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kazefiend · 18 days ago

Text

Tags: Violence, Murder, Gore, Fucked up Dynamics, Dark Themes, Corruption, Dark Romance, Patricide, This Relationship is Probably Toxic as Fuck, Revenge. I listened to Happy Birthday - The Birthday Massacre while writing this. That pizza place is a real place in my city I thought it would fit. Ronin keeps dating women with different shades of blue eyes. I worked really hard on this I know it's not x reader but I love my lil oc.

Synopsis: Karina Park's birthday has never been a worthwhile event until now.

Word Count: 2225

This was probably the first time Karina's birthday had felt worthwhile.

The dive bar pizza restaurant had been their first stop, a delightfully macabre establishment where every menu item paid homage to horror classics. Karina had dressed for the occasion in a black coquette sundress and kitten heels, perhaps overdressed for the venue, but she wanted to make an effort. After all, as a writer who rarely left the apartment except for necessities, this was a special occasion. The way Ronin's eyes had darkened appreciatively when he saw her made any social anxiety worth it.

They shared an Alfred Hitchcock-themed pizza while Karina sipped cocktails named after Stephen King novels, each drink making her slightly more pliant, slightly more willing to let go of her usual rigid control. When she fretted about the cost, Ronin's drawl carried that dangerous edge of possession that always made her shiver: "Nothin's too expensive for my darlin'." She made mental notes to find ways to pay him back.

Now she found herself blindfolded, her hand clasped tightly in his. Their fingers were laced together, and his thumb stroked rhythmically across her skin – a gesture that had become both comforting and conditioning. Every time she felt anxiety spike, he would stroke her hand like this, training her body to associate his touch with calm.

"Got oonnnneee last surprise," he had told her, his voice thick with excitement. "A special gift that needs some preparation."

Her mind raced through possibilities, each more twisted than the last. Something romantic? Something grotesque? Knowing Ronin, probably both. The rational part of her brain, what little remained untouched by his influence, acknowledged there was always a non-zero chance this could be the night he finally killed her.

The terrifying part was how that thought didn't terrify her anymore.

He had rewired her brain so thoroughly that death by his hands had become an acceptable outcome, maybe even an honour. It was evil, what he'd done to her psyche, but it was evil born of devotion. He had broken down her defences and rebuilt them in his image, creating a love that was as destructive as it was deep.

The familiar scent of blood and decay hit her as they made another turn. "Are we in Purgatory?" she asked, referring to the infamous alley where they had met face to face. Where she had given herself over to the devil.

"Lookit you," he practically purred, squeezing her hand. She could hear the grin in his voice, feel the excitement radiating off him in waves. "Not even needin' to see to know where we are."

His pride in her awareness sent a warm flush through her body – another carefully conditioned response. She had learned to crave his approval, to find pleasure in the darkness they shared.

She felt him step closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You've come so far, darlin'. Remember when smell of decay used to make you faint?" His free hand traced her jaw, touch feather-light but promising violence. "Now look at you, standin' in the belly of hell like you belong here."

"I belong wherever you put me," she whispered, and felt his grip tighten possessively.

"That's right," he growled. "And I needja to stand right here all pretty for just a minute."

Karina stood perfectly still, hands clasped in front of her like a porcelain doll on display. Without sight, her other senses heightened – tracking Ronin's movements through sound. Metal bins clanged as he dropped their lids carelessly to the ground. His breathing changed, becoming heavier as he dragged something substantial across the alley. Whatever it was, he positioned it against the wall she faced.

The blindfold came off abruptly, and she blinked repeatedly as her denim blue eyes adjusted to the darkness. What came into focus made her breath catch in her throat.

A man sat propped against the wall, thin frame draped in an orange jumpsuit, head covered by a burlap sack.

"I present to you," Ronin announced with theatrical flair, yanking off the sack, "the one and only Jon Park!"

Time seemed to freeze as father and daughter locked eyes for the first time in a decade. His deep brown eyes widened in terror as he struggled against his restraints, desperate sounds muffled by the gag. His once-black hair was now streaked with grey, but she would know that face anywhere – the face that had haunted her nightmares since the night he murdered her family.

The air left her lungs in a silent rush. They stared at each other like deer caught in headlights, neither able to look away. Ronin observed her carefully, reaching for her trembling hand. His familiar touch anchored her, thumb stroking across her skin in that conditioning gesture she'd grown to depend on.

"How?" she finally whispered, voice barely audible.

"A ton of pulling strings, darlin'," Ronin replied, pride evident in his voice. "Angel helped a lot with her connections." The crowbar in his free hand caught what little light filtered into the alley. "What happens next is up to you. Wanna talk to him? Bash his head in? Or you can watch me in my element."

A decade of suppressed rage bubbled to the surface as she stared at the man who had destroyed her life. He'd murdered her mother, killed his own sons, and would have killed her too if teenage rebellion hadn't kept her out that night. Without his actions, her life might have been normal. She might never have ended up falling madly in love with a serial killer.

She closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and when she opened them again, a soft smile played across her lips. "I want you to show me how much you love me." The gentle tone of her voice contrasted sharply with the brutality of her request.

"Oh fuck baby," Ronin's grin turned razor-sharp as he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "My pretty lil' princess of rot, it would be a pleasure to display my love all over these decayed walls."

He crouched down to eye level with her father, maintaining that predatory smile. "Hey old man, not really a pleasure to meetcha, but I'm your daughter's boyfriend. Probably your worst fuckin' nightmare, right?" The bound man tried to respond through his gag, producing only muffled sounds. "You're thinking 'look at this kid, he looks like a bad boy,' right? Gonna pick her up on a motorcycle with no helmets and drop her off after curfew. I'm so much worse, you have to fuck up pretty bad for your daughter to date a serial killer. Thankfully, she's passed divine judgment on you, so you don't have to think about it for long."

A soft chuckle escaped Karina's lips, unsure if Ronin was being intentionally entertaining or if this was just his natural flair for the dramatic. Did he toy with all his victims like this?

"See, you wanted to kill my rotten princess," Ronin continued, rising to his feet with fluid grace, "and I decided my life woulda been worse if you did. You being alive hurts her, so I gotta fix that."

Her father's eyes were wild with panic, his screams reduced to desperate whimpers behind the gag as Ronin wound up his swing. What followed was as elegant as it was brutal, a sickening crack as metal met bone. Karina watched, transfixed, as each strike landed with devastating precision. This wasn't his usual quick work; this was art, performed specifically for her. Every blow measured, every pause deliberate, crafting a symphony of revenge that sang through her bones.

Ronin looked feral, tongue poking between his teeth as he worked. His movements were almost dance-like, each swing of the crowbar sending crimson patterns across the brick walls. She could see the raw power in his arms, the way his muscles flexed with each impact – a grim reminder of the strength he possessed, the same strength that could reduce her to nothing if he chose. But instead, he channelled that destructive force into this gift for her. In this moment, watching him reduce her tormentor to a pile of gore, Karina understood with perfect clarity why she loved him. He was destruction incarnate, and he had chosen to destroy for her.

His laughter echoed through the alley; that same unhinged sound she remembered from the night they met. It should have terrified her, that mad cackling punctuated by the wet sounds of metal tearing through flesh and bone. Instead, it felt like a love song composed in violence. The body slumped sideways as the hook end of the crowbar transformed what was once her father into an unrecognizable mass of shattered bone and torn flesh.

This was love, she thought, watching him orchestrate this destruction with the same care he used when stroking her hair or kissing her forehead. In his violence, she saw devotion. In his cruelty, protection. He was destroying the source of her nightmares with the same dedication he showed in soothing them away. The indescribable gore before her was his gift, drawn from the very pits of hell where he reigned supreme.

Ronin's movements began to slow, his breaths coming in heavy pants as he surveyed his handiwork. Blood dripped from the crowbar in steady drops, creating a rhythmic soundtrack to match his gradually calming heartbeat.

He turned to Karina, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. This was Ronin at his most primal; covered in blood, high on violence, and completely devoted to her. His usual playful smirk was replaced by something darker, more possessive. This was the face of a man who had just torn someone apart with his bare hands, and would do it again in a heartbeat if she asked.

"Happy birthday, darlin'," he drawled, his voice rough from exertion and laughter. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

The remains of her father lay in a twisted heap against the wall, unrecognizable now as the man who had haunted her nightmares. Ronin had erased him not just from life, but from form itself. It was a complete obliteration, a total erasure of the monster from her past.

Stepping carefully around the growing pool of blood, Ronin approached her. His boots left red footprints on the concrete, marking his path to her like breadcrumbs in a twisted fairy tale. He stopped just inches from her, close enough that she could smell the metallic scent of blood mixing with his natural musk.

"You're so beautiful when you watch me work," he murmured, reaching up to cup her face with a bloodied hand. "Like a goddess of death, all silent and serene." His thumb traced her bottom lip, leaving blood in his wake. "Tell me what you're thinking, princess. Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

The way he looked at her; hungry, possessive, riding the high of violence, made her whole body tingle with a dark electricity. His blood-soaked form should have terrified her, but it only drew her to him more. This was Ronin in his purest form, the monster he truly was, laid bare just for her.

"I love you," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of everything she couldn't articulate. How do you thank someone for destroying your demons? How do you express gratitude for such beautiful violence?

The crowbar lay forgotten on the ground as he pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. The blood on his hands was cooling against her skin, marking her as his in the most primal way possible. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop herself from pressing her lips to his with desperate intensity. He responded immediately, one blood-stained hand sliding to the back of her neck, gripping her hair possessively. The metallic taste of blood mingled with their kiss, marking this moment as uniquely theirs.

Beautiful and brutal in equal measure.

Ronin kissed like he killed; with complete dedication and masterful precision. His other hand dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against his gore-soaked chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her own, still racing from his earlier exertion. The wet fabric of his shirt pressed against her dress, soaking her father’s gore through to her skin.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes were wild with a cocktail of violence and desire. "Fuck, darlin'," he growled, voice rough and low. "The way you kiss me after I kill for you..." He pressed his forehead against hers again, sharing the same air. "Makes me wanna tear the whole world apart just to see that look in your eyes."

Behind them, the cooling remains of her father served as a silent witness to their twisted romance. Blood slowly flooded the alley floor, creeping toward their feet like a dark blessing. This was their version of love; born in violence, baptized in blood, and sealed with a kiss that tasted like death.

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