decayedsword

[decayedsword]

Sleeping Terror

Ronin Beaufort x Reader

3.2k words :3

Warnings: hints at past assault (doesn't come up much but is mentioned)

Plot: Don't sleep on the job, Reader!! You might scare your shoulder devil!

Gender neutral reader :b

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You worked in a small museum, the place consisting of only five tiny rooms. The place was old, used to be a courthouse, now turned museum of justice. The place was so small that your boss figured you could work alone up there. There was no internet connection, and it was in a rural area. You were alone nearly constantly, as no one ever came to visit the old building. You wouldn't blame them, you're pretty sure it's rotting, and it's not exactly advertised.

Ronin knows of your job now that you're living together. He doesn't think it's the best idea that you're working solo there, but he's not your boss, so he can't do anything about it. Instead, he just worries, lightly, in the back of his mind while you're gone to your job. He's mostly sure you can handle it, but after that one incident, He's got it in his head that you aren't safe.

Ever since that day–the day that guy came in and hurt you–Ronin's had his lunch break changed to match yours. He comes every day without fail during lunch to check on you. To make sure you're still safe.

You don't mind at all. Having time to see your boyfriend at work, and you're guaranteed safety for an hour? A great deal, really. You always welcome him happily, showing him anything new you set up, or telling him stories of any guests who may have come in.

Today however? You were fucking exhausted. Falling asleep at your desk, and stumbling around the building aimlessly. You couldn't keep your eyes open for much longer.

You, being too tired to make reasonable choices at this point, such as calling out–or let's be real–just up and leaving the place, decided to go have a nap in the break room. Yknow, leave the whole building unlocked and you knocked out in the room in the back. What a smart worker you are.

Wondering over to the break room, you consider for just a second that you should call Ronin… nahh. You open the door to the small, visually unappealing room, looking for a nice place to nap.

Broken chairs, broken microwave, tiny table… holding cells… not exactly the ideal place to have a nap. However, the floor is carpeted, and you distinctly remember cleaning it yourself. You flop over on the floor, getting comfortable, completely forgetting Ronin will be there in a half hour to check on you.

As you sleep peacefully, Ronin is leaving work for lunch, shooting quick “see ya later”’s at his coworkers. He makes his way to his truck, the one you slapped stickers all over weeks ago. He always smiles when he sees the rainbow cat with toast on its head, its such a you thing to have stuck right on the door handle.

He climbs into his truck, adjusting the temperature, and turning the radio up. He sits for a few moments, thinking about what he'll talk to you about, what you'll tell him, if he's got anything from his day you'd want to hear about.

He looks at himself in the rearview mirror for a second, just a quick flick of his eyes, and he finds why the guys have been snickering at him all day. Somehow before he left for work you snuck a bow into his hair. He sighs, slightly defeated, mostly thinking its cute. He'll likely playfully chastise you for it when he meets you at your job, but he won't take it out of his hair, lest you request he does.

He recognized the bow easily, the one he gave you mere days after hearing you liked them. It's small, and resembles Hello Kitty's bow. You screamed and hugged him when he handed it to you. He blushed, and gave you kisses so you couldn't see his red cheeks.

You don't wear the bow as often anymore, not since cutting your hair. You've told him you still quite like it, but it doesn't feel right anymore. He told you it's alright, that you don't have to justify every action to him. Something he's had to reassure many times. You're allowed to just do things. He just wants you safe, and happy.

Finally he arrives at your workplace. He parks right beside your car, getting out of his truck and putting the roof of your vehicle, as if to say “hello” to the thing. He pulls his lunch bag out of the passenger seat, and makes his way into the museum.

He notices almost instantly, the lack of you at the front desk. That throws him off a little, but he thinks rationally, for just a moment, maybe you're in the washroom, or one of the side rooms. So he waits.

After about five minutes he starts getting fidgety, he sets his lunch bag down on your desk next to your coffee mug, and begins his search for you. First the washroom, then some of the side rooms, and lastly, the break room.

He swings the door open shakily, at this point worrying someone took you. When

he walks in he stops with a shock. You're laying on the floor like a corpse without the blood. His eyes go wide, but he keeps himself controlled. If you're hurt, he needs to keep his head on right and help you.

Unfortunately for him, you sleep like the dead. Always have, always will. So when he grabs your shoulders and shakes you, looking you right in your closed eyes, saying your name a few times, and you don't respond, he panics.

He knows you're a deep sleeper, but he doesn't think you'd sleep on your break room floor. You're many odd things, but he wouldn't assume a floor sleeper. His brain starts running through every horrible possibility of what could have happened that you'd end up here. Its easier to think something happened to you, rather than thinking you'd just veered from your usual behaviour for the day.

He starts checking you gently for injuries, sighns you fell or were in a scuffle of sorts. He checked your head first, lifting it only enough to get a hand under it and feel for blood. His hand comes back clean, and he lets out a small relieved sigh before returning his attention to your body. He checks your pulse, it's slower, but not unusual for someone sleeping. Then he starts poking around your rips, seeing if your body reacts. You flinch slightly, subconsciously, when he touches your ticklish spots, but you still refuse to wake.

After checking your whole body, and concluding you're fine, he sits back and begins trying to work out things that might be less obvious. It could have been an internal misfunction, one not visible from the outside, or maybe someone drugged you? Your empty cup was just sat on your desk when he came in, someone could have easily slipped something in. He loves you to death, but you arent the most attentive person he's ever met.

This may come off cruel, but he's desperate. He kicks you lightly, just in your ribs. He tries to be gentle about it, however he needs you to wake up, so he can figure out what the hell is going on.

You wake with a startle, whining slightly in pain. You're groggy and not sure what's going on, so out of it from being awoken mid rem sleep you just give Ronin this dreary, confused look. He takes that look, in his stressed state of mind, as confirmation that something is wrong. I mean, it is, he just kicked you awake mid nap. How dare.

Mumbling, you try to ask him what the fuck he's doing, but you really just want to go back to sleep. You end up coming off incoherent, as you close your eyes again and attempt to go back to the peaceful world of sleep.

Ronin shakes you by the shoulder again, giving you a deeply concerned look, “No, baby. Stay awake.”

You glare up at him in your exhausted state and huff, “Sleepy.” You state it like a grumpy child, just trying to get him to let you rest. You'll sleep in his lap, whatever he wants, you just need some sleep.

Starting to close your eyes again Ronin pulls you into his lap, “No no no, baby, eyes open. What happened? Are you okay?” You tries to speak cleary, hoping to get through to you. You mumble more nonsense at him about your dream before allowing the allure of slumber overtake you again, and knocking out in his tight hold.

Ronin tries to shake you awake again, but you just ignore him this time. Ronin, in a bit of a tissy at this point, decides he's taking you home. Whatever's going on, not one will benefit from staying here in this dingy place.

He runs his fingers through your hair in a comforting manner as he calls his boss to inform him he needs the rest of the day off. His boss is a bit confused before Ronin informs him it's an emergency, and promptly hangs up on the older man. He then calls your boss–he made sure to get her number after the first incident– and tells her you passed out, and he's taking you home. Your boss tells him to call an ambulance, he agrees with her, then hangs up.

No ambulance is called, Ronin is a bit over confident, and figures he can take care of you himself. He picks you up and walks you out to his truck, eyeing your care awkwardly. He'll have to come back for it later. He left his lunch, and your work bag at the museum, just taking your phone and the building keys. He sets you in the passenger seat of his truck, buckling you in, and turning the truck on to put the AC on you. Quickly he goes back to the museum, locking all the doors, then rushing back to you.

He climbs into his truck, and drives off quickly. He speeds a bit, just wanting to getting you home–somewhere he has control over–quickly. He does opt to follow the other road laws for the most part however, seeing as he needs to keep you safe. He's pretty sure he can handle speeding, but a red light might be a bit risky to run.

The whole drive home he gives quick glances to you, hoping you'll wake up, but you never do. It only adds to his stressing seeing you not respond to his speeding. Usually you complain, and he slows down, but right now, you're just silent in the passenger seat, your usually lively eyes shut, and your mouth open slightly.

When he finally reaches the house, he turns into the driveway so quickly the little bow goes flying out of his hair, and into the back seat. He watches it go out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't try to grab it or look for it once he parks the truck. He doesn't have time for that with whatever you have going on.

He rushes to get out of the truck, fighting with the seatbelt briefly, before hopping out, making his way over to your side. He unbuckles your seatbelt, picking you up and walking you over to the house. He fidgets with the handle before kicking the door open, and bringing you over to the couch. He almost lays you down there before rethinking, and taking you into the bedroom. If you really are just asleep, you'd be better to sleep on the bed. If you arent? Still probably more comfortable than his couch, and likely easier to take care of you.

He shucks your work shoes off, fighting with the laces at first, before just pulling them off. He then covers you with a soft blanket, not wanting to overheat you with the ones already on the bed.

The next few hours are spent with him pacing around the bedroom, occasionally sitting on the bed beside you, playing with your hair, whispering soft reassurances into your skin, holding your hand, really anything that'll keep you tethered to him as he's worried you're headed elsewhere.

You finally stir slightly, prompting Ronin to sit up quickly, and beeline to the kitchen. He gets you a glass of water, a straw, and some cookies… because those are easy to eat, right? He'll put them in milk if he has to.

He gets back just in time to catch you opening your eyes and sitting up. Setting the glass and plate down quickly he gently helps you sit up, putting a pillow behind your back, and leaning you against the headboard. He kneels on the floor beside you, looking up at you with concern imbedded in his usually confident face. His eyes search your own, looking for any sign something is wrong. You meet his gaze, a look of confusion on your face, as he grits his teeth with worry.

“Baby..?” He mumbles hesitantly, his voice shaking uncharacteristically.

Your face twists into more confusion as you notice you're in your bed, and not at work. You give him a weird look, silently asking what's going on. He meets you with a similar look. He'd spent the past few hours worrying about you, and you're just sitting there looking at him like he's insane.

You let out an awkward puff of air, “So- what's-uh.. this about.” You question him, still tired enough to be fighting your own brain to make a cohesive thought, then verbalize it.

Worry shoots back across his face as you stumble over your words, “It's okay, baby- it's gonna be okay. I've got you.” He reaches for you, holding your hand in one of his, reaching for the glass of water with the other.

You hold his hand back, thinking something's wrong with him, and deciding it'll do him better to comfort him in some way. You mumble at him, “ ‘sokay, Ro..”.

He shakes his head at you, holding the glass close to your face, “Drink, darling. Please.” He sounds almost desperate.

You conced, putting your lips around the straw and taking slow sips. His thumb rubs over the back of your hand, his eyes quietly checking over you, looking for anything he may have missed when looking you over at the museum.

When he finds nothing he pulls the cup away from you, setting it down, and picking up a cookie. “Can you..? Please.”

You giggle at him and nod, he tries to bring the cookie to your lips, while you try to reach for you. You both have an awkward moment of who's doing what, before he softly slaps your hand away and holds the cookie near your mouth. You snort slightly, then take a bite of the soft cookie.

He watches you swallow, ensuring you don't choke, or struggle, before softly encouraging you to finish the cookie, “Finish it, baby. Finish the cookie for me?”

You comply, happily eating the rest of the cookie in his hand, looking at him like he's a little silly.

After finishing, you inquire into what's going on. He replies by giving you a bit of a judgemental look before speaking, “Baby. What? I found you passed out at work. I should be asking you what happened. So, darling, what happened?”

Before you can respond he starts panicking a little, shooting off possible answers. All wrong, all those of a man who's just worried.

You put a finger to his lips and tell him to hush for a second. He obliges, closing his mouth, and looking at you. You explain to him you were just napping, and now that you think about it, it was probably a bad idea.

He sighs and puts his head down on your lap, “So, I spent the past few hours stressing about some idiot who decided to nap on the floor?” He sounds exasperated.

You chuckle at him, petting his head as if he were a cute dog, and not a scary serial killer. Which to you, he's effectively both. The cute good boy, who bites. Squeezing your hand before looking up at you, his black eyes trained on your giggly little smirk. You try to hide it as he playfully glares at you.

You thank him for his efforts, even if pointless. You appreciate that he cares enough to do all that. He smiles at you softly, before his smile twists into a conniving smirk, and he quickly moves to your stomach, blowing raspberries against it. You laugh and pull his hair lightly by accident.

He looks up at you, “If you're gonna pull my hair, actually pull it, baby.” he teases, that devilish glint back in his void-like eyes.

You lightly smack the back of his head before grabbing a hand full of his hair and tugging with intent, giving him a playfully smirk similar to his own. He lets out a soft grunt at the sensation, glaring at you lightly.

“Like that, baby. Good job.” He taunts lovingly, squeezing your hip, and pressing a kiss to your thigh closest to his mouth.

You give him one more tug, earning a another soft groan from his lips, before moving your hand slowly down his neck, letting your nails run across his skin, leaving pale red lines. Finally you stop at his back, just between his shoulder blades, and you start rubbing his back soothingly, thanking him, and praising him.

He giggles about it, but is visibly appreciating the affection, laying his head down on your lap, and moving his hand from your hip down to your thigh. He squeezes gently before rubbing his thumb across it.

“Love you, darlin’.” He mumbles against your skin.

You smile softly and return the words, gently encouraging him to lay down, and have a nap with you. He easily complies, getting up, and crawling onto the bed with you. You realize the bow isn't in his hair anymore, and ask if he didnt like it.

“I loved it, baby. Just like I love you. Its in the truck, okay?” He helps you lay back down, even though he no longer needs to help you. Lovingly he brushes your hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and laying down himself.

You giggle softly, sleepily, ready to nap with your shoulder devil. He looks about ready to knock out too, looking you in the eyes one more time, sticking his tongue out, then relaxing his face, closing his eyes, and allowing himself to drift off into the land of dreams, where you'd resided for the past few hours.

You watch him for a little while, his slow breaths, his relaxed face. You think of how he spent the day caring for you, how much he loves you, how much you love him. You smile to yourself, mumbling a soft “I love you” to his sleeping form, deciding instead of sleeping, for now, you'll just admire him.

You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him close so his face rests against your chest. You just hold him for a while, pressing kisses to the top of his head, braiding his hair, brushing it back out. You spend the next little while loving him softly, until your eyes finally fall closed, and you join him in a comfortable sleep.

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[decayedsword]

ronin beaufort character study

i was never here.

tws for: gore, murder, small mention of eye horror

uptown was dark and still. there was nothing around to breathe anymore - not the living room lights up and down the street, not the fallen leaves scattered across the path to Purgatory. nothing, save for the horribly beating heart trapped rattling in ronin beaufort’s ribcage.

his heel dug into the wall, his back pressed into the brick, he waited patiently. ronin was never in real rush. the stained cobblestones he’d only seen in direct moonlight, witching hour, confirmed it. if nothing else, he could only trust himself - himself and the crowbar that fit his hand, trident-like - to be willing to stick around.

there was, in addition, something to be said about stopping to smell the lilies. most of ronin’s days had an irritating tendency to blur together, flickers of screen light and the vague smell of motor oil. both, he’d noticed, required at least some sort of rapt attention and an aching spine. it was now only after hours that he gave into the crack of it, stretching out and allowing himself to consume.

and consume, he would. ronin’s ear, more machine than man, suddenly snagged on something sharp and distinct. the steady patter of businesslike shoes hitting the ground, mimicking his taunting heartbeat. the first note in a symphony of thrill.

as luck would have it, those eighth notes made a turn down the road to Purgatory. the pads of ronin’s fingers pressed into the metal, his eyes fixated on what he could see of the poor soul’s face through his slasher mask.

the Butcher only sometimes made appointments, stowed away from whispers on the street or glimpses of masks slipping in public. his heart rate ticked wildly like an out of control compass, desperate to rid someone of another iron fist.

pale light, washing across the sight of a sharp jawline. black tie. perfectly ironed shirt collar. name tag.

a nauseated feeling gripped ronin’s stomach, the probing ever so familiar. the hand of god, forcing his way up through his liver and clawing at his throat. he could nearly smell the sickening divine.

no.

this wasn’t today’s plan - or, mission, as it were. but the Devil would oblige all the same.

the target, who perhaps hadn’t caught sight of the dead end, kept approaching. clearly new blood. clearly unaware that the Devil’s Lair was unoccupied by everyone but ronin past a certain time, clearly about to spare only five seconds before he turned back around to find a different way home.

five seconds was all ronin needed.

had it been anyone else, virtually any other sort of person who’d wandered their way down Purgatory, he would’ve taken his time. but he didn’t want to spare the thought or the breath, not yet, not until his palms were stained.

he broke through the shadows of the alley, crowbar wrenched tightly in both hands, waiting firmly until the look of realisation set in. it was possible to remain unaware of the dangers of being in Purgatory after hours, as proven by his new friend here. it was, however, impossible to wander into uptown without knowledge of the Devil.

the eyes stretched wide and glistening, the weak attempt to tighten his jaw in defiance. ronin couldn’t help but slip a grin underneath his mask. he barely stood a chance against ronin’s bare fists. if he calculated correctly, he had a few seconds before his patience would run out.

“oh, i love it when they deliver themselves,” he drawled, taking a staged, heavy step towards his target. “where’s your friend? don’t they usually send you in pairs?”

the missionary, hand outstretched, tried to form a proper sentence, as they always did, and stammered something about the Devil’s Butcher - as they always did. how fuckin’ annoying.

“no, no, no,” ronin said irritatedly, scraping the head of his crowbar against the brick as he drew nearer. his chest tightened in anticipation. “not the Devil’s. get rid of the apostrophe, would’ja?”he dragged the crowbar away from the wall, leaning into the force, the metal threatening to just barely scratch skin. “fuckin’ press. can’t get a word in around here.”

his target jumped back predictably, and a laugh threatened to burst from his throat. ronin exhaled it like a sigh, his blood flush with adrenaline. he swung, muscle flexed and eager, and felt the crowbar thud against skull.

the metal sang in tune with the crack of bone, so overwhelmingly beautiful that ronin almost considered stopping to listen. the missionary probably would’ve preferred it if he had, leaving enough time for god to hear his useless prayers before he met his maker, but ronin wasn’t in the interest of reunions. he was going to drag - he swung again - and drag, until every last jesus-loving silhouette was brought down to his dizzying darkness.

the man was collasped against the brick, chest just barely heaving, though they both knew it wouldn’t be for long. there had been no struggle, no desperate grasp for a chance to live - boring. but satisfaction heated his skin all the same, and he was going to chase it out as far as possible.

ronin dropped to his knees next to the now dying man, a hand yanking the string holding his anonymity together, the mask tumbling to the floor. he grasped his chin, staring death in its eye, grinning as its endless perpetuator. “tell hell the Butcher sent you,” he murmured recklessly, regardless of if he was heard or not.

the one still shining, half-open eye called out to the end of ronin’s crowbar, practically begging liberation. what else could ronin do but give, give and give? he drove the metal into the socket, twisting - there was no practiced pull, no routine path. every instance was different, and this time around was especially gratifying.

it was particularly difficult to live without an eyeball, as the missionary would go on to prove. ronin knew well and good when a man’s heart stopped beating, because his own began trembling with adrenaline.

laughter banged against his ribs, exploding past his lips with an unrestrained fury, his arm driving the sharp end of the crowbar down a sharp path straight down the missionary’s body. ronin’s vision spun, heady and breathless from exhilaration, but he was lightweight and free.

after that, it was easy. the organs practically rearranged themselves, only a matter of pulling the right thread until the aorta laid in the middle a beautiful satanic circle. it was destruction and reconstruction, a translation of ronin’s own bones breaking and contorting in the Devil’s image.

ronin stepped back from his work of art, pride bursting through his every vein. he would have to snap the mask back on and take his leave soon - but not before he took a quick picture.

fresh air did always seem to do him good.

[decayedsword]

a thought occurred.... enjoy

commissions!!

[decayedsword]

Thank you for answering my question about the boundaries!! I don’t think this is crossing any that you listed, but ofc feel free to just ignore if this isn’t something you would be interested in writing 💕

Could you write Ronin and Reader who is squeamish/scares easily having a horror movie date?? I personally think he would eat it up, especially if Reader isn’t actually phased by him being a real life serial killer, but falls for every cheap movie scare lol.

HCs or FF format, up to you. Thank you!

A/N: ofc!!! also sorry guys for the slow pace unis been kicking my ass </3 I'll be uploading more once I'm done the next wave of exams BUTTTT here's a fic of this lovely ask

Eek a rat!!

You weren’t scared of Ronin.

Not when you saw the crowbar tucked into his case, or the stains of blood splattered on his skin. Not even when you opened your freezer once and saw something inside you absolutely should have screamed over, but just quietly shut the door again and made a mental note to stop storing your ice cream in there.

No. You didn’t flinch around the real stuff. But jump scares? Something with dramatic violin stings and predictable jump scares and actors making impossibly bad decisions in the dark? You turned into a human heart attack. Which is exactly why Ronin looked like he’d just been handed Christmas on a bloodstained silver platter when you suggested a horror movie night (It was Terrifier 3.)

“You sure about this?” he asked, already queuing up the the tape. You gave him a half-hearted shrug, trying to act casual despite the tight grip you already had on the throw blanket.

“Yeah, I mean—it’s fake. I can handle fake.”

Ronin snorted. “Oh really, must I recall how loud you screamed the last time we went to watch something, baby?”

“That was a very loud clown,” you muttered.

He leaned over, brushing his lips against your temple. “Mmhm. We’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes in, your legs were pulled up to your chest, blanket cocooned around you like a human burrito. Ronin hadn’t even blinked. “Don’t go in there, don’t go in there, don’t—idiot!” you hissed at the screen.

Ronin looked delighted. “You know it’s her house, right?”

“She saw the door open by itself, and she’s going down the stairs in socks. This woman has a death wish.”

“Technically I do that all the time.”

You turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, and I yell at you too.”

He raised his brows, mock-surprised. “Oh, my bad. Next time I’ll wait for permission before chasing someone into a basement.”

You elbowed him weakly, and he caught your arm, grinning as he dragged you into his lap like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Don’t worry,” he said, chin on your shoulder. “If anyone breaks in, I’ll go check the noise. Real slow. Shirtless. With no weapon.”

“Ronin.”

“What?”

You stared. “You’re so stupid"

The next jump scare hit while you were mid-sip of your drink, and you nearly launched the can across the room. Ronin actually paused the movie, laughing so hard he nearly fell backward off the couch.

“I hate you,” you muttered, face flushed.

“You love me,” he corrected, tugging you back against him like a smug little furnace.

Your heart was still hammering. “Why do people even watch these? You’re not even scared! You haven’t blinked in, like, twenty minutes!”

“Because I think it’s hilarious,” he said, nosing into your neck. “Also you get very clingy when you're scared. And I like it.”

You smacked his thigh. “You’re awful.”

He beamed. “I know.”

Eventually, the movie got dumber. The characters started splitting up. The acting got worse. You even started laughing a little, burying your face into Ronin’s hoodie every time the villain popped out in bad prosthetics or the fake blood looked like cherry syrup.

“You’re doing better,” Ronin murmured against your hair.

“Mm,” you mumbled. “Not so bad when I’ve got a real killer next to me.”

His hand stilled on your hip. “You say that like it’s comforting.”

You tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw. “It is".

He looked down at you and you ruffled his hair before turning back to the screen. But you shrieked like a banshee when a rat jumped out onscreen, and he lost it all over again. “Alright,” he said later, shutting off the TV and rubbing his eyes from laughing. “That’s enough emotional trauma for one night.”

You sagged against his chest. “I have never hated you more.”

“You say that,” he said, trailing his fingers up your arm, “but your heartbeat says otherwise.”

You groaned. “Ronin, if you’re about to try to make being scared hot—”

“Try?” he echoed, all mock offense. “Baby, I succeed.” You smacked him with a throw pillow and stayed curled up in his lap for another two hours anyway.

He grinned like it was love.

[decayedsword]

Addicted to the devil (Ronin x Reader)

Author's Note: I was forced to upload this by @6feathered6siren6, (who also helps me doing this post rn thank youuuuuuuu, bro literally gave me title and banner) help me, save me.

Trigger warning: Ronin's route (his last name), death, gore, insanity

Word count: 2335

You hear his breath, slow and steady as it hits your hair, swirling your loose hair strands up and down. His heartbeat pumping in rhythm, hitting your ear each second. He laid there, eyes closed, arm around your back, holding you tightly. One of his arms loosened and leaned over the bed, the exposed skin pale. To you, this creature looked beautiful, peaceful even. It was a force of nature, having you in its hands, pulling the strings when it wanted too. Your personal devil, your butcher, your everything.

You described it as a bliss and when he slept like this, so content and so…. peaceful. You almost wondered if you were the crazy one.

You love him. The devil. The butcher. Ronin Beaufort.

But he's a psychopath. A killer. Ronin Beaufort. 

He's that type of guy that goes out in the middle of the night, crowbar clutched in hand, heavy steps halling through the streets. He'd wait for his victim, slowly stalking behind them and smashing the crowbar across their head. One blow, two blows, maybe a third. The victims would fall, blood pooling from their heads. Then the devil would proceed to do his work. It would vary, but everything ended in a grotesque scene. Slit throats, ripped guts, cut of limbs, carved symbols. He's a picture book serial killer. Whoever you'd ask to describe a serial killer, Ronin’s imagery would be the answer. A psycho that kills for pure pleasure, for the thrill, for his own sense of happiness. 

Yet, was he really the bad guy? Of course he was! He had corrupted you, had threatened you, controlled you. He was the killer.

You were the saint, he was the sinner.

A saint. The same saint that played along. The same saint that has done as he pleased. You were an angel. The angel that shot the next person if the devil would ask too. The same angel that has awaited every single command. The story wasn’t over there, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want to admit it, but Ronin didn’t do a thing towards you.

No, he didn’t tell you to join the server, he didn’t tell you to make your proof real, he didn’t tell you to meet him, not ever and not in HIS alley. It was you who wanted it. You desired it.

Life had been tough, surely that was the fault. Friends had ignored you. You were lonely and that loneliness Ronin fulfilled fully. He gave you all that you needed. The attention, the love, the advice. Fuck he was what you had been longing for so long, something you desperately searched for. So what if he was a supposed killer? How can HE be yet more understanding than anyone you knew? You don’t need to fix him; He fixed you. He cured what you despised in your body. Saved you from your own feelings. Pulled you up when no one else could. Only he could do it. Only the devil.

Ronin Beaufort

Maybe you were insane, but wasn’t that worth it?

The thoughts you just clung onto like a lifeline disappeared as you heard a grunt. Eyes meeting one another and you saw almost a concerned expression on Ronin. His arm clutched you closer, the other that had been hanging down, now pulled up as his hand touched your cheek. The soft texture of his fingers swiped over your eyes. Had you been…crying? You feel the wet spots on your face. Not just tears, but sweat. For once you saw the devil, THE Ronin beaufort losing his smirk. For once you saw him wondering what may have gotten into your head. It was almost overwhelming. Everything felt overwhelming. 

You couldn’t remember what happened. Suddenly everything crashed. Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. Everything spinned in your head. Everything was so loud in your head. The images of what you read, of what you knew Ronin committed. You laid there with him, saw everything, witnessed it all. Yet you weren’t concerned about that. You were concerned about what HE thinks of you. Pathetic, alone, you barely meant a thing in the world. He was known. Hated, yes. But known. He meant something, even if that was for all the bad reasons. But you? What did you offer to him? Nothing. You could’ve been swapped out with anyone else. It wouldn’t have changed anything. 

And once again, the thoughts, gone. You felt his lips. Felt his touch. The overwhelming feeling, gone. You held him close, if not the other way around being enough. His lips tasted like iron, you knew why, you simply couldn’t care less though. Arm so tight on your back, squeezing those thoughts away as if he knew what they were. Everything burned in your body, clothes clutched against you. Yet, him being there? It made these feelings lessen. Once again you ask yourself, why you? What was it within you that made him cling to you? Was it just a game to him? Maybe it was to humiliate you? 

And there it was again. That feeling. That feeling that clutched into you, ripping your skin apart. That feeling that burns your insides, making them feel heavy. That feeling that made you twist and turn mentally. The feeling that made you breath heavy. 

You held your body close, tears streaming freely now. You simply couldn't take it anymore. It was all so loud in your head. As if something was banging your head from the inside, slowly scratching your brain until it was bleeding, and now that noise was incarnated in you. His touch wouldn't do it anymore. It didn’t get you out of that space. It didn’t satisfy that lonely heart anymore. It desired more than that. It desired his love, his attention, his devotion to you and you only. If you could you would rip out your aorta by yourself and hand it to him, just so he could kiss it better. You needed him. You wanted him. You desired him and him only.

Ronin spoke up. It didn’t make the feeling stop like before, but it made you share your attention to him. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” His voice was rough, raspy and filled with sleep. The slightest hint of worry and curiosity mixed within his words. You didn't believe him. His sudden kindness, his humain posture, his gentle smile. 

This isn't Ronin Beaufort.

Not the Ronin Beaufort. 

No, it was just some stranger. An imposer to what you didn't need. The pity. What pity do you want from the devil? Truly spoken sarcasm you could call it. And you hated yourself for it. The fact you couldn't trust him being nice. Like you needed his attitude. Like you needed his….hate? No, it wasn't hate. The word you searched for just didn't find itself. It was his…his control you need. When he breaks you so deeply. When he tells you to watch out, to be aware, to be….

“Darling?” The voice snapped you back, this time it wasn't as calm anymore, a sweet sound of impatience ran across it. That is what you wanted to hear. 

Ronin Beaufort.

Your eyes fixated on his. They were small, looking sharply at you like the knife's he cut his victims open with. His smile turned slowly into a frown. He couldn't keep up his nice side for much longer than a small timespan and you already overstepped it. But you didn't mind. You wanted him, not them. Those who laugh in your face, cheer you up just to spit on it in the end. It made you realize something.

Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. You didn't think of him here. No. Your mind got it all wrong once again. You think of their words, how they shot you directly in your heart, letting it bleed out. Your screams at night for anything. For hope, for love, for a better life. Their laughter as they stare at you, judge you, hate you. You wished them to be dead. Dead in your head, dead in your life. Oh how much you would sacrifice to the devil for it. 

But you didn't need to.

You gave him his proof already. You ended it on your own. You did it. You and you alone killed them. 

It wasn't for you. It was for him. For him and him only. The devil, The butcher.

Ronin Beaufort.

You felt his hand tightly in between your neck and your back, scruffing you up like a vet with a cat to paralyze it. It worked a charm on you because there was no movement in your body any longer. Your body was stiff, hanging there like dead meat, your breathing temporarily stopped as he pressed tighter before releasing your skin ever so slightly again. His impatience ran out and you couldn't be happier. Yet, the thought crossed your mind. The thought that made you stand still. The thought that terrorizes you every day since you're the devil's helper. Your mouth was dry, burning even, unable to let out real words. But you needed to share it. Your ideas, your visuals. It's what he asked, no, what he demanded from you. It took a deep breath and all your strength to hit out a single tone. Soon it was followed by a letter, then a word.

“Why?”

It wasn't much. Three letters. One word. But the question was heavy. For Ronin it didn't take long to understand the context of his long awaited response. He remembered when you two got together right in his favorite alley. Him pinning you down, having expected to get stabbed the minute he started getting explicit. Instead you followed the dare, kissing him like the world dependent on it. It's been a week since then and you stayed with him. Stayed in his room, stayed in his clothes, stayed in his mind. Yet it appears to be that even the most messed up ‘normal’ human still gets damaged by the initial thought of staying together and especially close to a psychotic killer. The full question his favorite little helper wanted to ask was ‘Why did you pick me? Why not everyone else?’. He would remain silent every single time. There was nothing to say for him. The most obvious reason already laid there, pouty face, small eyes. But after an entire week all he could let out was a chuckle. It sounded so cocky, sarcastic even, as if you had answered with ‘3’ when he asked you what 1+1 equals to. Humiliation, that’s what it felt like, but you didn’t even know for what. You tried to leave his grasp only for him to tighten it back up, giving you no space to react. Like a dog he chewed tightly onto your body, teeth sinking in. The metaphor worked greatly since you can feel his fingernails practically poking into you, making you almost tear up from the pain. He stared at you with such an intense stare you’d swear he was gonna eat you alive here and now.

"Why not, Darling? You were given an apple, but it was you to bite it. Tasting the forbidden fruit.” (This came from @6feathered6siren6 btw)

His voice was low, filled with an undefined tone. Was it rage or was it reassurance? Love or despise? You were never sure but that’s what you loved in him, needed in him, wanted from him. Your devil, your butcher.

Ronin Beaufort

“I gave you a fucking place, gave you all the love and took you in, you took the devil's hand without any hesitation.”

He wasn't entirely wrong and you get what he was trying to say. Although you were just another human, you still were far from being the same. Who would willingly date a serial killer? Who would willingly stay in his house? Willingly shared his clothes, the same that he had covered in his victims blood? Who willingly ate the devil's meals without a care in the world about what it contained? No one but you. No one but his darling. No one but the devil's little helper. No one but someone as psychotic as you. 

He wanted you, because you desired him like no other ever could. You and you only let yourself drop into his arms. Only someone like you trusted him fully. Only you sacrificed everything for him. 

It made you feel comfortable, safe even. Every problem you had, just gone, as the devil pulled you back down, holding you against his body. He was warm, reassuring. It was something you missed out the entire time. His behaviour, his reactions, his breath. They were for you. Everything was for you, just like you were everything for him.

After all, he was your devil, your butcher.

Your Ronin Beaufort

Tears clinged onto your face as you held him back, the same way he used to do earlier. He was right, as always. Your hands grabbed his hair, feeling the soft texture. It always surprised you how this man kept his hair so soft with how much blood he tangled in it. Arms shaking so badly as you let yourself drop, practically naked right in front of the devil's eyes. You hated looking weak, it made you look pathetic, but he loved it. He loved when you let go, even if he’d never tell you the truth. It wasn’t the power he loved, it was the trust he had truly desired. His hands caressed your back slowly. No words were needed, he had you right here. Times passed by slowly for him, but he would wait. Wait till the thoughts disappear, wait till you can finally rest. He could feel your breath slowing down, your body slumbing as you started to drift off to sleep. Once he was sure you were fully asleep he leaned his head over, giving you a kiss on your forehead before laying back down, closing his own eyes again.

He loved you. Forever and always.

Ronin Beaufort

[decayedsword]

Fan Behavior

Ronin x Reader (Killer Chat)

premise: Going for a walk around Uptown one night, Ronin sees a man talking to someone in an alleyway. Not liking the man’s tone, Ronin watches for a bit. A scream emits from the darkness; he finds you covered in blood.

word count: 1255 

warnings: violence and murder typical of killer chat, brief sexual harassment, spoilers for Ronin’s route, possibly ooc

Heavy, spiked boots are deathly quiet on asphalt as the Devil’s Butcher prowls the streets of Uptown. He’s already made a stop at Purgatory, and he’s now basking in the pale moonlight. Almost lazily, Ronin’s eyes flit around at the buildings and alleys surrounding him. The streets are almost empty tonight.

Almost.

A man is standing up ahead, gazing into the darkness of an alleyway. Ronin halts in his tracks, a few meters away; he ducks behind a building, watching.

“What’s someone like you doing in there?” The man grins into the shadows.

A voice responds. “Nothing.”

Eyeing up whoever was hiding in the darkness, the man’s smile widens unnervingly. Ronin’s eyebrows furrow, his hand reaching towards his bag to get his crowbar. He stays quiet.

The creep hacks up a laugh. “Well, baby, you look like a doll to me. Wanna get played with like one?” He utters before disappearing into the shadows himself. 

Ronin quickly follows, crowbar in hand. A scream echoes through the alley’s walls. 

He turns the corner, his crowbar raised. His eyes widened.

Collapsed on the ground lies the man breathing heavily. Crimson pools around him, his own hands clawing at his chest. Any attempts to scream or curse seem an impossible feat as he chokes on his own blood. A figure stands above him, their phone raised and giggles racking through their body. 

Ronin’s breath hitches. 

“Darlin’?”

You whip around, eyes wide. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Ronin raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? Cause it looks to me that you got an art project with ya.”

Internally, you begin to curse. Of course Ronin would find a way, intentionally or not, to ruin your hard work. It had taken months to gather the courage and make the plans before seeing your kills through. This was meant to be the last night before you would finally confess to Ronin that you had taken his advice.

You had sacrificed so many in the devil’s name. Your hands were stained crimson for the devil. Another giggle bubbles up as your brain works overtime; you can’t be too shocked that Ronin appeared, all the bloodshed was to draw him to you. And apparently the summoning had worked.

The man on the floor tries to scream again; blood bubbles up from his open throat. Grumbling, you pick up the weapon lying by his head and lunge at him once more.

The breathing stops. Ronin snorts.

The butcher walks up to the body, kicking it with his black boot. “When’d you pick up the hobby?” 

Frowning at the blood on your clothing, you sigh. “...this was supposed to be a surprise.”

Dark eyes bore into your figure, eager to hear more.

You begin your confessional. “...I started a couple months ago. I decided to take your advice.” Splashing into the blood puddle, red further stains your clothes. “…it sounded kinda fun too.” 

“Aw, I didn’t know I was that influential.” He grins like a shark, quickly making his way to your side. His hand reaches to tousle your hair.

You swat his hand away. “But! This was all supposed to be a big surprise and you’ve ruined it!” You pout. “I’ve been collecting pictures of all my kills. I did all of this for–”

You freeze, realizing what you're about to admit. You stare at the butcher from the corner of your vision. 

He looks right at home in the gore and grime of the alleyway. Moonbeams cradle his face; he appears almost otherworldly. The devil’s body language is casual, as if you two had met in a coffee shop and were making small talk. But his gaze matches the blackness of the night sky. His eyes are fixated on your every movement and mannerism.

“Go on, darlin’. Confess your sins to the devil.” Only a small smirk graces his features. You know a toothy grin is threatening to crack his face open. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I did it all for you.”

Ronin feels his heart beat faster in his chest. He ignores the new warmth spreading across his face. “Aren’t you fuckin’ adorable,” he grins. His figure looms over yours. “When do I get to see those pretty pictures?”

Scoffing, you look away. The warmth on your face matches his. “I could send them to the server now. If you want.”

His grin widens.

Now laughing, you begin to create your first post to #killer_shit. You include pictures of all your previous murders. Selfies of yourself covered in blood, mutilated corpses, guts spilled onto pavement. Your finger hovers over the ‘send’ button. 

“Wait,” you look over at Ronin, who has taken to removing the man’s eyeballs and squishing them in his hands. “I wanna commemorate this.”

He chuckles darkly, and in a few quick steps he’s by your side again. An arm wraps around your shoulders as he leans into you, half-lidded eyes gazing into the camera. The corpse lays motionless behind you both. Smiling, you snap the photo. With a few more taps, you send the photos to the Slaughterhouse Losers.

[user]

Been having some fun lately!!

9 attachments

[hitmeuppp]

HOLY SHIT WE GOT @/user KILLS???

THESE ARE AMAZINGGGG

[felicite]

Ooo, incredible knife work in the second picture!

[K9]

Really @/goreboy? You couldn’t leave them alone?

I’ll have to keep more of an eye on you, @/user. But…the photos are fascinating. 

[Ai_Hua444]

😊❤️.

[Eviscerator1990]

Agreed. This Is Talented Work.

[Angelic]

Ronin, I hope you’re not pushing them too hard 😭

But I’m glad you’re opening up to us @/user! 🤍

[LUCA_IS_SO_COOL]

You’re 🫵😩 fucking ❌scary 😱😥bro ❤️‍🔥

Heaving a sigh, you slide down the brick wall behind you. Ronin quickly drops down by your side. “So,” he starts, smiling wide. “How’s it feel being one of us?”

You hum softly. “Is it weird if I say it’s not that weird?”

He cackles, leaning into you again. “Oh, darling, how far you have fallen.”

His smile softens as his laughter subsides; the devil almost appears at ease. Softly, he takes your hand in his and guides it to his lips. A faint kiss is pressed into the back of your hand before he withdraws it, rubbing comforting circles instead. “My rotten fallen angel.”

Blush blankets your face at the unexpected gesture. Burying your face into his shoulder, you scream internally.

He only chuckles and pulls you closer. A grin snakes its way onto his face again. “Although, you could use a little more practice. Find your signature style. I see room for improvement, darlin’.”

You shove him playfully, barely hiding your own smile. “Be quiet, Beaufort.”

“Maybe some messages drawn out in blood? Paint the corpses some wings?” Ronin continues, purposefully ignoring you. His eyes sparkle with mischief.

“...shut up.”

“But I still want that aorta, baby. Don’t deny the devil his dues.”

You glare at him. He smirks back.

“Close your eyes, I’m gonna make you shut up.”

With a low whistle, he grants your wish. “Damn, sweetheart. What’re you gonna do to me? Bleed me, punch me, the possibilities are–”

His sentence stops at the sensation of soft lips on his temple, and Ronin’s eyes shoot open. A toothy smile appears again. 

“Oh, darling,” the Devil’s Butcher leans closer to your flushed face. “You’re never gonna get me to shut up. I’m your shoulder devil, remember?”

You feel his breath against your ear. “You’ll never get rid of me.” He drawls.

His lips devour yours. A metallic tang floods your senses. 

You could get used to this.

a/n: this is my first killer chat fic, i hope you liked it!! im hoping to post more in the future; any criticism or feedback is appreciated! <3 take care!!

Ribbon dividers by cursed-carmine

Fic title from song - fan behavior by Isaac Dunbar

link to ao3 crosspost

[decayedsword]

Who am I?

Howdy, I’m Siren. Your local fanfic writer and artist. I use they/he(I use all but I prefer these please ^^), I’m trans masc aroace. I write fanfics to improve my own writing and improve storytelling. In this account I work on fanfics, it’s mostly Killer Chat! but you can probably get something else. If you want to see a project I’m working on called Kisses of Chaos(a VN I’m currently making) or other works I dabble in, you can check out my main at @sirensfeathers ! :3

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ * ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

If ya want to stalk my other socials, here ya go! I promise I don’t bite and my dms are open to chat. 

Instagram - 6feathered6siren6

Twitter - 6feathered6siren6

Discord - feathered666siren

Tik Tok - feathered_siren

Ao3 - Feathered_siren_666

About my asks and art

My asks are always open, I do look through them, and I will get to them. I know I get to them quickly, but I might be slowing down to work on my projects soon, but I will get to them, and will get the request I get done. Unless of a few things, which please look at this. Again, anything that makes me uncomfortable I will not do, which entails to S/A, anything transphobic, homophobic, or any harmful talk, and mischaracterization. And to add, while this has stopped, do not promote yourself into my inbox. 

For my art, while I forget to put my watermarks into my work pieces sometimes, please credit me for my art, I work hard on them. While I’m grateful no one has claimed my work as theirs yet, please do not steal them. 

General things, please do not pressure me into working into pieces, I already have bad anxiety, and recently has gotten worse. So pushing will make me, not only slower, but can and will refuse the request if it is that, or maybe block you for my well being. So please keep that in mind.  

Do not put any of my works into AI, I work hard for both writing and art pieces I do. It's harmful and highly disrespectful. 

ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

On another note, I have comms being made, I will announce when that happens :) and recently art trades are for moots only(please note, I might take a while).

────ʚ ♡ ɞ────

Da Masterlist

Ronin Fics ⸸

Angel Fics ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

V Fics 🗡

Misaki Fics ᓚᘏᗢ

Others ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ - Poly, Kc cast, etc. (Constantly looping is in here)

Gluttony gods .˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.

My art ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

[decayedsword]

Adoration's Incision

Ronin x G/N Reader

wc: 368

cw: violence, knives, brief mention of guns, i think that's it? lmk if something is needed

You should’ve brought a gun with you. You should not be walking into this empty handed. You were vulnerable, and it was entirely by choice. 

You fought Ronin barehanded, raw, desperate, dirty, and with so much passion–you could hardly tell whether it was adrenaline or something else. You were never a fighter, you may have had interest in weapons, but against a man with more bloodlust than you’d think possible and a knife? You were doomed to lose from the start. Maybe you already knew that. Maybe you didn’t care. Maybe it was enough to see him, touch him, hear him, in person. Maybe it was worth it. 

He did not kill you. 

He had you pinned to the wall, he could kill you. He said he’d kill you. A knife–his knife– was placed in your hand. You had two choices, kiss him or kill him. You could kill him, and like he said, you probably should kill him. You pointed the knife at his heart, metal lightly touching the fabric of his shirt. You kept the knife steady in your hand and pulled him in.

You kissed him. 

He kissed you back. A messy, desperate, yet passionate kiss. He kissed you like you didn’t have a knife to his heart. Like the metal was not threatening to do more than scratch at his skin. You were threatening to take his heart, his entire being, and he was letting you. 

The two of you separated, slightly. Looking at his slightly breathless lips and smirk, you found yourself thinking. 

Maybe you already had his heart. 

“Ya gonna keep that pointed at me?” he leaned closer to you, unflinching as the blade cut into him. 

“Yeah…” you smiled, “Just tryna bite the Devil back.” 

He threw his head back and laughed, brilliant and insane. “You’re gonna have to bite harder than that, Darlin’.” 

He moved closer, briefly pressing your foreheads together before pressing his lips on yours. Your knife cut deeper into him, whether it was because he moved closer to you, or you pressed it deeper into, or perhaps both, you didn’t know. With his body against yours and heart in your hands, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

[decayedsword]

Could you please do Ronin taking care of a reader who caught the flu or something similar (just sick!reader in general haha)?? I love your works and how closely you write Ronin to the source material! <3

A/N: aaaaa thank you so much!!! <3

You’re Breathing Wrong (But I Guess I’ll Let It Slide)

You didn't remember falling asleep on the couch.

You definitely didn't remember Ronin carrying you to bed, though the ache in your bones told you you'd been moved, maybe a few times as he fussed with blankets and temperature controls you vaguely registered as too hot, then too cold, then too everything.

You wake again to the clink of something ceramic and a muffled curse. "Shit."

You try to respond but your throat makes a noise between a whimper and a dying animal. You settle for blinking at him again. He sighs.

Fifteen minutes later, you're still horizontal and thoroughly miserable, but now you’ve got a glass of water, two cold meds, a damp towel on your forehead, and, possibly the most shocking part of all, a bowl of instant noodles. The good kind, too. Not the ones you bought in bulk for emergencies, but the ones Ronin always hides in the back of the cabinet like a dragon hoarding spicy treasure.

“You’re giving me your good ramen?” you croak, voice rasping against your sore throat.

He shrugs, dropping onto the armchair like his joints are optional. “Figured it’d be your last meal.”

You snort, and then immediately regret it as it turns into a coughing fit. Ronin glances over, eyebrows drawn.

“Christ. You sound like a haunted accordion.”

You wheeze out a laugh anyway. He looks half-proud of the line.

Eventually, you manage to slurp down some broth and nibble a few noodles, though you don’t get far before your arms feel too heavy to lift the bowl. Ronin’s watching from across the room, one foot propped up on the coffee table, arms crossed.

“You’re doing that thing,” you mutter between sips.

“What thing?”

“The… looking at me like I’m about to break thing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, voice dry. “I’m just trying to figure out whether I should take out your enemies while you’re down or let them have a sporting chance.”

A wheezy laugh escapes you before it turns into a cough, your whole body curling up with the force of it. He’s there instantly, one hand at your back, the other grabbing tissues and lifting the soup out of splash range.

“Okay, okay—slow down. Jesus. You’re like a dying ferret.”

You try to flip him off. Your hand barely twitches.

“Wow. Powerful.” He adjusts the cloth on your forehead again with unexpected gentleness. “Don’t get up. Drink this.” He puts a cup of water to your mouth, and helps you drink it. He then brushes the hair out of your eyes with the back of his hand, and presses the thermometer under your tongue. He doesn’t say anything when he sees the number, but his frown deepens. You know what he’s thinking.

“I’ll live,” you mumble.

Ronin snorts. “Don’t jinx it. I already promised your ghost I’d keep the apartment clean.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, the warmth of his hand at your temple enough to lull you halfway into sleep again. But then you feel him shift. Pull away. You reach out.

Your hand finds the hem of his jacket and tugs, weak and awkward. He stills.

“…Stay,” you whisper.

There’s a long pause. He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he didn’t hear you—or that he’s going to say something sarcastic—but then you feel the mattress shift.

He climbs in next to you, above the covers, just close enough that your knees bump. You feel the weight of his arm settle beside your head. Not touching you directly—he’s always careful like that, especially when you’re vulnerable—but he’s close. Tangible. Warm in a way that doesn’t suffocate.

“…This doesn’t mean I want your germs,” he mutters.

You make a small, amused noise.

“You always act like you’re so tough,” you murmur. “But you made me soup.”

“Shut up.”

“You tucked me in.”

“Shut up.”

You smile.

“Bet you even kissed my forehead while I was asleep.”

His hand twitches like he’s deciding whether to shove you off the bed. You grin wider. You know you're right.

“I should’ve let you marinate in fever dreams,” he grumbles. “Let you hallucinate your way through the week.”

“You love me,” you whisper sleepily, triumphant.

He doesn’t say anything. You drift in and out of sleep after that, fever dragging you under and shaking you around like a snow globe. Sometimes you dream. Sometimes you just hallucinate that Ronin is talking to you in the form of a large crow on the windowsill. But between the blurs of light and sound, there are moments. Moments of warmth and quiet.

Ronin adjusting the blanket over your shoulders. Picking up the tissues you dropped. Sitting on the floor beside the couch, back against the armrest, humming low under his breath. Not music. Just something to fill the silence. At one point, when the sun’s gone down and you’re too weak to hold a glass on your own, he holds it to your lips without a word and waits until you finish drinking.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he mutters afterward.

Your lips curve in a faint smile. “Tell them what?”

“That I’m not letting you die horribly.”

“I’d never snitch,” you whisper.

He grunts. “Better not. I’ve got a reputation.” The next morning, you're barely any better, but you wake up tucked under Ronin’s arm. You’re pretty sure he ended up there by accident. His fingers twitch when you stir, like they’re unsure whether to withdraw or cling harder. His mouth moves like he wants to complain but can’t find the energy to do it.

“You’re still breathing,” he mumbles.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be.” He squeezes you briefly, like a secret. “I don’t think I could make good noodles again if you weren’t around to call me dramatic.”

You hum. “You are dramatic.”

“Shut up and die quieter.”

But he doesn’t let go.

And you don’t die.

[decayedsword]

RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH RONIN!!!!!!!

[decayedsword]

Ronin in Dangarompa? I think yes ofc so if I have the energy to make v ,Angela end Misaki to in the stayl I hope I will do them

[decayedsword]

love your writing sm!! if you're up for it, would you write an desperate ex-boyfriend ronin fic where he really wants 2 get back together with us...tysm!!!

Thank you for this request !!! It was SO fun to write!! And really a challenge to write ronin desperate w/o changing integral parts of his character/several chapters of set up lol <3

Ao3 link! - What's hell worth without the devil?

Summary:

Ronin’s crowbar hits off the wall with a metallic thunk, sparks flying off the end of it from the force of the blow. He pushes his hair back from his face and stoops to pick his beanie up from where it'd fallen on the ground. Shakes the dirt off and picks out a fleshy bit of viscera from where it’s wrapped itself around the point of one of his horns. Angel was right. He’s being fucking stupid. He needs to talk to you, needs to see you, needs to fix this. Now.

OR,

Ronin desperately wants to win back your affection after you break up, happy ending ensues. 

NSFW for graphic depictions of violence! like no joke! read at own risk!

6,387 words :)

TW: Graphic depictions of violence

CW: hurt and comfort, references to sex, breakup discussions

Cracking ribs is always a satisfying endeavour. One of Ronin's favourites- second only to cutting out hearts and making elaborate displays out of the bodies of the damned, of course. 

It takes less force that you'd expect to damage a human ribcage; sure, there's some resistance when his hand wraps around the slippery, wet bone, finds purchase in its grooves between the pulp and viscera coating it and pulls, but it's just the right amount of resistance. The kind that makes you put your back into it, makes you feel like you've really worked for it when it inevitably stops creaking and snaps clean off into your hand with a satisfying, sicking, crunch. 

It's even better when the asshole he's doing it to is still alive to feel it, gurgling and rasping out breaths around their punctured lungs. Whining, pleading, begging for him to stop, prattling on about what a good christian they are; pastor at a fucking church like that isn’t the whole goddamned point, like Ronin doesn't already know who they are. This always makes Ronin feel better- so why isn't it fucking working?

He’d come out to Purgatory to get some fucking peace, fed up to his teeth of seeing the Slaughterhouse’s main chat ripple with a constant dripping stream of worry- for you. Not a single drop of even as much as pity for him even though he was the one who got dumped. 

Ronin knows he’s an asshole, practically revels in it but it’s not like he’s unfeeling. He might not take things personally, but it’s not like he didn’t care about you at all. You were important to him- are important to him so of course he’s upset, but no one seems to give a shit about that. It grinds his teeth to think about.

Angel is the only one who has bothered to ask about how he’s been doing; but seeing as she’s incredibly smart and would have long put two and two together as to why he was broken up with, Ronin’s been ignoring her because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Hell, she probably put it together before he did with the way she’s been blowing up his inbox telling him to just talk to you, to work it out- as if it’s ever that fucking easy. 

He’d needed to get away. Needed space, needed to get out his own fucking head, needed to give himself some satisfaction in what is shaping up to be an incredibly shitty fucking week… He’d needed to feel like he was good at something, and slaughtering? Well that’s simply second nature to the devil. 

So he came here, to purgatory, yet for some reason, he still feels like a rat trapped in a cage. Every thought, every sensation, every emotion is a winding path his mind takes back to you and that moment. That second when everything splintered and you let go. He doesn’t blame you. Hell, he even gets why you did it, he’s just… unsure of how to fix it when he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it. Not even to you. 

It hadn't been a big confrontation, not some big blow out or a fight where blame could be assigned and he'd have something to focus on other than the lingering regret. Just a quiet conversation where he couldn’t push the words he’d wanted to say past his tongue, choosing instead to brush you off with a wave and some stupid fucking joke of a line about ‘not taking things personally’ and then playfully suggesting that maybe you were jealous like a fucking idiot. 

Ronin’s crowbar hits off the wall with a metallic thunk, sparks flying off the end of it from the force of the blow. He’s hunched over, breathing heavy from the rage he'd funnelled into the hit. A high pitched cackle breaks free from his chest and leaves him breathless, tips him sideways with the force of his laughter and he has to catch himself on the wall when he inevitably stumbles into it. 

Ronin pushes his hair back from his face and stoops to pick his beanie up from where it'd fallen on the ground. Shakes the dirt off and picks out a fleshy bit of viscera from where it’s wrapped itself around the point of one of his horns. Angel was right. He’s being fucking stupid. He needs to talk to you, needs to see you, needs to fix this. Now. Ronin takes off out of purgatory like he’s on fire and you’re the only water in a hundred miles.

*

You sigh, and re-open the direct messaging window to your very own goreboy- or, the person who was your goreboy but isn't now. Your eyes sting at the thought, but no tears come out; you’ve cried so much in this past week that you’re not sure you have any tears left. 

You keep hoping that Ronin will reach out, that he’ll have something to say that will let you change your mind but he hasn’t. Not even a precursory message to see how you’re doing, the kind of one where you both pretend you’re going to be able to be friends after the heartbreak ends. You’re not. You know you’re not. At least not for a long time. It’s why you haven’t reached out either, you can’t stand the though of pretending. The idea alone makes your heart ache.

Your friends have been trying to distract you from it; there’s always someone in the main chat in the Slaughterhouse, just waiting for you to come online. You have a flood of unanswered direct messages just sitting in your inbox that you can’t bring yourself to look at, but the one person you really want to talk to, or even just see has been offline since you broke up with him. 

You don't regret it- being with Ronin was as easy as breathing until it wasn't. Until you finally figured out that under all that sarcasm and wit and insincerity was a man who wasn't quite ready to face his emotions, or at least not with you. 

You poured your heart out to Angel once, worried that maybe you were wrong, or moving too fast, or were simply just not enough for him. She told you that you just needed to give him time, that Ronin was stubborn as a mule but he would come around, so you did. 

You gave him months and months and months of your life. You disregarded hurt feeling after hurt feeling, telling yourself that he loved you, that he didn't have to say it because he showed it, in all the little things that he did, in the ways he couldn't keep his hands off of you. That it was always lurking just below the surface unspoken, bleeding out of his movements and into your heart. So you made your peace with it. Your boyfriend loved you, he just wasn't ever going to say it. And it was fine. Really it was. 

…But then you finally got to meet Angel in person. And it was clear that Ronin loved her in the way that he moved, but also in the way that he said ‘You know I love you, dollface,’ in that private, teasing linger of his, sarcastic as hell but also genuine as he was laid spread out on her couch, head tilted over the back of it, grinning at her from his upside down point of view. Angel's eyes had flashed to yours, and for a split second you got to register her shock while she got to recognise your grief before you both managed to politely disguise your emotions. That’s when you learned he could say it, just not to you. 

Ever since you broke up you’ve been wondering if Ronin is going to be forever stuck in the past. From what you’ve heard, in his relationship with Angel he was stuck on his highschool sweetheart- not that he ever really talks about her, and now, in his relationship with you, it seems he is stuck on Angel. 

When you feel really bad about it you remind yourself that it's less of a you thing and more of a him thing, but afterwards, when the tears have fled and the anger resurfaces you always feel like you're giving him too much grace. Like who cares if it’s a you thing or a him thing, even if he can’t talk about it he could at least give you the fucking dignity of knowing. Say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, ‘it’s not me, it’s you’. Something, anything instead of just leaving you to fucking guess how he feels all the fucking time because nothing ever seems to fucking bother him. 

If he’s told you once, he’s told you twice; Ronin ‘doesn’t take things personal’. Apparently not even being dumped. You felt like an idiot being the only one crying when it happened. You feel like an idiot now, sitting here with rubbed raw eyes and dark circles you could swim in, anxiously trying to convince yourself that nothing will have changed in the five minutes since you closed your messages. Because nothing will have changed. You know this. You know this. 

You reopen the chat. It’s still the same conversation as when you left it: 

<you> hey, are you busy?

<goreboy> nah, What’s Up? 

sumthin on your Pretty little Mind? 

<you> can I come over?

<goreboy> Course darlin’

like you Need to Ask

door’s Always Open

<you> 

(…)

(…)

(…)

(…)

<goreboy>

don’t go giving me the silent treatment now darlin’ 

wouldn’t want me to Get The Wrong Idea and start thinking You Don’t Love Me Anymore, would we? 

Wouldn’t Want to Deny the Devil his Sacrilege

<you> think I’m gonna love you forever Ronin… think you’ll be the death of me, even if you’re not The Death of Me.

…but we do need to talk. I’ll be over in 15.

You knew it wasn’t going to be any different, but somehow it’s still a gut punch, staring at the little “offline” tag beside Ronin's name, right above his blank description. The one he'd deleted just hours after you'd broken up because he was no longer your shoulder devil, was he? It’d stung, how fast he’d moved, but you couldn’t really spite him for that seeing as you’re the one who actually ended it. 

You still don’t have the heart to change yours, so it just stares at you, unblinking: ‘could call you my conscience, the way you’re always on my shoulder, but you’re the one leading me astray.’ You tell yourself that it’s inconspicuous enough, that it’s fine you’ve left it, that no one ever said it was about Ronin specifically, but you know you all know.

You sigh loudly through your nose and use your foot to push off against your computer desk so your swivel chair swings around to face your room. Only, instead of being greeted by the lonely sight of your empty bedroom, your vision catches on some movement outside your window and you see Ronin, crouched on your windowsill and gesturing for you to let him inside. 

The sight startles you so much you let out a shrill squeak, jumping where you’re sitting in your chair and clapping your hands over your mouth in fright. Ronin’s positively drenched in blood and he’s waving his crowbar at you with a cheeky grin. You don’t even know how he got there; you live on the second floor. 

When you don’t move after a second you hear a light chunk chunk chunk, as he ever so gently raps his crowbar against your window, leaving behind a bloody wet spot that dribbles down the glass. He raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say, ‘Not gonna let me in, darlin’?’

Not a single thought crawls across your mind before you’re padding quickly across the room to yank the window open. 

‘Happy t’ see me, darlin’?’ Ronin immediately drawls. His face is cocky, smug in that way he normally is but you can tell it's not genuine. You know him well enough by now to see that it’s forced. There’s an element of upset where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, a nagging crease in the front of his brows and a tension in his forehead as his eyes search yours for something, you’re just not sure what it is he’s looking for.

The expression makes you falter, startles you out of your exuberance at seeing Ronin for the first time in what feels like forever and suddenly you remember that you’re broken up. That you can’t read his mind or just assume what he’s thinking because clearly you’ve been getting it wrong. 

Meeting Angel had proven that to you. The conversation you had with Ronin after had solidified it as fact when he had brushed off your worries with a snort and a, ‘That? Nah, that didn’t mean anythin’ darlin’. You don’t have to worry.’ Before flashing you a cheeky smile and then walking out of the living room and into his bedroom, picking up dirty clothes off the floor as if they were suddenly the most important thing in the world even though they’d been there for the better part of a week.

You step away from the window, and allow Ronin to slip into your room as silent as the night. He’s been in purgatory, that much is obvious. He’s so covered in blood it leaves wet smears behind on your white window sill, slides in drips off of his jacket and onto the floor. His hair is wet and stringy with it, and his hands are a mixture of flaking and wet bright red. You frown at the sight of it. Good to know it’s just business as usual for him.  

You stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever but is probably only a minute before Ronin breaks it with, ‘You’re still crying?’ in this strange, inaccessible kind of monotone that’s usually reserved for shutting down a conversation that is difficult for him.

You turn your head away, close your eyes to block him out like that’ll hide how puffy your face is from a week of non-stop tears. 

You hear a dull thump that you recognise as his crowbar and the sound of footsteps creaking across your floor. You slit your eyes open, unable to believe he’s really leaving and  end up flinching in shock at how close Ronin is to you, barely two steps away with his hand held out like he wants to touch your face and- oh you can’t do this. 

You’d let Ronin in without thinking because try as you might otherwise you still love him. And because the reckless asshole has apparently been wandering through the streets drenched head to toe in blood, and while you might be broken up, you still don’t want him caught. You don’t think you’ll survive him pretending to care though. It’s one thing for him to come here to try and be your friend again, it's another entirely for him to touch you as casually as he used to, for him to wipe away the tears you’d spilt because of him. 

Ronin’s hand hangs uselessly in mid-air for a second before he stuffs it in his pocket, clears his throat awkwardly and looks to the side. ‘Didn’t uh- didn’t think you cry over me, least not- not this much. Listen, darlin’ I-’ He cuts himself off and his mouth twists in displeasure. He pulls his beanie off his head with one hand and musses his hair up with the other, looking away from you. You wait for Ronin to finish, but he doesn’t say anything for a long time, just avoids your gaze by turning his beanie over and over in his bloody grasp and fiddling with its little plastic horns.

You take pity on him, scuff your feet into the carpet as you ask, ‘So… how was Purgatory?’ 

Ronin glances up at you, wry smile playing on his lips, ‘Shit.’ He says, succinctly. You frown, Ronin may enter purgatory in a variety of moods, but he always leaves it in a good one. …This doesn’t bode well.

‘What, there wasn’t anyone worth killing around?’ You probe. You’re not entirely sure why you're doing this, not sure why you’re playing nice while tears congregate in your eyes and you have to swallow around the lump in your throat just to speak to him.

‘Nah, there was. Just wasn’t any fun, y’know. W’s like all the joy got sucked right out of it.’ Ronin mimes swinging his crowbar into the empty air and lets it hang there for a second before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You snort a laugh even though what you’re feeling is far from amused. For some reason Ronin’s words sting and even though you know he isn’t blaming you for it, it feels like he is. ‘What? Your One True Love just not doing it for you anymore? Gonna go back to your ex and tell her you love her instead?’ You snap. You’re not entirely sure your insult makes any sense but you don’t care about that, all you care about is that it hurts. The same way you hurt.

Ronin’s face twists for just a second, his eyes go wide and his wry smile stutters with strain before the mask reappears, you know you’ve struck a nerve. Good. You want him to be mad, want him to be ugly, want him to be angry, anything other than sardonically amused- least then you’d know he feels something.

Ronin doesn’t snap back. He doesn't say something cruel or mean like you want him too even though you know he’s smart enough to cut you where it hurts. Instead he huffs a breathless laugh like you said something funny. It's dry, ringing with the same kind of hollow, sardonic wit he was so fond of when you first met him and the sound itches at your skin, burrows itself deep and sits inside your ribcage like fuel, flaring your rage to higher depths.

‘Guess I deserved that one. But, baby don’t’cha know? Technically you’re my ‘ex’ now.’ Ronin ends his sentence with a high pitched giggle, almost hysterical in it’s making with a grin to match but you’re not laughing, you’re not even smiling- you don’t know what kind of face you’re making but you’re sure it’s not an attractive one as you contort your features in a desperate attempt not to cry. 

The exaggerated smile slowly slips off Ronin’s face, gets replaced instead with an agitated, almost worried look and you want to hit him for daring to pity you like this. You don’t, Ronin would probably like it if you did. Grab you by the wrists mid-strike and tut something about virtue and self-restraint, say, ‘Show me how you really feel, darlin,’. Or maybe he’d laugh wildly in that way you can’t resist and say, ‘Finally. Been waiting all night for you to show me your true self, baby,’ before leaning down to kiss you and- no. 

You don’t need to be entertaining these thoughts. Actually, you need him to go, and you need him to go now; it’s been hard enough trying not to think of him while he’s not here and now that he is it's all you can manage not to fantasise a thousand different scenarios where he's come back for you and everything is wonderful, fixed, like it never broke in the first place.

‘I think you should leave.’ You choke out, eyes trained on the floor. You can’t bring yourself to look at Ronin, knowing your resolve will fracture in a fragment of a second with one aching smile from his stupid fucking gorgeous face. 

You don’t hear him move, don't hear him breathe in the dead silence of the room. You don’t look up, you can’t, just wait silently for him to leave with your eyes pinched tightly shut and quiet tears creeping their way out and down your cheeks. 

It’s silent for so long you start to wonder if you’ve imagined him; if this is just the inevitable mental break that comes with staying up all hours of the night, driving yourself crazy from hoping with all your heartbroken might that something will have changed, that is until Ronin starts speaking. You can’t help but crack open your eyes to see him.

‘Y’know darlin’, killing assholes always makes me feel better,’ Ronin mimes swinging a crowbar out towards you, almost comical in its theatricality- you don't flinch, ‘but I killed six people today alone, darlin’. Six. Doesn't break my record but still… ‘S one hell of a number f’ me to still feel like absolute dogshit afterwards.’ 

You don’t know where Ronin’s going with this, why he’s telling you, all you can focus on is the stinging sensation in your chest where you’re sure your heart is slowly splitting in two in real time. An audible sob rattles its way out your throat before you have time to catch it. You reach up and desperately wipe at your face as the tears start to flood out in torrents. ‘Aw, baby.’ It should sound mocking, the way he usually is but maybe the sleep deprivation really is getting to you because he sounds choked, sincere in his emotions. 

Ronin reaches out and rubs a thumb over your wet cheek, it’s pointless considering how hard you’re crying but the gesture is comforting regardless. You lean your head into the warmth of his grasp before realising what you’re doing and jerking out of it sharply with a wounded noise. 

Your cheek feels sticky from where it connected with Ronin’s palm, his hands are still so bloody that he’s for sure left some on your face. You don't wipe it away, you can’t- what if this is the last time he touches you? A whimper rises in your throat at the thought. Oh God, this is so embarrassing.

You Can’t withstand the way Ronin’s looking at you, so you drop your gaze to look at the floor instead. At least this way you can finally stop thinking about his stupid beautiful face. You watch his spiked boots stride forwards as Ronin takes the opportunity to step closer to you, to lean in so you can feel his body heat. He runs like a furnace, so even though he’s not quite touching you, it feels like he is.

‘Darlin’...’ You feel his hand brush your chin and you flinch away from it.

‘Don't touch me.’ The words rush out in a sharp, whispered hiss.

Ronin withdraws his hand like he's been burned. You feel his breath hit you face as he sighs heavily, then watch as his boots retreat out of your line of sight and his body heat dissipates as he steps away from you. You can hear it as he moves around the room. He's leaving. You know he's leaving- you asked him to leave but the reality of it happening still hurts. This is good, you remind yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut, your hands coming up to cover your face as you start to sob openly again, not giving a damn if he sees you cry. 

‘Oh darlin’.’ You flinch and your eyes snap open. Ronin's right in front of you, jacketless and about a foot away with both hands in the air like he wants to touch you, to hold you but he won't because you told him not to. You spot his jacket sitting on your dresser on the other side of the room and realise he was just taking the blood soaked thing off, rather than climbing back out your room and disappearing off into the night. 

You sniffle, looking at him with wary eyes as all the fight drains out of your body. You don’t know what he wants, and you're so tired. You don't want to fight anymore. You're thinking about turning around and just tucking yourself into bed, not caring what Ronin chooses to do when he surprises you.

‘I'm sorry.’ It comes out quiet, voice subdued and serious without the usual melodramatic flair that twists them into something sarcastic. He’s not grinning, not even smiling or looking at you calculating like you’re entertainment for him, just watching you with a frown. 

Ronin's face pinches slightly when you don't say anything, mouth twisting down slightly and frown deepening. He seems uncomfortable, which is weird because Ronin’s never uncomfortable; if there's one thing that's true about Ronin is he has the upper hand in every situation simply by the nature of his outlook on life. He always wins. Doesn’t look like he’s winning right now though.

Ronin scrubs a hand through his hair, grips it tightly and pulls. His eyes widen dramatically, and he steps up into your space, his other hand hovering around your shoulder like he wants to grab you but he can’t. ‘I shouldn't have brushed you off when you were upset, I should have listened to you- hell, I shouldn't have said that to Angel in the first place!’ A deranged grin creeps onto his face as he laughs a little hysterically but it doesn't sound happy. ‘I love you, darlin’, I really do-’

‘Please don't. You-you don't have to lie for me.’ You choke out. You can't stand to hear him say that for your comfort, to get you to stop crying- like it means nothing. You make to walk away when Ronin grabs you by the shoulders with both hands and pulls you back to face him.

‘I’m not lying! It’s the truth! None of that fake shit, I love you and I fucked up. I love you, darlin’-’ Ronin’s gripping you tightly by the shoulders, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it and he’s got this desperate look on his face, eyebrows raised high, eyes wide and panicked. From this close up you can see they’re bloodshot, like maybe he’s not been sleeping either.

He sounds frantic, ‘I love you, darlin’, I do. …I’m sorry I pushed you away, I… haven’t felt this uh, love business in a- …a long time… not since-’ Ronin cuts himself off, drops his gaze to look at the floor while swearing under his breath. ‘Fuck.’

You know who he means, his childhood sweetheart, someone he's only ever alluded to because the memories are too painful. She’s dead now, and that’s about all you know about her because Ronin won’t ever talk about it, he categorically refuses to.

You watch Ronin breathe in deeply, then breathe out slow and measured as he closes his eyes. When he speaks his voice is quiet, subdued like the words hurt to say, ‘Not since Ther. They're the last person I really loved, and it ended… badly. I did love Angel, but it was… different. We were both trying to fill holes that weren't supposed to be filled like that.

‘And then you wandered into my life, and you were supposed to be something fun to play with, something to keep me entertained between slaughterings. 

‘You managed to fair through all my bullshit better than most. Hell! You made it look like it was fun and uh… I didn't expect to fall as hard as I did. I was bored, and you were supposed to be nothing more than entertainment then suddenly you were important to me, more important than anyone’s been in a while. I didn't know what to do with that. 

‘…I was scared to lose you, like I lost her.I kept you at arms length so it would- hurt less. But turns out I wasn’t listening, and then I lost you anyway!’ Ronin laughs sharply, self-deprecating and pained. ‘I was being stupid. And I’m sorry. And I love you-’

You don't know what to say. You think maybe you should be mad, or upset, or some other negative emotion at the rollercoaster you’ve just been on but you're so relieved that you’re lightheaded and your legs feel weak. This is what you'd wanted in the first place- for him to just talk to you. 

At some point during your monologue the tears had stopped but now they come back full force- you can't restrain yourself. Fuck ‘should be’. You near launch yourself at Ronin, tumbling into his shaking arms and snaking your own around his waist to grip him tightly. 

Ronin makes a startled noise, then his arms come down around your waist and hold you there tightly. 

‘Take it this means you still love me, darlin?’ His voice is thick with emotion, tight and strained as he asks the question. It's phrased as a joke but you know it's not, know it's just his way of trying to abate the tension he's feeling and you don’t mind it- as long as he’s willing to talk to you honestly about how he’s feeling he can make all the stupid jokes and sarcastic one liners he wants.

‘Never stopped.’ Comes your mumble from where your face is squished tight against his chest. Ronin laughs, but the noise is strained like it’s covering something. You're about to question it when you feel his shoulders curl in around you as they continue shaking even after the laughter peters out. 

You clutch him tighter to you, fist your hands in the back of his shirt and relish getting to hold him close. ‘Love you, ‘Nin.’ You sniffle, ‘Never stopped. Not one second. Been fucking hell without you.’ Ronin's hands come up to press themselves against your face, angle it up so you’re looking at him. His hands are sticky with the drying, flaking blood, you're probably covered in it now you've pressed yourself against him so completely but you really don’t care. 

Ronin looks serious, shiny wet tracks covering his cheeks and a furrow in his brow with no trace of his usual cocky grin to be seen. His thumb smooths itself along your cheekbone, then he brushes some of your hair out of your face. ‘I am sorry, darlin’. Can't promise it won't happen again, given how fucked up I am,’ He lets out a self depreciating snort, ‘but I'll try my best. Promise.’ He presses his lips softly to your forehead, before tucking your face against his chest and resting his head atop yours.

‘’S all I'm asking for, Ronin. I know it's hard for you.’ You mumble into his chest, leaning your weight on him for support, suddenly exhausted after everything that just happened. And with the exhaustion, comes insecurity, ‘...I love you, Ronin.’ You say, tentatively, with the sole hope of hearing him say it back.

‘I love you too, darlin’.’ He presses a kiss to your head, ‘Now let's go to bed, you look like the dead come walking. They’re gonna put you on stage ‘n’ make you sing about it if you’re not careful.’ 

You snort, ‘You’d just love that, huh? But you’re the one climbing in my window begging to take me to bed. You’re more Veronica than I am right now.’ 

You’re mumbling sleepily into his chest, but you make your point well enough because Ronin snorts before saying, ‘Touché. Now let's go, sleepy.’ He starts marching you backwards towards your bed without letting go of you. If you were less tired you would complain, but instead you lean more of your weight against him and let him do the work.

‘Wow, can't even lift your feet now, baby? Guess you really were that cut up about me, huh?’ Ronin sounds smug and it should be too soon but you're so fucking sleep deprived and so fucking relieved that the comment makes you giggle wildly. 

‘You also look bad, ‘Nin. Feral’s not a good look on you.’ 

You hear him snort from somewhere above you, saying, ‘Now I know you’re delirious because that’s a flat out lie. We both know I look my best all fucked out on a little self-indulgent depravity.’ 

You stop, put a to his chest and let your head lull back to accost him with an accusing stare, ‘You call this self-indulgent depravity?’ 

‘Are you telling me I don’t look good?’ He strikes what is probably supposed to be a sexy pose, but is entirely ruined by how he keeps glancing at you and waggling his eyebrows. You try to keep a straight face but a laugh bursts out of you anyhow. 

‘I meant more how you’re looking emotionally wrung out and like you haven’t slept in five days.’

Ronin shrugs flippantly and pulls you back into his arms, ‘Okay, maybe this time is more like wanton desperation.’ He moans dramatically as he says it. 

You slap him on the arm, ‘Ronin, c’mon, be serious.’

‘I am serious, deadly so.’ He fixes you with a deadpan gaze that you barely have a second to laugh at before he’s manhandling you up onto your bed. You wriggle under your blankets happily, turning to look at him through sleepy eyes when Ronin doesn't get in the bed with you.

The sight that greets you is both incredibly familiar and entirely breathtaking. Ronin's striking a pose again, similar in concept, but decidedly less funny this time. He’s got his hands relaxed on his hips, shouldersback and elbows tucked, face tipped up towards the ceiling. He's down at you with a smirk but the angle makes his lidded gaze look both sultry and almost condescending. 

Somehow, even with hair wet and matted with blood and dark circles that could rival a black hole your boyfriend proves to be the hottest person on Earth. Ronin cracks a smile when you fail to say anything witty in response, instead you just stare at him with your mouth open stupidly. He chuckles and then drops the pose in favour of crawling over you. ‘S rude to stare, y'know, darlin’?’ 

You're still stuck on how beautiful Ronin is, feeling dazed and a little stare struck when he leans down to kiss you gently. His sticky hair tickles your cheeks before he sits up to shuck his jeans off and join you in bed. He slides in beside you and then attaches himself to your side like a limpet. 

Ronin nuzzles into the side of your face while saying, ‘You won't believe how crazy I went without you, gorgeous. Killed so many people.’ He cackles sharply, like the idea is funny to him, ‘didn't even make a dent in how bad I was feeling.’

He’s silent for a second before he speaks again, and this time his voice is more serious, quieter, ‘…Think maybe you're integral to me, darlin’. Gonna have to keep you close from now on.’ He presses a kiss against your cheek, pulling you in closer to him as he says this. You wiggle round in his grasp to face him, lace your fingers through his own before leaning up to gently kiss him.

‘Don't have to worry about that. Never going anywhere again, ‘Nin.’ 

‘I'm not worried, darlin’. I’ve learnt my lesson,’ He laughs dryly, ‘not gonna forsake you again. Just want you nearby, that's all.’ Ronin hums thoughtfully before saying, ‘When we get up tomorrow we should talk about moving in together, all married-like.’ 

‘Ninnn, c'mon. I already forgave you, there's no need to overcompensate.’ 

Ronin pulls back from you to look you in the eyes, his face is deadly serious, voice a steady rumble when he says, ‘No overcompensation here, darlin’. Just saying what I've been wishing I said all fucking week when you asked if I was ever gonna love you. Because I did. I- I do. Love you, that is.’ He breaks eye contact, clears his throat and looks away, ‘W's just being a coward, ‘s all.’

‘Oh.’ You say. 

‘Good “oh” or bad “oh”?’ Ronin's teasing you again, smug grin on his face and you know where he's going with it before he even starts to say, ‘No, wait, I know what your good O sounds like, it sounds like this-’ before he starts fake moaning, imitating what you sound like in bed with a shit eating grin on his face. 

‘Ronin! Oh my God! Stop! Don't- don't do that!’ You put your hands over his mouth, try to muffle the sounds leaking out of it and it seems to work. You’re so relieved you don’t think twice about how suspiciously easy that was. 

Ronin has stopped his ridiculously exaggerated moaning but you fail to see the glint in his eyes before he opens his mouth wide and licks your palm with a truly disgusting amount of saliva. ‘RONIN!’ You shriek, hands flying away from his mouth as he rolls around your bed, cackling heavily at the outraged look on your face. 

You're busy wiping your hands on the bedspread when Ronin snuggles himself back into your side, ‘See, if we lived together we could do this every damn day.’ 

‘Why on Earth would I want you to basically spit in my hands every damn day, Ronin?’

‘Well… I was more thinking about the “good O” part of it.’

You turn your head so you're looking at him, you're pressed so close that your noses brush when you do. ‘You, Ronin Beaufort, are a horndog.’ He’s grinning at you through half opened eyes, already well on his way to dreamland now that you’re securely in his arms and everything is right again. You’re overcome for a second with how beautiful he is before you manage to get ahold of yourself and finish your sentence. ‘Now, we are going to snuggle and then we are going to sleep. We can discuss this tomorrow.’ 

‘Whatever you say, boss.’Ronin is grinning contentedly as he lifts his head just to flop it down on your pillow, closing his eyes and making an exaggerated show of ‘going to sleep’, smacking his lips and reshuffling like he’s seventy and he’s uncomfortable. Somehow during all of this, he sneakily manages to pull you even closer in his embrace, entangling your legs and pulling you partially on top of him and for the first time in a week your heart feels whole as you close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

[decayedsword]

love your writing sm!! if you're up for it, would you write an desperate ex-boyfriend ronin fic where he really wants 2 get back together with us...tysm!!!

Thank you for this request !!! It was SO fun to write!! And really a challenge to write ronin desperate w/o changing integral parts of his character/several chapters of set up lol <3

Ao3 link! - What's hell worth without the devil?

Summary:

Ronin’s crowbar hits off the wall with a metallic thunk, sparks flying off the end of it from the force of the blow. He pushes his hair back from his face and stoops to pick his beanie up from where it'd fallen on the ground. Shakes the dirt off and picks out a fleshy bit of viscera from where it’s wrapped itself around the point of one of his horns. Angel was right. He’s being fucking stupid. He needs to talk to you, needs to see you, needs to fix this. Now.

OR,

Ronin desperately wants to win back your affection after you break up, happy ending ensues. 

NSFW for graphic depictions of violence! like no joke! read at own risk!

6,387 words :)

TW: Graphic depictions of violence

CW: hurt and comfort, references to sex, breakup discussions

Cracking ribs is always a satisfying endeavour. One of Ronin's favourites- second only to cutting out hearts and making elaborate displays out of the bodies of the damned, of course. 

It takes less force that you'd expect to damage a human ribcage; sure, there's some resistance when his hand wraps around the slippery, wet bone, finds purchase in its grooves between the pulp and viscera coating it and pulls, but it's just the right amount of resistance. The kind that makes you put your back into it, makes you feel like you've really worked for it when it inevitably stops creaking and snaps clean off into your hand with a satisfying, sicking, crunch. 

It's even better when the asshole he's doing it to is still alive to feel it, gurgling and rasping out breaths around their punctured lungs. Whining, pleading, begging for him to stop, prattling on about what a good christian they are; pastor at a fucking church like that isn’t the whole goddamned point, like Ronin doesn't already know who they are. This always makes Ronin feel better- so why isn't it fucking working?

He’d come out to Purgatory to get some fucking peace, fed up to his teeth of seeing the Slaughterhouse’s main chat ripple with a constant dripping stream of worry- for you. Not a single drop of even as much as pity for him even though he was the one who got dumped. 

Ronin knows he’s an asshole, practically revels in it but it’s not like he’s unfeeling. He might not take things personally, but it’s not like he didn’t care about you at all. You were important to him- are important to him so of course he’s upset, but no one seems to give a shit about that. It grinds his teeth to think about.

Angel is the only one who has bothered to ask about how he’s been doing; but seeing as she’s incredibly smart and would have long put two and two together as to why he was broken up with, Ronin’s been ignoring her because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Hell, she probably put it together before he did with the way she’s been blowing up his inbox telling him to just talk to you, to work it out- as if it’s ever that fucking easy. 

He’d needed to get away. Needed space, needed to get out his own fucking head, needed to give himself some satisfaction in what is shaping up to be an incredibly shitty fucking week… He’d needed to feel like he was good at something, and slaughtering? Well that’s simply second nature to the devil. 

So he came here, to purgatory, yet for some reason, he still feels like a rat trapped in a cage. Every thought, every sensation, every emotion is a winding path his mind takes back to you and that moment. That second when everything splintered and you let go. He doesn’t blame you. Hell, he even gets why you did it, he’s just… unsure of how to fix it when he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it. Not even to you. 

It hadn't been a big confrontation, not some big blow out or a fight where blame could be assigned and he'd have something to focus on other than the lingering regret. Just a quiet conversation where he couldn’t push the words he’d wanted to say past his tongue, choosing instead to brush you off with a wave and some stupid fucking joke of a line about ‘not taking things personally’ and then playfully suggesting that maybe you were jealous like a fucking idiot. 

Ronin’s crowbar hits off the wall with a metallic thunk, sparks flying off the end of it from the force of the blow. He’s hunched over, breathing heavy from the rage he'd funnelled into the hit. A high pitched cackle breaks free from his chest and leaves him breathless, tips him sideways with the force of his laughter and he has to catch himself on the wall when he inevitably stumbles into it. 

Ronin pushes his hair back from his face and stoops to pick his beanie up from where it'd fallen on the ground. Shakes the dirt off and picks out a fleshy bit of viscera from where it’s wrapped itself around the point of one of his horns. Angel was right. He’s being fucking stupid. He needs to talk to you, needs to see you, needs to fix this. Now. Ronin takes off out of purgatory like he’s on fire and you’re the only water in a hundred miles.

*

You sigh, and re-open the direct messaging window to your very own goreboy- or, the person who was your goreboy but isn't now. Your eyes sting at the thought, but no tears come out; you’ve cried so much in this past week that you’re not sure you have any tears left. 

You keep hoping that Ronin will reach out, that he’ll have something to say that will let you change your mind but he hasn’t. Not even a precursory message to see how you’re doing, the kind of one where you both pretend you’re going to be able to be friends after the heartbreak ends. You’re not. You know you’re not. At least not for a long time. It’s why you haven’t reached out either, you can’t stand the though of pretending. The idea alone makes your heart ache.

Your friends have been trying to distract you from it; there’s always someone in the main chat in the Slaughterhouse, just waiting for you to come online. You have a flood of unanswered direct messages just sitting in your inbox that you can’t bring yourself to look at, but the one person you really want to talk to, or even just see has been offline since you broke up with him. 

You don't regret it- being with Ronin was as easy as breathing until it wasn't. Until you finally figured out that under all that sarcasm and wit and insincerity was a man who wasn't quite ready to face his emotions, or at least not with you. 

You poured your heart out to Angel once, worried that maybe you were wrong, or moving too fast, or were simply just not enough for him. She told you that you just needed to give him time, that Ronin was stubborn as a mule but he would come around, so you did. 

You gave him months and months and months of your life. You disregarded hurt feeling after hurt feeling, telling yourself that he loved you, that he didn't have to say it because he showed it, in all the little things that he did, in the ways he couldn't keep his hands off of you. That it was always lurking just below the surface unspoken, bleeding out of his movements and into your heart. So you made your peace with it. Your boyfriend loved you, he just wasn't ever going to say it. And it was fine. Really it was. 

…But then you finally got to meet Angel in person. And it was clear that Ronin loved her in the way that he moved, but also in the way that he said ‘You know I love you, dollface,’ in that private, teasing linger of his, sarcastic as hell but also genuine as he was laid spread out on her couch, head tilted over the back of it, grinning at her from his upside down point of view. Angel's eyes had flashed to yours, and for a split second you got to register her shock while she got to recognise your grief before you both managed to politely disguise your emotions. That’s when you learned he could say it, just not to you. 

Ever since you broke up you’ve been wondering if Ronin is going to be forever stuck in the past. From what you’ve heard, in his relationship with Angel he was stuck on his highschool sweetheart- not that he ever really talks about her, and now, in his relationship with you, it seems he is stuck on Angel. 

When you feel really bad about it you remind yourself that it's less of a you thing and more of a him thing, but afterwards, when the tears have fled and the anger resurfaces you always feel like you're giving him too much grace. Like who cares if it’s a you thing or a him thing, even if he can’t talk about it he could at least give you the fucking dignity of knowing. Say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, ‘it’s not me, it’s you’. Something, anything instead of just leaving you to fucking guess how he feels all the fucking time because nothing ever seems to fucking bother him. 

If he’s told you once, he’s told you twice; Ronin ‘doesn’t take things personal’. Apparently not even being dumped. You felt like an idiot being the only one crying when it happened. You feel like an idiot now, sitting here with rubbed raw eyes and dark circles you could swim in, anxiously trying to convince yourself that nothing will have changed in the five minutes since you closed your messages. Because nothing will have changed. You know this. You know this. 

You reopen the chat. It’s still the same conversation as when you left it: 

<you> hey, are you busy?

<goreboy> nah, What’s Up? 

sumthin on your Pretty little Mind? 

<you> can I come over?

<goreboy> Course darlin’

like you Need to Ask

door’s Always Open

<you> 

(…)

(…)

(…)

(…)

<goreboy>

don’t go giving me the silent treatment now darlin’ 

wouldn’t want me to Get The Wrong Idea and start thinking You Don’t Love Me Anymore, would we? 

Wouldn’t Want to Deny the Devil his Sacrilege

<you> think I’m gonna love you forever Ronin… think you’ll be the death of me, even if you’re not The Death of Me.

…but we do need to talk. I’ll be over in 15.

You knew it wasn’t going to be any different, but somehow it’s still a gut punch, staring at the little “offline” tag beside Ronin's name, right above his blank description. The one he'd deleted just hours after you'd broken up because he was no longer your shoulder devil, was he? It’d stung, how fast he’d moved, but you couldn’t really spite him for that seeing as you’re the one who actually ended it. 

You still don’t have the heart to change yours, so it just stares at you, unblinking: ‘could call you my conscience, the way you’re always on my shoulder, but you’re the one leading me astray.’ You tell yourself that it’s inconspicuous enough, that it’s fine you’ve left it, that no one ever said it was about Ronin specifically, but you know you all know.

You sigh loudly through your nose and use your foot to push off against your computer desk so your swivel chair swings around to face your room. Only, instead of being greeted by the lonely sight of your empty bedroom, your vision catches on some movement outside your window and you see Ronin, crouched on your windowsill and gesturing for you to let him inside. 

The sight startles you so much you let out a shrill squeak, jumping where you’re sitting in your chair and clapping your hands over your mouth in fright. Ronin’s positively drenched in blood and he’s waving his crowbar at you with a cheeky grin. You don’t even know how he got there; you live on the second floor. 

When you don’t move after a second you hear a light chunk chunk chunk, as he ever so gently raps his crowbar against your window, leaving behind a bloody wet spot that dribbles down the glass. He raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say, ‘Not gonna let me in, darlin’?’

Not a single thought crawls across your mind before you’re padding quickly across the room to yank the window open. 

‘Happy t’ see me, darlin’?’ Ronin immediately drawls. His face is cocky, smug in that way he normally is but you can tell it's not genuine. You know him well enough by now to see that it’s forced. There’s an element of upset where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, a nagging crease in the front of his brows and a tension in his forehead as his eyes search yours for something, you’re just not sure what it is he’s looking for.

The expression makes you falter, startles you out of your exuberance at seeing Ronin for the first time in what feels like forever and suddenly you remember that you’re broken up. That you can’t read his mind or just assume what he’s thinking because clearly you’ve been getting it wrong. 

Meeting Angel had proven that to you. The conversation you had with Ronin after had solidified it as fact when he had brushed off your worries with a snort and a, ‘That? Nah, that didn’t mean anythin’ darlin’. You don’t have to worry.’ Before flashing you a cheeky smile and then walking out of the living room and into his bedroom, picking up dirty clothes off the floor as if they were suddenly the most important thing in the world even though they’d been there for the better part of a week.

You step away from the window, and allow Ronin to slip into your room as silent as the night. He’s been in purgatory, that much is obvious. He’s so covered in blood it leaves wet smears behind on your white window sill, slides in drips off of his jacket and onto the floor. His hair is wet and stringy with it, and his hands are a mixture of flaking and wet bright red. You frown at the sight of it. Good to know it’s just business as usual for him.  

You stare at each other in silence for what feels like forever but is probably only a minute before Ronin breaks it with, ‘You’re still crying?’ in this strange, inaccessible kind of monotone that’s usually reserved for shutting down a conversation that is difficult for him.

You turn your head away, close your eyes to block him out like that’ll hide how puffy your face is from a week of non-stop tears. 

You hear a dull thump that you recognise as his crowbar and the sound of footsteps creaking across your floor. You slit your eyes open, unable to believe he’s really leaving and  end up flinching in shock at how close Ronin is to you, barely two steps away with his hand held out like he wants to touch your face and- oh you can’t do this. 

You’d let Ronin in without thinking because try as you might otherwise you still love him. And because the reckless asshole has apparently been wandering through the streets drenched head to toe in blood, and while you might be broken up, you still don’t want him caught. You don’t think you’ll survive him pretending to care though. It’s one thing for him to come here to try and be your friend again, it's another entirely for him to touch you as casually as he used to, for him to wipe away the tears you’d spilt because of him. 

Ronin’s hand hangs uselessly in mid-air for a second before he stuffs it in his pocket, clears his throat awkwardly and looks to the side. ‘Didn’t uh- didn’t think you cry over me, least not- not this much. Listen, darlin’ I-’ He cuts himself off and his mouth twists in displeasure. He pulls his beanie off his head with one hand and musses his hair up with the other, looking away from you. You wait for Ronin to finish, but he doesn’t say anything for a long time, just avoids your gaze by turning his beanie over and over in his bloody grasp and fiddling with its little plastic horns.

You take pity on him, scuff your feet into the carpet as you ask, ‘So… how was Purgatory?’ 

Ronin glances up at you, wry smile playing on his lips, ‘Shit.’ He says, succinctly. You frown, Ronin may enter purgatory in a variety of moods, but he always leaves it in a good one. …This doesn’t bode well.

‘What, there wasn’t anyone worth killing around?’ You probe. You’re not entirely sure why you're doing this, not sure why you’re playing nice while tears congregate in your eyes and you have to swallow around the lump in your throat just to speak to him.

‘Nah, there was. Just wasn’t any fun, y’know. W’s like all the joy got sucked right out of it.’ Ronin mimes swinging his crowbar into the empty air and lets it hang there for a second before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You snort a laugh even though what you’re feeling is far from amused. For some reason Ronin’s words sting and even though you know he isn’t blaming you for it, it feels like he is. ‘What? Your One True Love just not doing it for you anymore? Gonna go back to your ex and tell her you love her instead?’ You snap. You’re not entirely sure your insult makes any sense but you don’t care about that, all you care about is that it hurts. The same way you hurt.

Ronin’s face twists for just a second, his eyes go wide and his wry smile stutters with strain before the mask reappears, you know you’ve struck a nerve. Good. You want him to be mad, want him to be ugly, want him to be angry, anything other than sardonically amused- least then you’d know he feels something.

Ronin doesn’t snap back. He doesn't say something cruel or mean like you want him too even though you know he’s smart enough to cut you where it hurts. Instead he huffs a breathless laugh like you said something funny. It's dry, ringing with the same kind of hollow, sardonic wit he was so fond of when you first met him and the sound itches at your skin, burrows itself deep and sits inside your ribcage like fuel, flaring your rage to higher depths.

‘Guess I deserved that one. But, baby don’t’cha know? Technically you’re my ‘ex’ now.’ Ronin ends his sentence with a high pitched giggle, almost hysterical in it’s making with a grin to match but you’re not laughing, you’re not even smiling- you don’t know what kind of face you’re making but you’re sure it’s not an attractive one as you contort your features in a desperate attempt not to cry. 

The exaggerated smile slowly slips off Ronin’s face, gets replaced instead with an agitated, almost worried look and you want to hit him for daring to pity you like this. You don’t, Ronin would probably like it if you did. Grab you by the wrists mid-strike and tut something about virtue and self-restraint, say, ‘Show me how you really feel, darlin,’. Or maybe he’d laugh wildly in that way you can’t resist and say, ‘Finally. Been waiting all night for you to show me your true self, baby,’ before leaning down to kiss you and- no. 

You don’t need to be entertaining these thoughts. Actually, you need him to go, and you need him to go now; it’s been hard enough trying not to think of him while he’s not here and now that he is it's all you can manage not to fantasise a thousand different scenarios where he's come back for you and everything is wonderful, fixed, like it never broke in the first place.

‘I think you should leave.’ You choke out, eyes trained on the floor. You can’t bring yourself to look at Ronin, knowing your resolve will fracture in a fragment of a second with one aching smile from his stupid fucking gorgeous face. 

You don’t hear him move, don't hear him breathe in the dead silence of the room. You don’t look up, you can’t, just wait silently for him to leave with your eyes pinched tightly shut and quiet tears creeping their way out and down your cheeks. 

It’s silent for so long you start to wonder if you’ve imagined him; if this is just the inevitable mental break that comes with staying up all hours of the night, driving yourself crazy from hoping with all your heartbroken might that something will have changed, that is until Ronin starts speaking. You can’t help but crack open your eyes to see him.

‘Y’know darlin’, killing assholes always makes me feel better,’ Ronin mimes swinging a crowbar out towards you, almost comical in its theatricality- you don't flinch, ‘but I killed six people today alone, darlin’. Six. Doesn't break my record but still… ‘S one hell of a number f’ me to still feel like absolute dogshit afterwards.’ 

You don’t know where Ronin’s going with this, why he’s telling you, all you can focus on is the stinging sensation in your chest where you’re sure your heart is slowly splitting in two in real time. An audible sob rattles its way out your throat before you have time to catch it. You reach up and desperately wipe at your face as the tears start to flood out in torrents. ‘Aw, baby.’ It should sound mocking, the way he usually is but maybe the sleep deprivation really is getting to you because he sounds choked, sincere in his emotions. 

Ronin reaches out and rubs a thumb over your wet cheek, it’s pointless considering how hard you’re crying but the gesture is comforting regardless. You lean your head into the warmth of his grasp before realising what you’re doing and jerking out of it sharply with a wounded noise. 

Your cheek feels sticky from where it connected with Ronin’s palm, his hands are still so bloody that he’s for sure left some on your face. You don't wipe it away, you can’t- what if this is the last time he touches you? A whimper rises in your throat at the thought. Oh God, this is so embarrassing.

You Can’t withstand the way Ronin’s looking at you, so you drop your gaze to look at the floor instead. At least this way you can finally stop thinking about his stupid beautiful face. You watch his spiked boots stride forwards as Ronin takes the opportunity to step closer to you, to lean in so you can feel his body heat. He runs like a furnace, so even though he’s not quite touching you, it feels like he is.

‘Darlin’...’ You feel his hand brush your chin and you flinch away from it.

‘Don't touch me.’ The words rush out in a sharp, whispered hiss.

Ronin withdraws his hand like he's been burned. You feel his breath hit you face as he sighs heavily, then watch as his boots retreat out of your line of sight and his body heat dissipates as he steps away from you. You can hear it as he moves around the room. He's leaving. You know he's leaving- you asked him to leave but the reality of it happening still hurts. This is good, you remind yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut, your hands coming up to cover your face as you start to sob openly again, not giving a damn if he sees you cry. 

‘Oh darlin’.’ You flinch and your eyes snap open. Ronin's right in front of you, jacketless and about a foot away with both hands in the air like he wants to touch you, to hold you but he won't because you told him not to. You spot his jacket sitting on your dresser on the other side of the room and realise he was just taking the blood soaked thing off, rather than climbing back out your room and disappearing off into the night. 

You sniffle, looking at him with wary eyes as all the fight drains out of your body. You don’t know what he wants, and you're so tired. You don't want to fight anymore. You're thinking about turning around and just tucking yourself into bed, not caring what Ronin chooses to do when he surprises you.

‘I'm sorry.’ It comes out quiet, voice subdued and serious without the usual melodramatic flair that twists them into something sarcastic. He’s not grinning, not even smiling or looking at you calculating like you’re entertainment for him, just watching you with a frown. 

Ronin's face pinches slightly when you don't say anything, mouth twisting down slightly and frown deepening. He seems uncomfortable, which is weird because Ronin’s never uncomfortable; if there's one thing that's true about Ronin is he has the upper hand in every situation simply by the nature of his outlook on life. He always wins. Doesn’t look like he’s winning right now though.

Ronin scrubs a hand through his hair, grips it tightly and pulls. His eyes widen dramatically, and he steps up into your space, his other hand hovering around your shoulder like he wants to grab you but he can’t. ‘I shouldn't have brushed you off when you were upset, I should have listened to you- hell, I shouldn't have said that to Angel in the first place!’ A deranged grin creeps onto his face as he laughs a little hysterically but it doesn't sound happy. ‘I love you, darlin’, I really do-’

‘Please don't. You-you don't have to lie for me.’ You choke out. You can't stand to hear him say that for your comfort, to get you to stop crying- like it means nothing. You make to walk away when Ronin grabs you by the shoulders with both hands and pulls you back to face him.

‘I’m not lying! It’s the truth! None of that fake shit, I love you and I fucked up. I love you, darlin’-’ Ronin’s gripping you tightly by the shoulders, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it and he’s got this desperate look on his face, eyebrows raised high, eyes wide and panicked. From this close up you can see they’re bloodshot, like maybe he’s not been sleeping either.

He sounds frantic, ‘I love you, darlin’, I do. …I’m sorry I pushed you away, I… haven’t felt this uh, love business in a- …a long time… not since-’ Ronin cuts himself off, drops his gaze to look at the floor while swearing under his breath. ‘Fuck.’

You know who he means, his childhood sweetheart, someone he's only ever alluded to because the memories are too painful. She’s dead now, and that’s about all you know about her because Ronin won’t ever talk about it, he categorically refuses to.

You watch Ronin breathe in deeply, then breathe out slow and measured as he closes his eyes. When he speaks his voice is quiet, subdued like the words hurt to say, ‘Not since Ther. They're the last person I really loved, and it ended… badly. I did love Angel, but it was… different. We were both trying to fill holes that weren't supposed to be filled like that.

‘And then you wandered into my life, and you were supposed to be something fun to play with, something to keep me entertained between slaughterings. 

‘You managed to fair through all my bullshit better than most. Hell! You made it look like it was fun and uh… I didn't expect to fall as hard as I did. I was bored, and you were supposed to be nothing more than entertainment then suddenly you were important to me, more important than anyone’s been in a while. I didn't know what to do with that. 

‘…I was scared to lose you, like I lost her.I kept you at arms length so it would- hurt less. But turns out I wasn’t listening, and then I lost you anyway!’ Ronin laughs sharply, self-deprecating and pained. ‘I was being stupid. And I’m sorry. And I love you-’

You don't know what to say. You think maybe you should be mad, or upset, or some other negative emotion at the rollercoaster you’ve just been on but you're so relieved that you’re lightheaded and your legs feel weak. This is what you'd wanted in the first place- for him to just talk to you. 

At some point during your monologue the tears had stopped but now they come back full force- you can't restrain yourself. Fuck ‘should be’. You near launch yourself at Ronin, tumbling into his shaking arms and snaking your own around his waist to grip him tightly. 

Ronin makes a startled noise, then his arms come down around your waist and hold you there tightly. 

‘Take it this means you still love me, darlin?’ His voice is thick with emotion, tight and strained as he asks the question. It's phrased as a joke but you know it's not, know it's just his way of trying to abate the tension he's feeling and you don’t mind it- as long as he’s willing to talk to you honestly about how he’s feeling he can make all the stupid jokes and sarcastic one liners he wants.

‘Never stopped.’ Comes your mumble from where your face is squished tight against his chest. Ronin laughs, but the noise is strained like it’s covering something. You're about to question it when you feel his shoulders curl in around you as they continue shaking even after the laughter peters out. 

You clutch him tighter to you, fist your hands in the back of his shirt and relish getting to hold him close. ‘Love you, ‘Nin.’ You sniffle, ‘Never stopped. Not one second. Been fucking hell without you.’ Ronin's hands come up to press themselves against your face, angle it up so you’re looking at him. His hands are sticky with the drying, flaking blood, you're probably covered in it now you've pressed yourself against him so completely but you really don’t care. 

Ronin looks serious, shiny wet tracks covering his cheeks and a furrow in his brow with no trace of his usual cocky grin to be seen. His thumb smooths itself along your cheekbone, then he brushes some of your hair out of your face. ‘I am sorry, darlin’. Can't promise it won't happen again, given how fucked up I am,’ He lets out a self depreciating snort, ‘but I'll try my best. Promise.’ He presses his lips softly to your forehead, before tucking your face against his chest and resting his head atop yours.

‘’S all I'm asking for, Ronin. I know it's hard for you.’ You mumble into his chest, leaning your weight on him for support, suddenly exhausted after everything that just happened. And with the exhaustion, comes insecurity, ‘...I love you, Ronin.’ You say, tentatively, with the sole hope of hearing him say it back.

‘I love you too, darlin’.’ He presses a kiss to your head, ‘Now let's go to bed, you look like the dead come walking. They’re gonna put you on stage ‘n’ make you sing about it if you’re not careful.’ 

You snort, ‘You’d just love that, huh? But you’re the one climbing in my window begging to take me to bed. You’re more Veronica than I am right now.’ 

You’re mumbling sleepily into his chest, but you make your point well enough because Ronin snorts before saying, ‘Touché. Now let's go, sleepy.’ He starts marching you backwards towards your bed without letting go of you. If you were less tired you would complain, but instead you lean more of your weight against him and let him do the work.

‘Wow, can't even lift your feet now, baby? Guess you really were that cut up about me, huh?’ Ronin sounds smug and it should be too soon but you're so fucking sleep deprived and so fucking relieved that the comment makes you giggle wildly. 

‘You also look bad, ‘Nin. Feral’s not a good look on you.’ 

You hear him snort from somewhere above you, saying, ‘Now I know you’re delirious because that’s a flat out lie. We both know I look my best all fucked out on a little self-indulgent depravity.’ 

You stop, put a to his chest and let your head lull back to accost him with an accusing stare, ‘You call this self-indulgent depravity?’ 

‘Are you telling me I don’t look good?’ He strikes what is probably supposed to be a sexy pose, but is entirely ruined by how he keeps glancing at you and waggling his eyebrows. You try to keep a straight face but a laugh bursts out of you anyhow. 

‘I meant more how you’re looking emotionally wrung out and like you haven’t slept in five days.’

Ronin shrugs flippantly and pulls you back into his arms, ‘Okay, maybe this time is more like wanton desperation.’ He moans dramatically as he says it. 

You slap him on the arm, ‘Ronin, c’mon, be serious.’

‘I am serious, deadly so.’ He fixes you with a deadpan gaze that you barely have a second to laugh at before he’s manhandling you up onto your bed. You wriggle under your blankets happily, turning to look at him through sleepy eyes when Ronin doesn't get in the bed with you.

The sight that greets you is both incredibly familiar and entirely breathtaking. Ronin's striking a pose again, similar in concept, but decidedly less funny this time. He’s got his hands relaxed on his hips, shouldersback and elbows tucked, face tipped up towards the ceiling. He's down at you with a smirk but the angle makes his lidded gaze look both sultry and almost condescending. 

Somehow, even with hair wet and matted with blood and dark circles that could rival a black hole your boyfriend proves to be the hottest person on Earth. Ronin cracks a smile when you fail to say anything witty in response, instead you just stare at him with your mouth open stupidly. He chuckles and then drops the pose in favour of crawling over you. ‘S rude to stare, y'know, darlin’?’ 

You're still stuck on how beautiful Ronin is, feeling dazed and a little stare struck when he leans down to kiss you gently. His sticky hair tickles your cheeks before he sits up to shuck his jeans off and join you in bed. He slides in beside you and then attaches himself to your side like a limpet. 

Ronin nuzzles into the side of your face while saying, ‘You won't believe how crazy I went without you, gorgeous. Killed so many people.’ He cackles sharply, like the idea is funny to him, ‘didn't even make a dent in how bad I was feeling.’

He’s silent for a second before he speaks again, and this time his voice is more serious, quieter, ‘…Think maybe you're integral to me, darlin’. Gonna have to keep you close from now on.’ He presses a kiss against your cheek, pulling you in closer to him as he says this. You wiggle round in his grasp to face him, lace your fingers through his own before leaning up to gently kiss him.

‘Don't have to worry about that. Never going anywhere again, ‘Nin.’ 

‘I'm not worried, darlin’. I’ve learnt my lesson,’ He laughs dryly, ‘not gonna forsake you again. Just want you nearby, that's all.’ Ronin hums thoughtfully before saying, ‘When we get up tomorrow we should talk about moving in together, all married-like.’ 

‘Ninnn, c'mon. I already forgave you, there's no need to overcompensate.’ 

Ronin pulls back from you to look you in the eyes, his face is deadly serious, voice a steady rumble when he says, ‘No overcompensation here, darlin’. Just saying what I've been wishing I said all fucking week when you asked if I was ever gonna love you. Because I did. I- I do. Love you, that is.’ He breaks eye contact, clears his throat and looks away, ‘W's just being a coward, ‘s all.’

‘Oh.’ You say. 

‘Good “oh” or bad “oh”?’ Ronin's teasing you again, smug grin on his face and you know where he's going with it before he even starts to say, ‘No, wait, I know what your good O sounds like, it sounds like this-’ before he starts fake moaning, imitating what you sound like in bed with a shit eating grin on his face. 

‘Ronin! Oh my God! Stop! Don't- don't do that!’ You put your hands over his mouth, try to muffle the sounds leaking out of it and it seems to work. You’re so relieved you don’t think twice about how suspiciously easy that was. 

Ronin has stopped his ridiculously exaggerated moaning but you fail to see the glint in his eyes before he opens his mouth wide and licks your palm with a truly disgusting amount of saliva. ‘RONIN!’ You shriek, hands flying away from his mouth as he rolls around your bed, cackling heavily at the outraged look on your face. 

You're busy wiping your hands on the bedspread when Ronin snuggles himself back into your side, ‘See, if we lived together we could do this every damn day.’ 

‘Why on Earth would I want you to basically spit in my hands every damn day, Ronin?’

‘Well… I was more thinking about the “good O” part of it.’

You turn your head so you're looking at him, you're pressed so close that your noses brush when you do. ‘You, Ronin Beaufort, are a horndog.’ He’s grinning at you through half opened eyes, already well on his way to dreamland now that you’re securely in his arms and everything is right again. You’re overcome for a second with how beautiful he is before you manage to get ahold of yourself and finish your sentence. ‘Now, we are going to snuggle and then we are going to sleep. We can discuss this tomorrow.’ 

‘Whatever you say, boss.’Ronin is grinning contentedly as he lifts his head just to flop it down on your pillow, closing his eyes and making an exaggerated show of ‘going to sleep’, smacking his lips and reshuffling like he’s seventy and he’s uncomfortable. Somehow during all of this, he sneakily manages to pull you even closer in his embrace, entangling your legs and pulling you partially on top of him and for the first time in a week your heart feels whole as you close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

[decayedsword]

ts my ass be drawing instead of working on my 6 different end of term assessments

[decayedsword]

Decided to get up and finally draw thernin (　・３・)

my Instagram for uh more art haha bye

https://www.instagram.com/_meimeiya?igsh=b3cycGpheGkyaTI0

[decayedsword]

Also ronin art I drew a couple days ago woah what

[decayedsword]

Hi! Could you please do some headcanons for Ronin x a mc on their period please? Thank you!

Ronin X reader on period

Headcanons (i think I already wrote them but hey I can do it again)

Ronin will buy you sweets or whatever other foods you're craving, hell he'd even make you your weird food cravings

He would massage your back if it would hurt, make sure you rest plenty and stretch your body

Ronin is ready to listen to your groaning, whining and complaining if you need him to, he does understand the hardships of having a period even if he stopped experiencing them a long time ago

If your cramps are too painful Ronin will suggest going to a doctor or actually take you there himself if he had to.

"Baby jus' call in sick, you're going to feel hella uncomfortable the whole time so jus' stay in for the day." Like the shoulder on your devil, Ronin would influence you to stay home (and then would drag you to a kill if you felt good enough)

Ronin would relax and play on his gameboy with you or would let you troll the server with the Executioner Bot

Some short headcanons so I can have a post today :3

See you tomorrow with a writing piece folks :b

Nate