Timeline Trouble

by BlueCinto

Summary:

You were just... well, a person.
He was a mafia man.
It worked. Somehow.
And then he was killing you.
Over and over and over.
Wait.
What?

Chapter 1: First meetings.

Notes:

so, if your coming from my other MAIN work, welcome!
if your new, enjoy it here.
anyways.

Now, an introduction to a love-story like this is — surprisingly — not as common as many movies have you believe. Or any romantic novel, if that’s more your fancy. Who am I to judge, I’m merely the narrator. This story begins not with a glass slipper and a prince—but with bourbon, cheap neon, a not-so-clueless specimen, and a mafia man with bunny ears. Let’s begin with a slow dance, shall we?

The bar on REDACTED  St. was not usually a common host for quote-on-quote, “Shady people,” though there definitely were some strange ones. For example, there was one time a woman had entered the bar, seeming completely normal. The next she had been thrown out for nearly committing first degree murder with a chair . Which, let’s be honest, there was probably a reason to do so. Again, simply the narrator, I cannot judge.

The point is, the bar on REDACTED  St. was far from normal, but obviously a good place for people to come and drink away their issues. Which was exactly what Reader was doing on this ugly night. Work had been upon her this past month like a kid upon candy. Not just that, but with the immense amount of stress Reader was under in the process of leaving her rather awful family, it was misery . Today, she had decided on her rudely interrupted 15-minute break—interrupted by none other than the most hated worker in the office— that tonight was just for her. 

Yes, Reader was already exhausted and just ready to go home. And yes, she would rather murder someone than be home. So, it had been decided. To the bar Reader hadn’t been to in at least a year. Here she was.

Reader stepped out of her beat-up vehicle, patting it fondly before trudging away, humming along to the quick Beep, Beep! informing her it had been locked. Reaching the brick steps, Reader shoved the wooden door open after a second of slight struggle. Looking around, Reader noticed the place truly hadn't changed much in a year—same chipped, creaky, wooden floors, same somehow still standing stools, same old guy in the back corner nursing the same amber bottle. 

She shrugged off her coat and made her way to the bar, plopping down onto a stool that wobbled slightly beneath her. She raised a hand, giving the bartender a nod. “Whiskey, whatever's cheap but strong.” It was then that Reader saw him.

At the far end of the bar, alone and looking as sharp as a razor, sat a man in a deep charcoal suit. The suit hugged him like it was made for him—tailored, expensive, and unapologetically black. His posture was casual, one arm resting across the counter, the other holding a glass of something dark and neat. His face was beautiful. In a dangerous way—sharp cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled but had secrets tucked inside, and even his stubble looked like it could kill a man.

And perched on his head, with absolute confidence, were a pair of black bunny ears. Reader blinked, and then scrunched her eyes to look around the bar. No one else in her sight seemed to care. Either they’d seen it before or were too afraid to question it. Reader wasn't sure which was more absurd. 

The man turned slightly, as if sensing her gaze, ears twitching. Their eyes met. His were silver—not gray, not blue, but silver. Keen, silver, eyes.  His lips curled up slightly as Reader realized she had been gaping.

Reader looked away quickly, lips twitching. She was just here to drink. The bartender slid her whiskey over. She downed it faster than intended and signaled for another. “You were staring,” a voice suddenly said beside her, low and smooth like honey laced with acid, raspy like a chainsaw.

Reader choked. 

He had moved without her noticing, now taking the seat beside hers like he belonged there. The bar seemed quieter around him, somehow. Reader missed the wary eyes turning to face the man before returning to their own drinks. She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You’re wearing bunny ears.” He tapped the tip, as if just remembering, “Am I? Hmm. I thought I left these in someone’s apartment.”

“Did you lose a dare, or are you just naturally unhinged?”

“Neither,” he said with a slight shrug, “Though I do admire your curiosity, miss…”

He trailed off, inviting her to give her name as he side-eyed Reader. She didn’t.

He smiled wider.

Apparently, Reader had amused him.

“Well, Miss Mystery,” he said, swirling his drink. “I’ll let you decide if I’m a threat, a hallucination, or something else of your imagination.”

Reader chuckled, “I’d say hallucination, but I think even my imagination would give me more context than… this .”

He leaned in just slightly. “Sometimes, context ruins the fun.”

They sipped in silence for a few moments. She studied him from the corner of her eye. Now closer, she noticed his ears were smooth, and twitched at every slight sound and buzz. His suit was lined with faint embroidery that looked floral, but thorny. His rings gleamed—one of them shaped like a dagger.

Everything about him screamed “danger,” but in the way of a favorite villain. The kind you were supposed to hate, but couldn’t get enough of. “You look like trouble,” Reader said. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the words had already slipped out, drifting out into the low voices and sad songs in the same room. The man tilted his head slightly, the black softness of his ears flicking with curious amusement.

“And yet, you’re still talking to me,” he replied, unphased, as if he had been told those same words thousands of times. Reader shrugged, staring into her cup, “I’ve made worse decisions. Like showing up to work with pneumonia once. Or practicing for my job interview minutes before.”

“Ah,” he mused, “So you’re brave and reckless.”

“You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is,” he replied, with a strange sincerity that made her blink.

His eyes flicked to her drink, “Another?” Reader hesitated, then nodded, “Fine. But if I end up passed out with bunny ears of my own, I’m blaming you.” “Darling,” he purred, “you’d wear them better than me.” She couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just dangerous, and maybe that was the point. Either way, a second whiskey appeared, and she accepted it without complaint, thanking him quietly. 

“You aren’t from anywhere near here, are you?” Reader started after a moment, catching his eye. He didn’t look like anyone from this area. Too elegant, too sure, too careful. All at the same time. “No,” he admitted instantly, watching the way the amber liquid caught the light, “I pass through. For business.”

Reader leaned back slightly, arching her brow knowingly, “Legal business?” He smiled with all his teeth, which Reader noticed were rather sharp, “What do you think?” “I think your suit says ‘finance,’ your attitude says ‘hitman,’ and the ears say ‘freak show.’ I haven’t figured out the rest yet.”

He let out a short laugh, low, almost impressed, if that was possible. “That’s quite a profile, Miss Mystery.”

“Would you prefer something kinder?”

“No, I like honesty. I find liars exhausting .”

Something about the way he said it—like he’d had to sort through too many of them—made Reader feel like she was holding a puzzle box. Not something you solved quickly. Something you had to be willing to take your time with to understand. “Do you come here often, or just when you feel like disturbing the peace?” she asked, sipping her new drink.

He smirked, “I find places like this… true and fascinating. People drink what they can afford. They say what they mean, or what they shouldn’t. And no one cares about bunny ears.” 

“Or they’re too scared to comment.”

He glanced around. “Fear is honesty too.”

Reader’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re weird.”

He turned to her fully then, legs crossing at the knee daringly, silver eyes gleaming, “So are you . You’re talking to a tall, dark, spooky, man in bunny ears who hasn’t given you a name. You’re laughing at his jokes. You’re staying.” Reader flushed, caught, but refused to look away, “Maybe I’m just waiting to see if those ears are real.” 

He leaned in further, “Touch them and find out.”

Reader deadpanned, using her poker face, “You don’t know me that well.”

“Not yet.”

That shouldn’t have made her heartbeat stutter, but it did.

The moment shattered as her phone buzzed.

Reader glanced at it. Work call. She scowled and flipped it over without opening it. “Trouble?” the man asked. Reader shrugged. “Just life being annoying.”

There was silence. Then:

“I can make it go away, if you’d like.”

She blinked. “What?”

He didn’t say anything further, making no attempt to explain, and not even smiling. He just let the offer sit between them. “You know, most people would be freaked out by that,” she said finally.

 “If you haven't noticed by now, I’m not most people.”

“And I’m not in the mood to get involved in anything illegal.”

He nodded, as if accepting that was fair. But the offer never really left the table. 

Eventually, the night for them was coming to a close, forcing the two to step outside into the true world once again. The night air hit Reader gruffly, and it would have been unwelcome had the man not taken his coat and gently laid it upon Reader’s shoulders. Reader gratefully embraced it, warmth comforting her, inhaling the smell of cologne. He lit a cigarette, though Reader wasn’t sure he smoked more than once a night. 

“You gonna tell me your name yet?” she asked, arms crossed as she leaned against the brick wall.

He glanced at her sideways, “Won’t it ruin the mystery?”

“A little. But maybe I’m okay with that.”

He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. “Alright, then. Call me Mafioso.”

“Mafioso?” she repeated. “Is that real?”

He looked amused. “As real as you are.”

A sleek black car rolled slowly to a stop across the street. Tinted windows, no plates.

Mafioso flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with one shoe.

“Is that yours?” she asked.

“Technically. Though I didn’t drive.”

He stepped toward her, close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes, and Reader realised they had a rather obvious height difference.

“This was fun,” he said. “I don’t often get to… do things like this.”

“Like a normal person?”

Something flickered across Mafioso’s face. Then he reached into suit pocket and held something out. A black velvet headband. Bunny ears. Reader stared, blinking slowly.

 “Here,” he said, “For when you need to disarm someone.” She took it slowly, savoring the quick graze of their hands, “This better not mean I’m part of the mafia now.” “No,” he replied, turning to go. “But it means I will see you again… Reader .”

He walked away, stepping into the waiting car without another word. The door shut, and the vehicle pulled off into the night.

Reader stood there for a long moment, ears in hand, heart confused, but certain.

Then, with a quiet laugh, she slid them on, thinking of her encounter until they met again.

Chapter 2: Fun and Games

Notes:

ill be updating regularly again as long as im able to (every week^^)
anyways I decided to add lore to this book cause why not
so... Reader and Mafioso have a SLIGHT age difference, Mafioso being 27 and Reader being 24.
Reader has a 9-5 IT office job here, and she absolutely HATES it because everyone treats her terribly. Also there's a person who flirts with her and is lwk kinda obsessed (stalkers vibes)
...Mafioso's totally not gonna kill them later <3 /hj
anyways here you go friends!

Reader glared at the pair of bunny ears currently sitting on her obnoxiously messy nightstand, furiously brushing her teeth. Obviously, the ears didn’t do anything, just sat almost mockingly, which she was slightly grateful for. On the other hand, Reader wished that Mafioso had somehow… What did she wish for? Reader spat the toothpaste tasting water in her mouth out into the sink, glancing at the mirror. “I am not desperate,” she stated, but her reflection looked unconvincing.

Sighing miserably, Reader turned to step out of her bathroom, glaring halfheartedly at the still standing bunny ears. It had been a week since she had met Mafioso, the man who—surprise—was in the mafia. It had been a week since she had conversed with him under dark night skies. It had been a week since she had received his warm jacket that smelled of smoke, cologne, and… him. It had been a week since he had bought her that damn drink.

Reader was exhausted, the idiot had been keeping her awake at night. Just the thought of the man made Reader scream into her hands before being able to focus again. Deciding it was best to get her depressed attitude out now before being faced with her equally depressing job, Reader sighed once more before moving to get dressed. She carelessly threw together an outfit that said both “don’t talk to me,” as well as "professional woman," before bolting out the door like it was totally a regular Monday. Except it wasn’t Monday.

It was Friday.

Which made everything indefinitely worse.

At this time, when Reader was halfway through a cup of coffee and a rather annoying spreadsheet titled (temporarily) “I ain’t paid enough for ts lelele”, when a text arrived.

Unknown: So, you wear the ears yet?

Reader blinked, staring at her phone's screen. No way. Shaking her head, and shaking with excitement, Reader tried to focus for the next few minutes.

Unknown: Coward.

Reader snorted as the notification popped up, earning a few glances from her co-workers. She decided to text back, “You stalking me now, bunny man?”

No surprise, his response took less than a minute.

Unknown: Wouldn’t need to if you had answered properly when I said your name last week.

Reader’s brain broke.

Reader: …You knew my name?

Unknown: I make it my business to know things of interest. You didn’t think I gave you those ears because you're pretty, right?

A pause.

Reader: So I’m not pretty?

Unknown: Infuriating. But yes. You are.

Reader stared at her screen, reflection staring back at her like either of them had a clue. This man was texting her like they had known each other for months, not a week.

Reader: How DID you know my name?

Unknown: Want to find out?

He dropped a location pin.

Reader stared for several seconds, gathering her thoughts.

Then, like the idiot she was, packed her things to meet her mafia man.

        ***

Visiting an abandoned arcade was not on Reader’s to-do list for today. Yet, here she was, leaning against her crumbling car, fingers tapping against it as she waited. As the minutes passed by so unbearingly slowly, Reader felt more and more inclined to venture inside. “No, hold on, you’re not about to walk into an abandoned building to meet with a mob boss.”

 

Not even 10 minutes later, Reader muttered aloud.

“...You just walked into an abandoned building to meet with a mob boss.”

“Indeed, you did. Which, admittedly, I did not expect you to do straight away.”

Reader jumped at the familiar gravelly voice, which sounded amused, “Where-?” 

A tap on her shoulder spun her around, and she gazed up at the still annoyingly gorgeous man. “Well. Here we are again, Mafioso.” Said-man smiled down at her from under the shadow of his fedora, “Ah, so you did remember my name after all.” Reader chuckled as Mafioso offered her his hand, “How could I not?”

She accepted. Big mistake. 

“Fair enough… It would be rather damning to forget my name,” Mafioso said matter-of-factly, leading her to a less dusty section of the building. “Something makes me doubt you’d kill me if I was in debt. Anyways, why here?” Mafioso glanced at her, “I like games.” Reader huffed in surprise mixed with shared amusement, “Let me guess. You’re dragging me to play PacMan to figure out if I'm gonna die or not.” Mafioso smirked, “Nope. That’s next week.”

Reader rolled her eyes, “So I’ve been invited to my death?” Mafioso shrugged, his suit wrinkling as he did so, “You came, didn’t you? I can’t condemn curiosity.” Reader raised an eyebrow, “Well, what part of whatever this is says I can't punch you?” 

“You could. But what would have been the point of the ears if you did?”

“Why did you give me those?”

Mafioso studied her carefully, as if pondering something life threatening in his head. “I like to give a warning before getting someone dangerously affiliated with me.” Reader’s heart flipped, “What’s the warning about, then?” 

He didn’t answer. Why would he?

Instead, he released her hand after lingering for a moment before walking to a pinball machine, inserting two quarters and beckoning her. Reader inhaled and exhaled slowly, approaching him as he pressed the “Start” button. The machine wheezed to life, the lights flickering like it hadn’t been used since the 90’s. (Which, it probably hadn’t been) Reader gave the mafia leader a flat look, “You dragged me to an abandoned building, in the middle of the day, for pinball?” Mafioso’s lips curled upwards again,  “Why? Do you prefer Russian roulette?”

“...Pinball it is.”

“Good girl.”

Reader felt heat run to her face as Mafioso turned to the machine, seemingly unaware of what he said, or just uncaring. He reached a hand up, pulling the lever and sending the ball flying into the A slot. He kept it going for a good amount of time, sounds clattering in an unusual rhythm, before it fell down the middle, GAME OVER flashing above. Reader crossed her arms awkwardly, “Are we just gonna keep playing till I die of boredom?” Mafioso turned to her, relaxing against the machine, “Yes.”

Reader blinked before shrugging his reply off, “Well, then let me have a turn.” Mafioso stepped aside with exaggerated politeness, shoulders brushing against each other as she stepped forward. Reader pretended it didn’t make her heart stop. Reader shakily pulled the lever, Mafioso stepping behind her to peer down at the game from above her. 

…

The ball went straight down the middle.

“Don’t even,” Reader warned, not even looking at him.

Mafioso chuckled, the vibration reaching her back, “Not the best start, eh?” Reader spun around to face him, “Don’t make me hit you with the machine.”

“Tempting, tempting. Are you really not going to admit you're frustrated?” 

“You infuriate me.”

Mafioso frowned, leaning closer, “And yet,” he murmured, “You’re still here.”

Reader paused, eyes locking with each other. Too long, too short. Too close, too far. 

Before she could respond, a crash echoed throughout the building, sounding from the other side of the arcade. Her head snapped towards the interruption, “What was—” Mafioso stepped away from her immediately, voice darkening, “Stay here.” Reader realized it was not a suggestion, so she stayed put, nervously fiddling with her hands. Mafioso patted his coat pockets, and Reader realized he was searching for a weapon. 

Reader instinctively crept behind him, hiding herself from whatever was happening. A shadow moved across the walls, before Mafioso spoke flatly, though she heard the tone of slight annoyance. 

“You’re early.”

“Company was never a part of the agreement.”

Reader froze. Early? The shadow was revealed to be a tall, thin man with cold eyes, sporting a cheap leather jacket and jeans. He looked eerie compared to Mafioso, less polished and calm, more messy and desperate. “Company was never mentioned,” the man repeated, scowling at Mafioso, before gesturing to Reader behind his back. 

Mafioso smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “She’s not company. She’s a distraction.” 

Reader jolted. Excuse me? “Hey–” she began to protest, but Mafioso’s hand shot out behind him, lightly brushing her hip. Not forceful, just there as warning. The man smiled back with the same look, “Adorable. But you know the rules. No witnesses at handoffs.” 

Reader paled, whispering to Mafioso, “Ok, so time to go.” Mafioso didn’t move, simply stepping closer to her. “Try it,” he said coldly. The dusty air in the arcade stilled with tension, the man shifting awkwardly, faltering momentarily. “...I’ll be back later.”

…

And then he left. 

Reader let out a breath she had no idea was held, “What the hell was that?” Mafioso turned back to her, hand still by her hip, composed like always, "Business." 

“Buisness? I could’ve gotten shot!”

“I wouldn’t have let you.” 

“And how do you know that?”

Mafioso smirked, “Because I never miss.” 

Reader stared at him, her heart pounding, torn between slapping him in the face and kissing him. (She would rather kiss him)

“You’re crazy,” she muttered instead.

“And yet,” his hand rested on her shoulder gently, “You’ll be back next week.”

Reader’s stomach flipped. Not because she was scared.

Because he was right.