscience. Now you’re on equal ground.

“I still know so little about you…” Disappointed, you sigh, not expecting a response and as expected, he doesn’t give you a reply, simply humming in acknowledgement. He seems to enjoy possessing his aura of intrigue and mystique. 

“—By the way, I hear you have other art pieces other than paintings?” You said once the room drifted into a painstakingly uncomfortable silence, something about this place has an eerily claustrophobic feel to it when silence washes over.

Helen appears unaffected by it though, most likely since he’s more well versed in this location than you are. Perhaps the hanging bodies in the blood filled backroom left a gnarly impression on you.

“Ah, yes I do.” He states, though he doesn’t elaborate—staring eerily into your eyes now with an intense flare behind his gaze.

“May I see?” You avert your gaze from him in order to avoid stammering, however a sweat droplet falls down your cheek as you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

“I’m afraid it’s at a different location” With a blank, distant tone, he replies. His focus directed a mile away from your conversation as he stares intently into your fear filled eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

“Aw” Disappointedly, you frown. Looking down, with this position, you can observe that Helen is looking down on you, as if observing 

“You have lovely eyes.” He muses, his foul intent evident in his tone and demeanor, what should be a flattering compliment now feels like a death sentence.

Wow, so you couldn’t tell.

“Don’t get any ideas.” Taking a step back, you practiced a stern tone with the man. 

“My apologies y/n, however I think I’m gaining a surplus of inspiration from gazing into them” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. Creepy as the gesture is—you can’t exactly make out if this was his attempt at flirting or an honest observation.

“I’m hungry…” you whine, a silent excuse but also an honest truth. Stomach silently grumbling, you hadn’t eaten anything this morning since you were in a rush fearing that Helen might not let you in—you forgot to have breakfast.

He clicks his tongue. “Such a high maintenance specimen…”  He mutters. Admittedly, he has no food and has just been living off of convenience store food for the past week; due to your stature, he can’t just offer you a microwaved sandwich.

“You got anything?” You ask, finally meeting his gaze to find him no longer staring with eerie intent. Truthfully, the answer is yes, however to save his pride in front of you, he lies through his teeth. 

“No, I do, however, possess an abundance of human flesh.” He shifts towards the human flesh in an attempt to hopefully scare you into forgetting about the manner.

“That I can work with!” You exclaim, prompting his curiosity. He doesn’t expect that answer; he goes along with it anyways.

“Go for it.” he almost asked like it was a question but immediately shifted his tone.

“Alright, where’s your kitchen?” You ask as he shows you the way.

His new art gallery building is built similarly to that of a home. With a kitchen, a couch and especially a sanitary bathroom—you are taken aback but not surprised by how clean the rest of the building is.

“This place is really clean.” You comment, taking in the spotless interior of the place, from the furniture down to the hidden spots behind them.

 You’ve read into the psychology of serial killers that OCD and other mental disorders may cause murderous thoughts, this must be a case of that.

“Of course” He replies, it appears he prefers not to speak much when the topic revolves mostly on himself.

“Hm” Your eyes land on a small bug crawling around. An evil thought sprouts into your mind, wanting to get him back for that scare he pulled on you.

“Ah! Is that a cockroach!?” You scream, Helen was mildly annoyed at the noise you’re making until you mentioned the presence of a cockroach.

His stature visibly tenses up as he turns around—his gaze latches onto the small bug; his body remains unmoving, almost resembling paralysis even. So that’s what it takes to frighten a serial killer, this should be interesting.

“Helenn, be a dear and go kill it for me please~?” You nag, he doesn’t reply, instead he remains completely still staring down the cockroach like it would disappear if he were to look away from it for even a second.

He shoots you a side glance, you’ve never seen a man in such a vulnerable state before. Paralyzed with fear over such a miniscule sized anomaly, it’s hilarious and equally as pathetic.

“Hm, so you’re scared of roaches eh? I’ll keep that in mind” You muse, about to waltz off into the next room when he calls out to you.

“Y-y/n!” Nothing but pure fear and raw desperation in his eyes. To have such a terrifying man come undone like this before you, it would be a waste not to seize this opportunity.

“Address me by Miss Y/n if you’d like my assistance.” You said. If he was to lay down obscure conditions for you, how many affection points could a mild demand like this possibly set you back?

“Tch, you…” he growls, a flame of fury burns in his gaze but all you can see is resembling more of a desperate injured predator at the mercy of his prey.

“Uh oh! I’m about to leave you in this room all alone cornered by a roach! Whatever should you do??” You taunt, continuing on walking back out of the room until your figure is completely out of his peripheral vision.

“Miss Y/n” you loudly whisper, head peaking from the corner of the door.

“You evil woman” He spat.

“Sorry, what was that?? Who’s this evil woman? I’m Miss Y/n.” You were clearly enjoying this much more than you should be, as if your life wouldn’t be on the line once he’d be free.

He sucks in his pride and finally decides to give in “Miss…Y/n would you kindly please help me?” He mumbles most of his speech however you still perfectly understood exactly what he said.

“Of course I will!” You applaud enthusiastically, internally cheering yourself on for this small victory. 

You pick up a nearby newspaper lying around on a paper he most likely hadn’t finished reading yet, you comforted him in the least comforting manner possible.

“Step back princess~” You coo, prompting an irritated scoff from Helen, how could you be so cocky at a moment like this? He could kill you at any given moment if he wanted to.

It takes you a moment to hit the cockroach due to the small pest’s agility to dodge your first few attacks, however he can’t dodge forever and you finally catch him. Thankfully its wings did not sprout and fly around the room. That would have been a disaster and you would be no better than Helen cowering in fear over a tiny bug.

Its wings flap weakly upon the first hit, you decide to hit it several more times to ensure its death until Helen is finally comfortable enough to walk up.

“Disgusting..” He mutters under his breath as he watches you create a mess with the cockroach corpse in his living room, blood oozing out of the insect’s small body splattering all over his floors. 

Helen shudders at the thought of knowing that he’ll have to clean that up.

“There!” You stand there victorious;  more pleased about your win against Helen rather than the cockroach—you wipe off imaginary sweat from your forehead for dramatic effect despite it being a simple task.

You decide to scare him one last time by flaking the action of throwing the wrapped newspaper at him—he flinches like an abused child, you erupt in laughter.

“That’s not funny” He hisses, though all intimidation he’s had against you prior has all but faded now that you learn he’s afraid of cockroaches.

“Haha! don’t be ashamed, at least now I can confidently declare you as human” you laugh, he is not amused in the slightest by your shenanigans; the murderous intent he normally harbours towards obnoxious individuals is absent.

He’s irritated at you, but hurting you is completely off the table for reasons that are beyond him, perhaps it’s his subconscious gratitude towards you for dealing with the cockroach. 

Normally, he finds it troublesome to deal with those little pests; having you over brings him the faintest sense of comfort. Perhaps you are fearless, or just incredibly stupid to be as ballsy as you are around him.

“Shut up…” he mutters, though holding no real malice behind his words.

“Hehe, sorry~” you coo, not expecting to witness such a human side of him unravel right before you today, he really is such an interesting mystery that you just want to unwrap and see all the layers beneath him.

As an apology, you take a tissue box to clean up the dead roach’s corpse for him and throw it in the trash, he seems to forgive you after—if a nod without eye contact can count as a sign of forgiveness.

You understand that he’s content due to the sigh of relief he releases after the roach lands in the trash, eased with knowing he won’t have to clean that scene up in the near future. You may have even gained his favour from that act.

“Pfft, you’re so dramatic for a nonchalant man.” You taunt, setting your affection points back to zero.

᧔ෆ᧓ ∙˚ ⋆ ᧔ෆ᧓ ⋆ ˚ ∙ ᧔ෆ᧓

He shoots you a look of disgust, watching you season the boiling human meat soup with salt and pepper in his own kitchen. It's clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually go through with your human meat meal plan.

“You’re serious?” He asks, half disturbed by the scene unfolding before him, half surprised you can even cook at all—he had expected that someone as privileged as you could know your way around the kitchen.

Blowing on a spoonful of the soup before sipping it, you hum in delight, pleased with the meal you’ve brewed up with less than legally acquired material.

“It’s really good! You should try some!” You offer him a spoonful of human flesh soup. Why out of all the ways to prepare the meal did you decide to make a soup out of it? 

‘What a weirdo’ he thinks to himself.

“I’m not eating that” Disgusted, he outright refuses; you’ve already gotten used to his cold, indifferent nature—he’ll come around soon enough.

“Hmph, suit yourself” You shrug “I’ll set this down in case you change your mind.” removing the pot from the stove, you set it down on the table as well as the bowl you’ve kindly borrowed from Helen and begin digging in.

Helen is repulsed by just how easily you accepted to cook and ingest human meat, though he has to admit—the scent does entice him, just a little though.

You watch as he practically salivates over inspecting you eat like a mukbang. “I can’t finish this all” You said, offering him again.

“I’m not hungry.” Stubbornly,he denies again. His stomach however, betrays him by growling abruptly. He silently curses his own digestive system for selling him out like that.

“Doesn’t sound like it” You mutter right as you bring your spoon to your mouth—slurping loudly on purpose just to torment him a little more into giving into your irresistible cooking.

He thinks it over—once, twice, thrice. The thought process going through his mind is intense, if he were to consume human meat, he’d be a cannibal—he’s already a murderer anyways so it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Then again, he only does what he does for the sake of art, so how much moral weight could the act possibly hold? The provided decision is a difficult one to make. Only for him of course.

On the exterior however, he’s standing there menacingly staring at you with a blank expression plastered on his face. You tilt your head. 

You just asked him to eat soup with you jeez…

Finally, after 5 minutes of pondering (standing idly whilst he stares at you eating like a creep)  he decides to give in.

“Alright fine” He sighs, earning a smile out of you, you just were starting to grow a tad uncomfortable sitting there eating in silence with the occasional slurping noise to enjoy the meal.

He sits positioning himself across from you. “Oh wow—I have to serve you? I thought i was the customer here” Sarcastically, you complained and crossed your arms as he sat there expecting you to accommodate him.

“Wha— i thought-” Baffled, he started “Think harder then?” You retorted. As he struggled to formulate a response you let out another laugh, he then decided that he as a man does not understand you one bit. What was so amusing about this?

“I’m just kidding, lemme get you a bowl” you sat up to rummage through his dish rack for a bowl, setting it down for him to fill with soup.

“I thought you were upset about that though?” Perplexed, he fretted due to your abrupt shift in tone.

“What are you talking about? I was never upset.” Gaslighting him, you purposely feigned ignorance. Puzzling him even further.

Scrutinizing your expressions down to the slightest eyebrow tilt, he watched you—only now does he recognize how difficult it truly is to deal with women in a composed manner.

“Well? I’m waiting for your honest critique of my cooking” With a bright smile, you watched him as he stirred the soup watching as the contents swished around. These are real human remains that y/n utilized to cook this soup.

The soup wasn’t even that hot anymore and he flinched upon pressing the metal of his spoon against his lips. You clicked your tongue in impatience.

He finally swallows down a spoonful of soup, his expression remains unreadable—but you could tell that he likes it by the subtle shift in his posture, his tense shoulder relaxing signifying relief.

“So? Howd’ya like it? It’s great right?” Leaning into his direction, you already knew the answer to that; you just want to hear him say it out loud and admit that your human meat recipe he found so repulsive is Michelin star worthy.

“I’m not discounting your next purchase if that’s what you’re after” Closing his eyes, he takes another spoonful in his mouth, savoring the comforting flavor; it would be easier to swallow if he were ignorant of the ingredients used.

“So it’s great?” You smile, paying no mind to the insulting assumption.

“...” 

His silence speaks a million words.

“Sure.” He takes another sip of the human meat soup, savoring the flavours much more than he’d like to outright admit—he’ll never voice out how much he enjoys it straight to your face.

“By the way—I didn’t get your phone number, it’s not on your card” You pointed out as you finally recalled your main concern.

“Why must you concern yourself with my affairs?” Pinching his temples in exhaustion, he sighs, just as he was beginning to relish the contentment of consuming a nice warm homemade soup made with love after weeks of crappy microwave food. This scene reminds you of your last meeting. 

“Come onnn!” You whine; he just returns to savoring your soup—almost forgetting the fact that it’s made up of the same contents he is.

He eventually does give in and agrees to share numbers, your endless nagging and pestering proving useful.

He would be lying if he said this meeting was anything but productive. Despite all your teasing and the fact he lost the ability to control you by utilizing your fear and survival instincts, things certainly are anything but boring when you’re around.

୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧

With this setup, you’ve created a sort of routine with Helen. You’d visit his gallery every sunday—you now learned where the front door is located, your relationship grows to become decent. Helen can still come off as indifferent on some occasions; other than that everything is fine! Helen still insists on maintaining a low profile though; his reasonings are beyond you.

Eventually texting him beforehand that you’d come over served no purpose since the moment you’d wake up on Sunday, you’d awake to a text from Helen reading “I made something I believe you’d like.”

Aw he was thinking about you!

You’d attempt to tease him at times, however, Helen is a thick layer of ice that you just can’t break through no matter what tools you utilize to try and get through to him, the only effect resembling a reaction is the chilly breeze that blows over your face whenever you try.

Only erecting a mildly humane expression out of him whenever you cook. You no longer have to ask for permission to use human flesh as a base ingredient. Human is a fun meat to experiment with—considering humans know the best of their own anatomy than any other creatures in existence.

You’ve made human meat steak with back dorsums, stew, even burgers once with the materials. Helen acts disturbed at first, often outright refusing when you’d offer him a piece but you’ve learned that when he’s hungry; it’s easier to have him give in.

Now he trusts you enough to take anything you cook for him. Men really are so easy to win over when you can cook.

With his number, you attempt to text him silly things sometimes but he always seems to have his phone turned off. It’s no surprise since he is the closed off type; he seriously can’t make an exception for you?

No matter anyways—your final exams are nearing and you must spend the majority of your free time studying for them, your father realizes this and offers to visit Helen for you to buy you an art piece.

You flat out refuse and this confuses his poor old heart since this was unlike you. He misses his visits with Helen, once you’ve informed him that he will no longer be setting out to Helen’s art—he was so upset that you had to find him a different hobby to make up for it.

“Come to the park” Helen texted you cryptically, one random Saturday night as you were taking down notes. strange and definitely not suspicious.

You replied “Why? Have you decided you finally want to get rid of me for good now?” only half joking when you typed that out.

You may have gained Helen’s trust within time, however Helen made no effort towards gaining your trust. You still know so little about him and you have to admit you’re somewhat afraid of him.

“No.” Unconvincingly, he texted. If anything, that made you all the more suspicious about this.

“A man of few words” You sarcastically remark. You knew what would become of you if you were to get on his bad side, at this point you already assumed you were in his good graces.

“I don’t need a bloated vocabulary to get the point across, just be there.” That message you could not read into his tone at all.

“And here I thought you were the one concerned of me being all up in your affairs” You joked, attempting to bring some proof of life into the conversation.

“Are you coming or not?” You can hear the irritation through his text like you could hear it through his voice.

“Sure” You reply

“Lemme just grab my taser and pepper spray so i can at least try to put up a good fight against you” You continue.

“I won’t harm  you.” He states, naturally you still don’t believe him.

“Doesn’t sound like it.” You retort.

“I really am not planning to kill you”  He denies even harder.

“That’s what you’d say if you did wanna kill me and didn’t want me to bring any weapons so I'll go down without a fight.” You bounce back.

“Now I do want to kill you” He types so remarkably that you can actually feel the tone behind this one.

“So you admit that you’re going to kill me if I go there?” You got him.

“No.” Still refusing to admit he’s going to kill you, he resorts to responding with just a flat answer.

“Bring all the pepper spray you want.” Giving up on convincing you otherwise.

“Just come.” He texts, you sense that you’ve already given him a headache through the screen.

“I would ask you to take me to lunch first but you technically already did” You tease.

“What nonsense are you on right now?” He asks.

“Yk, I was going to tease you about how you texted first” You begin.

“But now my main concern is thinkin about how I should probably gear up for the final boss battle”

“What does Yk mean?” He asks, indicating his chronic offline nature—completely disregarding the absolute nonsense your last text was.

“Don’t worry bout it” You reassure.

“I’m coming” You say, giggling as you typed out that response

“I’ll be waiting” He seems not to have caught onto the humor.

You shut off your phone and prepare yourself for your possibly imminent death that may or may not occur within the next hour. Thinking about it, you might be able to  

And you depart to the park.

Arriving at the nearby park, you find nothing but an empty, dimly lit park along with the unoccupied park equipment typically employed by beaming children during the day. This setting completely contrasts with the devoid empty space you face now.

It appears that he hasn’t arrived yet—strange, you pegged him more as the punctual type. Anyhow, this provides you more time to prepare for your eventual death. Astonishingly, you remain cool for someone convinced that you are to be killed tonight.

Decidedly, you take a seat on an empty desolate swing, breathing in the cool air provided by the night. This scene is so tranquil you completely let your guard down and even almost fall asleep.

You check your phone and open the time reading 12 midnight. “Tch, where is he?” tiredly, you mumble unsuspecting.

“Y/n” He calls out from behind you—causing you to jump in your seat, you turn on your heel to find Helen, wearing a creepy mask with blackened eyes and a red smile painted on it. 

Is he trying to hide his face? You can still recognize him by his pale complexion and that same blue jacket he wore the day he climbed into your room through the window not too long ago.

“My gosh would it kill you to warn a girl!?” you sigh, placing a hand on your rapidly beating chest. He doesn’t have to lay a hand on you to end your life—he just has to sneak up on you 2 more times to give you a heart attack.

He was dead silent in the night—you couldn’t even tell when he had got there or how long he'd been standing right behind you.

“I told you in text that I’d be here.” He retorts, the mask face surprisingly aids you well in reading his tone. His face is very deceiving without his stone cold glare seeping through the mask. 

“Yeah but you can’t just sneak up on me like that, it's creepy…” You shudder, both from the cold of the night and from the fright he just gave you.

“My apologies, Miss Y/n” Uncaringly, he complies for the purpose of ceasing the nonsensical banter, he feels as though if he argues any further, you’d end up standing in this park until sunrise and the police will catch him.

“Let’s go.” Turning his back on you, he gestures towards a direction, proceeding to the location silently without awaiting your response. 

“Wait—where are we going?” Nervously, you ask—trailing right behind him; keeping a safe distance between you two whereas you can freely speak to the man and he can’t harm you from there.

“I can’t tell you.” He replies vaguely. Well that’s not of much comfort. If you weren’t sure if he’s trying to lead you away to your imminent death before, you certainly are now.

Assessing the situation, you doubt that the pepper spray will hit his eyes with that mask , so you shove it back into your pocket and clutch harder onto your taser for when he’ll make a move on you. 

“Damn this is really the end of the road for me huh…” Somberly, you muse to yourself dramatically. Helen appears unarmed however that hardly brings you any assurance for your life.

“You came willingly though.” He points out, acknowledging that he’s acting really damn suspicious right now but you came along anyways despite that.

“I assume resisting will only prove to make my death slower and more painful.” You reply, appearing quite relaxed for a woman who’s about to have her life taken in a mystery location.

“Fair point.” He agreed, head facing straight forward as he conversed with you, not seeming to hold any ill intent; if he were planning your death—it doesn’t exhibit in his demeanor.

You then walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of crickets filling it for a while, along with the chilly night air to go in hand to complete the lonely dead silent atmosphere.

Unconsciously, you noticed the sound of your own steps clicking along the concrete sidewalk illuminated by the dim streetlights that paved the way through the neighborhood surrounding the park.

“Are you not afraid of death?” Curious, he asks, being the one to break the silence first this time, you almost believed you were imagining it when his voice for a moment if he hadn’t turned to you.

“Not really.” Murmuring, you admit. At least if you were to die any time soon, you wouldn’t have to take your final exams, that thought mildly comforted you just a little bit.

“But don’t think I won’t put up a fight for my life.” You continue, highly doubting  that you could win against this guy in a fight in all honesty; if you could cause him any trouble at all that would be a pleasant surprise.

“I’d expect nothing less.” He sounded almost pleased at this answer. What a sadistic bastard this guy is, he’s probably fantasizing about all the fearsome expressions you’d make as he pierces a blade through your heart.

He then halts for a moment, allowing to tighten the grip on your composure—leading you into a shady alley with nothing to light up the path before you. Perhaps it was the night fatigue forming an illusion of the dim route stretching out continuously beyond reasonable ends. You could have sworn the walls around you are widening.

This is the kind of setting where you come in to fuck around and never come out when you find out—be consumed in the void so nothing remains of you for the outside world to find. It's devoid of life entirely due to pure circumstance.

“Oh yeah I’m getting murdered in cold blood down there.” Quietly, you mutter to yourself. Sweat begins to seep out of your pores; you have no handkerchief to wipe your face dry, instead resolving to utilize the back of your hand in wiping off the moisture.

Helen spares a glimpse back towards your direction for a moment before subsequently resuming his pace heading to your destination, figuring that bestowing you with any comfort is of no use since you won’t believe a word coming out his mouth.

“We’re almost there.” He declares—tone and expression a complete mystery to you. You’ve been unable to read his mood, distracted from being so focused on your own imminent fate.

You hesitate upon stepping foot into the shadows; when Helen’s figure already disappears into it, you find you have no choice but to follow. You’ve already come this far.

Walking in a pitch black environment proves to be additionally difficult due to being unable to visualize where your foot will land on its next step. The possibilities of things you could step into are endless; from discarded plastic wrap, to dog shit, to a rock, to an endless pit you could fall into.

Along with the stygian visual blindness, one sense inquiring your attention is the peculiar oceanic aroma stimulating your nostrils. It’s a similar fragrance to that of the air freshener in Helen’s art gallery; distinctively more pungent.

The deprivation of your visuals prompts for your remaining senses to overcompensate. You can faintly make out the sound of liquid dripping entering from one ear out of another along with the sound of your own breathing and blood pulsing through your head.

A gentle cool breeze brushes along the skin of your face, indicating that nothing is blocking your path. You then realize that nothing points to Helen’s presence other than logical inference. He came into this wide alley with you; he could have definitely lost you within it.

His footsteps are silent and he almost doesn’t make a sound to breathe, his presence is completely undetectable in the dark, if he had already proceeded forward without you—you wouldn’t have noticed.

“Helen..?” You call out to him, despite being the sole entity causing your apprehension, you can’t help but also seek comfort from him. 

“Yes?” His voice coolly rings out, just close enough to tell that he’s nearby. It puts you to minimal ease, he didn’t stray so far as to leave you behind. 

Footing weakened in the dark, you extend your hand to search for Helen’s figure in the dark. Once you get a hold of his jacket, you clutch your hand onto his jacket with your free hand.

“What are you doing?” He asks, pulling back his jacket trying to shake himself free from your remarkably firm grip. 

“I can’t see.” You reason, keeping your hold on him unwavering, 

“You can walk.” He sternly said.

“What if I trip?” You retort.

“Then get back up”

“Ughh why couldn’t you have brought a flashlight?” You whine, conversing with him so casually puts you mildly at ease—remembering that he as well is also a human just like you.

“That would be unnecessary” He says, vaguely. As usual—he refuses to elaborate and you don’t waste your breath on asking.

The seconds pass by agonizingly as each step indicates you cutting a step shorter away from your looming death. Your chest tightens when a weak flickering light comes to view, a door set ominously beneath it.

Your steps become weak and shaky; you can’t let him see your fear. Mustering up all your courage, you follow as he pauses right before the dimly illuminated door.

“Come in.” He gently gestures to you inside. You wonder if you are his most willing victim, or the prettiest, maybe both. Anyhow, you hesitate to follow.

“So this is the end of the line for me huh?” You let out a sigh of relief, subsequently accepting your fate. You hope he makes it quick.

You shut your eyes and take a single step forward, tightening your sweaty grip on your taser when you trip on the entrance, barely planting your feet firmly on the ground—was there a step there? You hadn’t noticed. 

The act forces your eyelids to snap open as you clumsily catch yourself from the fall. 

“Careful now, Miss.” Helen says, yet making no effort to assist you, you snap your head towards his direction and find that he’s chuckling lightheartedly. 

What was so funny? You were about to die right in this building!

You lifted your head and found that this place was in fact not the bloodbath graveyard that you had initially interpreted it as. Well—not in the conventional way anyhow. Heads were on plates yes, and bodies were mutilated; it was done so in a meticulous way—as if to appreciate life.

It was his ‘special art’ gallery. You almost forgot that you brought up the topic to him since he was shivering your timbers when you were conversing about it. That man has some serious multithinking skills.

The display was lovely; despite being surrounded with severed body parts left and right, it smells lovely—the bodies must have been infused with preservatives taxidermizing the flesh. 

“Oh.” You whisper, this scene was definitely not what you were expecting. There was gore yes, just as predicted—but no blood. You take the hint that this was in fact—not where he is going to kill you.

“Wait so— you’re not gonna kill me?” You ask, loosening your grip on the tazer. Shakily, you stand back up planting your feet on the ground—heart still racing

“Did I not clarify that in text 5 times beforehand?” He said, crossing his arms, despite the mask—you could tell that he was giving you that same look of disappointment he always gave you when you’d make a wrong assumption.

“I mean—yeah but that’s also kinda exactly what you’d say if you WERE going to kill me.” You reason, aware of your mistake now.

“It’s not” Immediately, he flat out denies, almost appearing offended by the claim. He turns around to shut the door and locking it before removing his mask to place it neatly on a nearby countertop 

“If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be so obvious.” He continues, finally with a face you can vaguely read. Helen was never one to show his emotions so outwardly so him having removed the mask does you little justice. 

His eyes sometimes revealed what he was truly thinking; it still remains difficult to completely read him fully—your readings proving to have a 70% correction rate.

“Fair enough” You shrug, relieved that your peculiar relationship with him at least hasn’t warranted him to discard you. You look around the room taking in the fresh sea scented aroma that you’ve learned to associate with Helen. 

It’s comforting to take in this scent, as you watch all the severed heads splayed across the room, one in particular catches your attention— a beautiful woman with long brown hair tied to a nail in the wall hanging as blood no longer drips down from her neck—a surreal expression painting her face, you can’t tell if her dead expression is always like that or purposely altered by Helen.

Most of the heads hold blank dead expressions, you’ve noticed how the eyes were replaced with glass balls resembling eyeballs and the skin had a rubbery like texture to them. Helen truly was an artistic genius. A deranged lunatic yes—but a genius at that.

“Well surprise princess, you get to live another day.” Sarcastically, he remarks—undoubtedly enjoying your unease through the tension he built.

“Why’d you have to be so creepy about it” You whine, body relaxing and legs give out—dropping with a heavy thumb on the wooden floor. Relieved by the revelation, your heart beat calms; something inside you told you that you would come out of this place alive even before learning this.

“I have to be reclusive, no? The police are still hot on my trail.” He explains, somehow every time he speaks he’s always right in one way or another. You suppose that’s one of the perks of having no empathy.

“Still?” You ask as you check out the other displays scattered across the room, several other body parts portrayed in methods so bizarrely unique you can’t help but admire. To which should prompt you to feel nauseous—if you were new to Helen’s art, that is, the ones that were not heads were hands.

“I’m not sure as to why you’re so dead set on me wanting to harm you. You are a delight to have around.” He comments with a blank expression. 

“Oh.” You certainly weren’t expecting him to say that. “Thanks…” You mutter, unsure of how to reply to that blunt remark.

“Who knows of this place?” Amazed at the sight before you, you ask. Who could have possibly had the privilege to access this lovely art haven if not you? 

“I mainly sell to individuals on the dark web.” He divulges, hence the concealed exterior of the location. “Nobody actually sets foot in here other than me” He explains, pausing, he has something else to say.

“I can tell. Woah” you gasp, taking in the methods he uses in his display of death portrayed inside of a beautiful rose tinted exhibit. Not many might understand this type of art, but you do.

“And you.” He smiles, grateful that he’s standing behind you, with you unable to see his expression. This gesture was his own way of expressing his trust for you—showcasing to you his most passionate project of all time.

Having never met anyone he trusts enough to disclose this location to before, you have faith in him enough to be absolutely terrified to go in but going in blindly anyways indicates to him that even upon the face of danger—you still subconsciously believe in him to secure your safety.

“I usually just ship it out to clients, people don’t actually come in here” He explains,

“I presume you won’t be purchasing any of this?” Concealing his mild disappointment with indifference by looking away looking uninterested.

“Unfortunately, I can't” Disheartened, your shoulders drop. If you were to bring home something as grotesque as this, it would undoubtedly give your father a scare—or your helpers may find it suspicious and call the police up on you.

“Figured.” He shrugs coldly, feigning nonchalance. Internally, he can’t help but feel just a bit disappointed. 

“Wait- why would you show me this then if you knew I couldn't take it home?” Curiosity piqued by the comment, you ask.

“You expressed interest in my other forms of art.” He says; you’re surprised that he could even recall that conversation. You initially assumed that he was paying no attention to what you were saying but it appears you are proven wrong.

“So put it into simpler terms…You care about how I feel?” You smile at the indication, mildly rushing to your own conclusions. 

“I already put it into the simplest of terms and that is you brought it up so i took the opportunity to show you in hopes of making business.” Again, he rejects any indication of any remotely human emotions he may feel towards you.

“So you care?” Your grin widened, convinced at your own personal interpretation of his words.

“I do not.” Refusing again, he narrows his eyelids.

“Now I have to bring something home!” Emotional, you begin to tear up

“You went through the trouble of showing me all of this and I just accused you of trying to kill me!” You sob, touched by the gesture as if realizing the importance of this location to him.

“Are you crying?” He asks, surely he hadn’t prompted this—has he?

“No, hic you’re crying” You weep, both out of fear and relief. Unaware that you were holding back tears prior to learning of your safety.

He sighs in exasperation, not wanting to force you into purchasing something that will deter the old man’s health—he resolves by offering up a more safe for work alternative that he just so happens to also have in stock.

“I have taxidermies” he resolves the conversation, bringing up a more safe for work alternative that wouldn’t offend him. 

Taxidermy is also an art form that Helen appreciates. Though he prefers utilizing human remains as body art, taking a step back from personal anatomy and using animals instead every once in a while is not completely off of his plate.

“Alright, I’ll get 50.” Wiping tears off your face with the back of your hand, you impulsively declare, feeling a bit hormonal. Prices completely fly over your head. This action catches Helen off guard.

“50? How are you going to take that home?” Rationally, he asks. He’s willing to take your money if it helps you feel better—but he’d rather not go along with a decision that he knows you’ll soon come to regret.

“—oh, right yeah.” Realizing the impossibility of your request, you correct yourself. He hands you a tissue to clean your face.

“I’ll just have 5.” you start “Do you have butterflies?” asking, you take the tissue he holds up to you, muttering a silent ‘thank you’.

“Of course, I’ll get you that right away.” he says, choosing not to correct you when your request is technically insect mounting and whilst the practice of preserving butterflies technically falls under entomology—not taxidermy, his OCD itches him to correct you.

You watch as he packs the small packs neatly in a paper bag, taking into account his long slender hands. They’re so neatly taken care of, pretty, almost resembling a woman’s hand if not for their dryness. 

If you were to guess, the dryness might probably be caused by excessive hand washing from what you’ve learned—he doesn’t seem to be the type to take care of himself huh? His skin’s health is evidently neglected.

Realizing that you’re staring, you quickly snap yourself out of it. Though Helen doesn’t seem to mind, you shift your train of thought to an even more ridiculous topic.

“Hey Helen?” You ask as he finishes packing up your request, one butterfly, a rabbit, and a ferret. One of his stranger orders requested, but since it’s you, he won’t question it.

“Yes, y/n?” He replies, voice softer than usual—his voice is already calming in default, so it took you a moment to recognize the shift in tone.

“Would you still love me if I was poor?” You ask, the question sounds like a joke but in truth you wholeheartedly await his response.

“Excuse me?” He scoffs upon the sudden test of loyalty.

“Like I’m just saying, the entire foundation of our relationship is built off my money and stuff.” You touch your two index fingers together, resembling a shy anime girl confessing to her childhood crush.

“I don’t love you at all if that’s any comfort” He bluntly retorts, immediately looking down at the floor.

You act out the motion of getting shot in the chest, falling dramatically on the floor “That really hurts me in the feels, man” you say with an exaggerated spectacle expression.

“Life’s tough” He mutters—a tinge of guilt swirling in his gut, in his mind, he hadn’t lied to you; in his heart he knows he did.

That night, your servants were astonished when you knocked on the front door, late at night standing on the porch bringing a bunch of doll eyed taxidermies in hand home for display.

Safe to say, your father finds them adorable.

.‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿.

Hai!

This is the first of my attempts at creating longer fics! I actually feel much more deeply and intimate with this one so I really hope you liked it >.<

I lost motivation literally 80% balls deep into this fic so this'll just be part 1 for now •~•

.☘︎˖⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

Ever since you’ve watched Death Note, You’ve developed a raging crush on Matt Jeevas. Him and his 5 minutes of screen time before his eventual abrupt death. Safe to say, you were heartbroken when you watched him get shot down by the army of cops.

Ever since then; you’ve had plenty of other anime crushes, but nothing quite hits the same as he did—he just had this special charm to him, nobody was half as cool or had the same vibe as him, he truly was just a one time experience. 

You ended up often filling up the hole in your heart left by his death with fanfiction, specifically self insert fanfics with him.

In dating, you had no luck; not because you were ugly or an obsessive weeb no, it’s just that every time a man would show interest or strike up a conversation with you—your mind would always stray back to thinking: “He’s not Matt though” 

At that point you’ve completely given up on finding someone who made you feel the same way that Matt did and accepted the fact that you’re most likely going to hopelessly die a virgin.

He’s always been just a fantasy to you—that is, until one day; you met him. Tobias Erin Rogers. The living breathing image of Matt. Stepping into your life right in the flesh. You thought that your eyes were deceiving you then.

At first you couldn’t believe it; no way he just happens to somehow look exactly like Matt! There had to be a catch.

And with that you predicted right, despite him looking nearly identical to Matt; he couldn’t act further from the canonical Matt. He was energetic, rugged, loud, unstable, and enthusiastic around you; a complete contrast to the cool, collected, intelligent man that you fell in love with on the screen.

This disappointed you, yes. But for some reason you weren’t completely turned off by him. The moment you first laid eyes on him, you knew that he wasn’t Matt; despite that, you still quite enjoyed his company—even if he’s nothing like Matt, he was still fun to be around.

He’d always be so helpful especially when you needed help with physical labour, offering to carry around heavy equipment for you when you needed it—not only that; he’d also bring you back small trinkets from missions that he thought you’d like, specifically tailored to your tastes.

He’s even so thoughtful as to keep you company when you’re cold and alone in your room! Sometimes during thunderstorms, he’d even hesitantly hold your hand when you said you were scared of thunder.

He’d put up a brave act in front of you even though he’s also scared of thunder—maybe even more than you, loud noises remind him of his father.

You’ve noticed how he’d shake even harder than you when he’s the one consoling you; you pretend not to notice and appreciate him even more now.

You hardly ever commented about his stutter or his tics since he’s likely conscious about them. If anything, you found it to be a pretty cute quirk of his—he was so cute when he’d get flustered and release all kinds of peculiar noises.

Evidence of this is how he constantly exceeds way too much effort in trying to mask his vocal tics even when you reassure him about how he doesn’t have to, he stubbornly insists that he isn’t when it’s obvious that he’s straining himself.

He’d insist on taking you along with him to explore abandoned buildings ‘for fun’ he says, as he endlessly teased you until you both returned to the manor if you expressed anything remotely close to fear while exploring; as if he wasn’t screaming like a girl when you scared him back!

Oh wait no he was faking it to make you feel better, dang it—!

Now he’s teasing you about how you actually believed such a clearly exaggerated scream like that! Tears are rolling down his cheeks as he chuckles as your pouting face.

And before you knew it, your relationship with him slowly started to become less about Matt and more about Toby. There’s no doubt, you were falling for him, and hard.

Matt was gradually shifting away from the main subject of your thoughts, now Toby has infiltrated your mind instead of Matt—no, you felt even harder for Toby than you ever did for Matt.

This was something different, a feeling that felt better and even stronger than what you felt for Matt. 

Matt could only provide you with an artificial kind of affection; Toby, was the real thing, who provides to you the warmth in the touch of a real human being. 

Then it hit you: this was real. Toby was real. Matt was no longer your main romantic priority—you don’t see Matt in Toby anymore; you see Toby in Matt.

That was when you decided to begin actively pursuing him romantically.

You’d laugh extra hard at everything he’d say even if it wasn’t funny, probably looking like you lost it.

 Go out of your way to hand bake him a small treat every time he’d go out for a longer mission—even if you had to wake up extra early in the morning to prepare; it was always worth it to see your crush smile at you.

“They baked you cookies? Damn, they must really like you huh?” Tim teased him, your feelings were as clear as day to them.

“I-it’s not like that…they’re just b-being nice…” Toby replies, visibly blushing at the sweet treats you gave him before the mission.

“Then why didn’t they make us any cookies?” Brian says; it’s more of a rhetorical question since both him and Brian know full well what he answer is.

"I d-dunno..” Toby mumbles, he is clearly not paying attention to the other two in the truck as he sniffs a whiff of your cookies baked with love.

“They’re both not seriously that blind are they?” Whispering into Tim’s ear, Brian asks—loud enough for Toby to hear; the boy is too lost in his thoughts thinking about you to listen.

You did anything in your power to get him to take the damned hint!

You even went as far as to post a picture online of you kissing the cheek of a Matt cosplayer who looked near identical to him at a convention once! The reception? Nothing, a bunch of reactions from friends and followers squealing but no comment from Toby. 

You know that he saw it; Toby isn’t the type to just ignore you like that. It’s his extensive attentiveness that even gave you the confidence to even make an attempt on him in the first place!

You then  begin to wonder if he’s purposely ignoring you, not because he’s oblivious—but because he’s aware, just uninterested and you’ve been desperately chasing him around this entire time!

Toby on the other hand, is experiencing the complete opposite of your imagination. You have him clutching his phone so tightly that he almost shatters it into pieces upon seeing the photo. 

He thought that you had taken that photo whilst he was drunk and you were now dating, but he could only wish—he quickly realized that the cosplayer in the photo was not him when he noticed that the man you were kissing  didn’t have a gauge right next to his mouth..

Both disappointed and relieved, he sighs. 

Now despite your beliefs, the feeling was absolutely mutual—excluding the anime crush part though, Toby can’t quite recall a time when he felt this strongly about anybody else. 

While you were believing that he had been uninterested in you; he had been pining just as much if not even harder for you! 

He’d often find himself hanging out with Jeff and Ben rambling about you and how cute you were when you’d cling onto him in the abandoned building when they’d both groan in annoyance every time your name was mentioned.

“Dude you’re SO obvious, just confess to them already!” Jeff uttered

“B-but what if they d-don’t feel the s-same??” Toby worriedly mutters a counter argument.

“Tobes, they’re clearly into you too if they’re going out of their way to go with you to places like that when they’re scared” Ben convinced.

“I couldn’t get them to download League if i told them my head would explode if they didn’t.”  Ben says as he wins the 1v1 match against Toby in a pvp game though Toby doesn’t really seem to care too much about his loss—prompting Ben to be uncaring about his victory.

Ben sets his controller down “Buttt, you do look a whole lot like their husbando Matt Jeevas~” Ben coos,

“Ew, never say husbando ever again.” Jeff gags.

“They just like me more, t-that’s it.” Toby reasons, he always makes excuses to turn a blind eye to your clear feelings towards him.

Though that Matt line does stick with him.

“Whatever you say pal” Jeff sighs, giving up on trying to convince Toby that his feelings are reciprocated.

Turns out both of you were both completely oblivious to each other’s feelings towards one another. Every third party saw it was clear as day though that you were both into each other.

It’s like a curse was placed upon the both of you were everyone else could see it except for you two. Perhaps it’s not stupidity but just flat out refusal to believe it from both parties.

“That shit is so corny—just fuck already damn!” Jeff complains to Ben—it’s been weeks and the most progress your relationship has gone was 

“Heh, ya wanna bet on which of those idiots’ll figure it out first?” Ben gives him a cheeky look.

“Sure, who’s your bet?” Jeff asks, down with the betting.

“20 bucks on Toby” Ben declares, holding up a 20 dollar bill and placing it down between him and Jeff.

“Bold choice. I guess I'll go for y/n then.” Jeff says, confident that you’d at least be smart enough to see clearer than Toby, also laying down a 20 dollar bill on top of Ben’s as they shake hands on the agreement.

“What’re you guys talking about?” You’d walk into the room, oblivious.

Jeff was about to scream and unfold how annoyed he is with your obliviousness but Ben is quick to cover his mouth and muffle his complaints.

“Drugs!” Ben makes up a swift excuse, giving Jeff a quick side eye. “No cheating.” he whispered.

“Oh, okay!” you said, pretty much used to their shenanigans by now.

“Have you guys seen Toby? I found this cool new cafe in town and I wanted to ask if he could go with me.” you asked, fidgeting with your fingers and excessively overcorrected your posture.

“Nah, but I bet he’s pickin out a rock just for you somewhere outside”

“Really? Thanks Ben!” you waved off as you turned around to exit the room.

Oh yeah you were totally oblivious. Jeff now suddenly understood why Ben bet against you and felt all the more doubtful about his bet on you.

“Yeah, have fun on your date by the way!” he giggled, however you paid him no mind and left.

“No cheating huh?” Jeff seethed at his friend’s hypocrisy, slapping his hand away from his mouth.

“It’s not cheating! She asked” Ben stuck his tongue out and winked.

“DON’T GIMME THAT CRAP!”

─ ⋆⋅ ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ⋅⋆ ─

When the other residents finally all decided that they were fed up with your shenanigans they formulated a plan that was guaranteed to get you two to fess up and finally get it on without being painfully oblivious.

They invited both you and Toby to play 7 minutes in heaven with a bottle spin dictating who goes into the closet together. You and Toby were  “coincidentally” sat directly across from each other.

Jane rigged the bottle with a metal cork and a magnet beneath the table to guide the bottle to point towards anyone to her choosing; of course, everyone sat around the table is in on the scheme too.

She made sure that neither you nor Toby were chosen to go into the closet until it was your turn—even if it did mean being in the closet with Jeff for 7 minutes because the cork almost landed on you and Jeff was the one who just happened to be the one next to you.

When your turn came, Jane was the one who spun the bottle for you—just as she was going to rig the bottle to point towards Toby, it abruptly stopped with the cork pointing right at him without the need to use the magnet beneath the table.

This ultimatum surprised Jane that she didn’t have to alter any of the game’s course—it was a 1 in 6 chance anyways. But the rest of the contestants assumed that it was the result of Jane’s doing.

You both enter the closet together and suddenly the room falls silent as all the remaining contestants share whispers of anticipation of what’ll result once you two exit the closet.

“Hey” you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, sitting comfortably in the mildly claustrophobic space you’re both in.

“Guess i-it’s gonna be the b-both of us huh?” he comments.

"At least you didn’t get stuck with Tim though” you chuckled.

“Haha! That would’ve been a nightmare!” the tension slowly resolves itself when he said that.

The rest of the residents listened intently—even though they could hardly make out just what was going on on the other side. 

“Hey y-y/n?” The tenderness in his voice catches you off guard.

“Yes?”

“S-so…about that Matt guy…” he started, nervously fiddling with his fingers.

You wanted to groan at the mention of his name—you were at the point in the process of moving on from a crush where you get bored at the mention of their name.

To be completely honest, you hadn’t thought about Matt since you met up with that cosplayer. To be honest, you didn’t feel anything for him anymore.

“Yeah? What about him?” A sudden feeling of shame comes over you, Matt wasn’t in your heart anymore.

“I just wanted t-to ask…” he starts as his face remains bare and simply his—no residue pointing to Matt. Right now, all you can see is Toby.

“Do you…h-hang out with me b-because I look l-like him?” He asks, looking like a kicked puppy in this vulnerable moment.

‘No you idiot! You got it all wrong!’ You wanted to scream at him; your breath got caught in your throat. 

At first you did, they looked practically identical; as time passed and you spent more time with Toby, you began to see him more for him than as Matt.

You slowly eased into the reality that Toby wasn’t Matt and he was completely different from Matt, and that was okay. 

Because you prefer him over Matt. You adore his quirks and individual qualities that set him apart from Matt. The only thing they have in common is their looks and you like Toby more because he’s just so himself.

“No” you admit, a bit too quickly.

“I um..well it’s kinda embarrassing..” scratching the back of your head, you think about how to convey your feelings into just words.

“Well I thought I did—until I actually started to hang out with you” Your words trailed off.

“You’re really sweet, and before I knew it—you were all I could think of” Confessing your feelings straight up to his face in an isolated space made you feel dizzy.

“S-so you’re saying t-that…” he starts—the wires in his head seemed to finally connect when he lets out an audible gasp.

“Yeah…” heat rushes to your cheeks and you find yourself looking down to avert his gaze, at that moment you felt so small.

“I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way—we could still be friends though! If you—” you were about to reject yourself, allowing your doubts to cloud your thoughts that you didn’t realize that the man before you was practically buffering.

“I like you t-too, y/n.” he states, cutting you off before you can dig up your own grave and bury yourself alive—looking more passionate than you’ve ever seen him before.

“You do?” You let out a sigh of relief, realizing that you hadn’t completely humiliated yourself in this game.

“No—I, I love you.” He rejects the weaker term and resorts to be more passionate.

Your heart sank when he said no but you swiftly recovered when he corrected himself.

He shifts his position towards you, grabbing both of your hands and leans in so your faces are inches apart.

“Y/n, I’ve l-liked you ever since I’ve met you, w-when you greeted me a-at the manor, t-the first t-time we met—n-nobody ever l-looked at me like t-that…E-everyone always looks at m-me like I’m some f-freak..but you..you never did. A-and when you b-baked me those cookies? That sealed the deal f-for me—I knew I loved y-you at that moment.”

 He suddenly began rambling continuously about his feelings for you, passion in it’s purest form took over as he made absolutely no effort on fighting back his stutters to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Don’t scare me like that you jerk” chuckling, you elbow him fondly, needing a minute to slowly process all the things he just threw at you.

“Haha! I’m the j-jerk? You’re the one who k-kissed that dude!” He delightfully remarked, nerves still shaking from his long declaration of love. It clearly feels nice though—to finally release all of that off his chest.

“On the cheek! I wanted to give you a hint! He was just a nice guy anyways!” You protested against the implication laced by his claim.

“R-righttt right!” He teases.

“But in all seriousness though, is that really how you felt about me all this time?” Wide eyed, you ask.

“Nah, I j-just said that f-for the plot!” Sarcastically, he jokes.

“Of c-course I love y-you!” He quickly jolts forward in emphasis.

“Hehe, I love you too, ya idiot~” You trace a finger along his face, watching intently at his mouth movement whenever he stutters and tics.

“I d-don’t believe it” Suddenly, he says—furrowing his brows.

“What?” 

“W-who do you like more: Me o-or Matt?” he then throws out the question that has been on his mind ever since Ben brought it up.

“Aw come on—what is this?” You groan at the sudden pressure interview.

“T-that’s not an a-answer, me o-or Matt?” He presses on as if the answer isn’t clear as day.

“You of course! Dummy” you said.

“Good.”

The miniscule space is then overtaken by silence as the two of you cease your bantering, only then do you realize just how close he is to you—

His breath hitches when it registers in his mind, he’s practically breathing on you as you can feel his breath on your face and vise versa.

“S-so what d-do we do now?” he asks.

“I guess this is the part where we…” You glance down at his lips before returning your gaze to his eyes. 

Were his eyes always that pretty? You wonder.

Before you realized what was happening, you closed your eyes as your body practically magnetized itself towards Toby and your lips pressed against his.

His scent was of the forest, his lips were softer than you expected—you pressed a hand against his cheek and you covered the hole next to his mouth with your hand.

He was so warm…or maybe that’s just the closet overfilling with carbon dioxide from both of you bantering back and forth.

You don’t know how much time has passed but just enough for the outside participants to open the closet door, revealing the both of you finally kissing. 

To be fair, the both of you kind of forgot that you were even playing a game in the first place. That round  felt way longer than 7 minutes—and were they counting down before unlatching the door?

“Awh darn it! I bet that they’d chicken out…” Nina whines as she hands Jane a 20 dollar bill.

“I told ya” She coos as Nina grumbles upon her loss.

“WHO CONFESSED FIRST?!?” Emerging from the outside, the both of you are met with Jeff instantly divulging for details.

“Yeah who?!” Ben follows.

“Pardon?” You mutter, only half sober.

“I bet good money on you, Toby!” Ben pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“W-what the hell?” He says.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Thank you for reading! >⩊< ♡ྀི

Your older brother is not much short of a crackhead—it’s a trait that defines a major part of his character.

Of course, there’s more to him than just that! He’s funny, charismatic, thoughtful, generous, nurturing, kind, gentle, though the addiction is definitely one on his more…prominent traits, it doesn’t overshadow his positive traits.

Despite his…interests, your brother always ensures to keep you uninvolved in all the legally questionable activities he does. That much you can appreciate, though it pains you to watch him hurt himself so often with such little regards to his own wellbeing.

You love him, but that aspect of him isn’t exactly your proudest moments of being his sister.

You'd often express your concerns for him; sometimes you cry, sometimes you beg; yet it always ends up being met with him playing it off as him asking you not to concern yourself with his health, and that he's older than you and can take care of himself!

But his lack of responsibility shows—in more ways than one.

Often getting into trouble with the authorities, taking mysterious substances that undoubtedly take 20 years off his lifespan, hanging around with bizzare people—who, he’s atleast considerate enough to keep away from you.

Except for one distinct blonde who’s particularly close with him; Ben, a computer science enthusiast your brother tells you, whom he met at a sketchy web forum, the details evade you as your brother consistently refrains from further explaining exactly how that friendship even came into fruition.

You find that he’s your typical trashy stoner who enjoys staying inside gaming in his free time rather than going out to parties like your brother—which just so happens to be the one thing you two have in common; he turns up more frequently at your house than any other acquaintances your brother makes, coming over even when he has zero business with your brother.

Your house is basically his second home at this point for how often he comes over unannounced that he’s probably the only spectacle in your brother’s less than healthy lifestyle who’s constantly overlapping with yours.

This of course, raises your brother’s concerns since as an older sibling figure—he desperately wants to keep you uninvolved in his antics and consistently goes out of his way to tell Ben to back off from you—in fears that he might ‘corrupt’ you.

Ben on the other hand, swears up and down on his great-grandma’s soul that he means no trouble; but just how much of what’s coming out of his mouth can you believe?

Last week he swore on his right ballsack that he didn’t take your expensive hand cream but you recognize that scent lingering faintly on his hands for the entire week after the incident; you know he stole your hand cream but you just can’t prove it.

That sucker owes you a testicle!

You complained to your brother numerous times about him and you have to use your words extremely carefully as to not hit your brother as well with your words—in spite of that, it’s all too difficult so you just give up.

Despite your brother’s instructions to keep away from you, Ben always seems to find time to bother every time he gets the chance (when your brother isn’t looking)

You could just be working on an assignment for school in your living room and he could just turn up your home unannounced—hell, your brother doesn’t even have to be home for his stupid blonde friend to let himself in.

“Heyy y/nnn” he prolonges the last syllable of your name maddeningly.

You try to ignore him, pretending that you didn't notice him barge right through the entrance—but he’s already teleported to your kitchen and begun rummaging through your fridge like he owns the damn place.

“Wha- hey!” you yell at him, is he seriously going to force you into giving him your full attention?

“Ooh, cake! you don’t mind if I take this slice, don’cha?” Pretending like he didn’t hear you, he asks as he stabs a fork into the slice of cake that you were saving for later, not even waiting for a response before digging in like it’s rightfully his.

Irritated, you sigh before begrudgingly shutting your laptop to make your way to Ben in the kitchen and snatching the partially eaten cake out of his hands.

Surprisingly, he allows you to do so with no fight. “Woah, easy there girlie” amusedly, he says as he watches your riled up expression—he won, you’ve gave him exactly what he wanted—a reaction.

“Ugh! Why’re you even here?” you complain as you set the cake back into the fridge and throw an apple to his way, which he catches with ease. You find that giving into his gluttony is much easier than resisting it—since he always ends up finding a way to raid your kitchen anyways even if you put a lock on the fridge.

“What? A man can’t barge into his homeboy’s house?” He shrugs before taking a bite into the apple, making an obnoxiously loud crunching noise as his lips smack together as he chews.

“That’s besides the point if said *homeboy* isn’t even home” you seethed “And close your mouth when you chew, that’s disgusting” you scolded, in which surprisingly—he obeyed. You’ve always hated people who chew obnoxiously loud.

You find yourself scolding Ben for his antics more than your own irresponsible older brother, matter of fact—you don’t even know where your brother is at the moment. You woke up today and he was already gone from the get go.

“Does my brother even know you’re here?” you ask, but what you really mean to say is ‘where is my brother?’; you don’t dare to express your concerns in front of Ben.

“Of course not, dollface” Ben takes another bite out of the apple. The familiar nickname lingers in the air as you are momentarily taken aback by this.

“He’s out bowling with some ladies he met at a bar, bet he’ll be out for couple of hours, quite the ladies’ man he is, amiright?” he explains as he leans back onto your kitchen counter.

“So I’m alone tonight again” you mutter, mostly to yourself. A silent reminder to scold your brother when he gets back home for going out so recklessly like that.

“Your parents not home?” Ben asks, you almost mistook him as concerned until he took another loud bite out of that stupid apple.

“They’re never home, you know that.” you said, somberly—you and your brother are practically the only ones who even live in this house, except now even your brother has gone off to find external pleasures; so it really is just you alone in your house most of the time now.

“No i don’t” shrugging, he admits with a crack of honesty behind his usually smug demeanor.

“I kinda js assumed that im incredibly lucky to never meet em”

“You are, it’s just not really a luck thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard your brother say a single positive thing about you guys’ parents”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have anything positive to say about them either” You weakly chuckle.

“By the way, why aren’t you with him?” you ask, quickly changing the subject. You seriously do not want to discuss your family issues with Ben right now.

“Hm?”

“My brother. Why aren’t you with him?”

“Meh, I’ve never really been into bowling—or any physical activities in particular” he says and you nod in understanding; it makes sense after all, Ben was more on the scrawny side—despite his voluptuous appetite, you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen him do anything that requires any more physical activity than opening a jar.

“But worry not, my pretty! I will keep you company and protect you!”

“No thanks, i’m good” you seethe before the nickname registers in your mind.

“Did you just call me pretty?”

“You wanna play blackjack?” He ignores the question and swiftly changes the topic.

“…” You want to press further but the offer is actually quite tempting.

“Sure.”

Eventually; you find yourself actually enjoying Ben’s company more than you’d initially hoped—sure, he’s a horrible sport and gloats with every game that he wins; but you actually come to realize that you quite enjoy his company and his charming little quirks.

He is a bit strange though, he keeps glancing at your face but doesn’t quite meet your eyes, you’ve queried him about It but he just brushed it off as you just seeing things—though you are absolutely certain that you weren’t!

It's quite nice to have somebody to hang out with like this; usually it's your brother whom would play games with you like this when he was still...better.

Ben fits in the role a little too well; he knows just how to get on your nerves and tease you the satisfaction of victory. Well, like you had any chance against him in the first place.

“hm, pass” you say

“Alright, then I'll pass too” his expression was way too cocky for your liking—you can’t wait to see the look on his face when you pull out your 9 card and king.

Thus, it is time to reveal your cards and determine who is the winner. You are confident in your set.

“20!” you lay down your cards only for your certainty to completely shatter when Ben reveals his own set to you.

“21” he smiles knowingly; holding up a 2, an 8 and a queen

“Booya! I win again!” he cackles obnoxiously and slides to your side, wrapping a singular arm around your shoulder to lather in your defeat rather than his victory.

“Ugh, I hate you. You’re the worst!” you scowl yet make no effort to free yourself from his grasp.

“Well, if you hate me so much then why don’cha call up the boys in blue to come take me away, eh?” he teases; a subtle reminder that he’s still the same kind of addict as your brother—just a more introverted, closed-off kind of stoner.

“Because…if I call the cops on you, then that’ll basically equivalent to me calling the cops on my brother by proxy” you are much more aware of your brother’s circumstances than Ben had initially realized and it’s evident how he momentarily pauses upon this revelation.

“Aww, how sweet” he coos sarcastically—he already knew that of course, though the crack behind his mask is evident.

“You really think you could call the cops on me?” He says smugly, leaning in closer to you until his face is barely inches away from yours—he’s clearly implying something deeper; you just don’t understand what he’s trying to say.

“What?” you ask, trying to figure out just what exactly he means by that—he’s a weird fella, you ought to hand him that; come to think of it, he frequently makes strange remarks every now and then.

Things along the lines of; “You should hide your webcam” “Ya better check your bank balance tomorrow” etc.

“Probably…? why couldn’t I?”

“Hmph, no reason” he plays it off like it’s all a joke but you really don’t understand this man.

And you find yourself wanting to understand him even more. Perhaps you haven’t given the man enough slack—maybe all you have to do is just give him a chance.

suddenly now the fog in your head begins to clear and now you realize just how close he is to you; your faces are barely inches apart.

This position seems rather scandalous—his arm wrapped over your figure, you two merely inches apart, you hadn’t even realized just how close he’s gotten; anybody who’ll walk in might certainly get the wrong idea!

As you were about to comment on your two’s position—you hear the door silently creak open, your head darts to the door and find your brother at the entrance, eyes agape and jaw all the way to the ground.

You hadn't heard him come through the front door?!?

Perhaps you were just too focused on your match with Ben that you’ve completely forgotten about the rest of the world surrounding you!

“Oh” you sound out, imitating the calm before the storm.

“Brother.” you state flatly; unsure of how exactly you’re going to get out of this situation.

“Hey mann” shaken, Ben awkwardly calls out to his best friend as a sweat droplet befalls his cheek.

“BEN!” your brother abruptly screams

“Whoopsies” Ben squeaks.

“MY SISTER?!?” Your brother reeks of alcohol and substances but it seems that any liquor than had entered his system prior to witnessing the scene before him has all but dissipated as he appears more sober than he had been in 3 months.

“Teehee” Ben sticks out his tongue.

“AND YOU!” he turns to you

“Oh jeez…” you sigh, usually it’s you lecturing your older brother upon him finally arriving home late; this sudden shift in dynamics makes you dizzy.

“WHAT THE HELL, Y/N?!?” Your brother reprimands.

“Wow, is that really all it takes to get you to sober up?” Ben remarks.

“This isn’t funny!” Your brother scowls.

(----)

It’s safe to say you’re both in trouble now.

But it's worth it since now you have discovered a way to keep your brother sober by threatening him to invite Ben over if he goes out late again—because now your brother is now under the impression that the two of you are dating!

Ben happens to be more than happy to play into your fake dating scenario—thrilled even! He was suspiciously eager to play into it when you had initially brought it up to him, since you technically didn't clear it up to your brother that you were in fact—not dating.

But if it raises the stakes high enough for your brother to quit his unhealthy habits, then you'll do it! Even if it means pretending to flirt with Ben on the surface whenever your brother is around.