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fel-09 · 3 months ago

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I have put you in checkmate, Mr. Crane Part 1

Word 4000?

Reader x Jonathan Crane

Part 2

____________________________________

Jonathan Crane listened attentively as the university's deputy director walked ahead, talking about the various departments, academic programs, and traditions of the institution. It was Jonathan's first day on the job, and although he usually maintained a composed demeanor, he couldn’t help but notice the weight of history embedded in the university’s grand old walls.

When they approached one of the lecture halls, the deputy director gestured for him to step inside.

“This is the chess club room,” he explained, opening the door.

Jonathan entered and was immediately struck by an unusual scene. At the center of the room, behind a large wooden table, sat two people: a middle-aged man, whom Jonathan assumed to be the chemistry professor, and a woman whose appearance caused him to pause for a moment.

She was likely the mysterious figure the deputy director had just mentioned — the sociology professor and chess club curator. The woman was dressed in a perfectly tailored pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse with rolled-up sleeves, and classic high heels. Her blazer was carelessly draped over the back of a bench. Her hair was tied back, though a few loose strands framed her face, giving her an air of defiance and focus.

She was entirely immersed in the game. Her gaze was piercing, almost evaluative, and her hands moved across the chessboard with a confidence that commanded attention. The students standing around them watched with admiration and awe.

The deputy director gestured toward the man.

“That’s Professor Wilcox, the chemistry professor. And next to him is the sociology professor. She’s also the curator of the chess club.”

Jonathan nodded silently, his gaze shifting to the woman.

The game was tense. Professor Wilcox moved a knight hesitantly, leaving his king vulnerable. The woman froze, her eyes narrowing as she leaned back in her chair.

“Mr. Wilcox,” she said coolly, her tone sharp with disapproval, “I understand what you’re trying to do, but such a foolish move… I can’t take it seriously.”

She stood up, grabbing her blazer with a fluid motion. Without even glancing at her opponent, she declared:

“Checkmate, Professor.”

Professor Wilcox stared at the board in disbelief, realizing his defeat. The students chuckled softly, while the sociology professor walked past Jonathan without so much as a glance.

A faint hint of her perfume lingered in the air as she passed him.

Jonathan instinctively turned his head to watch her leave, his eyes following her confident, measured stride. There was something deeply unconventional about her, and her mannerisms left an unsettling impression on him.

Weeks passed. Jonathan was settling into university life, though his thoughts occasionally wandered back to that unusual woman. Her demeanor, sharp wit, and unapologetic confidence had left a mark on him, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

One afternoon, after finishing a lecture, Jonathan sat at his desk, sorting through student tests. His meticulous nature made him particularly attentive to his work, a trait that bordered on obsession.

Suddenly, the door to his office swung open.

It was her.

She stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, her gaze studying him as though he were another chess piece on a board.

“Can I help you, miss?” Jonathan asked dryly, lifting his head from the papers.

She tilted her head slightly, her face impassive. But then, a sly smile curved her lips, catching him off guard.

“Yes, you can,” she said, her voice low but confident. “Do you play chess, Professor Crane?”

Jonathan froze for a moment. Her question felt more like a challenge.

“Of course I do,” he replied cautiously, watching her reaction.

“Good,” she said, nodding with a tone that was almost mocking. “Then play with me.”

Jonathan hesitated, unsure of her motives, but ultimately agreed. There was something about her that made it impossible to refuse.

Minutes later, they were seated across from each other in one of the empty lecture halls, a chessboard set up between them.

The game began.

She made the first move, her knight tapping lightly against the board as though she was toying with him. Jonathan responded calmly, moving a pawn and resisting the urge to look at her too closely.

“Are you always this aggressive at the start of a game?” he asked, noticing how quickly she deployed her rook.

“I prefer to take control, Professor Crane,” she replied without lifting her eyes from the board.

Jonathan countered with a careful move, but her aggressive strategy was making him uneasy. At one point, he glanced up and noticed how a few loose strands of her hair had fallen across her face. She brushed them back absentmindedly, her attention entirely on the game.

Her knees were drawn together, her posture tense yet poised, and her gaze sharp and focused, as if her entire existence depended on the outcome of this match. Jonathan found himself oddly captivated by the sight.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a chess piece striking the board pulled him back to reality.

“Checkmate, Professor Crane,” she announced, leaning back in her chair.

Jonathan stared at the board, realizing he had been defeated.

She smiled again, this time with a touch of amusement.

“You’re not bad, but I’d suggest some practice,” she said, standing up and straightening her skirt. “Until next time, Professor.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Jonathan with a bitter sense of defeat… and an inexplicable curiosity.

______

Jonathan Crane knelt before her, his hands resting on his knees as he gazed at her unconscious form. The dim, sterile light of the laboratory illuminated the contours of her face, soft and unguarded in its stillness. She was bound securely to the chair, her hands limp against the arms, her head tilted slightly as if she were merely resting. It wouldn't be long now before she woke.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers, and let his hands hover near her cheeks, almost grazing the skin. The faint rise and fall of her chest was hypnotic. Every detail of her face—the curve of her lips, the delicate line of her jaw—was burned into his memory, a portrait he had spent months studying and perfecting in his mind.

The past year had been a blur of longing and obsession, every decision clouded by thoughts of her. But tonight, clarity had returned. He was sharp, focused. He could see every move he had made leading up to this point, a flawless series of decisions that had brought her here, to him.

It had been anything but easy. Taking her required precision, planning, and a complete understanding of her patterns. But it was all worth it. She was his now, in every sense that mattered.

Jonathan traced a line down the side of her face with the backs of his fingers, savoring the warmth of her skin. His touch lingered for a moment too long, and he drew back, his breath catching in his throat. The lab was silent save for the steady hum of fluorescent lights, the kind of silence that seemed to amplify his thoughts.

He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, closing his eyes as a flood of memories overtook him.

---

It had started long before this. She had captured his attention effortlessly, without even realizing it.

Her opponents never stood a chance. She approached every match with a calculated grace, her movements deliberate yet fluid. And when she won, she allowed herself the faintest hint of a smile—triumphant but never gloating. She didn’t need to flaunt her victories; they spoke for themselves.

Jonathan had watched her from the periphery at first, content to observe. But it wasn’t long before he began inserting himself into her routine. He attended her lectures under the pretense of interest in her subject, always sitting in the back, quietly watching. He lingered after classes, finding excuses to speak with her, to accompany her to her car.

She hadn’t suspected a thing.

“Mr. Crane,” she said once, after he had retrieved her forgotten blazer for the third time, “you’re a bit of a fixture around here, aren’t you?”

“Habit is a powerful thing,” he replied, draping the blazer over her shoulders with a meticulous care that almost betrayed him. “And I find your lectures… compelling.”

She had raised an eyebrow at that, her sharp eyes studying him for a moment before she let out a dry laugh. “Compelling. That’s one way to describe sociology.”

Her sarcasm only drew him in further. She was brilliant, infuriating, and utterly captivating.

---

He told himself he could live with this arrangement—watching from a distance, savoring the small moments they shared. But the more time he spent around her, the more unbearable it became. She was too vibrant, too alive to remain untouchable. He wanted her entirely, to break through the barriers she had built and make her see him.

The idea of taking her didn’t come all at once. It began as a whisper, a fleeting thought that he dismissed as absurd. But it grew louder with time, insistent and unrelenting, until it became the only thing he could think about.

Jonathan’s plan took months to perfect. He studied her routines, her habits, her vulnerabilities. She was meticulous, always leaving her office at the same time, always taking the same route to her car. He learned the layout of the campus by heart, memorizing the locations of security cameras and the schedules of the night guards. Every variable was accounted for.

He even began planting subtle suggestions in her mind, remarks about the dangers of walking alone at night, stories of nearby crimes that were just believable enough to unsettle her. She began accepting his offers to escort her to her car, a small but crucial victory.

By the time he executed the plan, it felt almost too easy.

---

Now, as he knelt before her, Jonathan felt the weight of his success. She would awaken soon, and the real work would begin. He had thought of everything—what he would say to her, how he would calm her inevitable panic, how he would convince her that this was where she belonged.

He let his fingers drift to her temple, tracing the curve of her face with a reverence that bordered on worship. She stirred slightly, her head lolling to one side, and he pulled back, his breath quickening.

“Soon,” he murmured, the word barely audible.

There was a strange kind of serenity in the moment, a stillness that felt almost sacred. Jonathan closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile.

He had won.

But as he sat there, watching her, a thought crept into his mind—a nagging whisper that refused to be silenced. The game was far from over. And if he wanted to keep her, he would have to play better than he ever had before.

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