#arsenexreader

OOC: Hello and good day, Rae! I hope you’re well, and that your day is going good so far! I apologize, but The Hierophant for Akira has been answered here, dear. However, I can answer The Tower for Arsène no problem!

Ooh~! I’m excited to write thoughts for this one! Much thanks goes to @the-corgi-persona for tossing out her ideas considering this particular side of dear Arsène! Here’s to you, corgi!

Very well! One order of Arsène coming right up! Much obliged for your business, and please come again, Rae! Cheers! ☕

XVI – The Tower

Arsène Lupin

Oh my, oh my. The horror you’ve unleashed upon the poor soul(s), Rae! This Barista approves! Let’s see here~…! Ahem.

Arsène is a gentleman, always at the top of his game; there’s no denying that. However… Even a gentleman has a limit to his patience. There are just some things you should not touch that are his. There are places you simply do not tread when it comes to this particular gentleman. There are people you do not cross, aggravate, or threaten, especially if the person in question is Arsène’s beloved.

And no. Please take note that this Arsène isn’t his creepy yandere self, but his normal self.

Arsène is a lot of things: carefree, considerate, hardworking, affectionate, and clearly loves his significant other. His beloved is how someone would view their home; a sanctuary, a place of relaxation and comfort. So if, say, someone were to threaten or intimidate his beloved in any way…

To say that Arsène wouldn’t take it well is an understatement, to say the least.

Buckle up, my dears. It’s going to be a bumpy ride! 

Whatever happens from here on out depends on several variables. First: What, specifically, the stranger did or say to make his s/o uncomfortable and/or confrontational to begin with. Second: Arsène’s patience. How quickly it slips results in how much hell the one who aggravated his s/o is in for. Third: His s/o’s reaction. If they’re the type to be a bit confrontational, then obviously, Arsène will not stand idly by and allow his s/o to be harmed in any way, shape, or form.

If his s/o gets in the stranger’s face, yelling obscenities, Arsène will waste no time getting between his partner and the stranger. Should things get unnecessarily violent, he’d much prefer himself getting hit over his s/o.

However, should his partner be the passive, non-confrontational type, and shyly asks Arsène to leave, he will respect his s/o’s wishes, and yet… The moment Arsène hears an obscene insult tossed at his partner, all pretenses are gone, tossed out the window when he notices that his partner’s posture has stiffened. A tingle of anger shoots up Arsène’s spine the second his eyes catch sight of tears pricking the edges of his beloved’s eyes. 

Nobody makes his dear rose cry. Nobody.

So it’s no surprise that s/o is shocked, breathing a gasp to get their point across at seeing Arsène swinging a fist, connecting with a vulnerable cheek.

What happened after that is basically a blur to s/o. One moment they were outside with Arsène, being led away from a man who was swearing loudly, and the next they were back home. 

Things are… noticeably tense. Arsène fell unusually quiet, but… He seemed ready to explode at any moment. His posture is rigid, straight as a board. He clenches his fists several times, and he mutters under his breath whenever he thinks s/o can’t hear him. 

“Um… Arsène…? Are you-”

When he pivots sharply on his heel, glaring at them, they stiffen, hitching in a breath as for a moment, and only a moment, his irises shine with red. 

However, upon seeing the uncertainty, the small hints of fear in his partner’s eyes, he will force himself to calm down. 

This is his s/o. His partner. His other half. The one who completed him. The pure half of his demonic soul. Not some ruffian who insulted his beloved. He didn’t want his significant other to be frightened of him. 

“A-Arsène!”

There it is. The fright, the uncertainty in their voice.

It made him want to vomit, in all honesty. Such emotions didn’t suit his partner’s lovely voice.

“My… apologies, my dear. I will… I will prepare some tea. Please… Excuse me.”

S/o knows it’s an excuse to distance himself from them, for they know Arsène worried about unintentionally lashing out at them as well.

OOC:Ooh, leaving it up to chance, eh, anon? Haha. Very well! I’ll do mybest to cater to your request! As for everyone else who’s readingthis, please sit back, relax with your favourite beverage, and letthis Mun chill you and thrill you. Enjoy~!

Also, credit goes to the ever amazing @handfulof-roses​  for helping out this lazy Barista with a fair portion of this request/order. So thank you, thank you, thank you for your assistance, Rose! If you guys haven’t checked out her blog yet, please do so!

The day that Arsène Lupin got on one knee, held out a smallvelvet box with a very expensive-looking ring inside in onehand, and gently held your hand in his, asking you to share your lifewith him as his wife was the happiest day of your life.

“My dear rose. You have enraptured me from the moment I metyou. You have done this demon a great service by staying by hisside… Will you continue to do so? Not as my lover, but as my wife?”

You still recalled how your eyes had welled up with tears, nearlyblubbering like a newborn baby as you threw your arms over hisshoulders, clinging to him as you screamed, “Yes, Arsène!”over and over again.

You’d been overjoyed, too overjoyed to see the dark,almost evil smile that curled Arsène’s lips as youcontinued to chant the words “yes!” and “Arsène!”over and over again.

You remembered being on the verge of tears on your wedding day.

You remembered Arsène chuckling as he raised his hands, using histhumbs to wipe away the tears away from your cheeks.

You were pretty sure Arsène briefly slipped his tongue into yourmouth, smiling into the first kiss you both shared as a newlywedcouple, just as the priest announced you both to be husband and wife.

You were certain that you wept heartily as Arsène mesmerized theguests attending the wedding, leading you into your first dance as amarried duo.

You remembered so many wonderful things.

But, overall, more than that…

You remembered being happy.

You remembered being contentwith your life.

You remembered feeling like youlingered in paradise, walled-off from the rest of the world, thinkingthat no hellfire could possibly reachyou and ruin your little slice of heaven.

To you, it was ridiculous. Itcouldn’t possiblyhappen; not to you, of all people.

The thought never once crossed yourmind. No, you refused to believe it.

It was impossible for Hell’sscorching heat to touch you, even if it was in a metaphorical sense.

How foolish you’d been… How idioticyou’d been to not see the invisible shackles clasped around yourwrists, to not see that not only had you all but consented to beingbound to him…

But that hewas the one who clasped them around your wrists to begin with, and hesmiled as he took your freedom away, slowly but surely.

You never took into account thatthe one you should bewary of was the man who asked for your hand in marriage, not once.

In your defence, why would younot trust yournewlywed husband, Arsène Lupin?

He appeared to be quite angelic innature, despite his actual origins.

He radiated an aura of compassion,love, and understanding.

He was nothing but a kind, dutifulhusband, a gentleman who was always at the top of his game.

Yes, his smile was reminiscent of anethereal being, whispering sweet words of honeyed affection into yourears whenever he held you in his arms.

“I love you, my dear rose.”

“I have never seen one myself, but… I am sure that I canthank a God, or Gods, for blessing me with good fortune.”

“For I have never known true happiness until I met you.”

“I will do whatever ittakes to ensure that no one disrupts my peaceful days with you.”

If only you took into accountjust how serious, how sincerehe’d been at the time.

He was smiling, always smiling at you.

Yes, for he held your heart—no,your very soul itseemed—in the palms of his hands.

However…

His ruby red gaze never once strayed from you.

His firebrand irises never looked away from you.

Sometimes, he’d hold you a bit tootightly, a bit toopossessively.

Sometimes, his worry for your safety went far beyond theboundaries of what people would call “normal.”

Your husband, Arsène Lupin, was theone who held the key to your restricted freedom, both metaphoricallyand realistically speaking.

Everything changed after your two-weekhoneymoon.

Everything happened slowly, gradually,set to a snail’s pace, but…

Suddenly, he became suspicious ofmen you’d known for years.

“Who was that man you were talking to, dear?”

“Oh, he’s just a friend of mine, Arsène. We went to middleschool together.”

“I see.”

“Mm-hm. He asked me out at work. There’s a restaurant hewants to go to, so we can catch up.”

“…He asked you out?”

“As friends, of course. I haven’t gotten back to him aboutaccepting his offer yet, though.”

You’d never get the chance totake your friend—your decidedly malefriend—up on his offer at a dinner date, a date strictly between friends. A few hours out onthe town, talking, laughing, reminiscing about your school days,asking questions about how you were and such…

Gone.

A golden opportunity to catch up withan old friend… wasted.

It was a choice you’d never get to make,whether you accepted, politely declined his offer, or took him up onhis request to dinner another time.

It was seven days later that yourfriend was found on the river bank, approximately 5 miles from whereyou and Arsène lived.

Or rather, what was left of yourfriend.

When the police had found him, hisremains had been picked over by the local wildlife, scattered acrossthe river bank. According to the rumour-mongers who lived around yourarea, and the hisses of gossip from the housewives in yourneighbourhood, some parts had been found floating on the water’sdark, crystalline surface, and others were simply strewed throughoutthe deep thicket of the forest.

When the discovery of a body, yourfriend’s body, had been located, for a whole straight week,his death had been on the front of every newspaper. His disappearanceand murder was the top news story on the six o’clock news on everystation; indeed, even radio talk show hosts couldn’t helpthemselves from tossing out possible theories related to yourfriend’s disappearance. Indeed, your friend’s grisly demise wasthe hefty source of hissed whispers of gossip, and a majornoteworthy item of theories run through the rumour mill throughoutthe city.

Needless to say, you took your friend’suntimely demise, his murder, quite hard.

Tear stained cheeks were a newaccessory to your assortment of differing shades of black, thefuneral being the only thing that caused you to leave your home asyou struggled to accept the grim reality that had washed upon youlike a tidal wave.

You felt that you were responsible, an accomplice of somesort to the sickening story that was playing in front of you, thatyou, ultimately, were the cause of the man’s demise who had donenothing but be kind to you from the start.

And that made your stomach churn even thinking about thepossibility.

You mentioned it as a possibility to Arsène, hoping it wouldease the weight that was on your shoulders, the wedding ring glintingunder the lights of the shared living room.

“Why would you think that, my love? You were nothing butsupportive to him, and it’s… tragic that it ended up likethis.”

You almost didn’t notice the underlying threat in his voice.

Almost.

“It’s nothing really. I just wanted to talk about it, get itoff my chest so that I would feel better.”

That wasn’t a lie per say, but something on the edge, itbalancing between light and dark on a thread stretched thin, so thinit was almost snapping and nearly invisible to the eye.

His hand wrapped around yours, squeezing it tightly as he watcheda smile grace your lips, a smile that was clearly fake but he decidednot to question at the moment, instead him bringing his lips to yoursin a scorching manner, jealousy staining the kiss that left a bittertaste on your tongue.

“Of course my dear, I’m here if you need anything. I am yoursafter all.”

And you are mine, even if you don’t believe it at times.

Tongues danced together after the phrase was spoken, clothesdiscarded to make way for a night of euphoria and bliss that wouldleave you reeling, no, begging for more.

He loved seeing you like this.

When you were red faced and glassy eyed, his name and othersounds spilling from your lips, marks left all over your body by himand him only, a smirk on his face as he watched you cover them upin the morning.

You were his, and that’s all you would ever be.

Mornings became mundane, stuck on permanent repeat from that point on.

You sat at the kitchen table according to schedule, your tired eyes ogling the television screen as Arsèneall but lorded over the stove. The scent of bacon and eggs wafted through the sunlit kitchen as a concoction of sizzles and pops came from the frying pan, and three slices of toast popped from the toaster. Soon, the water in the kettle bubbled as a distinct click came as the kettle’s mechanism shut off, a sign that the water it contained was piping hot and ready to be poured at a moment’s notice.

You were in the throes of nodding off at the table when a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast was set in front of you, and after that a cup of your favourite beverage was set before you as well.

“Here you are, my dear. Just as you like it,” Arsènesaid, stooping down to press a kiss to your cheek.

You stiffened as he looped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you closer to him, but if he noticed it, he didn’t say anything. However, his red irises glinted when you didn’t say anything.

“Darling, when someone does something for you… What do you say?”

Darkness. There was darkness in his voice. His voice that oozed an abysmal tone, hissing shadows as he smiled pleasantly at you.

You swallowed before your mouth opened, a response at the ready.

“T-Thank you, sweetheart.”

Oh, how it pained you to speak words of thanks, words of meaningless gratitude to him… You knew what he’d done to your friend, you knew what he’d been doing after what happened to your friend, and yet you kept silent. 

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t fear for your life, but…

It was the fear of his unpredictable nature that overpowered the uncertainty of whether or not you’d live, if you breathed a whisper of what you knew. You had no honest clue what he’d do if you went to the police, if you dared to say anything about it to anyone, so you kept your mouth shut.

A soft chuckle snapped you out of your barely-aware stupor. Arsène’s chuckle.

“There’s my lovely, dutiful wife… If anyone else were to be called “sweetheart” by you… Things could become quite troublesome, couldn’t they?”

“Y-Yes, honey.” Your response was quick, thoughtless, but you were truthful.

Things could indeed become troublesome if a man became too close to you. Any man who wasn’t your husband, ArsèneLupin.

“In other news, local authorities were notified of another body by the river bank early this morning. This is the latest development in the string of on-going murders. Police are looking into the possibility of a serial killer and…”

Despite the sun pouring into the kitchen, you felt as though all source of light had been sucked out of your life.

Despite your husband peppering your face with soft, affectionate kisses, you felt hollow, empty, soulless.

Despite the honeyed, sugarcoated words he cooed into your ear as he stroked your hair, a content smile pulling his lips apart to show a teasing hint of pearly whites, you felt disgusting, dirty, and defiled.

“You’re so beautiful,” Arsène muttered, his fingers holding your chin as he tilted your face up so that your gaze met his crimson leer.

“I can’t believe you’re mine, my dear rose.”

The last thin tendon of your dwindling sanity was snipped by a pair of invisible scissors, and you felt the cold shackles adorning your wrists grow tight as you felt a similar pair of icy steel clamp around your ankles.