Wild Cards (JJBA Villains x Reader)

17- Smells Like a Liar

(I've written the scene for Kira as requested by way too many of you-- it's posted in my one-shot fic. Should I post it here as well?)

3k words. I'm not editing go cry about it

---------

The casino is alive as it should be, fueled with the clockwork functions of its employees held by a ball and chain, and the patrons chase of a winners high.

The show stages in the private rooms tucked away in the back of the casino are filled with wanton eyes and lustrous gaze, dancers do as they please, fabric dancing and curling like smoke in the air. 

Glasses distributed by Kira, who many eyed with suspicion upon his addition of a collar-- and the few bite marks beneath it-- were passed around and delivered to the tables that required them; Ironic as those patrons were already drunken with greed anyway.

There's a knock on your office door that has you groaning, another interruption of your work that sets you back even further. 

The events of the previous day were a mistake, this you know now, as that an hour of bliss and released pent-up frustration was wasted instead of being used to work. At least Kira seemed to enjoy it enough.

"Come in."

Your voice shoots through the door and commands your visitor to obey, whether by their own will or through your suggestion. Pucci walks in with a tray of food and smiles at you as if you're friends.

"I've brought lunch."

"You're aware you don't need to feed me like this, right?" Your cold demeanor is betrayed by the sunken feeling in your stomach, and you begrudgingly allow him to scoot some papers aside to set the plate down. He seems to know, and smiles to himself.

Scowling at him, you take a bite of what he brought and nearly choke on your own agitation, resuming your work before you're suddenly softened by the taste of the food in your mouth.

It's magnificent as always, flavorful and rich with everything that has you melting as someone who barely eats enough to get by.

Pucci moves to sit himself on the couch behind you, and you're relaxed just enough not to mind him using the end of his foot to swivel your chair to face him. He's got his own plate of goods in his hand, and is looking at you with an odd interest.

"I thought we could enjoy lunch together, if that's alright with you?" He pushes the corner of your chair a little bit more, testing you, and tenses when you sigh.

A purple sleeve flicks back to flash the face of a small, minimalistic watch. It speaks in quiet ticks, and you grumble through a second bite at its diction, "That would be alright. I have time."

His eyes wrinkled as he grinned with what you assumed was some sort of peculiar excitement, and he further settled into his cushion, watching as you took in what he'd prepared bite after bite.

Pucci only had pecks of his food, and his strange, frequent silences would tell of a hidden nervousness that had you questioning his intentions behind the surprise lunch he'd thrown on you.

You watched as his hands subconsciously picked and messed with each other, only slight fidgets that he, himself did not notice as he began to stammer out words.

"I know you're not one for unnecessary comments, but I think you look very nice today." He said.

The office sunk into silence as you stared at him, unsure of what to say. Pucci could only continue to strangely fidget beneath your stare, glance darting around the room as he looked for something to focus on other than your face.