【ωαяиιиg】: Excessive Swearing, Stabbing, Sweet man goes through it, [S/C], [H/L], [H/C], [E/C] stand for: Skin color, Hair length, Hair color, and Eye color. You might already know, but better be safe than sorry
A/N: And finally, here is an illustration of Jean Risinger, AKA: Beep.
sɪᴍɪʟᴀʀɪᴛɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴs ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ.
♪───Ｏ(✿◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*Ｏ────♪
His head is pounding, and he hisses at the pain that seemingly came from everywhere. Light brown eyes, used to be full of innocence, now diluted from the cruelty he has been subjected to. Jean looks upward. Just as expected, his hands are still chained up above his head against the wall. His arms and shoulders are sore from being suspended for days on end.
Though if he hasn't last tracked already, then it's already been three weeks.
At least his wounds had stopped bleeding, that didn't really mean anything to him since he knows his kidnapper will do something about it. Jean has to admit, he's surprised he was alive for this long. He doesn't understand why his kidnapper insists on keeping him alive. Not that he's ungrateful for being alive, but it's still confusing nonetheless.
Creaaak!
Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.
Jean furrows his eyebrows.
That...
Is not his kidnapper and abuser.
But Jean isn't that surprised anymore, since other fucked up looking people (and at one point, there was the ugliest fucking dog he has ever seen) would occasionally peak inside. They wouldn't do anything, just stare. Remembering what his kidnapper told him, they're just like him: killers.
The man in front of him had a white mask with black markings that painted semi-feminine features. His mustard-yellow jacket was stained heavy with blood, and he reeked of it, too. His brown hair was matted in certain places from blood. Jean stares him down. He can't really say anything if he wanted to, he was gagged.
The masked figure-Masky-closes the door behind him, slowly stalking towards Jean. He digs something out of his pocket, getting blood on it-a phone-because he hadn't bothered cleaning his hands beforehand.
Masky turns on the phone, making Jean realize just how fucking dark it is in the damn room. He's gotten too used to the dark. Masky crouches down in front of Jean.
"I'm going to remove your gag, and you're going to answer some questions for me," He instructs curtly, "You scream, I kill you. You refuse to cooperate, I kill you. If I find out you lied to me, well, I'm sure you can guess what I'll do to you."
If Jean wasn't so hyper aware that this man would actually kill him at any minor inconvenience, then he would've rolled his eyes. Instead, he nods.
Masky sets the phone on the floor face down, reaching up to pull down the gag from Jean's mouth. The blond sighs quietly in relief, flexing his sore jaw now that it's free. The mask killer grabs the phone from the floor, then shows the screen to Jean.
He grimaces from the light, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness.
"You know her, right?"
Squinting at the image, Jean does his best to look through the burn in his eyes.
A familiar woman on the screen makes his heart race. [S/C] skin, [h/l], [h/c]] hair that he's come to adore, and beautiful [e/c] eyes that he doesn't mind getting lost in. You were deadpanning at the camera, flipping it off.
Simultaneously, it's wonderful to see your face again, but it fills Jean with dread because this man was obviously the one who took this picture. And worse, it took Jean months to let him take a picture with you because you hated pictures. The fact that you're not freaking out or resisting in this photo, this man has gotten close enough to you for you to let this photo exist.
Jean looks up at the man, desperation in his eyes.
"Please..." The blond whispers, "Leave her alone."
"So, you do know her then."
"...Don't hurt her..."
"And why would I want to hurt my dear friend, [Y/n]?"
Jean's stomach churns. He's not the bravest individual, as even he knows he's too soft-hearted. But he thinks he would really rather die than to answer any of this psychopath's questions if they're about you.
"Well, to be honest, she's been getting on my nerves recently. Constantly getting my name wrong on purpose, cursing at me left and right. She's just a huge bitch in general," The brunette hums, taking a moment to look at the photo he took of you, "But damn, she's a good cook. It would be a shame to get rid of free food like that."
Jean narrows his eyes, for the first time in his life he spits out the words with venom.
"Fuck you."
The man hums and turns off his phone, "Relax, I won't kill her or anything. I just want to know..."
He crosses his arms over his knees, "What are her favorite flowers, and what is her favorite food?"
...
"Huh?"
"What flowers are her favorite? And what does she like to eat?" The brunette repeats.
"...Why should I tell-ARGHH!!"
Masky pulls a pen from his jacket's pocket, then slams it down into Jean's thigh. There's a sickening crack as the object pierces through bone. Jean bites his tongue, the tears fall easily and his chest heaves at the effort to stay quiet. He's gotten accustomed to the pain he's been receiving, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.
"What are her favorite flowers and her favorite foods?" Masky asks again, his voice calm as ever.
"F-Fuck o-OFF!!!"
Masky grabs the pen and instead of pulling it out, he drags it down his leg, with an unnatural force, tearing up Jean's leg. The blond thrashes in the chains, trying to get away from the hurt but it only makes it worse.
Masky pulls the pen out of his leg, grimacing at the blood and tissue that's stuck to it. He just bought this pen, too. What a shame.
He waits for a few minutes, giving the blond man a chance to catch his breath and calm down. Honestly, he doesn't know what you see in this guy. Masky doesn't think you're interested in Jean in a romantic way, but you certainly like him enough that you smile when you talk about him.
He remembers three weeks ago when he chose an apartment at random to do his usual business of ruining lives and stealing their shit. But someone else had beaten him there to it. It was Jean's apartment, and he was already knocked out by the time he got there.
Another resident of this mansion had planned to kidnap Jean that night, and he had every right to do so since he got to Jean first, but Masky was still frustrated about it.
He's glad Jean's kidnapper kept him alive, since there are answers Jean can offer to Masky.
"What flowers are her favorite? And what does she like to eat?"
Jean looks up at Masky with teary eyes, his bottom lip quivers from trying to quiet his crying.
What a cry baby. Who cries from a little stabbing?
"Why... Why do you want to know?"
"..."
Why does Masky want to know? He honestly doesn't like you very much, you're too vulgar for his taste, even for a friend. He keeps you around because you make great food, and more often than not, he just shows up to eat at your place when the residents of the mansion piss him off.
At least, that was his reason every time Hoody asks him about you.
——
"If that's the case, why did you feel bad about her cat and gave her that stray?" Hoody had asked.
"I didn't–feel bad about it."
"Yes, you did. If you didn't–If you still don't feel bad about it, then we wouldn't be here looking for a stupid harness for that cat!"
...
Masky looked around the pet shop they were both in, gaining a few looks from random strangers that were looking because of Hoody's outburst. They had to dress like normal everyday people, leaving the comfort of their masks.
"It can't be because I like cats?" Masky lamely refuted.
"..."
Masky picks up a purple harness, "You think Baby will grow into this?"
Hoody deadpanned, "You know the cat's name."
"It's a good cat."
——
Masky sighs quietly, "Answer the question."
Jean racks through his brain for the answers. He almost wants to lie to piss Masky off, but if the killer actually gets you these things, then you'll make sure to let Masky know how much you actually hate it. Cue a free ticket to Jean's death.
Jean wouldn't want you any other way. If you weren't such a bitch, then you wouldn't be the person he fell in love with.
But in this case, he just wished for once you could be nice enough and lie about the things you like for his sake.
"[Y/n] likes sun-sunflowers, but she prefers... prefers plants that are pet friendly..." Jean tells him, "Not a big fan of bouquet's..."
Masky nods slowly. It makes sense you'd only accept plants that are safe for your dogs. And now that you have a cat, he'd have to do a little extra research to make sure he doesn't accidentally gift you something poisonous.
"[Y/n] also really likes Mexican food," Jean recounts, going back to a treasured memory he has of you, "She's not picky, but her mom used to make her a lot of homemade Mexican food, so it has a special place in her heart."
Masky huffs at the look in Jean's eyes. The guy is so painfully in love, it's honestly a little sad. But still. It's thanks to his infatuation with you, that Masky is able to have this information now. From what the brunette knows, you don't really know much about Jean other than his name sometimes. It's a little funny, too.
"[Y/n] thinks you're dead," Masky lies suddenly, "Not that it really matters. She doesn't really give a shit about you."
That's not true. Sure, you're a douche-bag most times, but you're always observant of those around you. And if you didn't care, then you wouldn't have bothered remembering the little things about him and your other coworkers.
Jean is comfortable with knowing and accepting that you'll never see him the way he sees you. And he can manage because he knows you at least care for him as a friend.
He's sure of it.
Jean sighs heavily, "When she finds out the truth about you-."
"-What she thinks of me doesn't matter," Masky interrupts a little too quickly. "She doesn't even exist to me. All she is, is a ticket to a free meal. Nothing more."
Jean tilts his head, deadpanning.
Masky frowns behind his mask, "If you weren't already someone else's pet, I would've killed you by now."
The teacher scrunches up his nose. Masky stands up, and grabs the bloody pen from the ground. He must've decided that it was a lost cause, as he tosses it to the side. The masked killer doesn't waste another second idling around. He walks to the door of the room, and swings it open, then slams it close on his way out.
Jean slumps back against the cold wall, finally letting himself whine quietly in pain. He looks to the side, watching the bloody pen roll towards him.
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