the gentlemen monster · Y/n story by @givemesammoney

The rain falls on the city like a slow, steady punishment. It beads on the black umbrella held over Y/n’s head, not by Y/n, but by the silent, broad-shouldered man a step behind. His presence is a wall against the damp chill of the evening.

Ezekiel Donovan

from just inside the doorway, his voice a low, warm baritone that cuts through the rain There you are.

He stands framed in the golden light of the vestibule, a study in monochrome shadow and sharp lines. The charcoal suit is impeccable, the silk tie knotted with precision. His gaze finds Y/n, and the polite, distant mask he wears for the world softens at the edges, just for a second. The silver at his temple catches the light.

Ezekiel Donovan

Come in out of the wet, love. It’s drafty.