#kc ronin x reader

[dearkaslana]

A poem to my childhood fort....(part 2) Ronin x G.N reader

Words:3000

Genre: Angst to fluff, Gift to @sincerelyyourslilly

(Reader is G.N)

I decided to use some of their arts as inspo! Here goes as follows! all by @sincerelyyourslilly

art 1 , art 2, art 3

Ronin x G.N Reader

Flowers at the hell's altar.....

It was March already, and February had slipped by faster than you could have imagined. Life was rolling along, and hey, you'd finally finished that lovely book you'd been working on. Sure, there were a few typos, but who cared?

Because, well... you might not live to see tomorrow.

What a ride it had been. Escaping from your dead-end town, clawing your way up to become a reporter, and now, here you were—a member of a serial killer server. And to top it off, your lover? Yeah, he’s one of them. The kind who wouldn’t hesitate to make you his next victim.

Feli once joked that your story was like Romeo and Juliet, but you knew better. This wasn’t some romantic Shakespearean tragedy. This was something far darker. Twisted.

And maybe there was a poetic beauty in it. Dying at the hands of someone you loved? It sounded romantic... in books. But in real life? Oh, hell no.

Right now, the server was buzzing. Everyone was huddled in the infamous "killer-shit" channel, and the chaos was palpable.

<goreboy> you heard it here first: March is for Murder

<hitmeuppp> OMG can’t believe everything’s coming together in cut season...

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Cut season?

<Angelic> It’s when serial killer activity spikes! It’s such a fun annual phenomenon :3

<ReaderintoCrowbars> That feels... statistically inaccurate...

<goreboy> or maybe the reports are statistically inaccurate

The chat flowed on, but then—your heart skipped a beat. He spoke.

<goreboy> i just wanna warn this chat that i’ve got a pretty little kill coming right up i think you’ll all fucking love it especially you, @ReaderintoCrowbars

Oh. Oh no.

Well, this was it. You could almost feel the icy grip of dread clawing at your throat. But hey, you were a good partner, weren’t you? You decided to play along.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I look forward to it!

<goreboy> aren’t you a darling

More like a damn fool.

<Angelic> Omg, I’m excited to see it!

<hitmeuppp> oooooo this is TEA omg! u never hype up your murders unless they’re amazing, and they’re always so gruesome sooo

<Eviscerator1990> i look forward to this so-called “pretty little kill”

<K9> i don’t think i will. but believe what you’d like, @goreboy

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YO A GOREBOY KILL GONNA DROP??? @felicite

<felicite> oh! that sounds fun!

<hitmeuppp> okay but like, why’d he say “especially @ReaderintoCrowbars” huh? tea time?? is this some weird murder-dedication thing??

<goreboy> well, in a way, yeah. killing for them.

Nope. Wrong. He’s killing you.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Haha, I’m excited...

<goreboy> what a sweet little thing you are.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I just want to be supportive for my boyfriend. Is that so bad?

<goreboy> HAHA! you’re such a naive little thing. just like that time on the bridge.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> What..?

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> IMAGINE CRINGING AT US WHEN LOOK AT YOU TWO FLIRTING IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE SERVER LMAO

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, mind racing. Was this really your end?

The chat was buzzing with anticipation. You could almost hear the teasing tone seeping through every message. It was like a twisted carnival, and you were the main attraction.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YO FELI, ME AND RONIN AND YOU SHOULD HAVE A WEDDING IN THE SERVER, A WHOLE SERIAL KILLER SHINDIG!!

You stared at the screen, blinking. A wedding? In this twisted server? Well, it wasn't completely out of character, but still—

<ReaderintoCrowbars> It's fine, Ronin might not like it...

Ronin’s response was almost instant, and you could almost hear the amusement in his voice.

<goreboy> Why not? It’s in the server...

You felt the tension build. Was this... real? You swallowed.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Oh, you’re postponing the killing, Ronin?

He didn’t even hesitate.

<goreboy> No. I just wanna see them being bloodied and sweet... in a way.

Your stomach churned, not in fear but something else. What the hell?

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Guts!? Exactly...

You could see the line of messages flooding in, each more twisted than the last.

<Hitmeupp> OMG, is he really into flowers?

<goreboy> Hm, flowers are hella sweet. Are they too sweet for you, though?

Your mind reeled. Flowers? Really? Is that what you’re thinking about in the middle of all this chaos?

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Do you think flowers are too sweet? Angel?

<Angelicc> YES. Flowers are too sweet. :')

Ronin’s voice cut through the chat like a knife.

<goreboy> Yeah... flowers are sweet, especially white ones...

Your head spun. White flowers. The kind of symbolism he loved to twist. But why did he say it like that? There was something so sinister in the way he phrased it.

<Angelic> What the hell, Ronin?

<goreboy> Hehe, Angel, don’t make me revive my child...

<Angelic> I’ll just kill it with a pink heart. 💖

<Feli> Maybe another day for now, let’s see who’s the victim of Ronin’s new killing.

There was a pause, and you almost swore you could feel Ronin's gaze through the screen. His words cut through the chat like a blade, but before you could process them, Luca jumped in with a laugh.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> I don’t think his victim’s face is gonna be clear with the point of gore, though...

The server erupted into laughter. You could almost hear it in your mind—the twisted, dark amusement that filled the digital space. Everyone was so... comfortable with the gore, the death, the violence.

And that’s when the chill settled deep in your bones.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> SHIT!!

Goosebumps crawled up your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The laughter felt wrong, hollow, like a foreboding omen. You could feel the weight of Ronin’s presence, even though he hadn’t said a word. Was he watching? Waiting for you to react?

And there it was again, that familiar feeling—like something was off.

<goreboy> Don’t worry, @ReaderintoCrowbars. You’ll see soon enough.

It wasn’t a promise. It was a declaration. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you. But you couldn’t look away.

<hitmeuppp> Ooooh, I’m so ready for this one! I’m gonna get my popcorn and enjoy the show!

<Angelic> Same here. This one’s gonna be a masterpiece.

And then—

<goreboy> You all think it's funny? Well, just wait till you see their face.

You froze, the words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The message wasn’t for the chat. It was for you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that the victim wasn’t some random person, not this time. You were tangled in this mess, and Ronin had his eyes on you.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> What do you mean?

The silence after your question was deafening. Every second felt like an eternity, but then Ronin’s response came.

<goreboy> Oh, nothing. Just a little preview of what’s to come. You’ll see...

The chat continued, the teasing, the jabs, the laughter. But all you could hear in your head were those words. You’ll see.

The pressure was building, tightening around your chest. You were still there, stuck in the madness, caught in the grip of a man who reveled in death—and you couldn’t escape it.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard again, unsure whether to respond, to act... or to just wait for the inevitable.

<goreboy> Maybe you’ll be the next pretty little thing. Who knows?

That one hit too close to home. Your heart raced, but you refused to let the panic show. If this was the game Ronin wanted to play, then you’d have to play along. But how far would you go? And what would happen when the victim wasn't some random soul on the other side of the screen, but someone close to you?

The server buzzed with an almost disturbing sense of camaraderie, the playful teasing and the sickeningly sweet words directed toward you only adding to the heavy tension that gnawed at the edges of your mind. Ronin’s game was unfolding, and you were both part of the show and a spectator, unsure of what the next scene would bring.

<hitmeuppp> HEY RONIN! DON’T FLIRT- BUT Y/N YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST <3

The comment made your stomach twist, the constant back-and-forth making everything feel too intimate, too personal. It was almost like they were trying to pull you into a world that didn’t belong to you. But you weren’t the only one caught up in it.

<Feli> Me and Luca are always thankful you gave us the courage to be lovers! We thank you!

The server flooded with messages, all of them dripping with gratitude and affection. It felt like a bizarre parade, each of them handing out praises with a sense of distorted warmth that sent shivers up your spine.

<Vince> You enjoy my sunset pictures. Yes, you are a sweet thing, @goreboy is lucky to have a partner like you. It’s like meeting his wife.

Your heart stilled, and you almost laughed bitterly. Wife? This was spiraling far too quickly, even for your standards.

<Ai hua> Thumbs up for @ReaderintoCrowbars.

The words felt almost mockingly sweet, and you couldn’t tell if they were genuine or just part of Ronin's twisted game. And the whole thing felt so... final.

<Angelic> I feel safe with you when I talk to you, so thankies!

<K9> Out of all here, @ReaderintoCrowbars is humble. I'm thankful there’s a person like you...

You felt the warmth in their words. And yet, it was all so wrong. Your mind screamed that something wasn’t right, but you forced the smile.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Thank you...

But inside, it felt like a cold wave washing over you. Their compliments were suffocating, their kindness like a trap, and for a brief moment, the truth seemed too clear: This looked like a sendoff.

They were all here, caught up in the fantasy, unaware that the "victim" of Ronin's plan was still a question mark, a fragile variable that could mean anything. You didn’t know how long you could keep pretending, how long you could hold up this facade before everything came crashing down.

<goreboy> Indeed, one in a million...

The weight of Ronin’s words hung in the air. He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he weaved affection with death, offering you compliments, wrapping you in praise—only to pull the rug from under you when you least expected it.

And in that moment, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were the target.

You were the one in the middle of all this, being handed the most intoxicating, beautiful death in the most twisted way possible.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sickly sweet messages pouring in, their layers of false security building up around you, suffocating you. You were caught between thank yous and goodbyes, unsure of whether this was just some sick joke or the end of a cruel, inevitable game.

The weight of it all crashed down on you like an avalanche, the truth settling in with a terrifying clarity. The entire server—your so-called friends, your “supporters,” all of them—had no idea they were laughing, encouraging, and praising a death sentence. And the one pulling all the strings, the one playing you like a puppet, was Ronin.

He wasn’t just some faceless killer. No, he was the one who owned you. The one who had every secret you buried deep within you, every weakness, every desire, every unspoken fear. You were his plaything, his victim, and the worst part? You let yourself fall into it willingly.

But that couldn’t be the end, could it? You had to confront him.

You could feel the tension in your bones, the cold dread curling around your heart. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking as the cursor blinked, daring you to type the words, to confront him.

But the words didn’t come easily. What if you said the wrong thing? What if confronting him only made it worse? What if the server’s dark humor, the weird, twisted affection, was just a small taste of what was to come? But no—this couldn’t be the end. You couldn’t keep hiding in the shadows, pretending that everything was just some sick joke.

You had to face it.

You looked at the screen, your breath shallow. Your heart beat in your chest like a drum, pounding louder as you took a shaky step toward the truth.

You didn’t need to text the server. They didn’t matter. You only needed to find him. The real Ronin. The man behind the devil’s mask.

<goreboy> how are you Rotting along

Y/n?

The words hit like heavy, dead air. You feel them slip through you, like a promise made of ash. There’s something hollow, a terrible pause that stretches into the distance, but you don’t dare look too far. You’ll drown. You’re already sinking.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I'm in love with a devil, hbu?

A silly joke, a pathetic little jest. You don’t laugh. You know the sound of that statement far too well. Love with the devil? It’s never love. It’s something worse—something that gnaws at you, like a hunger you’ll never satisfy. But you let him have it, let him taste it, because you're too weak to stop. You’re just as sick as he is.

<goreboy> jesus that's rough the Old testament wants a word with you but hey you're Novel's nearly there no? should i wait for you to finish to kill ya? or maybe i can spare the world another serial killer Incarnation..

Another one. Another joke. Another game. His words drip with poison, sweetened with the bitterness of inevitability. The words hang over you like an executioner's hood. Can you feel the rope tightening around your throat? The truth is—it doesn't matter. It never does.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I'm fine with you waiting!

The lie falls from your lips with a tremor you can’t hide. But he doesn’t care, does he? He knows. And he laughs, because you’re not his victim yet. But you will be. You always will be.

<goreboy> hah Now where's the fun in that?

Where is the fun in waiting? In torturing yourself slowly as you watch the ground crumble beneath your feet? The twisted thrill of watching you squirm. His words are venom wrapped in silk. Every syllable a slow poison you’re too stupid to reject.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> You don't have to kill me.

Such a sad, pathetic plea. It’s the same thing you’ve said a thousand times, but you both know better, don’t you? His smile stretches, knowing how much you ache, how much you want to scream. He’s always waiting, always watching. He wants to see if you’ll beg for mercy. But you won’t. You can’t.

<goreboy> you're right, i don't have to But i sure as fuck want to you know how the saying goes Each to their own

The words slither, full of dark amusement, like a caress of something foul. It’s not about need. It’s about want. You’re the toy, the plaything, the thing that spins in the web, waiting for the spider to decide how much suffering you’re worth.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I could kill you.

A whisper, empty as your own breath. But even you don’t believe it. You know what it is: a feeble attempt to wrest control, to play the same game he’s already won. Your hands shake, and he knows. He always knows.

<goreboy> could you please try? it's not like i'm the Antichrist Unhinged maybe! but Fucking hell, it ain't hard just turn the knife to me and i'm done, baby

Another taunt, another shove. He dares you to act. To try. He wants you to break. Wants to see you crumble. He waits, watching with those hollow, gleaming eyes. It’s all a show, but you’re the one who’s already bought the ticket.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> .....

<goreboy> Oh? didja think i was serious? Right i forget how you writers are but hey i'll get my will and Testament if you really mean it

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I don't want to kill you, I want you to stop.

Stop. But you know it’s too late for that. A desperate gasp, a final plea. The words ring hollow, empty in your throat. He’s already past the point of return, and so are you.

<goreboy> no can do i had fun but time's Fucking Up baby! you were a Crazy good time but a Killer's a killer and Evisceration's in my bones Right ain't that true?

He speaks the truth like a curse, like something ancient and untouchable. He wears it on his sleeve, letting you feel it in your gut, and it makes you sick. Makes you long for something simpler. But you’ll never get it. He’s carved himself into you, a mark that won’t fade.

Why is he so…ugh? You can’t get him out of your head. He’s a stain, a mark that lingers on your skin, like blood that never dries, always sticky, always there, pulsing under your flesh. You hate him, or you should—god, you really should. But that’s the cruel trick, isn’t it? He’s made you fall into it. Made you crawl toward him like some damned moth to a flame.

You’d say it’s because he’s a devil, but that’s too easy. Too neat. It’s because he doesn’t care about being the devil. He knows he’s ugly, he knows he’s rotten. He doesn’t try to hide it. And god, that’s what makes him even worse. He doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t have to fight it. He enjoys being broken, enjoys pushing you deeper into the pit until you lose all sense of who you are, until you can’t remember what was even worth fighting for.

He’s a reflection of everything wrong, every twisted desire you’ve tried to bury. And that’s what makes him sickening, isn't it? That ugly part of you that you can’t bear to look at, and yet here he is, flaunting it in your face with that shit-eating grin, like he’s won. And you—god, you know he has. You want to spit in his face, but you’re just too weak to pull away, too tangled in the chaos he’s spread around you, too much of a coward to stop playing his fucking game.

He knows it. He sees it. He can read the fear in your veins, the hesitation in your hands, and he thrives on it, drinking it in like some vile nectar. Every step you take to fight him is another thread tightening around your throat, another drop of poison in your system. You can’t escape it. You can’t escape him.

Why does he do this to you? Why can’t he just leave you alone, let you breathe without feeling like his fingers are still around your neck, still pulling you deeper into this world of broken glass and blood-streaked smiles? You’re not some fucking plaything for his amusement, but try telling him that. He’d laugh, he’d look at you with that sick smirk, the one that makes your insides twist and your heart ache.

No. He’s not going to stop. He’s never going to stop. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real reason you hate him. Because the only thing worse than loving him is realizing you’re trapped in the same cage with him, and he holds the key.

He’s the kind of poison that seeps in slow, until you’re so numb to it, you don't even notice how much of yourself you've lost. Like the sound of blood dripping off the edge of a knife — it gets quieter the longer you listen, and then, it’s just part of the fucking rhythm. Part of the noise. And he's good at this, isn't he? At making it all blend together. The fear. The longing. The hate. Everything becomes one ugly, tangled mess that you don’t know how to untangle, or if you even want to anymore.

You tell yourself you could walk away. You could leave. It’s so easy, right? Just turn your back and step out of this mess. But that’s the lie he’s fed you, the one you’ve swallowed so many times you can’t tell where it ends and you begin. It’s not easy. It’s not simple. It never was. And he knows that. He knows you’re stuck, even when you think you’ve got your legs beneath you.

And god, when he looks at you? It’s like he’s inside your skull, turning things over, poking at the dark corners you didn’t even know were there. He doesn’t even have to touch you, doesn’t even have to try to break you anymore. He’s already done it, just by showing you how easy it is to be broken. How simple it is to let the weight of it all crush you under his watchful, uncaring gaze.

You hate him, but you also need him. You can’t escape the fact that he’s the one who makes everything feel real. He’s the true thing in a world full of empty promises. You might wish he’d disappear, or that you'd have the strength to walk away. But that’s the truth—you can’t get away, and neither can he. He’s as much a part of you as the parts you wish you could burn out of yourself.

Ronin’s face on the screen was sharp, predatory—a cruel grin spread across it like he knew the outcome of this twisted little game before it even began. His voice was velvet laced with razor blades, dragging over your nerves as he taunted, “Y’know what? You don’t want me to kill ya? Why don’t you plead? Beg, even.”

Your throat tightened, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "Please don’t kill me."

The laugh he let out was nothing short of wicked, pure mockery dripping from it. “Christ, you’re pathetic. Say that again.”

You swallowed hard. “Please… don’t kill me.”

But that wasn’t enough for him. His grin grew sharper, cutting through the space between you like a blade. “I’m done playing around. You wanna be a serial killer? Act the part.”

Your hands trembled, but your voice came out steady, almost detached. “Fine. Let’s play a game.”

“Truth.” His answer was immediate, smug.

You exhaled shakily. “I want you to tell me why you’re the way you are.”

The grin faltered for a split second, just a flicker, before he regained control. “I want you to tell me why you are the way you are.”

The words came unbidden, raw and cracked. “I want to be someone other than me.”

His eyes darkened, a strange stillness settling over his expression. “I get that abject feeling,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Was it because of what your first love told you?”

The mention of it struck you like a blow. Your stomach twisted, the pain of it old but sharp as ever. You didn’t answer right away, just nodded, your gaze falling to the screen in your lap.

Ronin’s tone turned mocking again, the sharp edge of his words back in full force. “You don’t even know how the fuck he looks like, how the fuck he is right now, yet you say he was your first love.”

Your lips twitched into a bitter smile, the chuckle escaping more hollow than you meant it to be. “If someone gives you hope to live,” you began, your voice quieter now, steadier despite the chaos inside you, “to you, they’re a key… to the start of everything.”

His expression tightened, unreadable. “And?”

“And you, Ronin,” you said, voice sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade, “you’re the key to opening it. Beaufort pushed me to live. You pushed me to accept it.”

There was silence on his end, just for a beat, before he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Accept what?”

You let out a breathy, bitter laugh, staring right into the screen. “That loving you makes me insane. And it’s fine.”

For once, he didn’t respond immediately. The grin was gone, replaced by something quieter, something darker. He didn’t deny it, didn’t taunt you this time. Instead, his gaze burned into yours, and in that suffocating silence, the only sound was the unsteady rhythm of your own heart. You’d said it. You’d accepted it.

Your voice trembled slightly, curiosity clawing its way past fear as you finally asked, "How could you tell? Beaufort’s a he…"

Ronin’s chuckle was low, dark, and dripping with something unspoken, like a predator toying with its prey. Then, without warning, he tipped his head back and laughed—a sound that was equal parts maddening and intoxicating, like he’d just peeled back a layer of your soul for his own amusement. He didn’t answer, of course. He just stared, that infuriating smirk stretching across his face like he knew something you didn’t, something you’d never be able to figure out.

The silence grew heavier with every passing second. His laugh still echoed faintly in your head, unsettling, and yet... there was an undeniable pull to it. He didn’t need to say anything, because the weight of his knowing gaze was answer enough.

Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions too tangled to unravel. "You’re quiet…" you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a whisper in a storm. "You make dying feel… not so bad, in a way."

That earned another chuckle, softer this time, and yet it hit harder, like a hand closing around your throat. His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t name, something that made your stomach flip and your chest ache all at once.

Your lips curved into a small, broken smile, the weight of everything crashing into you at once. "You’re a devil with a saint’s heart," you said, your words a mixture of awe and despair. "At least to the ones you care about."

Ronin leaned closer to the camera, his grin faltering ever so slightly as something colder, sharper replaced it. "Care, huh?" he said, his voice like velvet dipped in venom. "Sweetheart, don’t mistake me for something I’m not. But if it makes you feel better to believe that, go ahead. Lie to yourself."

You shook your head slowly, that smile still lingering, fragile but defiant. "It’s not a lie," you murmured. "You care in your own way… even if it’s twisted, even if it hurts. And that’s what makes you dangerous."

His eyes narrowed, the air between you growing heavier, suffocating. But you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. The storm inside you was already raging, and somehow, facing him head-on felt like the only way to keep from drowning.

"Fine." Your voice wavered, but the resolve in your tone was undeniable. "Dare. Give me a kiss."

Ronin's smirk widened, sharp and wicked, his laugh rolling through like a storm. "Oh, someone's desperate. I'll give you a kiss, all right. I'll give you love, I'll fuckin' damage you, I'll kiss my knife to your throat and send your pretty little head into oblivion. Is that what you want?"

Your heart pounded, fear and something darker twisting together in a brutal dance. "It's everything I want," you whispered, voice trembling yet certain.

His gaze narrowed, the smirk faltering for a split second before returning full force. "That's how you like it? Death?"

"Only because it's you," you replied without hesitation.

Ronin let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "You think I won't kill you?"

"You'd miss me too much," you said, your lips curling into a faint, defiant smile.

He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes glinting with something unhinged. "Hah! It's your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you answered quickly. But before you could breathe, he added, "Two questions. Shoot them at me."

You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity burned hotter than caution. "Your real name... And... why did you say Beaufort's a he?"

Ronin's laugh was softer this time, almost indulgent. "Darlin', you've already muttered my real name multiple times," he drawled, his tone mockingly sweet. "And as for the second... I did tell you, in my own way. Figure it out."

Your stomach dropped, your breath catching in your throat. His real name? You stared at him, bewildered, before your mind began piecing it together. Frantically, you scrolled through old texts, the memories flashing in your mind.

"You're Beaufort...?" you whispered, disbelief and realization washing over you like cold water.

He grinned, sharp and predatory, like he’d been waiting for this moment. "Darlin', full name. Achieve your victory."

Your heart pounded in your ears as the pieces clicked together, and you almost shouted, "You're Ronin Beaufort!"

Ronin clapped slowly, mock applause ringing out as he chuckled. "Atta lover. You got it."

You were reeling, your emotions crashing like waves. The man who had saved you, the one who had given you hope when you thought it was gone... was the same man who now threatened to take it all away.

"I have so much I want to say—"

He raised a hand, silencing you with a look, his grin fading into something more solemn, more chilling. "Save it," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "Meet me in purgatory, Y/N L/N."

And with that, the call ended, leaving you staring at the dark screen, your reflection staring back.

You sat there, your chest tight, your mind racing. The man who had been your salvation was now your reckoning. The irony of it twisted in your gut, a cruel joke the universe had written just for you.

The man who saved you is the man who’s going to kill you now. Romantic, isn’t it? Like a prayer answered wrong—half by heaven, half by hell, their hands slick with irony and divinity alike. Ronin Beaufort, of all people. The scum of the earth who wears the title like a tailored suit, grinning that god-awful, shit-eating grin, the one that makes you hate and love him in the same breath.

He’s problematic in all the ways that hurt. A walking paradox. A savior who drags you from the edge only to dangle you there again, one hand loose and laughing. He doesn’t care to split truth from illusion, prefers to blur the lines until you're drowning in them, his voice the only anchor. And you? You let him.

Oh, how you prayed. Once. For someone who could take your cracked soul and hold it without breaking further. And here he is, smiling sharp like broken glass, throwing your devotion back in your face like a spilled milkshake on a Sunday afternoon. He calls it a tragedy, your love, and maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the beauty of it.

You wanted a lover, and you got him. The universe said yes but handed you the devil in exchange for a saint. Ronin Beaufort doesn’t love like humans do; he consumes. He devours. He kisses like knives and whispers like poison, and you thank him for it, every single time.

He was your salvation once. Now he's your favorite ruin.

Purgatory stank of iron and rot, a place where the Devil’s Butcher carved his gospel in gore. Limbs draped like forgotten ornaments, blood pooling in stagnant art. It was vile. It was Ronin Beaufort. He always did know how to make an impression—how to turn the macabre into something almost poetic, like Baudelaire with a butcher’s blade. And you? You were walking straight into it, lilies pressed to your chest like a love letter.

Funny, isn’t it? The lilies. You remembered the server’s jokes, the teasing about your dreams. The little moments that felt far away now, drowned beneath the weight of this—this grand funeral march you were dragging yourself through. White petals, clean and soft, clashing with the grime of the alleyway ahead. You didn’t flinch, though. Not even when you saw the shadows stretch like teeth waiting to devour you.

You held the lilies tighter, a fragile little prayer against the inevitable. You walked slow, deliberate, like a bride making her way to the altar. And maybe you were. Maybe that’s exactly what this was. A wedding, grotesque and holy all at once, the groom waiting for you in the heart of the slaughter. Ronin Beaufort, the man who saved you just to kill you. The man who made you laugh, made you ache, made you fall.

The alleyway swallowed you whole, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Every step echoed, slow and steady, like a heartbeat counting down. You thought of his grin, that awful, beautiful thing, a scythe dressed up like a smile. Thought of his voice, the way it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

This was fine. This was right. Because the groom was him, and the death was yours, and you’d always known it would end this way. You just didn’t know it would feel so much like love.

Ronin Beaufort, the scum of the earth, leaned against the cracked brick wall, a knife, Too precise. Too clean. Ronin wasn’t about precision—he was about devastation. He thrived in the jagged edges, the broken pieces, the chaos that bled into everything he touched. And now, he was here, waiting for you like the devil at the gates of hell.

His grin carved itself across his face when he heard your footsteps, slow and deliberate, like a death march. “So we meet at last!” he called out, voice dripping with mockery, with glee, like this was some grand reunion and not the end of you. “It’s so nice to see you…” His words trailed off as his eyes caught the lilies clutched to your chest, his grin faltering for just a moment before widening again. “What’s this? A gift for the devil?”

You stopped a few steps away, leaned against the wall, and hugged the lilies tighter to your chest. “Something to offer,” you murmured, your voice calm, resigned, like you were handing over your soul without a fight.

Ronin’s gaze flickered, something unreadable flashing in those maddening eyes. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his crowbar scraping against the ground like a low growl. “Lilies, huh?” he mused, his voice softening as he reached you. “Pretty things. Like you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand shot out, pressing you against the wall with a force that left no room for escape. The lilies crushed between you, petals trembling as your chests heaved, your hearts so close you swore you could feel the thrum of his aorta against your own. Instinctively, your hands flew up to his neck, not to push him away, but to hold on, to steady yourself against the onslaught of him.

His grin returned, sharper now, predatory. “What’s wrong, darling? You look surprised,” he murmured, his voice a razor slicing through the silence. His eyes bore into yours, searching, mocking, daring you to speak.

The gasp caught in your throat, but he left no room for air, no room for doubt. Ronin’s voice dropped low, a velvet drawl that coiled around you like smoke. “Do you like me now?”

Your head bobbed before you could stop it, the truth spilling out in a fragile whisper. “I like you now.”

His grin curved, dark and knowing. “Before?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the shreds of confidence you had left. “Before too,” you admitted, voice steady despite the tremble threatening to break it.

He tilted his head, his face mere inches from yours, his breath a ghost against your skin. “Write me a love note, darlin’,” he drawled, his grin sharpening into something cruel and intimate all at once.

You stared into his eyes—those maddening eyes that seemed to see everything—and said it softly, like a revelation. “I know your name now. I could end this. I could end you.”

Ronin chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous, like the low growl of a predator toying with its prey. “Will ya do it, then?” he asked, pressing closer, the crushed lilies a trembling barrier between you.

“No.”

The word came out firm, unwavering, and his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Relief? Whatever it was, it only made him press against you harder, the lilies between your chests crushed almost beyond recognition. “These for me?” he murmured, his voice soft, curious. His fingers brushed the petals, a touch that seemed almost reverent. “How’d you know I always loved them?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, the words trapped somewhere in the back of your throat.

His lips brushed your ear, his voice a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Too much to say but no words to say it with?”

You almost enjoyed it too much—his breath on your ear, the weight of him pinning you against the wall, the crushed lilies releasing their faint, tragic fragrance between your chests. Ronin noticed. Of course, he noticed.

And he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that shook through him and straight into you. It wasn’t cruel—not entirely—but it was filled with something close to delight. Amusement. He was laughing at you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mirth. “You’re pathetically adorable, you know that?”

Your cheeks flamed, your heart hammered against the fragile wall of crushed petals, and you turned your face away from him, trying to hide the heat rising to your skin.

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a sharp grin that softened just enough to make it dangerous. “Aw, wait,” he said, his tone mock-apologetic. “Maybe not pathetic? Nah…” His voice trailed off as his grin widened.

He leaned closer again, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in every ounce of your flustered silence. “Awww,” he drawled, teasing. “You look like you’re about to melt into the fuckin’ floor. That for me, too, darlin’? Or is it the flowers?”

You managed to lift your gaze back to his, and the smirk on his face made you want to laugh, scream, or cry—or maybe all three at once. He tilted his head like he was waiting for an answer, but you knew him better by now.

You almost enjoyed it too much—his breath on your ear, the weight of him pinning you against the wall, the crushed lilies releasing their faint, tragic fragrance between your chests. Ronin noticed. Of course, he noticed.

And he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that shook through him and straight into you. It wasn’t cruel—not entirely—but it was filled with something close to delight. Amusement. He was laughing at you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mirth. “You’re pathetically adorable, you know that?”

Your cheeks flamed, your heart hammered against the fragile wall of crushed petals, and you turned your face away from him, trying to hide the heat rising to your skin.

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a sharp grin that softened just enough to make it dangerous. “Aw, wait,” he said, his tone mock-apologetic. “Maybe not pathetic? Nah…” His voice trailed off as his grin widened.

He leaned closer again, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in every ounce of your flustered silence. “Awww,” he drawled, teasing. “You look like you’re about to melt into the fuckin’ floor. That for me, too, darlin’? Or is it the flowers?”

You managed to lift your gaze back to his, and the smirk on his face made you want to laugh, scream, or cry—or maybe all three at once. He tilted his head like he was waiting for an answer, but you knew him better by now.

“Come on, darlin’. Tell me—what do you want?” Ronin’s voice was a low, syrupy drawl, the kind that coiled around your thoughts like smoke. He tilted his head, watching your every twitch, your every breath. “Do you hate me? Do you love me? Do you wanna kill me? 'Cause look, I got a knife right here…”

His grin spread wider as he brought the blade into view, holding it out to you, a taunting glint in his eyes. “Or are you kissin’ me, huh? How much do you feel? How much can you even take?”

The knife felt cool in your palm when you took it. For a moment, his gaze sharpened, curious, waiting—would you do it? Could you? Your fingers tightened on the hilt, and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin only grew sharper, like he was daring you.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The blade clattered to the ground as you threw it aside, and before he could make some snide, smug comment, you grabbed his face and kissed him.

For a second, the world stopped. Or maybe it spun faster, collapsing in on itself as he responded like only Ronin could—with no hesitation, no restraint. He kissed you back, and in true Ronin fashion, it wasn’t soft or tentative; it was raw and consuming, a wildfire of teeth and lips and heat.

His hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, pressing you harder against the wall. The crushed lilies between you released their scent again, a bittersweet perfume that tangled with his cologne and the metallic scent of the knife.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands instinctively clutching at him, pulling him closer. He chuckled against your lips, the sound low and dangerous and entirely him.

But it was fine. It was more than fine.

Because this wasn’t just Ronin Beaufort—the Devil’s Butcher, the scum of the earth who wore chaos like a second skin.

No, this was your Ronin Beaufort.

And as his lips claimed yours again, as his fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you further into him, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else. Not the knife, not the lilies, not even the bloodstained shadows of Purgatory.

Ronin let you go, but his forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, it felt quiet, suspended between the lingering touch of his lips and the adrenaline still thrumming in your veins.

You glanced over him, noticing something odd—he didn’t have his usual crowbar with him. That caught you off guard. “Wait... you didn’t bring it?”

He pulled back just enough to give you that grin of his, the one that screamed trouble. “Never mind that,” he said, his voice a purr.

You squinted at him, something in his tone raising red flags. “What does that mean? You never... wanted to kill me?”

“Kill you? Nah.” He leaned back further, stretching his arms behind his head like this was the most casual conversation in the world. “Over, like, fuckin’ with you? It’s a game, darlin’.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?!”

Ronin laughed—a loud, shameless laugh that bounced off the alleyway walls. “Oh, man, it’s funny. You, all praise for Beaufort, and now you’re losing it ‘cause it turns out he’s just some mechanic-slash-serial-killer who got a kick outta savin’ you.” He was grinning so wide it was almost obnoxious. “Yeah, I remember pullin’ you outta that mess. But I never took it to heart. I wasn’t expectin’ you to... y’know, make me your whole-ass religion or whatever.”

Your cheeks puffed out in frustration, and before you knew it, you were practically stomping your foot. “So all those threats—the killing, the knives, the cat-and-mouse bullshit—it was just a game?!”

He clapped his hands together, still laughing like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Goddamn right, it was! And you? You played right into it, darlin’. Couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and glistening, and before you knew it, the tears started to spill over. You couldn’t stop them. You just stood there, trembling, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Ronin blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, wait, wait—hold up, darlin’. You’re cryin’?” His tone was part disbelief, part amusement.

You sniffled, trying to catch your breath, but it was useless. The dam had broken, and there was no going back. “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Ronin’s grin twitched, caught between wanting to laugh and genuinely not knowing what to do. “Oh, c’mon, don’t do this. You’re gonna ruin my bad-boy rep if people see me dealin’ with this.”

You wailed louder, smacking his chest weakly. “You’re a JERK! A LYING JERK!”

“Hey now!” He caught your wrist mid-swing, still trying to stifle a laugh. “I never lied. I just... didn’t tell you everything.”

“WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Alright, alright!” He held his hands up like he was surrendering, his teasing grin faltering just enough to show he was trying to figure out how to fix this. “You want me to apologize? I’ll apologize. I’m sorry, darlin’. There, happy?”

You glared at him through teary eyes, hiccuping as you tried to respond. “No! That’s not—hic—enough! You—sniff—you’re so mean!”

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You’re killin’ me, y’know that? You’re the one cryin’, but I feel like I’m the one dyin’ here.” He tilted his head, giving you a lopsided grin. “You really are somethin’ else, huh? Tears an’ all. Still look cute, though.”

You hiccupped again, your sobs slowing just a bit, but your lip still trembled. “Y-You’re horrible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” He stepped closer, tilting your chin up with a finger. “But you’re still here, aren’tcha? Cryin’ over me, no less. Gotta mean somethin’, huh?”

You tried to pull away, but he just chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere. Get it all out. You done wailin’, or should I brace myself for another round of ‘WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’?”

Your sobs didn’t stop—if anything, they got louder. Ronin, the smug bastard, just stood there watching you with that shit-eating grin, hands on his hips like he was some kind of hero.

But then, out of nowhere, he swooped down, grabbing you around the waist. Before you could even react, he hoisted you up like a sack of potatoes and threw you over his shoulder.

“W-WHAT THE—?!” You shrieked, pounding your fists on his back. “PUT ME DOWN, YOU IDIOT! YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!”

He laughed, deep and hearty, the sound vibrating through his body and into yours. “You’re too cute when you’re mad, darlin’. I gotta savor this.”

“RONIN BEAUFORT, I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING HOLY, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!”

“Nah.” He gave your leg a playful pat. “You’re too much fun up there. Plus, you were gettin’ all dramatic with the cryin’. Thought I’d mix it up a bit.”

You kicked your feet uselessly, feeling the blood rush to your head. “THIS IS NOT MIXING IT UP! THIS IS HUMILIATION!”

“Oh, c’mon.” He turned his head just enough to glance at you, his grin still plastered across his face. “You were already makin’ a scene, bawlin’ your eyes out like that. Least now you’ve got a reason to be loud.”

“YOU’RE THE WORST PERSON ALIVE!”

“And yet you’re still here.” He adjusted you slightly, like you were some kind of lightweight duffel bag, not a fully grown human. “Admit it, darlin’. You kinda like it.”

“I DO NOT!” You pounded your fists on his back again, harder this time. “YOU ARE INSANE!”

He just laughed again, a low, lazy sound that made you want to strangle him. “Insane for you, maybe.”

“OH MY GOD, STOP SAYING CRINGY STUFF!”

“Cringy?” He scoffed, feigning offense. “That’s the thanks I get for sweepin’ you off your feet? Harsh, darlin’. Real harsh.”

You let out a frustrated scream, which only made him laugh harder. “Ugh! Ronin, if you don’t put me down this instant, I will—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his voice teasing. “Cry some more? Punch my back? Call me names? You’ve got me so scared, darlin’.”

“YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave your leg another pat. “Keep yellin’, sweetheart. You’re music to my ears.”

Ronin didn't give you much of a choice. He wasn't about to let you walk home in the middle of the night. It was like his personal mission to keep you near him, no matter how much you tried to argue. “You’re comin' with me,” he said with that grin, the one you were quickly growing to hate and... secretly like? "Besides, it's the perfect time to show you my den."

“Wait—what?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in confusion as he practically dragged you to his motor.

“You heard me, darlin’. I don’t trust you to wander around alone. It’s late, and you might find yourself in the wrong company.”

You were about to protest again, but you caught the serious glint in his eyes.

When you arrived, you realized his house was... messy. Not just a little cluttered—a lot of clutter. Old pizza boxes stacked against the walls, clothes thrown over the back of furniture, and somehow a few mismatched socks floating around. Yet, somehow, it felt strangely comfortable.

You couldn't help but smirk to yourself, but you weren't about to tell him that. He had this way of making everything look chaotic but strangely right.

Ronin led you inside and set about making you tea. You blinked, surprised at how domestic it felt. Him, of all people, making tea? It was... oddly endearing. His messy kitchen felt more like home than any pristine, perfect house could.

"Go sit on the bed, darlin’," he said, motioning to his cluttered mattress. "I’ll be right there."

You hesitated, eyeing the bed like it might swallow you whole. With a sigh, you plopped down on the edge, still unsure of what the hell was going on. Ronin, meanwhile, was casually leaning against the doorframe, watching you with an unreadable expression.

He handed you the tea, his usual smirk on his face as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "So," he started, his voice low. "Is this what you imagined, darlin'? Me, in my element, at home with you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up your neck. “It’s... different than what I expected, yeah.”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes like you're disappointed,” he teased, his grin widening. “You thought I was gonna be this perfect, suave man, huh? The great Beaufort—saving you and all that. And now you’ve found out I’m a total mess. Reality disappoint you, baby?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "No... you’re way more than I thought. In a good way," you added quickly, eyes flicking to his for a moment before looking away, hoping he wouldn't catch how much your heart skipped a beat.

Ronin’s smile turned devious, his eyes narrowing as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. "Aw, don’t get all shy on me now," he purred. "Darlin’, I don't bite... unless you want me to."

And in that moment, it felt like your heart tried to explode out of your chest. You almost couldn’t breathe. What was it about him that made your stomach twist and your cheeks flush every single time he said something like that? The entire room felt suffocating as you barely managed to squeak out a, “Hmph!”

He chuckled at your flustered reaction, moving closer until he was right next to you, just close enough to tease. "You're killin' me, darlin'. It's like you want me to keep messin' with you."

You didn’t answer right away. How could you? You wanted to scream, to curse him out for making your heart race like this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you took a long sip of the tea he made you, trying to calm your nerves, even though it wasn’t working. Every time he was near, it felt like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite explain.

The night ended with you surrendering to the magnetic pull Ronin seemed to have over you. One moment, you were sipping your tea and trying to steady your breath, and the next, you were crawling toward him, captivated by the devilish grin on his face. The rest of the night was a blur—a fever dream of heat and adrenaline, of whispered words and teasing laughter, of him pulling you closer and never letting go. His intensity was suffocating and thrilling all at once, and somewhere in the haze of it all, you realized that you didn’t want it any other way.

Morning came too quickly. The sunlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds painted golden streaks across the room, highlighting the chaos of the night before. His shirt hung off the edge of a chair. Your clothes were scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs leading to the bed where he still lay, sprawled out like he owned the entire world. His dark hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, and his face was softened in sleep.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your shoes on and trying to steady yourself after the whirlwind that was last night. It wasn’t like you to stay this long. Usually, you’d slip out quietly, not giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing you linger. But Ronin wasn’t like anyone else, and you hated how much of your time he had managed to steal.

“Ronin,” you said softly, breaking the morning quiet. “Do you ever get tired?”

His only response was a muffled groan as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. “Come back to bed,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah, as if I’m falling for that again,” you replied with a roll of your eyes, standing up and straightening your clothes. Your tone was sharp, but your heart betrayed you, fluttering at the sheer domesticity of it all. You weren’t used to this—weren’t used to waking up in someone else’s space, especially not someone like him.

Ronin finally stirred, cracking one eye open to watch you as you moved around the room. His voice, raspy and teasing, broke the quiet. “When it comes to you, darlin’? I don’t get tired.”

You froze, his words sinking in deeper than they should have. He had a way of saying things that felt like they were wrapped in layers—half a joke, half the truth, and entirely too much for your heart to handle.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ve already seen enough of you for one night.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through the room. “You were just getting to the good part, though.”

“Oh, well,” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his laughter made your chest tighten. “Guess I’ll survive without it.”

You turned to leave, but before you could even take a step, Ronin sat up, his movements slow and deliberate. His messy hair and rumpled appearance made him look more human than you were used to seeing him, but his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—reminded you exactly who you were dealing with.

“Leavin’ so soon, darlin’?” he drawled, leaning against the wall with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and dangerous.

You clenched your fists at your sides, refusing to let him get under your skin again. “I have a life to get back to, you know. I can’t just waste my time lounging around with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Waste your time, huh? That what last night was to you?”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his words cut through your defenses. He always knew exactly what to say to make you question everything.

“Don’t twist my words,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

Ronin pushed off the wall, his movements slow and predatory as he closed the distance between you. “Twistin’ your words?” he repeated, his tone laced with mock innocence. “Nah, I’m just makin’ sure I understand. ‘Cause it sounded to me like you had a pretty good time.”

You glared at him, refusing to back down even as he stood inches away from you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you keep comin’ back.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. His proximity was overwhelming, and the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to think straight.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you adjusted your bag and made your way to the door, hoping he wouldn’t say anything else to stop you.

But of course, he wasn’t going to let you leave without one last jab.

“Don’t be a stranger now, darlin’,” he called after you, his voice dripping with amusement. “Door’s always open for you.”

You froze at the edge of the threshold, hand trembling as it gripped the doorframe. His words echoed in your mind, weaving themselves into something you couldn’t ignore. “Don’t be a stranger now, darlin’.” It was said with that familiar smirk, that teasing lilt, but there was something underneath it. Something raw. Something real.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and ran back into the room. He looked up, startled by the sudden sound of your hurried footsteps. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened the moment they met yours. For a split second, you saw something vulnerable flash across his face, like he wasn’t quite sure if you were running back to him or away from him.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his hand, threading your fingers through his. His hand was warm, rough, a stark contrast to your own trembling grip. He blinked down at you, confusion and something unreadable flickering in his expression.

“What are you—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish. You leaned up on your tiptoes, brushing a feather-light kiss against his cheek. The gesture was soft, fleeting, but it carried a weight that made his breath hitch.

“Thank you for existing that day,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Ronin...” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, reverent and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

For once, he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He didn’t crack a joke to break the tension. He just stared at you, his lips parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His hand tightened around yours, his grip steadying you even as you felt like you might fall apart under the weight of your own emotions.

“You...” His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to thank me, darlin’.”

“But I do,” you insisted, your voice firmer now. “If you hadn’t been there... If you hadn’t... saved me...” Your throat tightened, the words catching like a lump you couldn’t swallow. “I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be standing here, holding your hand, saying your name. So... thank you. For being there. For existing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was trying to figure out if you were real or just another dream he’d wake up from. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as a crooked smile tugged at his lips.

He looked down at your joined hands, then back at you. “You’re full of surprises, darlin’. I’ll give you that.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I think we both are.”

Ronin tilted his head, his grin softening into something almost... tender. “Maybe. But I think you might’ve just outdone me this time.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken connection between you. Finally, he gave your hand a squeeze, his smirk returning as he said, “Now, if you’re gonna stick around, how ‘bout I make you another cup of tea? Or were you plannin’ on stealing my heart and runnin’ out the door again?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Tea sounds good,” you said softly.

He nodded, leading you back toward the kitchen with your hand still in his.

[aurmisery]

- a little death -

ronin b. x gn! reader !!

inspired by a friend of mine in the rose's rot discord, vanity! @vanitywoo

hi erm this is my first time putting down a killer chat! work of mine on here uhhhhhhh

cw // mentions of sh scars on mc -

please tell me if anything else in here can be considered triggering !!

okay enjoy!!!!!1!!1!!!!2! sorry if this is ass and or ooc for ronin bro i TRIED MY BEST I TRIEDMYBEST

1878 word count!!!!!!!

FUCKIFORGOT THIS US FLUFF BTW

-

you know when you walk into someone's room, you can immediately tell what kind of person they are? what posters they roll on their walls, what decor they line the edges of their room with- if they have LEDs, what merch they willingly buy and if they have a whole shelf for said merch, etc?

if you were to walk into ronin's room with no idea of who he is other than his oh so charming looks, you might just say "typical, makes sense given his aesthetic." even if the jars of human remains seemed a bit too hardcore and realistic.

it all fit though, the color palette ranging from all hues of red, black, and white, the masks, the lava lamp, the VHS tapes, the illuminated 'KORN' sign hung in the corner of his room matching the 'still alive?' frame with a cartoonishly drawn heart- it was all him- it screamed ronin.

the plainest thing in his room was probably his bed- and he knew that. it was just a black headboard and footboard, with a red duvet and pillows with a white blanket overtop it. it did match the color scheme, which was enough for now, but it was missing something.

.

.

.

but as his pupils grazed over your steady form, warm and breathing, he realized something.

the slight flush of your cheeks, the way your eyelids fell heavy over your unblinking stare, the hazy glare of his TV burning a light glow over your side-

the ruffle of your hair, your legs snaking awkwardly with his, fingers mindlessly tracing invisible doodles over his forearm, and the slight quirk of your brow as your eyes retrace back to his.

"what's up?" your lips curl upwards slowly as his eyes noticeably fade from the trance he planted himself into, brows slanted upwards as he slow blinked.

"...youuuu good?" a small giggle slewed unevenly from your grin, and he scoffs, a playful jab at the side of your waist following the roll of his eyes.

"'m fine, jus' thinkin'. what about you, darlin'? feelin' comfortable in the devil's den?"

you flop over on your right side, facing him rather than the TV, propping yourself up on one elbow with your other arm tracing the angle of his jaw.

"for a devil, you're rather accommodating, i'll give you that," you tease, and he revels in it; in your warmth, in the fiery trace of your finger along his jawline, and for once, his hell is starting to feel a bit hot.

"in a literal sense, if i'm laying in your bed, wearing your shirt, cuddled up with you, watching old slashers, i think i'm as comfortable as i can ever get."

it's his turn to grin, moving his hand from its resting position on your hip to the small of your back, letting a small exhale he didn't even know he was holding fall from his lips.

his downcast eyes flicker from the graphic tee bagging low under the curve of your shoulders to the width of your thighs, and he couldn't help but feel a little warmer.

you did look good in his clothes.

and as your hand caressed his cheek, his head melting into your warmth, he spots something along the flex of your arms.

his blackened irises almost narrow at them, but they reverted back to whatever you would call normal as his hand drags from your back to the base of your arms, fingers gently rubbing over the faded marks of your pliant skin.

at this, the knitted furrow of your brows came together, a slight wrinkle in your expression as you awkwardly chuckle, a defensive grin uneasily firming itself on your cheeks.

"what's this for?" you question, a wry smile on your face as you realize the implications of his stare, and the look on his face...was just blank.

"no reason, just glad you don't...do that anymore, i guess."

with a shiver up your spine, you firm up your lips into a sheepish smile, nodding with a creak to your voice. "aww, c'mon. can't even say that without the 'i guess' at the end?"

and then he laughed, the tiniest hue of cherry blending into his ivory skin, his onxy irises filled with amusement.

"is it like me to carve open my chest and bare it fresh? i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'."

it was your turn to scoff, turning over onto your stomach and reaching out to cup his chin with the flex of your fingers, thumb lolling over his bottom lip.

"'i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'," you mock, voice whiny and pitchy before you deadpanned, eyes narrowed at him.

"oh please, cut the bullshit, ro. not that much of a romantic my ass."

ronin weaved a palm through the plum tresses sitting upon his head, a dismissive hum resting in his throat as he looked you over. "i'm not really, i mean- i kill people?"

"yeah- abusers. usually, anyway."

you then fanned out your hands, your digits extending with each gesture you were about to point out, pupils darting upwards into your lashes as if recounting your times together.

"our motorcycle dates? the shirts you give me each time i come over? the way you snuggle against me while we watch movies, when you complain about being cold to get me closer to you, when you crack cheesey jokes about how lonely your lips are, how-"

"okay, okay, i get it."

and as you took a glance at your boyfriend, a bead of sweat brimmed at his forehead and neck, face flushing a hue of carmine as his words spewed out in an exasperated rush.

you grin.

"oh, and that time you rushed me through your front door after i got drenched by the rain despite the fact that you were also soaked. when you prepared me soup in worry that i would get sick, and while i didn't get ill, you did the next day."

you were trying to be subtle, but with how his pupils were blown out and watching your every move, he was probably more aware of your slow crawl over to him than you were, the mattress making a small dip where your knee paused.

"then, i stayed over the whole time and nursed you back to health while we watched your favorite movies? or when i stopped by your job and you purposely wiped your face with the front of your shirt to flash your-"

"okay, fine! fuck, you win!"

his face was hot and covered by a thin sheen of sweat, a hand flayed out over his jaw to hide his most-likely embarrassed expression, brows arched downwards into a glare. he couldn't even look at you.

ronin beaufort, flustered? ronin fucking beaufort, embarrassed?!

you just made the devil bow his head.

a boisterous laugh bounced out of the pits of your stomach- jesus christ, you've rarely never seen him like this before, all shy and flustered.

your arms snake over your own abdomen, trying to pat down the rumbling giggles orchestrating from your gut with a roll onto your side, and you feel his elbow butt between your ribs playfully.

"give ya an inch and you take a mile, huh?"

he grumbles, giving you a nudge as you only cackle further, slapping a palm over your eyes to smear the tears pearling at your lash line.

"god, your face is fucking priceless when you're embarrassed! geez, i shoulda taken a picture, would've been amazing to have that spammed in mai-"

without skipping a beat, he reeled you into his arms, before turning and slamming you down right in the middle of the bed, hands jabbing and feverishly dancing over your sides.

all the sudden, your laughing increased tenfold- tears springing out of your eyes like sprinkles as you jerked, bucked, and kicked in protest of his tickling, but you couldn't do anything against his iron grip.

you felt like you were dying, stomach exhausted as you guffawed and blabbered, hiccups along the lines of "i can't-" "wait, my stomach hurts-" "have mercy-" following between the tears pitifully steaming down your reddening face.

he lets out a soft-hearted snicker, his body over yours and his knees pinned on either sides of your hips. his plum locks tickles your forehead, reminding you of the teasing grin on his face as he mercilessly dug at your sides- before his fingers traced upwards to your collarbone, and-

his fingertips padded over your neck, before your head jerked instinctively and you could only cackle further. is he trying to kill you?

and finally- you fought back, hands reaching up into his shirt.

he stiffened, eyes widening as your hands snaked up into the black fabric and wandered over his lower waist, making him jump and bubble his cheeks- as if that would quiet his laughter.

but you powered through the pain in your gut from laughing your vocal cords out and frenzied your hands up his abdomen, he gave out, falling pathetically besides you as you took your sweet, sweet retribution.

his arms flexed over his head in defense, lashes clenched shut as his face buried itself into the pillow besides him, almost as if taking cover from your violent antics.

you curl over against him, hands jabbing and frantically scurrying up his shirt as his laughs and pleas muffle besides you, and then-

your hands seemingly touched a sore spot, his laughs dying out and his breath hitching, as if he was in pain. finally taking a second to feel the skin below your palm, you handle it with deft, and...

it's smooth, slightly arched in size, extending from the middle of his chest to the side of his pecs. you lift up your head to look up his already hiked-up shirt, and...

it's his scars. a cringe forms in the side of your gut, fuck- did you piss him off?

"sorry," you usher lowly, withdrawing your hands, only for his to grab your wrists, placing them back right back on his chest.

his thumbs roll over your wrists, reassuring your tense frame back into ease, and you eye his facial expressions carefully.

his eyes are beady, sucked into the way your thumbs navigate the faded discoloration of his torso, brows furrowed and watching with a slight quirk in his lips.

and then his eyes harden.

"do you, uh," he begins, tone devoid of that usual bite he has to it, gaze wandering away from your hands on him, from your face and to the corner of his room.

"do you see me as, y'know, uhm-"

"the devil? hell yeah."

he smiles.

it was so... genuine, so adoring, blooming through the erasure of his doubts, of your validation- even as his soft hair messily spiraled into his vision, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

and as you slink besides him, letting your head sink into the pillow conjoined with his- he realized something, and this time he took full joy in memorizing it.

your touch, your voice, your sweet, sweet lips- even the messy, unbothered display you shroud around.

the way you smile at him in the dim light of his room, the warmth radiating from your body as your lips brush against his.

you're all the decoration he needs.

-

okay hi i hope you liked itsorry for the words being kinda clunky here n there???? ok bye

[brittneyjess]

Before the Midnight bell (part1)- Ronin x G.N Reader (Birthday special)

The world may never understand his love—may never see the beauty in the brokenness he had created—

Happy Birthday, Ronin!

I don’t know where to even begin, but here it goes.

I’ve never met anyone quite like you., and that’s what makes you so special. You’ve made me see the world in ways I didn’t think were possible—through the chaos, the darkness, and the little moments of strange beauty. You make everything feel… more intense. More alive.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for just being you—for your twisted way of caring, your brutal honesty, and the way you make me feel like the world is ours to twist and shape. You’ve always been my protector, even when it doesn’t look like it. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Today’s your day, and I want it to be as crazy and unforgettable as you are. Here’s to more madness, more chaos, and more love (in our own twisted way).

I’m lucky to share this ride with you, Ronin. I’ll always be here—through every bloody, beautiful moment.

Happy Birthday.

With all my weird little love, Y/N..

Hey, I hope this is real..?

Ronin x G.N Reader (It's a fallen angel reader from my fanfic for Ronin! I didn't finish it but Hehe Hehe!)

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 15k!

TW: Blood etc

How long!?

Ronin’s birthday was coming up, and for the first time, you felt both excitement and a hint of nervousness bubbling inside you. It wasn’t just any birthday this time—it was his first as your boyfriend. Your actual boyfriend. No manipulative games or quasi-relationship joke hiding behind twisted titles. This time, it was real.

The thought made your cheeks flush with warmth as you absentmindedly plucked at your sweater sleeve. What could you even do for him? Ronin wasn’t exactly the type to go all soft for traditional romantic gestures, but at the same time, he deserved something thoughtful. Something special.

When you couldn’t figure it out yourself, you turned to Angel for help.

The phone call had started simple—just asking her what kinds of things Ronin liked—but within minutes, it spiraled into giggles and brainstorming.

“Well,” Angel began, her voice teasing through the speaker. “For one, apple crumble ice cream. He’s obsessed. I swear, it’s like his one soft spot.”

You tilted your head, the corner of your lip tugging upward. “Ice cream?”

“Yes, and it has to be apple crumble. No substitutes.” She laughed lightly. “Also, anything horror-related. "You could probably scare him with some creepy prank and he’d still be grinning like an idiot. Oh! And vinyl records. He used to collect them like crazy. We’d spend hours in those little secondhand record stores."

“Wait, you guys used to date, huh?” you asked, more curious than anything else.

“Uh-huh.” Angel didn’t even try to sugarcoat it, her tone light and nonchalant. “But don’t worry, it’s ancient history. Besides, you’re better for him than I ever was.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “...Really?”

“Absolutely,” she said, warmth lacing her words. “Ronin’s a hard one to figure out, you know? But you... you don’t try to fix him. You’re just there. Healing him in your own way, piece by piece.”

The words settled in your chest, bringing a small, shy smile to your lips. You didn’t know about healing, but you did care about him—enough that jealousy didn’t even cross your mind when it came to his past. It was part of who he was, just like his sharp smirks and terrible habit of leaving his dirty boots on your couch.

“Well,” you said after a beat, grinning despite yourself. “I still need to figure out how to surprise him.”

Angel hummed thoughtfully before chiming in, “Okay, hear me out. What if you made the apple crumble ice cream? It’d mean way more than just buying it.”

Your eyes widened. “You think I could do that?”

“Absolutely. It’s easy! I’ll even send you the recipe. Trust me, he’ll love it.”

The idea lodged itself in your head, and before long, the two of you were laughing together, imagining Ronin’s surprise. It felt strange and wonderful—planning something sweet and thoughtful instead of just surviving the chaos of your usual lives.

“I can’t believe how cute you two have gotten,” Angel teased before the call ended. “You’re like this innocent little ray of sunshine, even after, y’know... the whole fallen angel thing.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, cheeks burning as you said goodbye and ended the call.

With the recipe saved on your phone and your determination set, you leaned back on the couch, mind swirling with ideas. This birthday was going to be perfect.

You were so lost in thought, though, that you didn’t notice the faint sound of footsteps creeping closer.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in your ear, low and playful. “Peekaboo.”

You yelped, jumping nearly a foot in the air, arms flailing as you landed unceremoniously on your butt.

Ronin doubled over with laughter, his crowbar leaning against the wall as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, my god, the way you jumped—” He barely got the words out between fits of cackling.

“Ronin!” you whined, pouting as you rubbed your sore tailbone. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s hilarious,” he countered, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You did the full Mickey Mouse jump and everything. You should’ve seen your face.”

You crossed your arms, trying to glare at him, but the laughter bubbling beneath his grin was contagious. Before you knew it, you were laughing too, the sound light and unguarded.

Ronin plopped down beside you on the floor, still smirking. “So, what were you sitting here looking so serious about? You looked like you were trying to solve a math problem or something.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the recipe still glowing on your phone screen. Panicking, you quickly locked the screen and tucked the phone behind you. “N-nothing!” you stammered. “Just... thinking!”

He raised a brow, clearly skeptical but not pushing it. “Mm-hmm. Sure.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the quiet filling the space between his teasing and your flustered silence. His presence was warm beside you, grounding in a way that made your racing thoughts slow just a little.

“You’re weird, y’know that?” he said suddenly, his tone lighter.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Most people would’ve run for the hills by now. But you? You’re still here. Still all...” He gestured vaguely at you, his lips quirking into an almost affectionate smirk. “...you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced away, hugging your knees to your chest. “Well... I guess I just like being around you.”

He didn’t respond right away, and when you glanced back, you caught a flicker of something soft in his expression before he covered it up with his usual bravado.

“Whatever, angel,” he muttered, ruffling your hair as he stood up. “Don’t go breaking anything while I’m gone.”

You huffed, smoothing your hair back down as he sauntered off, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

This birthday was going to be perfect. He might tease you for being so earnest, but you knew deep down he’d appreciate it. Because underneath all the posturing, Ronin cared—maybe even more than he let on.

And you? You cared too. Enough to try, to surprise him, to make this the best birthday he’d ever had.

Ronin extended his hand to you, still grinning from ear to ear, his laughter tapering off into soft chuckles. You took his hand, and he effortlessly pulled you to your feet, the smirk on his face never faltering.

“You good?” he asked, tilting his head, clearly still amused by your earlier reaction.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing yourself off and trying to recover what little dignity you had left. “And for the record, you’re terrible for scaring me like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the worst,” he teased, his voice dripping with faux arrogance. “But admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed you. “Anyway,” you said, trying to steer the conversation, “I actually... prepared something for you.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirked, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Prepared something? What, like food?”

“Yes, like food.” You placed your hands on your hips, trying to act exasperated. “I thought maybe you’d like a decent meal for once, instead of... I don’t know, whatever you scrape together while you’re out doing... whatever it is you do.”

His grin widened, and he stepped closer, leaning in just enough to make your pulse quicken. “You cooked for me?”

You nodded, cheeks warming as you looked away. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s not like I do this every day.”

“Well, color me impressed,” he said, leaning back with a lazy smirk. “Guess I’ll have to see if it’s edible first.”

“Ronin!” you huffed, playfully smacking his arm.

He laughed, stepping aside and gesturing toward the kitchen. “Lead the way, chef.”

The two of you moved to the kitchen, where you’d already plated the food you made. Ronin eyed the spread, his expression unreadable as he took it all in.

“Looks good,” he admitted, surprising you. But as he leaned forward to inspect it, he added, “Though I didn’t get any blood on my mouth today, so I’m not sure if it’ll hit the spot.”

You froze for a second, his casual tone catching you off guard. “Uh... you mean...”

“Killing,” he said nonchalantly, grabbing a fork and poking at the food. “Been doing a lot of it lately. Guess you noticed, huh?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. “Well... yeah. I mean, you’ve been, uh, busy. Is there... a reason for it?”

Ronin’s hand paused, his fork hovering just above his plate. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, his usual playful demeanor seemed to dim.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said finally, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Okay,” you said softly, nodding like the obedient little toy he seemed to think you were.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You’re cute when you do that, y’know. All wide-eyed and nodding like that. Like you’re afraid to push me too far.”

“I just...” You trailed off, unsure how to respond.

He smirked again, leaning forward to ruffle your hair. “Relax, angel. I’m not gonna bite—unless you ask me to.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly changed the subject. “You must be tired. Why don’t we do something fun instead? Take your mind off... whatever it is.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Fun, huh? What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Something. Anything. Just... not work. You deserve a break.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Alright, how about this—are you free tomorrow?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Good,” he said, his smirk growing. “Then clear your schedule. I’ve got plans for us

After dinner, the night began to wind down. You stretched your arms over your head, stifling a yawn as you cleared the plates and tucked them into the sink for tomorrow’s version of you to handle. Ronin was already on his way to the bedroom, casually stripping off his hoodie as he went. You didn’t miss the way his muscles moved under the dim light, but you quickly turned away, trying not to overthink it.

As you tidied up a few last-minute things, the thought of sleep became more and more appealing. But not before you indulged in one of your newfound comforts: stealing Ronin’s clothes.

You grabbed one of his oversized hoodies from the back of a chair and slipped into it, the fabric smelling faintly of motor oil, leather, and something distinctly him. It hung loosely on your frame, swallowing you in its warmth. Pairing it with a pair of shorts, you shuffled toward the bedroom, relishing the small joys that came with being close to him.

When you entered, Ronin was already sprawled on the bed, scrolling lazily through his phone. His legs were crossed, and he looked like the epitome of someone who didn’t have a care in the world. You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, before a familiar urge bubbled up.

“Alright,” you said, placing your hands on your hips. “Bedtime.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sound like my mom. What’s next, tucking me in?”

You grinned, already making your way to his side of the bed. “Exactly that.”

He groaned, exaggerated and dramatic, but didn’t stop you as you grabbed the blankets and started fussing over him.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, though there was no real heat behind his words.

“And yet, you’re letting me do this,” you teased, tucking the blanket snugly around him like he was some kind of overgrown child.

He rolled his eyes but stayed still, indulging you with a resigned sigh. “Happy now?”

“Very,” you replied, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

You leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. “Good night, Ronin.”

Turning toward the couch on the far side of the room, you started to make your way over, already mentally preparing for the uneven cushions.

But before you could settle in, you felt a tug on your wrist. You looked down to see Ronin’s hand gripping yours, his dark eyes fixed on you.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

“Going to sleep?” you replied, a little confused by the question.

“On the couch?” He tugged again, gently this time. “You’re my partner now. Why are you still sleeping over there?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected him to address it so directly. “I... I didn’t think you’d mind,” you said softly. “I just—”

“You just what?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a weight to it, an insistence that you answer honestly.

You hesitated, your free hand fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “I thought... maybe you’d prefer it that way. Because of... you know.”

Ronin’s expression darkened slightly, but his grip on your wrist didn’t falter. “Because of Ther?” he asked bluntly, cutting through your hesitation.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to make you feel like I was... trying to replace them. I know I can’t. And I wouldn’t want to. I just... I thought maybe it’d be easier for you if I kept some distance.”

He let out a long breath, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. “What do you think of me?”

“What?”

“I’m asking what you think,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re the one who’s scared I’m hung up on someone else. Do you think I’m the type to do that to you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I don’t think you’d ever see Ther in someone else. You’re... you’re not like that. You care too much, even if you don’t like showing it.”

He smirked faintly at that, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade.

“I just...” You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I know you loved them. And I know I’m not them. But that’s okay. I don’t need to be. I’m just happy I get to be part of your life, even if it’s not the same.”

For a moment, Ronin didn’t say anything. His eyes searched yours, his usual post-ironic mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something raw underneath.

Then, slowly, a grin broke across his face, though it was softer than usual. “You’re something else,” he said, shaking his head.

You smiled back at him, feeling a little lighter. “So... we’re okay?”

“More than okay,” he said. “But if you think I’m letting you sleep on that couch again, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Before you could protest, he tugged on your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, but he caught you, his hands firm yet gentle as they guided you onto the mattress.

“Ronin—”

“Nope,” he said, cutting you off. “No arguments. You’re staying here.”

You looked at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Unless you’ve got a problem with it.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “No problem.”

“Good.” He shifted to make room for you, pulling the blankets over the both of you. “Now get some sleep, angel.

The quiet settled in as you nestled closer against Ronin’s chest, his steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a sense of security. For all his sharp edges, Ronin had a warmth to him, one that you craved more than you liked to admit. His arm draped loosely around your waist, his hand resting on your hip, and you could feel the slight tension in his hold, like he wasn’t entirely sure how much was too much.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of his hoodie. “Ronin?”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled, his eyes half-lidded, but you could tell he was still awake.

“Can I ask you something?”

He groaned softly, cracking one eye open. “You’re not about to get all serious on me right before bed, are you?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice soft. “It’s just... something I’ve been thinking about.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push you away. “Alright, spit it out.”

You hesitated, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re really... um, touchy, sometimes. Like, not in a bad way! I mean, I like it.” You tripped over your words, your face heating up as you tried to explain. “I just... you seem like you need it. A lot.”

Ronin let out a low, dramatic groan, throwing his head back against the pillow. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re not seriously analyzing my cuddle habits, are you?”

You bit your lip, feeling a little embarrassed but also determined to ask. ���I’m not analyzing! I’m just curious. Is it... a thing for you? Being touchy, I mean.”

His eyes flicked back to you, and for a moment, you thought he might brush it off with one of his usual sarcastic comments. But instead, he sighed, his hand running through his plum-colored hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “Guess you could say I’m a bit touch-starved. Always have been.”

You blinked up at him, tilting your head. “Touch-starved?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what it means,” he said, smirking slightly. “I’m not gonna spell it out for you.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no, I know what it means! I just... I didn’t think you’d say it like that. You’re so... you.”

He snorted, his fingers tapping lightly against your hip. “Yeah, well, even I’ve got my shit, alright? Not exactly a lot of hugs going around in my past. So, sue me if I’m a little touchy right now."

He stiffened for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t start with me.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“You’re not teasing,” he said flatly. “You think you’re teasing, but you’re not.”

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. “I totally am!”

He let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Kid, you don’t have a teasing bone in your body. It’s cute, though. Like watching a puppy try to bark for the first time.”

You frowned, trying to think of something witty to say back, but your mind drew a blank. Instead, you settled for sticking your tongue out at him, which only made him laugh harder.

“See? Case in point,” he said, his smirk widening.

You huffed, turning away from him, but his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual sarcasm. “I’m not complaining. You being... you? That’s what makes it good. So don’t go trying to change it, alright?”

You turned back to him, your cheeks warm as you nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “Now go to sleep before you make me say more sappy shit.”

You smiled, nuzzling closer to him. “Good night, Ronin.”

“Night, angel.”

Ronin stretched out on the bed, his body heavy with the kind of groggy satisfaction that came from sleeping far longer than he usually allowed himself. He blinked a few times, his gaze shifting to the empty space beside him. You were gone.

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and he rubbed at his face. Fresh air, maybe? he thought, letting his arm flop onto the bed. He wasn’t the clingy type, a mantra he didn’t quite believe but stubbornly repeated anyway. Touch-starved, not needy EVEN NOT THAT!, he muttered internally, rolling out of bed.

Still, the quiet absence in the room felt louder than it should have. As he threw on his hoodie and padded down the hall, he shook his head.

Shut it, Ronin

His own voice in his mind was sharp, scolding. They’re not your lifeline, and you don’t need someone to hold your damn hand through every second of the day.

He paused at the door to the garage, his gaze drifting over the tools hanging neatly on the walls. Ironic, wasn’t it? How someone like him, who prided himself on rejecting everything Christianity had tried to hammer into his skull, found solace in someone like you. A figure who seemed to embody everything he’d hated about faith: hope, forgiveness, devotion. Yet, here he was, falling into step with you without ever realizing it. You weren’t an answer to a prayer—Ronin didn’t pray anymore. But somehow, you’d become something he couldn’t deny. Something he hadn’t planned. You left everything for him too. He knows it was for your own good according to him.

But-----

He scoffed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he turned toward the basement. A flicker of movement caught his attention, and he followed it, his boots creaking against the wooden stairs as he descended.

There you were, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. You were so focused you didn’t even hear him approach until his voice broke the silence.

“What the hell are you doing down here?”

You flinched so hard your phone nearly flew out of your hands. “Jeez, Ronin!” you said, clutching your chest. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”

His smirk spread slowly, a smug, lopsided thing. “I wasn’t sneaking. You’re just jumpy. Seriously, though. The basement? What’re you doing?”

You scrambled to your feet, your cheeks flushing as you shoved your phone into your pocket. “Nothing! I just… needed some fresh air.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning even more stupidly amused. “Fresh air? In the basement? Yeah, sure. Makes perfect sense.”

You huffed, brushing past him and heading for the stairs. “I needed to think, okay? That’s all. Now go shower or something. I’ll make breakfast.”

He followed you up the stairs, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, his grin never fading. “You speed-walkin’ away like that doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’ What were you really doing, huh? Secretly plotting my downfall? Finding new ways to make me eat actual vegetables?”

You whirled around at the top of the stairs, pointing a finger at him. “Ronin, I swear, if you don’t go take a shower right now, I’m not making you breakfast.”

He leaned against the wall, tilting his head as he looked at you with a mock pout. “A threat? Really? That’s what we’re doing now?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “Because you’re being insufferable, and I have important things to do.”

“Important things,” he echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like what? Let me guess, you’re planning to—”

“Go. Shower,” you interrupted, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You probably smell like… like murder or something.”

He laughed at that, a low, gravelly sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Murder smells better than you’d think, angel.”

“Ronin!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m going. But this breakfast better be worth it, or you’re never living this down.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as he finally turned toward the bathroom. As the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a sigh of relief. He was impossible, but… he was also Ronin. And that was enough to make you smile as you headed for the kitchen.

Ronin leaned back in his chair, his plate of food mostly untouched as he watched you. You were fidgeting with your phone, tapping your fingers against the floor, your knee bouncing with a restless energy he didn’t usually see in you. You were distracted, anxious—he could tell. The corner of his mouth twitched downward.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, like he was fishing for something.

You froze, your eyes snapping to his like you’d been caught red-handed. “Nothing,” you blurted, clutching your phone to your chest. “Just… nothing important.”

His brow arched. “Yeah? ‘Cause you look like you’re planning a jailbreak or something. Come on, show me.”

You shook your head so quickly it was almost comical. “No, please don’t ask,” you said softly, your voice almost pleading.

That stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t sure if it was the tone or the look in your eyes, but something about it made him back off. “Alright, fine. Keep your secrets,” he said, grabbing his fork and focusing on his plate instead.

The tension eased slightly as you took a breath, and for a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there. But then, you stood abruptly, brushing your hands on your pants like you were gearing up for something.

“I’m going out,” you said, your voice a little too chipper.

Ronin’s fork clattered against his plate as he stared at you. “You’re what?”

“I’m going somewhere. It’s… important,” you said, heading toward the door before he could ask more questions.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “The hell do you mean ‘important’? Since when do you have places to be? All you know is this house. What’s so important you’re just up and leaving now?”

You hesitated, your hand on the doorframe, and then turned back to him with a nervous smile. “It’s something I saw online, and I’ve wanted to check it out in person for a while. I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

Ronin squinted at you, his confusion evident. You weren’t making any sense, and that only made him more suspicious. But the way you smiled at him—genuine, if not a little nervous—made him hold his tongue.

“Fine,” he said after a long pause. “Go do… whatever. Just don’t get into trouble.”

“I won’t!” you chirped, practically skipping toward your room to get dressed.

Ronin stayed at the table, staring at your empty seat with a frown. He’d told himself over and over that he wasn’t the clingy type, but your sudden departure left a sour taste in his mouth. It wasn’t like you to leave like this, especially not after you’d been so jittery all morning. And after the fall? You barely left the house unless it was with him.

He drummed his fingers against the table, muttering under his breath. “The hell is this about?”

The thought of following you crossed his mind for a split second, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He wasn’t that petty. Besides, you weren’t the type to run off and… see someone else. No, this was something different.

Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. His birthday was tomorrow, and while he’d never been the kind of guy to care much about celebrating, he’d been looking forward to spending the day with you. It wasn’t about the gifts or the attention—it was about having someone who actually gave a damn.

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you really had found something online and decided to check it out. But that didn’t explain why you’d been acting so weird.

he sat there, his thoughts swirling, he couldn’t help but feel a little… disappointed. For someone who claimed they didn’t care about birthdays, he sure was hoping this one would be different.

Meanwhile, in your room, you were frantically changing into something casual but nice, your heart racing as you double-checked everything you needed. You weren’t great at lying to Ronin—he could read you like an open book—but you’d managed to keep your plan under wraps.

Tomorrow was his birthday, and you wanted to make it special. Not just for him, but for you, too. It was the first birthday you’d get to celebrate with him as his partner, and you were determined to make it memorable.

As you slipped out of the house, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for leaving without telling him the truth. But if you could pull this off, it would all be worth it.

Ronin, meanwhile, stayed seated at the table, his thoughts gnawing at him. What the hell is going on? he thought, rubbing at the back of his neck. You weren’t one to keep secrets, and the fact that you had one now was driving him insane.

He didn’t know where you were going, but he wasn’t about to follow. He wasn’t that guy. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what you were up to—and why it felt like it had something to do with him.

After you left, Ronin found himself standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, staring at nothing in particular. He muttered to himself as he finally picked up his plate and tossed the leftovers into the trash.

“Off doing some secret mission,” he grumbled. “You’re getting soft, Ronin. Too soft.”

Shaking his head, he decided to push the thoughts aside. There was work to do, after all. His garage was already buzzing by the time he headed out, and he quickly threw himself into fixing up bikes and cars, his usual clientele trickling in.

For the first couple of hours, he let his mind go blank, focusing only on the familiar rhythm of the tools in his hands. But as time went on, a different kind of restlessness crept in. Every time a customer walked through the door, he’d scan them, sizing them up, seeing if there was something interesting about them. Someone who deserved to end up on the wrong end of his crowbar.

Unfortunately, the day was as dull as they came. No one stood out—not even the cocky guy with a busted muffler who tried to haggle the price down.

Ronin sighed as he wiped the grease from his hands, watching the man leave. “Boring,” he muttered under his breath. “Pathetic. You’re all safe today, losers.”

After a few moments of silence, Ronin’s phone buzzed. His face lit up with a smirk as he saw the notification—his server chat, where he and his lovely crew always kept things lively. He opened it, and the first thing he saw was Luca’s message.

Luca (username: Luca): "So, how's your dear Angel from the sky?

Ronin rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped him. Luca never changed.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Pathetic, Well, your opinion doesn’t matter, now does it?"

Feli (username: Felicite): "I hope they're fine? "

Ronin scrolled down, his phone lighting up with Angel's message right after.

Angel (username: Angelicc): "Hey, where’s Y/N? I thought you two were together today?"

Ronin paused for a moment, thinking about how to answer. He didn’t want to mention anything about you leaving; he didn’t want them to see that as a crack in the perfect image he liked to keep up. Not yet.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "They left. Said something about seeing something online. You know how they get."

Misaki responded almost immediately, and Ronin’s lips curled up into a smirk as he read her message.

Misaki (username: Hitmeupp): "Better not be some man/woman thing. You know Y/N’s too innocent for that, right? Can barely handle an app without getting confused."

Ronin snorted in amusement, knowing it was true. You were still getting the hang of apps, and there were so many times he’d had to explain things to you in the past. But he loved that about you, how... innocent you still were in that regard. He felt protective, even though he didn’t always show it.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "You’re giving them too much credit. They’re too dumb to even deal with that. They’re clueless about half the apps on their phone. But sure, let’s pretend it’s some big mystery."

Misaki shot back quickly.

Misaki (username: Hitmeupp): "Not really dumb. Pretty cute, actually. Wouldn’t you agree, Ronin?"

Ronin rolled his eyes. Misaki never could resist teasing him.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Yeah, they’re cute. That’s about it, though."

The messages from the server continued to pour in as he scrolled, his attention flicking between his phone and the work he had to finish. That’s when V’s message appeared in his inbox.

V (username: K9): Why do you sound so gloomy? Everything alright, Ronin?

Ronin’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as he stared at the message, unsure if he should respond. V had always been quiet, and his sudden concern felt out of place. Why would V care?

He typed back quickly, trying to brush it off.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Yeah, I’m fine. Just dealing with some shit, nothing new. No need to worry about it."

But V didn’t let it go. Instead, he sent a follow-up message that immediately caught Ronin off guard.

V (username: K9): Seriously, though. You ever thought about what Misaki said? About Y/N?

Ronin stopped in his tracks, staring at the screen. What the hell did Misaki say? He hadn’t even processed it fully. Was V really pulling this line of questioning?

He smirked, typing his reply with his usual post-ironic attitude.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Since when did my angel start caring about Y/N?"

V (username: K9): It’s not about that. Just wondering if you’ve really thought about it. You’re kind of in deep with them, huh?

Ronin couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. He quickly typed out his response, brushing it off as he always did.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "No, I haven’t thought about it. Even if it’s true, I don’t care. Doesn’t change anything. Just a person, right?"

There was a brief silence on V’s end, but before Ronin could move on, Misaki’s message came flooding in.

Misaki (username: Hitmeupp): "Even if you think so, Ronin, you’re way too defensive. And don’t get me started on how cute Y/N is. No one else would look at them like you do, and you know it!"

Ronin’s smirk twisted into something more genuine. He didn’t mind their teasing—it was part of the game. But Misaki was right about one thing: you were special. He just didn’t have the words to explain it. Hell, even he didn’t fully get it.

He paused for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard again. Then, with a shrug, he typed.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Alright, alright, sure. But you all know what I’m about. Y/N can be anyone. They’re not the only one in my world."

There was a brief pause before Luca decided to chime in.

Luca (username: Luca): "Is that the case? Because I’m not so sure, man. I think you’re just mad because they left to go check something out. Don’t tell me it’s all part of some big plan to be ‘post-ironic’ again."

Misaki, though, immediately defended you, even if they hadn’t met you in person.

Misaki (username: Hitmeupp): "Don’t be an asshole, Luca. You know nothing about Y/N. You don’t get to say shit. Even if I haven’t met them, I can tell that Ronin wouldn’t be the way he is if they weren’t worth it."

The chat immediately went quiet after that, all eyes seemingly on Ronin to respond.

Ronin just sat there, his phone in his hand, considering his words carefully. Did they really think he didn’t know? But you weren’t anyone else. You weren’t just a game like the others. You were his own twisted, confusing connection—and that was something no one in this chat could ever truly understand. He finally typed.

Ronin (username: Goreboy): "Yeah, maybe you’re right. Whatever, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it. We’re good."

And with that, he leaned back, the phone buzzing with more messages from the others, but his mind was elsewhere. Even if he acted like he didn’t care—hell, even if he convinced himself he didn’t—there was something different about you, something that made him want to keep this mess going. And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing… or the worst thing to ever happen to him.

The air in the mall buzzed with a mix of soft music and distant chatter. You hadn’t expected to spend the day shopping, but something inside you knew you needed to find the perfect gift for Ronin. The kind of gift that wasn’t just about the usual routine, but something that spoke of your own emotions—something personal. It felt strange, this need to get him something that would signify the bond between you two, but you couldn’t shake the thought. After all, he was unpredictable, dark, and elusive in a way that made you want to prove your place in his chaotic world.

You walked into the store, the doors chiming softly as you entered. It was a gothic-themed boutique, filled with black velvet, chains, silver jewelry, and intricate designs that seemed to speak to a part of you that mirrored Ronin's own twisted love for all things dark and bizarre. A shopkeeper, a young woman in her mid-20s with sharp eyeliner and a soft, almost mischievous smile, greeted you immediately.

"Hello there! You’ve come to the right place," she said brightly, clasping her hands together. "We’ve got all sorts of goth accessories. Are you looking for something special today?" She leaned in closer, her excitement almost contagious.

You hesitated, but her enthusiasm made you smile. "I’m looking for something for someone," you replied, trying not to give away too much. "Maybe something… meaningful?"

"Oh, I love that," she gushed, nodding enthusiastically. "We have so many things that could symbolize, like, special connections!" She started leading you to the display, her eyes practically gleaming with the knowledge of all the dark, romantic pieces the store had.

The first thing she showed you was a set of chokers, each one adorned with gothic symbols and sharp, silver spikes. There was a particularly striking one that had Devil May God Forgive You engraved on it in intricate cursive. The leather strap seemed almost too harsh, too forward. You almost smiled, wondering if Ronin would appreciate it—or if he’d mock you for it.

"That one’s a classic," the girl said, catching your eye. "But maybe you want something a bit more, uh, subtle? We’ve got the sorry Christ one, if you’re feeling more... repentant." She winked at you as she pulled a smooth, black velvet choker from the shelf, adorned with a small silver cross, almost like a twisted apology.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. "Maybe not that one." The thought of Ronin wearing something like that made you feel both embarrassed and amused.

She didn’t seem deterred and moved on to the next set, showing you a row of necklaces with heavy silver chains, pendants shaped like daggers, skulls, and moons, each one glinting under the soft lighting of the shop. But nothing seemed right.

You continued browsing, feeling the weight of several bags already hanging from your arms. You had picked up a few things along the way—nothing for Ronin, but a few trinkets that spoke to your own taste, like a black mesh top that would look stunning on you and some more accessories for yourself. As you walked past rows of velvet jackets, platform boots, and studded gloves, your eyes landed on a small glass case in the back.

Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was a set of earrings—one pair stood out above the rest. They were elegant, simple, but undeniably gothic. Two ruby stones set in dark silver, their deep red hues striking against the cool tones of the metal. The moment your eyes fell on them, you felt a tug in your chest. That’s it.

The shopkeeper, noticing your gaze, practically floated over to you. "Ah, I see you’ve found them! Those are our best sellers." She gave you a knowing look. "Ruby stones symbolize pure love and passion, you know. I think that’s exactly what you’re looking for, right? Something that shows just how deep that connection is." She smiled sweetly, her voice softer now, almost as if she were reading you.

You blinked, a little startled by her insight. "Yeah, I think so," you replied, reaching for the case. The cool metal of the earrings felt smooth between your fingers, and you could almost feel them calling to you.

"Those are beautiful," the girl said, eyes sparkling with excitement. "And trust me, the stones are very meaningful. It’s like a declaration of something deep, something eternal. I think your person will absolutely love them." She grinned at you, her smile wide and warm, but her eyes seemed to be probing a little more than necessary, reading the situation in a way you couldn’t fully place.

"I’ll take them," you said quickly, not wanting to waste another second.

"Perfect choice!" she replied, practically bouncing as she wrapped the earrings carefully in black tissue paper, placing them into a sleek, black gift bag with a silver ribbon.

You grinned at her, almost feeling the weight of the gift in your hand before it was even given. There was something about the way she treated you like a kindred spirit that made the whole experience feel oddly... intimate.

After she handed you the bag, you spent the next few moments gathering the other bags you had collected during your impromptu shopping spree. But your attention kept flickering back to the earrings, the symbolism of the ruby stones, and how Ronin would react. It felt almost like you were giving him a piece of your own heart, a little piece of something that, no matter how dark, still burned with passion and meaning.

Once you had everything packed, you gave the shopkeeper a smile, and she waved goodbye with a kindhearted "Good luck!"

You wandered deeper into the mall, the weight of your shopping bags growing heavier with each store you visited. The bags clinked softly with various treasures you’d collected—everything from clothes with edgy prints to accessories that screamed emo-geek chic. Mesh tops, studded belts, and fingerless gloves found their way into your collection, along with some black denim and a hoodie that looked like it belonged in a gothic fairytale.

Every piece you picked out reminded you of Ronin in some way, as though each item was a part of a puzzle that would make him smirk or—if you were lucky—maybe even smile.

Then, you stumbled upon a quaint, old-fashioned sewing-on-the-spot shop tucked away in a quiet corner of the mall. The sign was hand-painted, the letters slightly faded, and the interior smelled faintly of lavender and aged thread. Curious, you stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly.

Behind the counter, an older woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers sat, stitching something intricate onto a fabric square. Her gaze flickered up at you, assessing, before she offered a small nod of approval.

"Well, well," she said, her voice raspy but kind. "Haven’t seen one of your kind here in a while. What can I do for you, youngster?"

You hesitated, looking around the shop. "I was wondering... could you help me make something? A, um, beanie?" Your voice wavered slightly, but the old woman raised an eyebrow and set down her needle.

"Beanie, eh? What kind of beanie are we talking about? Don’t tell me it’s one of those devilish ones," she said, half-joking, though her tone carried a touch of judgment.

You blushed, feeling heat creep up your neck. "Actually, yes," you admitted sheepishly, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of one of your bags. "With little horns, maybe?"

The woman let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Kids these days," she muttered, but there was no malice in her voice. She motioned for you to come closer. "All right, let’s see what we can do. Pick a fabric."

You chose a soft, black material, perfect for a cozy yet rebellious look. As the woman worked, she couldn’t resist making little comments.

"Back in my day, we didn’t need to wear things with horns to stand out," she said, her hands moving expertly as she sewed. "Just a good attitude and a strong heart. Not like these flimsy trends now."

You couldn’t help but smile nervously, nodding along. "Yeah, I guess things are different now." You hesitated before adding, "It’s actually for my... boyfriend." The word felt strange on your tongue, almost foreign, but at the same time, it warmed your chest. Boyfriend. Was that what Ronin was?

The old woman paused for a moment, looking at you with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Boyfriend, huh?" she echoed, her voice teasing. "Well, aren’t you the sweetest? Making something by hand, no less. That’s rare these days. He better appreciate it."

You blushed harder, feeling the weight of her words. The thought of giving Ronin the beanie, seeing him wear it, was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "I hope he likes it," you said softly, your fingers brushing against the edge of the counter.

As the woman finished sewing, your ring finger caught on a stray needle, and you winced as a sharp sting jolted through your hand. A single drop of blood welled up on the tip of your finger. The pain was fleeting, but the odd thing was the spot it hit—right where a ring might go.

"Careful," the woman scolded gently, handing you a tissue. "Don’t want to ruin that pretty finger of yours."

You nodded, murmuring a quiet thanks as you dabbed at the small wound. For a moment, you stared at your finger, an odd ache blooming in your chest. It was as if the sting wasn’t just physical. Maybe it was the weight of all these emotions, or the fact that you were human now, no longer the celestial being you once were. It felt heavy, strange, but also... right.

"All done," the woman said, holding up the finished beanie. It was perfect—soft, black, with two small devil horns stitched on top. You smiled, your heart swelling with pride and gratitude.

"Thank you," you said, taking the beanie and carefully placing it in one of your bags.

Your next stop was the hardware store. The clean, metallic smell of tools and equipment greeted you as you stepped inside. You immediately made a beeline for the mechanics section, knowing exactly what you were looking for.

You grabbed a brand-new set of tools—everything from wrenches to screwdrivers—then spotted something that made you pause: a crowbar. It was sleek, black, and looked like it was practically made for Ronin.

He’d love this, you thought, picking it up. As you turned it over in your hands, you couldn’t help but imagine him holding it, smirking that cocky grin of his as he teased you about your thoughtfulness.

By the time you left the store, your arms were weighed down with even more bags, but your heart felt light. Between the beanie, the earrings, and now the tools and crowbar, you felt like you were putting together pieces of a puzzle that only Ronin would fully understand.

You entered the cake shop, the sweet, sugary scent of fresh-baked goods wafting through the air and immediately making your stomach growl. The shop was warm and inviting, with a cozy little kitchen at the back where customers could make cakes from scratch on the spot. It had a rustic charm, with wooden counters and old-fashioned decorations that made it feel like a place where magic could happen—where you could create something special with your own hands.

As you approached the counter, one of the ladies behind it looked up and smiled warmly at you. "Oh, how cute! You're going to make a cake? And for your boyfriend, you say?" Her voice was sweet and almost teasing, but there was genuine warmth in her eyes as she looked at you.

"Yeah... it's his birthday tomorrow," you replied softly, feeling a blush creep up your neck. It felt a little strange saying it out loud, but the words "my boyfriend" felt more real every time you said them. You smiled at the thought of Ronin, his dark eyes, his sarcastic smirk... and that weird, almost tender side of him that you knew was there.

"Well, aren't you sweet? A special cake for a special guy. What are you making?" she asked, clearly eager to see your creation.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. "I think... an apple crumble cake. I found a recipe from someone... she’s really good at baking. It’s a surprise."

The lady's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Apple crumble cake, huh? That sounds delicious! Well, we'll make sure you do a fantastic job. Just follow the steps and take your time."

You nodded, feeling reassured. This was your chance to make something perfect for Ronin. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of him enjoying something you made just for him.

With a deep breath, you rolled up your sleeves and began.

Apple Crumble Cake Recipe Steps:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). You carefully adjusted the oven, feeling a slight excitement building in your chest. It was the first step to making the cake come to life.

2. Prepare the crumble topping. You took a bowl and combined the dry ingredients for the crumble. You mixed together 1 cup of flour, 1/2 cup of sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon. Then you added 1/2 cup of cold butter, cutting it into chunks before using your fingers to rub the butter into the dry ingredients until it formed a crumbly texture. The buttery scent filled the air, making your mouth water in anticipation.

"Looking good!" the lady behind the counter said, noticing your progress. "You're doing great!"

You smiled shyly and continued, feeling a little more confident. You set the crumble aside, ready for the next step.

3. Prepare the apple filling. Next, you peeled and sliced 3 medium apples, cutting them into thin pieces. You sprinkled 1 tablespoon of sugar and a pinch of cinnamon over them, tossing them together in a bowl to coat the apples evenly. The sweet aroma of the apples mixed with the cinnamon made you feel cozy, almost nostalgic.

4. Mix the cake batter. In another bowl, you combined 1 1/2 cups of flour, 1 teaspoon of baking powder, and a pinch of salt. In a separate bowl, you whisked 1/2 cup of sugar and 1/4 cup of softened butter until creamy. You added in 2 eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Then, you alternated adding the dry ingredients and 1/2 cup of milk, mixing until the batter was smooth and thick.

5. Assemble the cake. You greased the cake pan and poured the batter into the bottom, smoothing it out evenly. Then, you carefully arranged the apple slices on top, creating a beautiful layer of apples. Finally, you sprinkled the crumble mixture over the apples, making sure every bit of the cake had a sweet, crunchy topping.

"You've got this!" the lady cheered as you placed the pan in the oven. "Just bake it for about 45 minutes, or until the top is golden and the cake is cooked through."

You set the timer, your excitement building as you imagined Ronin's reaction. The cake was still baking, but you could already picture him, leaning against the counter, that smirk tugging at his lips as he took the first bite.

As the cake baked, the sweet smell of apples and cinnamon filled the shop, making your stomach rumble again. The lady at the counter was busy helping other customers, but she occasionally glanced over at you, giving you encouraging smiles.

When the timer finally went off, you carefully pulled the apple crumble cake from the oven. The golden topping and the caramelized apples glistened in the soft light of the bakery, and you couldn't help but feel proud. It looked perfect—just like the surprise you wanted to give Ronin.

"Wow, that looks amazing!" one of the other ladies exclaimed as she came over to inspect. "You're a natural!"

You blushed, feeling shy again. "I hope he likes it."

They all gathered around, admiring the cake with smiles, their eyes twinkling with warmth. "He’s going to love it," the first lady said, "and it’s so sweet of you to make it for him yourself."

You grinned, feeling a wave of happiness wash over you. Despite all the nerves and the uncertainty about Ronin's feelings, you knew one thing for sure: this cake, this surprise, was your way of showing him just how much you cared.

"Thank you so much for your help," you said, handing over the empty bowls and utensils. "This really means a lot to me."

"No problem at all, sweetie!" the lady said, her voice full of affection. "You come back anytime if you need any more help."

With a cake box in hand, filled with your creation, you left the shop, feeling more confident than ever. You had the perfect gift for Ronin, and you couldn’t wait for tomorrow to see his reaction.

It was going to be a birthday he would never forget.

You were struggling to carry all the bags, your hands full of everything from gothic jewelry to new mechanics equipment and the ingredients for the cake you’d just made. The weight of it all made your arms ache, and you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed as you tried to juggle everything. You were so focused on keeping everything from falling that you didn’t hear your phone ring at first.

When you finally glanced at the screen, you saw Angel’s name flashing in bold letters.

"Hey," you answered, trying to sound casual as you shifted the bags in your arms, feeling your fingers beginning to cramp. "What's up?"

"How are you?" Angel’s voice came through, light and cheerful, but there was a slight teasing undertone. "Seems like you left Ronin’s early this morning, huh?"

You bit your lip, trying to focus on walking straight without tripping over your own feet. "Yeah, just bought stuff... a lot of stuff," you said, a sigh slipping from your lips. "I don’t even know how I’m gonna carry all this back."

Angel laughed lightly. "Sounds like you’ve been busy," she teased. "You know, if you want, I can get a taxi for you. Just send me your address, and I’ll make sure you’re all set."

You glanced around, the thought of navigating the rest of the trip home with all this in hand was making you more exhausted by the second. "It’s fine, really. I can manage," you said, though your voice had a slight tinge of defeat. It wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate her offer, but you didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t handle it.

"Okay, but seriously, let me know if you change your mind. Don’t be stubborn," she replied with a chuckle, then her tone shifted slightly. "So, um… do you think it’s okay if the server keeps Ronin tomorrow for a while? I mean, just to give you some space, you know? It’s his birthday, and… well, I was thinking it might be nice if he gets a little time with the others."

You paused for a moment, contemplating her question. It was a small thing, but it was also a little strange to think about. "Yeah, that’s fine," you replied, your voice a little softer now. "Ronin’s not the type to care about stuff like that. He probably won’t even notice."

Angel’s voice was warm, a little teasing but understanding. "Well, I’m sure you’ll make up for it later," she said with a wink in her tone. "You’ve got all that cool stuff, right? And that cake—he’s gonna love it."

You smiled at the thought, the cake was a simple thing, but you were so proud of it. "I hope so," you replied. "I just... wanted to do something nice for him."

Angel's voice softened. "I know you do. And I think he’ll really appreciate it. But hey, if you’re ever overwhelmed, you know you can always reach out, okay? I’ve got your back."

"Thanks, Angel," you said quietly, feeling a warmth spread through you at her words. "I appreciate it."

you were walking, your thoughts still scattered between the bags, the cake, and tomorrow’s plans, you suddenly felt a jolt—someone bumped into you, knocking into your arms. The bags in your hands swayed dangerously, and for a second, you thought everything was going to fall, the cake included. You gasped, eyes wide as you fumbled, barely managing to catch everything in time.

“Woah, sorry,” a deep voice rumbled from behind you. You froze. That voice. You knew it all too well.

You slowly turned, looking up to find a man standing before you. His dark, piercing gaze met yours, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat in confusion and wariness. V.

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, before speaking in that familiar gravelly tone that always sent shivers down your spine, “I’ve seen you before, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

Your mind raced. V? The same V who hated Ronin? The one who had crossed paths with him multiple times, their rivalry simmering just beneath the surface, full of unspoken tension? Your instinct told you to be cautious, to step back, but you tried to keep your composure.

“It must be a coincidence,” you muttered quickly, trying to brush past him. You didn’t want to deal with this right now. Ronin’s strange behavior, the looming sense of tension you’d been feeling—it was all enough without running into V at this exact moment.

But V’s next words stopped you in your tracks. “Stop,” he said, his voice low, almost commanding, like Batman on a bad day. There was a certain weight to it, something that made you freeze even though you didn’t want to.

His intense gaze stayed locked on you as he stepped forward, taking some of the bags from your hands. You hesitated, feeling a strange knot form in your stomach. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—it was just… unsettling. The tension between him and Ronin was something you could never ignore. You didn’t want to get caught in the middle of whatever that was.

“You’re carrying a lot,” he said, his tone still dark, but strangely softer now. “Let me help you.”

For a moment, you considered refusing, but there was something about the way he said it, his presence overwhelming in that strange way, that made it difficult to refuse. Reluctantly, you handed over a few more bags. As he adjusted the weight, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he carried them, his strength almost unnerving. The silence between you both felt thick, oppressive.

You looked away, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling growing inside you. "Thanks... I guess," you muttered, trying to move on. “I’ve got it from here.”

V didn’t say anything for a moment, but then his eyes flickered toward you, and you felt like he was seeing right through you. Something about the way he observed you made your skin crawl a little. It wasn’t malicious, exactly, but it felt like he was studying you—like there was something about you he was trying to figure out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softening just a little. “You look... a little off. I’ve seen that look before. You don’t have to hide it.”

You blinked, startled. “What look?” You hadn’t realized you’d been so transparent, but there was something about his presence, something in the air, that made you uneasy.

He seemed to smile, though it wasn’t one you could read. “It’s nothing.” He stepped back, giving you space as you adjusted the bags, your heart racing slightly. “But be careful. Not everyone is who they seem to be.” His voice had taken on a warning tone now.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you nodded, unsure of what to say. Was he warning you about Ronin? Was he talking about the things that had been on your mind all day?

“Thanks for helping,” you said, your voice uncertain but polite as you tried to turn away, ready to get back to your task and leave this strange encounter behind you.

V didn’t follow you, but his eyes stayed on you for a beat longer than you’d expected. You walked away quickly, feeling that unsettling gaze on your back, and for a moment, you thought you could still feel it—the weight of someone’s eyes, watching, tracking you.

It was almost as if it reminded you of Ronin, of how he would sometimes seem to observe you while you slept, even though you knew he was just close, close enough to keep you safe in his twisted way.

But you shook that thought away. That was probably just your mind playing tricks on you, wasn’t it? Ronin wouldn’t do anything weird. Right?

You fumbled with the bags, feeling the weight of them pulling on your arms as you approached the house. The familiar sight of Ronin's garage was there, quiet and dim. But as you approached the front door, something caught your attention—there was an unusual silence. The door was locked. You frowned, pulling out your keys, only to realize you had forgotten them inside.

A brief pang of frustration hit, but you dismissed it quickly. No big deal, you could sneak in through the basement. The back door wasn’t locked, after all.

You shuffled toward the side, carefully placing the bags down so they wouldn’t spill open, the cake still nestled in its box, precariously balanced between them. It wasn’t easy carrying all this, but the thought of making Ronin happy, especially with his birthday right around the corner, kept you motivated.

You crouched and entered through the basement door, the cool air immediately wrapping around you like a cloak. It was a little darker down here than you expected, but you didn’t mind; you were used to the shadows. The basement felt like a safe haven to you, hidden from the rest of the world.

But as you moved deeper into the cluttered space, your foot caught on something. Tires. They were placed in a rough pattern, almost like they were meant to trip someone up. Before you could stop yourself, your foot slipped, and you stumbled forward, bags flying out of your grip.

The cake box hit the ground with a dull thud. You gasped, feeling the tears rise at the thought of the cake being ruined, all your hard work for nothing. You quickly knelt, fumbling to check on the condition of the cake. You hadn't realized the position it had fallen into yet, but you couldn't think about that too much. You needed to make sure it was still in one piece.

"Dear Maria!" you muttered under your breath, but before you could stand up, a pair of hands wrapped around your neck from behind, fingers tightening in an almost suffocating grip. Your breath hitched, panic flooding you instantly. You didn’t have to see who it was to know. You’d felt his presence before.

Ronin Beaufort.

“Where the hell were you?” His voice was low, demanding, the usual mix of frustration and something darker. “What were you doing with V?”

You froze, the air squeezing from your lungs. You hadn’t expected him to catch you here, not like this. You felt your heart race, and your thoughts scrambled, trying to find the right words. You hadn’t even known V was following you, or why he was even there. “I—I don’t know,” you stammered, the words tumbling out. “It’s nothing. I didn’t even know it was V until I saw him in person. He just bumped into me. I swear, I didn’t do anything.”

Ronin’s grip tightened for a second, as if to gauge the sincerity of your words. The tension in the air between you both was suffocating, his presence so overpowering it was almost like he could feel every little movement you made.

But then, just as quickly as he’d grabbed you, his fingers loosened, and he pulled away. You gasped for air, blinking rapidly, the relief short-lived as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

Ronin stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes unreadable, before he spoke again. “Sit.” His voice was flat, but the command still rang in your ears. “Sit in the chair.”

You glanced up, your eyes still a little wide from the shock. The chair in the corner was always a spot he used for moments like this, though you didn’t exactly know what to expect. You hesitated for a second, then slowly shuffled toward it, feeling like a puppet on strings, your body moving of its own accord.

You lowered yourself onto the chair, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. The bags were scattered, and the cake—it had fallen. You didn’t dare to look at it fully yet, too scared of what you might find.

Ronin didn’t sit; instead, he remained standing, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes flickered toward the box that had once held the cake. “What the hell is going on with you?” he asked again, his voice softer, but no less piercing. "You’ve been acting weird."

You felt your stomach twist at his question, not sure how to answer. You wanted to explain that it was just a moment of panic, a slip of the mind, but the truth was, the feeling had been building for a while now—this strange tension, this overwhelming sense that you weren’t sure of anything anymore. You didn’t know how to explain that to him, or if he would even understand.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I... I’m fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. But deep down, you weren’t sure if you were lying to him or to yourself.

Ronin stood there, arms crossed, his usual detached expression masking whatever turmoil was swirling beneath the surface. The basement was dim, and the faint light from the overhead bulb cast harsh shadows across his features. His posture was slack, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp, always watching, always searching for the tiniest crack to slip his hand into.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your apology settle in your chest. The tension between you both felt like a thick fog, pressing down on everything you wanted to say, but you forced yourself to speak through it.

"Ronin… I’m sorry for what happened the other day. Brushing you off like that… I know it was wrong. But there was a reason behind everything. It might sound like an excuse, but… will you listen?"

He raised an eyebrow, the typical edge in his voice softening, if only slightly. His usual demeanor was more guarded, but you saw a flicker of curiosity beneath the hardness. Still, his reply came with a bite.

"What is it, darlin’? Better not be some bullshit reason. I won’t forgive you if it’s bullshit."

Your heart pounded. You could almost feel the weight of his eyes, scrutinizing you, as if he could see through every single hesitation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Tomorrow’s your birthday, right?"

His gaze hardened instantly, but the surprise in his eyes was unmistakable. You could feel the weight of his surprise hanging in the air. It was the first time in a while you had seen him at a loss for words, and for a moment, you thought he might break that post-ironic façade of his.

You continued, not letting the sudden shift in his expression distract you. "That’s why I wanted to celebrate. So I’ve been preparing this whole time. I was talking to Angel, looking through shops that could maybe help with the cake… I was debating what would make for a good present. I… I really wanted it to be a surprise."

He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched, as though he was running over your words, trying to understand the meaning behind them. His eyes softened just a fraction, and for a moment, you thought maybe you were getting through to him. But then, his voice cut through the silence—laced with confusion and that familiar edge of sarcasm.

"Then why didn’t you tell me?" His tone held an odd mix of frustration and disbelief, as though the concept of you keeping something from him didn’t quite sit right. "What the hell do you mean 'you wanted to surprise me'? You didn’t think I’d want to know?"

You bit your lip, guilt gnawing at you. "Because I wanted it to be a surprise, so I figured it would be better if you didn’t know," you admitted quietly. "I’m sorry."

He let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. "God," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with his hand. "So you’re saying because of that, I got the wrong idea and got mad without a reason? Shit… I was completely thrown by Misaki's stupidity." The confession seemed to deflate him a little. His usual bitterness faded as he took a step back, arms uncrossing as if some of the tension in his body was finally being released. You didn’t know what to say at first, but you knew you had to push through it.

"I truly am sorry," you murmured, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Ronin smirked, though it wasn’t one of his usual mocking grins. "By the way, don’t you see? I’m your average pretty anti-Christ devil Family friendly serial killer, you know?" He said it with the same post-ironic tone he always used, knowing full well how ridiculous it sounded, but that was exactly why he said it. For the rise it would get from you. "Did you really think I’d celebrate every single birthday still?" You blinked, feeling a pang of discomfort at the sharpness of his words. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the underlying vulnerability in the way he said it, like he was testing you, poking at the idea to see how you'd react.

"No," you replied softly, your voice just above a whisper. "Even if you are one… even if you are someone else, it’s still your birthday. And I… I think it’s important." You hesitated for a moment, your fingers twitching slightly. "It’s the day you were born into this world, after all. I’m happy to be with you. That’s what matters to me."

His eyes flicked to you, their depth now unreadable. The room was silent for a few moments, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge in the corner. For a split second, you thought maybe he would brush it all off, that usual detachment settling back in.

But then, a small, almost imperceptible shift happened. Ronin’s eyes softened, the sarcastic edge fading. "Don’t go acting all sweet on me, alright?" he muttered, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if it was admiration or something darker, but you saw a trace of something real in his words. His expression didn’t soften entirely, but you could feel the walls he’d put up around himself, crumbling just a little.

Ronin’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. The tension in the air shifted, becoming thick with something unspoken as his eyes drifted down to your hand, where your ring finger had a faint bruise from earlier.

Without saying a word, Ronin reached out, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently held your hand. You blinked in surprise, not expecting him to do anything about the injury, but when he leaned down and pressed a soft, almost hesitant kiss to the spot where you’d hurt yourself, a shiver ran up your spine.

“What…?” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, heart fluttering at his sudden gentleness.

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he gently licked the spot where the wound had been, as if trying to soothe it, his eyes never leaving yours. The act was unexpected, but his usual edge of sarcasm was replaced by something almost tender.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Put a small bandage on it. You don’t need to make a big deal out of it.”

You hesitated, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. "It’s a small wound," you said, trying to downplay it, but his gaze hardened slightly as he pulled back.

“Shut up,” Ronin snapped, though his words were softer than usual. There was no malice in them, just a kind of raw affection that he wasn’t quite ready to admit. He then let out a small sigh, his lips curving into a smile that was rare but real. “You’re lucky I’m even treating you like this, darling.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his gruffness, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay…” you replied innocently, your voice almost teasing despite the situation.

Just as you were about to say something else, a loud alarm suddenly blared from your phone. The sound sliced through the moment, making you jump in surprise. You glanced at the screen, your heart skipping a beat as you saw the notification.

Midnight Bell. It’s his birthday.

You froze for a moment, eyes wide in realization. Your breath caught in your throat, and a burst of excitement rushed through you. It was finally his birthday. The moment you had been preparing for had arrived.

Ronin, for once, didn’t seem irritated by the sound. Instead, his eyes darkened slightly, as if he had been expecting this moment too. “Well, well,” he said, his voice low, a dangerous smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “It’s about time, huh?”

"Ah… the midnight bell…" you muttered, your hands trembling slightly as you glanced at the time.

Ronin's voice was a drawl, almost bored as he stared at you, but you could hear the subtle amusement beneath it. “...The date changed.”

You laughed nervously, fumbling for words. “It’s your birthday! Congratulations, Ronin!"

"Yeah..." he replied, voice quiet, almost indifferent, but you could see a faint smile tugging at his lips. The sort of smile that made your heart skip a beat, despite yourself.

Your thoughts quickly turned to the cake. Present? You thought. Oh no... I forgot the cake... The panic surged within you as you realized what you’d done. “Aahーー!!”

Ronin’s eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden outburst. " What’s your problem!? Suddenly shouting like that..."

You tried to steady your breath. "The cake... I forgot I dropped it..."

Ronin's gaze shifted to the side where the box lay carelessly on the counter. "Cake? ... could it be that box laying over there...?"

You winced. "Y-Yeah... When I tried to come sneakily but you.. I accidentally..."

"God..." he muttered, shaking his head but not with anger, more like exasperation. It was almost endearing in a twisted way.

You lowered your head, feeling embarrassed. "S-Sorry!!"

Ronin gave you a look that could’ve been a warning, but then his lips curled into a smirk. "Pfft! You're making a funny face. ...There we go."

He effortlessly walked over to the box, picking it up with a casual motion. You couldn’t help but watch him. The cake had obviously been ruined by the fall—cream spilling out from the sides, a far cry from the masterpiece you’d envisioned—but Ronin seemed unfazed.

He tilted the box toward his face, his gaze flicking between you and the cake. The squirt of cream against his finger was almost… intimate. He tasted it with a smirk, licking the finger clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Well... it’s a little ruined, but it’s not bad, you know?" Ronin said, his voice dark and laced with amusement.

You stood there, unsure how to respond, staring at the disaster of a cake. "I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to..."

He leaned in, his expression sharpening into something more dangerous, more teasing. "Tch. Don’t apologize so much. It’s not the end of the world, darling. But now..."

The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional chuckle that escaped Ronin’s lips as he leaned back against the headboard. The cake—though squashed and imperfect—lay between you both, a symbol of the night’s chaotic charm. You’d tried to make everything perfect, but it seemed you were always a step behind with Ronin, always stumbling, always flustered.

It was his birthday now, and you still couldn’t shake off the worry that you hadn’t quite done enough.

You sat across from him, hands shaking slightly as you tried to prepare the cake. "Ah... Well, here it is," you said, the corners of your mouth curling up nervously as you presented the nearly ruined cake. "I—I’m sorry it’s not perfect..."

Ronin, with that same signature smirk of his, peered at the cake before his eyes flicked to you. "Tch, you’re making that face again. No need to apologize." He let out a chuckle, leaning over and inspecting the cake as if it were something strange he’d never encountered before. "It’s fine. I’m gonna eat this one."

You blinked, taken aback. "You will?"

"Why not? It’s your hard work, right?" Ronin teased, then grabbed the box from the table. "Let’s see what you made for me."

You tried to suppress your smile as he leaned back on the bed, unceremoniously digging into the cake, licking the spilled cream from his fingers with a casualness that both startled and excited you.

"See? Not so bad after all," he muttered, flicking his eyes toward you. His eyes softened a bit—just a bit. "Don’t sweat it."

You nodded, relieved, though there was still a sense of nervousness running through your veins. "Actually... I have a present for you, too," you murmured, feeling the rush of embarrassment flush your face. You hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable tonight, but Ronin had a way of making everything feel... amplified.

"A present?" Ronin arched a brow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m listening."

You took a deep breath before reaching over and pulling out a small, carefully wrapped box. The ruby earrings inside glimmered softly under the dim light. "I... I noticed you always wear one in your right ear, so I thought this color would suit you."

Ronin’s gaze flicked over the gift, his expression unreadable at first. Then, with a brief chuckle, he responded, "Fitting for me... Hah. This gemstone’s bright red, just like your blood, after all."

You paused, stunned for a second. "W-What?"

He waved it off, his smirk never fading. "Kidding. It’s fine. The color... it’s fitting."

The words hit harder than you expected. "It’s passion," you added softly, your fingers brushing against the delicate box. "And pure love... something like that."

Ronin’s eyes softened, just a fraction, as he looked down at the earrings. "Passion, huh... Pure love..." He chuckled lightly, the sound soft but carrying that familiar edge. "Thanks."

You nodded, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest as the conversation shifted.

"Let’s just eat the cake already," Ronin muttered, clearly not in the mood for any more speeches. "I’ll probably regret this tomorrow, but tonight’s special."

You smiled as you picked up a fork, cutting a piece of the cake. "Alright, alright, let me just get you a piece."

As you handed him the piece of cake, Ronin leaned back and gave you an almost bored look, his eyes half-lidded. "Hmph. No offense, but eating it like this would be boring."

Your brow furrowed, confused for a second. "What do you mean?"

"Feed me," Ronin said, his voice almost mocking, though there was an unmistakable demand to it.

You blinked, your stomach flipping. "Eh!? No way!"

"Why not?" he said with a raised eyebrow, not even bothering to look at you directly. "You’ve been going on about listening to me, right? Well, now it’s time to put that into action. Don’t make me repeat myself."

You felt heat flood your cheeks, but before you could protest further, Ronin was already leaning forward, cutting a fresh piece of the cake for you.

"Here," he said, holding the cake up to your lips. "Open up."

You blinked, feeling your heart race as you stared at the piece of cake hovering just in front of your mouth. It was absurdly intimate, and yet, in some twisted way, it felt... natural. You could already feel the edge of Ronin's gaze on you, and there was no escaping that look.

You sighed, giving in. "Fine," you murmured, opening your mouth just enough for him to feed you.

As you took the bite, your heart pounded even faster. Ronin’s eyes never left you, his smirk returning in full force as you chewed the cake slowly.

"Good, huh?" he teased, his voice low and almost dangerous.

You nodded quickly, trying to suppress the nerves threatening to spill over. "Y-Yeah. It’s good."

Ronin watched you for a moment, amused by your flustered state. "Now it’s your turn," he said, his eyes glinting. "Feed me."

Your eyes widened. "No way! That’s—"

"Do it," he growled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. "You said you’d listen, didn’t you?"

The command in his voice was unshakable, and despite your reluctance, you found yourself leaning forward, holding the cake between your fingers and lifting it to his lips.

"Alright, alright," you muttered, your face flushed with heat. "Ahn."

Ronin’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in, accepting the cake, his gaze sharp and possessive as he chewed slowly, savoring the moment. "There we go," he murmured. "Now we’re even."

You swallowed, trying to control your racing heart. It wasn’t the cake or even the birthday celebration anymore—it was something else entirely.

Ronin leaned back on the bed, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand after finishing the last bite of the cake. A grin stretched across his face, almost too smug. "Heh. Is that all?" he teased, the tone in his voice making it clear he was enjoying every second of your flustered state.

You, however, had a different idea. Your smile widened with something darker, more playful. "Not quite," you said, standing up and brushing crumbs off your lap as you moved toward the door. "You see, I may have something else for you... something more... interesting."

Ronin’s eyebrows arched, clearly intrigued, though he didn’t rise from the bed just yet. "More?" he asked with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You only gave him a sly grin before disappearing out the door, reappearing moments later with bags—bags upon bags, the weight of them evident as you dragged them behind you.

Ronin’s expression shifted. "What the hell is all this?" His voice held a note of both amusement and disbelief as you began pulling the bags one by one into the room. "You’ve got more of this stuff hidden in your basement?"

You nodded, smiling sweetly as you placed the first bag next to him. "Oh, there’s a lot more downstairs," you said casually. "I figured you’d like them."

Ronin’s eyes widened, his interest piqued. "A whole damn basement full of... what, presents?"

You shrugged, not bothering to give away all your secrets. "You can say that. I figured I should really get something special for you. You know, for all the things you’ve done."

Ronin just stared at you as you unloaded the contents of the first bag, his gaze narrowing as he saw the items in front of him. First, there was a beanie—black, perfectly styled, just like the one he always wore. He couldn’t help but smirk, though there was a slight confusion in his eyes.

"Nice," he muttered, running his fingers through it. "But, uh, I’m starting to wonder... how many damn bags do you have?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you continued pulling out more bags, each one filled with more extravagant, bizarre items: dark, emo clothes, studded jackets, chains, ripped jeans, and layers upon layers of black fabric that screamed both punk and chaos. Ronin looked at them, then back at you, eyes flicking with disbelief. "What... is all this?"

"And..." you said with a dramatic pause, pulling out something else, "your crowbar." You placed it next to him with a flourish, like it was the final piece of a grand display. "A new crowbar separately for your work, the one you’d want."

Ronin blinked, his gaze switching from the crowbar back to you. He was visibly taken aback, mouth slightly agape. "How the hell did you get all of this stuff, Y/N?"

You sat down beside him on the bed, your fingers lightly brushing against his as you gave him a sly, confident look. "Well... let’s just say I saved up all the tips you gave me."

His eyes widened further. "You—what? How long has this been going on?" He let out a low whistle, his disbelief turning into a mix of admiration and something close to shock. "I didn’t realize I was such a great tipper."

You shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Hey, it’s fine. ." You leaned forward, your voice lowering as you added, "It’s just... the least I could do."

Ronin’s expression softened, though there was a tinge of something else in his eyes—something like warmth mixed with the confusion of being overwhelmed by your unexpected generosity.

He looked down at the piles of presents in front of him, the crowbar, the clothes, the beanie, everything carefully picked out and perfectly fitting for his twisted sense of style. After a long pause, his voice finally came, gruff but sincere. "Thank you," he muttered, meeting your eyes. "This... this is a lot. I didn’t expect... all this."

You smiled, your hand resting gently in his as you gave a soft squeeze. "It’s nothing, really. You’ve given me so much... I just wanted to give back." Your voice softened as you added, "I’ll always find a way, even if it means saving every penny for months."

Ronin took a deep breath, trying to suppress the emotions welling up in him. He shook his head, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual smug facade. "You’re insane,"

Ronin smirked, leaning back against the counter as you nervously brought the slice of cake closer. His plum-colored hair framed his face, and those sharp eyes of his glinted mischievously as he leaned in.

Now, He wants to shut up!

"Good, just like that, transfer it to my mouth…" he murmured, voice dripping with playful mockery.

Your cheeks flamed as you complied, but before you could even think of pulling back, Ronin’s lips grazed the fork—and your fingers, on purpose, of course.

"Mmm… Nn…" he mused exaggeratedly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as you fidgeted.

"Ronin! Seriously—!" you protested, pulling your hand back.

He leaned in closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What? You’re blushing like crazy, darling. Was it that good?" He chuckled darkly. "Gotta say though… it was delicious."

You turned your head, already flustered, but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Wait, darling," he said casually, his voice dropping. "You’ve got some cream stuck on your mouth. Sit still. I’ll get it for you."

Before you could react, his thumb brushed over your lips, but instead of wiping it away, Ronin leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste the sweetness from your skin.

"Nn… Sweet," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Ronin! " you gasped, trying to squirm away, only for him to suddenly push you back against the counter.

"Ah—!"

"Damn…" he muttered, pinning you beneath him, his breath hot against your ear. "It’s your fault for moving, darling. You know better than to disobey me."

"Let me up—!" you stammered, your heartbeat thundering as he hovered over you.

"Not a chance." His voice was low and teasing, laced with a hint of danger. His eyes burned into yours, and his smirk widened. "Now that you’ve got me all riled up… how about I skip the cake and gobble you up instead, hmm?"

Before you could even muster a reply, he leaned in, sinking his teeth gently into the crook of your neck.

"Ah—!"

Ronin groaned softly against your skin, savoring every moment. "Damn, darling… The cake was good, but this…" He licked his lips as he pulled back slightly, his breath hitching. "Your sweetness puts that lovely apple crumble to shame."

You tried to catch your breath, your fingers gripping his arms weakly. "R-Ronin… the cake… your presents—"

He silenced you with a low chuckle, his face impossibly close. "I don’t care about the cake. And the gifts? Yeah, those are nice too, but they don’t compare to you, darling. You’re the best damn thing anyone could’ve given me."

"R-Ronin…"

He pressed another kiss to your neck, humming softly. "Never thought I’d give a damn about my birthday, but if this is what it’s like… I could get used to it."

You felt your resolve wavering, his words melting into you like honey. "T-Thank you for being born, Ronin…" you whispered. "I love you."

His movements stilled for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. "Say that again, I love you too." he demanded softly.

"I love you," you repeated, your voice trembling.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a ghost of a kiss. "Now, darling…" His tone dropped dangerously. "Don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you leave my side. You’re mine. Forever. Got it?"

His hand clasped yours tightly as he murmured against your lips, "I’ll treasure you, darling—always."

Forever, indeed.

A dream, A shame, the last thing you remember is being.....hit by the same man, you found peace out.

Hey why..?

Was I that painful to you? Did I become boring to you?

Or Did you give me the peace I wanted..?

[heaventohell3]

Ronin X devil reader? Like we're an actual devil

Even the devils are tired of you Ronin! Ronin x G.N Reader!

Character: Ronin x Devil Reader!

Game: Killer Chat! (Stopping requests for now to focus on the ones in my inbox!)

Hell has always been cast as the ultimate punishment, the endless abyss reserved for those who defy heaven’s grace. But what most mortals don’t understand is that Hell isn’t chaos incarnate. It’s order—dark, necessary, and strangely beautiful. Every corner is tailored with purpose, a place where sinners face justice. Heaven takes its saints, and Hell, well… we handle the rest.

You were lounging in your quarters, eyes half-lidded as you reveled in the sweet symphony of suffering echoing through the lower realms. For you, this wasn’t horror—it was righteous order. The sinners who came here were executed in more ways than any earthly punishment could manage, each deserving soul bound to their perfect sentence.

But today, Satan himself had summoned you.

The air in the dark, obsidian throne room crackled with a cold, intoxicating energy as the Lord of Hell emerged from shadows that seemed to wrap him like silk. His presence was breathtaking, the power radiating from him tempered by a charisma that only an ancient devil could carry.

“You wanted to see me?” You huffed, feigning boredom, though the corners of your mouth betrayed a smirk. Meetings with Satan himself were rare—this had to be good.

“Yes,” Satan’s voice was smooth as velvet, his scarlet gaze intense. “There’s a human I want you to take care of.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. A human? You were royalty here, born to rule realms and break egos. Any human who saw you would either cower or scream. "If he saw the devil, I’m sure he’d bolt.” You tilted your head with a half-amused grin. “What could possibly make a human worth my time?”

Satan’s eyes glimmered with something wicked. “He’s... special. A rarity. This human is doing my work. He delivers more sinners to us than any plague or war.”

Intrigued now, you raised an eyebrow. "So he kills them. Does it mean he’s your… apostle? Or just another twisted soul doing his own thing?”

“He’s... both.” Satan’s voice was rich with satisfaction. “He knows exactly the kind of people he’s sending down here. Abusers, corrupt men hiding behind religious devotion, tormentors of the innocent. Each soul he damns enriches Hell, while Heaven sighs in relief at the balance. He needs protection to continue.”

“Oh, really?” You hummed, sitting forward in interest. “What’s his name?”

“Ronin,” Satan said, watching your reaction carefully. “And he’s every bit as bloody as his name.”

“Ronin,” you echoed, savoring the name. “And why should I keep this… human safe? Seems more than a little ironic, no?”

A shadow of a smile crossed Satan’s face, a rare sight that intrigued you further. “Because Hell will thrive. Heaven is pleased that those who prey on the weak are delivered their justice. And you know how Hell benefits from order, from new projects, new sinners to receive what they deserve. Our purpose will evolve.”

You took a moment to digest that. Hell would grow, and you would have the task of guiding this Ronin—a mortal as vicious as any soul here. You'd never had such a responsibility before. The prospect of protecting a human who practically had Satan’s blessing was almost amusing.

"Fine," you replied, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “I'll keep him safe. Just so you know, I expect him to hold his own, or I won’t bother."

Satan’s face softened, looking almost… endearing in his satisfaction. You blinked, surprised. Cute, you muttered under your breath, earning a glint of amusement in Satan’s eyes.

So, Ronin—the butcher of sinners, as Satan described him—was your charge now. This mortal with a knack for dragging Hell’s future residents to their doom was now under your protection. You straightened, taking in the weight of it with a surge of smug satisfaction. A little human, blessed by Satan and doing Hell's work—who would’ve thought?

You’d find this Ronin, wielding his crowbar. A human who could see Hell’s purpose as clearly as you did? Oh, you’d make sure no one laid a finger on him.

After all, he was yours to protect now.

Ronin was in his old haunt—an alley so stained with his handiwork it might as well be called his personal purgatory. A rat skittered across the damp pavement, dodging the sticky pools of blood splattered from his latest kill. This one was a lowlife, a fraud hiding behind faith, the kind that preached virtue while committing sin with abandon. Ronin couldn't hold back a bitter laugh as he plunged the crowbar into the man’s ribs, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath.

The alley was dark, wet, and stinking of decay—just the way Ronin liked it. This place, his little purgatory, was his own slice of sin where he could carve out his justice without judgment. The man cowering before him was just another worthless sinner—a pathetic creature who’d hidden his filth under a mask of piety.

Ronin chuckled as he raised his crowbar, loving the gleam of terror in the man’s eyes. "You think heaven’s got a place for you, huh?" he taunted. "Maybe if you like the view of Hell better."

The man twisted free at the last second, slipping out of Ronin's grip and stumbling to his feet. For a moment, Ronin's face twisted in disbelief before his expression turned manic. The game was on.

“You think you get to preach,” Ronin sneered, twisting the crowbar. “No gods left for you now. Just me.”

But the man, wild-eyed with terror, managed a last-ditch scramble, breaking free from Ronin’s grip. He sprinted, tripping through the alley's maze, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Ronin laughed again, his tone almost amused as he prowled after his prey. Just as he was about to corner him, a shadow fell over the alley, and a voice—smooth, poetic, and eerily commanding—rang out, halting him in his tracks.

“Why struggle against fate when justice waits? Perhaps the darkness needs an introduction.”

Ronin turned, his eyes narrowing. Before him stood a figure that seemed out of place, yet perfectly suited to the hellish backdrop of his alley. The figure’s dark, graceful form stepped forward, the presence so intense it made the two men stop dead, each one feeling the weight of the stranger’s gaze.

You smiled, an expression filled with cryptic knowledge. "Is it not strange, mortal? To kill in the name of justice without knowing the true face of sin?" Your words curled around him like smoke, dark and melodic. You made eye contact with the other man and muttered a single, arcane word under your breath. In an instant, the man’s face twisted with rage, and he lunged at Ronin, screaming like a possessed animal.

Ronin, still gripping his crowbar, raised an eyebrow, his face caught somewhere between amusement and frustration as the two men grappled, exchanging blows. When it was over, he turned his gaze on you, eyes cold and suspicious.

“Ronin, butcher of the damned, You have earned my gaze on you.”

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, wiping blood from his face. “And what kind of shitty Christ joke is this? You the angel of death or something?” he scoffed, though there was an edge of something else in his tone—almost intrigue. ”

Your smile faltered, your pride pricked. “Hardly,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with barely restrained malice. “But you ought to show some respect. You’ve attracted the attention of Hell itself, little butcher, and that… is no small feat.”

At that, you smirked, crossing your arms. "And a ‘Christ joke’?” You feigned offense, eyes narrowing. “I am far beyond your simple mortal concepts. I am royalty here, a devil charged with guiding those who think they understand sin. My name… well, I suspect you’re clever enough to learn it in time."

Ronin let out a dry laugh, voice thick with sarcasm. “Royalty in Hell? Cute. And here I thought I was the only one play-acting god around here.”

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a calculating glint. His usual bravado was there, but there was a new curiosity mingling with it. He didn’t back down. Instead, he met your gaze with a slow, almost predatory grin.

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s Hell need me for? Last I checked, I’m doing just fine without you supernatural types meddling in my affairs.”

“Oh, you’re certainly godlike to your victims,” you murmured, tone like dark velvet. “A god of punishment, an arbiter of justice for those who fail to hide their sins.”

He fell silent, unsettled as you seemed to pull thoughts directly from his mind, each word of yours landing with the weight of truth. For the first time, he couldn’t laugh off the presence before him; he could only stand there, fists clenched as you held his gaze with a darkly intense stare.

“You think you understand the game of sin, Ronin?” Your voice softened, almost hypnotic. “Oh, darling, I am sin. Every dark thought you’ve ever indulged, every twisted urge you’ve satisfied, I am the essence of it all. And you? A pawn I’ve come to protect.”

The words sunk in, but they didn’t fully make sense—not yet. “A pawn?” He laughed, but there was tension in his voice, an edge he couldn’t quite control. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking like that?”

“Not hell. Of Hell,” you replied, leaning closer, your eyes piercing his. "I am not some petty human—I am the devil’s own emissary. And you have been blessed by him, Ronin.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to fight back the chill creeping over him. “Yeah, well, don’t think for a second I’m some errand boy for the Devil.”

“Oh, you’re far more than that.” You leaned in, voice barely a whisper, your words brushing against the edges of his mind, seeping into his thoughts. He felt his vision haze, the faintest compulsion to obey sparking at the edge of his awareness. “I’m here to ensure your work continues, that you’re unchallenged and safe in your mission. But that means you answer to me.”

Ronin’s expression twisted, torn between fury and confusion, but he didn’t move, barely able to keep his head straight as your influence took hold. Your voice grew softer, hypnotic, threading through his consciousness like the faint pull of a dream.

Just as his resistance faded, you stepped back, releasing him from the web of compulsion. He blinked, slowly regaining his senses, but the feeling of your control lingered like a whisper in his mind.

You chuckled, watching him struggle to compose himself. “Get some rest, Ronin. Even sin gods like you need sleep.”

You turned to leave, he scoffed, forcing a smirk onto his face. “Get lost, human.”

You looked back over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Oh, sweet mortal, you still don’t understand. I’m far from human.”

Ronin’s eyes blinked open, groggy and disoriented, his gaze meeting the warm, flickering light of old oil lamps casting long shadows on ancient, splintered wood. The air was thick with the faint smell of alcohol and wine, tinged with a darker, headier note he couldn’t place. He squinted, taking in the wooden beams overhead and walls lined with objects that had no place in any church he’d ever seen—sigils, ancient weapons, twisted statues that looked like mocking parodies of holy figures.

“Nah…” he muttered, a dawning realization creeping in. This wasn’t Earth. This was Hell.

He shifted, or tried to, only to find himself held tight, his wrists and legs bound by something strong yet oddly warm, something that pulsed like a living thing. He craned his neck down, catching sight of a long, sleek, pointed tail coiled around his limbs. A devil’s tail.

A low, amused chuckle echoed through the room, dark and playful, and he tilted his head up to see you floating just above him. You looked every bit the devil you claimed to be, with razor-sharp horns curling back from your head, a smile that was far too wide and full of unnervingly perfect teeth. You looked down at him as if he were some adorable pet, something amusing and innocent—certainly not a man who spent his nights taking lives with a crowbar.

Before he could spit out some snarky retort, you reached down, gripping his face and tilting it up, your fingers cold and unnaturally steady.

"How fucked up,” you murmured, voice dripping with fascination, “can someone’s mind be to take such pleasure in killing? Tell me, Ronin—do you ever find satisfaction? Does it ever make you feel whole?”

Ronin stared back at you, jaw clenched. For once, he didn’t have a smart comeback, caught off guard by your sheer presence. He glared, trying to ignore the way your grip held him firm, your thumb brushing against his cheek like you were examining a rare, broken toy. Silence hung between you, thick and electric, as he refused to answer, though the words lingered in his mind, each one pricking at his thoughts like sharp needles.

You leaned in closer, your smile widening as if his defiance amused you even more. “Come now, I don’t bite… much.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with a perverse kind of curiosity. “Surely you have something to say to your new… patron. Or are you too busy pondering all the ways you’ve painted Earth red?”

“Patron?” he finally spat, his voice dripping with scorn. “I don’t need a patron. I don’t need anyone, least of all some fancy devil with a superiority complex.”

“Such bold words,” you mused, your voice lilting in a mocking singsong. “Yet here you are, bound and at my mercy. Do you really think you’re in a position to play tough, Ronin?”

He tried to wrench himself free, but your tail tightened its grip, the tip tracing a slow, almost taunting path along his jaw as you held him in place. “Tell me, Ronin,” you purred, voice thick with dark delight, “are you even remotely aware of how beautifully shattered you are?”

He scowled, refusing to let you see the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face. “I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me. What, you gonna try and fix me? Play the devil with a heart?” He laughed, though it was strained, defiant.

“Oh, fix you?” You laughed, a sound like shattered glass and honey. “No, darling. I like you just as you are. After all, you’re not here to be fixed. You’re here to serve a greater purpose. But that shattered little mind of yours… I simply must understand it.” You grinned, eyes gleaming with a hunger that wasn’t entirely of this world. “You have no idea how utterly fascinating you are to me.”

He glared up at you, his defiance dampened but not extinguished, even as you kept him bound, floating there like some impossibly powerful nightmare. He was beginning to realize just how deeply he was in over his head, but he wasn’t about to let you have the satisfaction of knowing it.

Finally, he smirked, a glint of his usual bravado returning. “I’m just another sinner, aren’t I? Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

You leaned closer, your breath cold against his skin. “Oh, but you’re so much more than that, Ronin. Sinners come and go, screaming and begging.” You tilted his face toward yours, eyes narrowing as you studied him with a disturbing kind of affection. “But you, you’ve painted yourself a god of sin, the judge and executioner of those who dare hide behind lies and faith.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush. and very obsessed..”

You scowled as Ronin’s eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curving into a smug smirk. The nerve of this guy! How dare he look at you like that, all high and mighty, like he had some sort of upper hand here. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your tail twitching in irritation as you stepped closer to him, floating just out of reach.

“I am obsessed?!” you snapped, voice rising in pitch, but you quickly reined it in, trying to regain your cool. “Don’t you dare act like you know me, you stupid human!” You threw your hands up in a mock dramatic flair, something that screamed more tsundere than you ever intended. "I’m just… just reciting lines! You think I’m some clown trying to play a role?”

His dead eyes, now glowing faintly, flickered for a second before he actually started laughing. A low, guttural sound that echoed through the room, and it made you clench your teeth. How dare he? He was laughing at you, and not in the way you wanted!

“You—you think you're a devil?” he choked out between his laugh, voice full of mockery, “But you’re just a freakin’ wannabe!” He wiped a tear from his eye as he continued to laugh, and it was almost too much. “Oh, my bad, a royal devil, right? You're not even pretending to be terrifying. You're just… pathetic."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your hand twitched as you resisted the urge to burn him where he stood. Pathetic? You were anything but! And yet, somehow, his words cut deeper than you expected. You had a role to play in this, dammit! A role that you worked hard to perfect. Every word, every gesture, was meant to give you authority, make him fear you, respect you.

But instead, he was calling you out, reducing your entire performance to nothing more than a joke. You bit back a curse, hands curling into fists at your sides as you finally spoke again, your voice laced with venom. “I’m a devil of royalty, you idiot! I don’t need to play tricks on you like some stupid human. If anything, you're the one who’s insulting me right now!”

Ronin wiped another tear away, his laughter dying down, though his grin remained wide and irritating. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he drawled. “I still think it’s hilarious. You’re like some bad actor trying too hard to be edgy. Like I’ve never seen a wannabe demon in all my life.”

You felt a surge of heat rising to your cheeks, frustration boiling over. “You—” You gritted your teeth, “Just because I’m not out here spouting random nonsense about the end of days, doesn’t mean I’m not the real deal, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning like he had you figured out. “Oh, I figured you out ages ago. You’re just all bark and no bite, huh?”

You inhaled deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of control, even as your tail lashed in irritation. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Ronin. You’re the one who’s going to be taught a lesson. I’ll have you begging for mercy by the end of this. Mark my words.”

But when you finally looked him in the eye again, his smirk hadn’t faded. Instead, it was… genuine. And somehow, that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t afraid of you. He wasn’t even impressed. He was mocking you, yes, but it was almost like… a form of respect?

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath. “Damn you, Ronin,” you muttered. “You’re not even worth the effort.” But inside, the embers of frustration were still smoldering. You had something to prove now. Something you couldn’t just walk away from.

Ronin finally stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to the side. “Oh, no need to get all sensitive now. Just calling it like I see it. And I’ve gotta say…” His lips curled into a small, wry smile. “You’ve got more personality than I expected. I thought I was just dealing with another devil spewing the same tired lines.”

You blinked at him, the words sinking in slowly. More personality? You stared at him, and for a moment, the room felt unnervingly quiet. "I’m not here to entertain you, Ronin," you said flatly, but the edge in your voice was softer this time, as if something had shifted.

Ronin nodded slowly, his amusement fading into something… else. A flicker of understanding, maybe? Whatever it was, you weren't sure you liked it. But before you could dwell on it, he threw a final barb.

"Hey," he said with a teasing glint in his eye, "I’ll give you credit. You’re not boring. I’ll give you that."

You scowled at him, tail flicking agitatedly behind you. “Shut up.”

Ronin’s grin only widened at your frustrated outburst, and he leaned back, the chains binding his arms creaking slightly as he stretched. “God, you're like a dog with a bone, huh? So touchy," he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. His deadpan expression was still smug, like he’d just figured out the secret to driving you mad, and he was loving every second of it.

“You’re so annoying!” you snapped, your voice sharp and cold, but underneath it, there was a subtle hint of exasperation. How was he managing to get under your skin so easily? You had so much more control than this, but Ronin just seemed to unravel it all. It was almost like he knew what buttons to press, and you hated it.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. “Am I?” His grin morphed into something a bit more wicked, a glint of mischief dancing in the depths of his gaze. “Funny. I thought you were supposed to be a devil of royalty, not some whiny little brat.”

Your tail twitched violently at his words, the sharp tip of it slashing through the air like it had a mind of its own. “I’m not a brat,” you spat, almost instinctively puffing your chest out in a way that was more comical than intimidating. “I’m royalty, damn it. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronin drawled lazily, his hands still bound but his posture completely relaxed. “But if you're royalty, shouldn't you, I don't know, be a little scarier? You’re kind of like a kid pretending to be an adult, and it’s adorable."

“Adorable?” You hissed the word like it was poison. “You really think I’m some cute little plaything for you to laugh at, huh?” You took a step toward him, not fully realizing how much closer you were getting until your breath hitched.

But Ronin didn't back down. No, instead, he gave a lazy smirk and tilted his head further, eyes scanning you with a sort of casual, unimpressed interest. “Well, not cute exactly… but definitely something. I mean, you’re trying real hard to be intimidating, so it’s cute in a... 'this isn’t working at all' way.”

“You’re seriously pissing me off,” you muttered under your breath, your patience already wearing thin. You could feel the heavy weight of the energy building up inside of you—the raw, primal urge to do something. But you held yourself back, mostly because the way Ronin just sat there, not even slightly fazed by you, was starting to make your skin crawl.

“And yet,” he continued, utterly unfazed, “you’re still here. Which means I must be doing something right, right?” His voice was thick with that irritating, infuriating smugness that made you want to rip him apart, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

“You’re... You’re so infuriating!” The words practically exploded out of you, and you turned away, pacing the small, dimly lit room. You could feel your control slipping further with each second that passed, and it was like he was doing it on purpose—getting under your skin until you had no choice but to react. You could hear the low chuckle coming from behind you, and it made your teeth grind together.

“You’re funny, though,” he mused, his voice rich with sarcastic sweetness. “Not as funny as me, of course, but you’ve got some charm. Keep going like this, and you’ll be the star of my personal hell.”

You spun around, eyes flashing with frustration, and he just raised an eyebrow, his expression all but saying, You know I’m right.

“Don’t mock me, Ronin,” you warned, your voice low, warning laced with venom. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving a dismissive hand, as if you were a pest he could easily brush off. "I’ll let you get to that. But just so you know..." His eyes gleamed with amusement. “If you really wanted to make me regret anything, you’d have to actually do something about it, sweetheart. Right now, all you're doing is making me laugh.”

The last of your restraint snapped, and before you could think, you marched right up to him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. The act was impulsive, but there was something about that irritating smirk on his face that finally pushed you over the edge.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” you whispered through gritted teeth. “You think I’m a clown? Maybe I’ll show you just how terrifying I can be.”

You leaned in, a mischievous glint in your eyes that mirrored the mocking challenge in his. But instead of stepping back, his lips curled into something just a little too intrigued.

“Well then, make your move,” he said with a half-smirk. “Prove it to me, Your Highness.”

The moment he smirked again, that same irritating, condescending smirk that made your blood boil, you snapped. All that self-control you’d been pretending to have, all those carefully crafted lines you’d spent time perfecting, shattered in an instant.

Before Ronin could even react, your tail whipped forward, wrapping tightly around his throat with the precision of a predator capturing its prey. The pressure was instant, and you could feel his breath hitch as he fought against it, but you weren’t about to let go. Your tail tightened around him, lifting him slightly off the ground as your anger flared to life, burning hotter than before.

“You’re so damn annoying!” you growled through gritted teeth, a mix of frustration and something else bubbling up inside you. “If you’re gonna keep mocking me, at least make it worthwhile, you stupid human!”

Ronin’s eyes were wide now, but his grin didn’t falter. Instead, he chuckled—chuckled! Like he was actually enjoying this. His hands tried to pry your tail away, but it only made you squeeze tighter, your grip unrelenting as his face started to turn a little redder from lack of air.

“Why... are you so... pissed?” he managed to rasp out, his voice barely audible, but that damn smirk still stuck on his face.

You snarled, pushing him up higher, your floating form steady, even though the anger burned through your veins like wildfire. “Because you don’t stop, Ronin! You think you know me, but you don’t know a damn thing! I’m not just some… some little devil here to play games!”

And yet, despite your words, something in you was still... off about this whole situation.

Your mind screamed at you to stop—to pull away, to let him breathe. But no. He’d crossed the line.

"I’m a devil of royalty,” you hissed, your grip tightening. “You’re the one who’s gonna learn respect, got it?”

But Ronin, that bastard, only chuckled again, this time with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You know... if you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

You stopped. You stared. Your tail loosened slightly, but only out of sheer disbelief. What the hell did he just—?

“You... you—!” You cut yourself off, realizing you were staring at him like some blushing idiot. “You’re—ugh!” Your tail tightened again, but not in anger now. This was more of a reflex, a defensive move, like you were trying to shake off the absurdity of his words.

But then he did the worst thing possible. He grinned wider. “I mean, you’re cute when you’re mad. Really cute.”

You froze, a wave of frustration washing over you. Cute? Did he think you were some kind of child? Did he think he could just—?

“Shut. Up,” you spat, but the venom in your words was overshadowed by how genuinely mad you were now. You were supposed to be a devil, a royal one at that. And yet here you were, looking like some lovesick... idiot who couldn’t even keep it together.

Your tail, like a reflex, tugged him closer again, as if you wanted to shut him up once and for all. “You... you just don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, looking away as you tried to regain your composure.

Ronin, however, looked completely unfazed, eyes dancing with amusement. “No, I get it,” he said coolly. “You’re just not as scary as you think you are. You’re like one of those... princesses who’s stuck in her tower, throwing temper tantrums.”

You blinked at him, and for a moment, you honestly couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Princess? Tower?

And that’s when it clicked. You… you did have a bit of that princess vibe, didn’t you? The whole “royal devil” thing, the way you floated around, angry yet trying to maintain some composure. You were like one of those fairy tale princesses, locked away in a tower, trying to pretend like everything was under control.

The realization hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you felt a strange wave of embarrassment. Rapunzel, of all things?

“Are you... comparing me to that stupid princess?” You demanded, your tail loosening, now only holding him in place rather than choking him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you’re all high and mighty, but honestly... you don’t even know how to really handle me. You’re just making it all worse. You know what you need?” He looked at you, his smirk almost kind. “You need to get out of your tower. Take a step down. Get your hands dirty.”

Ronin’s expression shifted the moment he spoke, his tone veering from amusement to something darker. “So… if Hell exists,” he muttered, “then Heaven must exist, too.”

You nodded slowly, watching his face, the usual hard lines and cocky smirk softened with something almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Heaven and Hell… they’re both very aware of you, Ronin. Let’s just say, they’re happy with you making certain… types suffer.” You gave a crooked grin, hoping to lighten the mood, but he didn’t bite.

Instead, he scoffed, his face twisting with pain he hadn’t let slip before. “So Heaven does exist…” he whispered, as if the words themselves hurt. He looked off to the side, jaw clenched.

You could feel the weight of it immediately—the shadows in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. “Ronin…” you ventured, softer than before. “Is this… is it some kind of religious—?”

“Shut up,” he spat, but there was no real venom in it. Just exhaustion.

The silence stretched long and heavy, until finally, he looked at you, eyes sharper, more focused, like a steel trap snapping shut. “Someone I knew once… named Ther,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Where… where would she be?”

You froze, taken aback by the rawness in his voice. He didn’t ask for your answer, didn’t even look at you, his gaze lost somewhere beyond you, as if searching for something he couldn’t name.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, you watched him, and for once, you didn’t have anything clever to say.

[npookie0]

can you do kc x a silly reader?? like one that is overall very unhinged and out of pocket and filled to the brim with the silly :3

Sure :3

Silly reader x KC

Tw. Very silly and goofy reader ><

Ever since you joined the server, you proved yourself to be quite the silly goof. In voice calls you would drop some unhinged lines or ideas.

"What if someone were to mix glitter in spilled blood? Like imagine a massacred head and glitter spilling from it with blood and brain." You said suddenly after Ronin dropped his usual cocky remark towards Angel.

At first there was silence, something you experienced many times, the killers have to register your words before they can answer.

Next thing you know, Misaki is bursting out, laughing and trying to catch their breath. "Oh fuck, you're so stupid MC." They almost choked while they were laughing.

"Your ideas are certainly... Something ." V said and sighed. "Hitmeup please drink some water." He said to Misaki who was still coughing.

"Woah darlin', the more things you say the more interesting your ideas become. Maybe I should test it out for you?" Ronin chuckled darkly. "Or maybe you could do that Angel? Glitter is your thing after all."

"Oh, fuck off Ronin." Angel sighed and you could swear that she rolled her eyes even if you didn't see her. "That's a very creative idea MC, can't wait to hear more." She chuckled warmly, her voice as sweet as ever.

Sometimes the server members just wake up to a spam of memes in the media channel from you just because you felt like it.

One time you even sent a stick man drawing of Ronin as JD from Heathers the Musical. Everyone, excluding Ronin, was cracking up at the drawing.

<@Angelic>: OMG I love you @MC please this is perfect

<@goreboy>: do you Want Me to use my Crowbar on Ya @MC? you too Angel.

<@MC>: Ronin, accept it. You're him and he's you.

Another time you decided to start the "hear me out cake" with the killers... Your answers were something.

"What do you mean by 'the letter A' dude?!" Luca asked after you sent a picture of said letter under the picture of a random cake.

"What do you mean? It gives off hot vibes, like a hot popular girl, tell me you get it Misaki." You replied and moved the question to Misaki.

"I have zero fucking idea, but hey it's still better than what you sent in the previous round."

"What do you mean? The lizard guy from Star Butterfly was HOT!" You exclaimed. "You bunch have no taste."

The killers couldn't say that their time with you wasn't interesting. You were unhinged and blunt. You never thought about your words, you just said whatever you wanted even in the most inappropriate moments.

<@MC>: Guys I think that kids should be locked up like animals in zoo and experienced on, if they want to act like wild beasts.

<@_LUCA_IS_COOL_>: What the hell dude? We were talking about our plans for the holidays.

<@h1tneuppp>: Shhh, this is about to get interesting.

Ronin:

Your silly nature was interesting for him. You sometimes dropped random traumatic experiences from your life, or just said something very unhinged.

Ronin can't complain about being bored with you around. If he's not persuading you into killing, you will drag him around the town or take him for random expeditions because you can't sit in one place for longer than five seconds.

Sometimes Ronin will just stand next to you in silence while you're doing something crazy, examples:

"MC, darlin', what the fuck are you doing?" Ronin asked, his eyes showed just how confused he was. Well, who wouldn't be confused if they saw their partner chasing after leafs in a park.

"I'm trying to catch the prettiest one." You replied like it was the most normal and obvious answer. Ronin just nodded. He was in awe about how little care you showed whenever someone gave you the side eye.

Ronin left you alone in his house for twenty minutes, apparently there was a very special asshole going around town and Ronin just had to deal with him. When he returned home he knew that you would do something crazy (at least in your way), but he would never imagine walking in on you while you were trying to dress up his rat BlackJack in a mini version of his clothes.

"Baby, would you mind telling me, why the hell is my rat dressed like me?" Ronin leaned on the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Huh?" You turned around to look at him, the rat curled up in your hands. "Well, you're like a rat, and BlackJack is a smol version of Ronin." You giggled with a sinister glimmer in your eyes. Ronin shook his head and approached you, he placed a kiss to your forehead and took the animal from your hands. "You're so fuckin' adorable sometimes."

Whenever you actually killed someone, you sent a picture to the #killer_shit channel, your murders were especially peculiar. The bodies were mostly untouched, expect the corpse having either an extremely bloody wound so you could draw a hello kitty head around the body or some silly doodles curved into them.

<@goreboy>: Woah baby, your art skills are getting better.

You smiled at Ronin's response and then scoffed when he sent a picture of his new kill with a satanic symbol curved into it.

<@goreboy>: Not as good as mine tho.

Headcanons >w<

- Ronin loves listening to your ramblings, even if you're talking about the most stupid stuff ever. He usually plays with your hair and looking through his phone while you just yap his ear off.

- Sometimes when you two decide to do some romantic homicide, you're the most silly killer Ronin has ever seen, you're literally gluing sequins around the curvings that Ronin leaves on the body, once you ever did a whole glamour make up look on a guy who according to Ronin abused his trans daughter.

- You doodle Ronin as JD and yourself as Veronica Sawyer, you even told him that you two will cosplay them for the next Halloween and if he dares to disagree, he will wake up with a sea of glitter in his bed.

- "You're like a more hygienic raccoon babe." Ronin said after he caught you looking for a late night snack around his kitchen in the clothes you stole from him.

- "Ronin, let's kidnap a snake from the zoo." You said, it was the middle of the night, you and Ronin were relaxing after some intimate time. Ronin looked at you and laughed. "Wow babe, you really pick the best times for these things." His laugh deep and long, arm over his face as he brushed his hair back. "I fuckin' love it about you."

V:

V was dumbfounded by every single unhinged idea you shared with him. He didn't know if having any expectations had a point anymore. Whenever he thought that your ideas couldn't get even more unique, you came up with an even more creative ideas.

"V." You called as you ran towards him and ran in circles around him. You almost tripped, but V managed to catch you. He sighed and helped you stand.

"My love, please be more careful. He pinched his nose bridge for which you only giggled.

"Aw, it's fine V! You'll always catch me. Anyway-" And for the next ten minutes you were rambling about a new idea, V couldn't even follow your voice. He was just too amazed by how many things your mind could think of at once.

Even if he couldn't wrap his mind around your way of thinking, V was happy knowing that your soul was pure, you wouldn't kill people ruthlessly, you didn't even think about that. But sometimes he tends to question your innocence, whenever he tells you about a new bastard he has to eliminate, you turn around with a wide smile and in the sweetest voice known to man you were giving him an idea of how he should get rid of that pest.

"My love, your ideas are positively terrifying. Maybe i should try it out for you on that rotten beast." He placed a kiss to your knuckles with a proud smile and a warm look in his eyes.

Headcanons X3

- V enjoys it when you're playing with his hair, putting it up or just twisting it around your fingers, while you're just talking about the silly ideas.

- "V, let's go and buy some cute outfits for your animals." You said while you were watching the bird V named after you. "Love, I want to remind you that most of my animals are dangerous and feed on humans." He replied with a slight hint of a smile. "But they also deserve something cute to wear." You exclaimed, it earned you a chuckle from him and a kiss on the lips. "Fine, fine. We can try finding something cute for them."

- V has to carry the first aid kit with himself whenever the two of you are outside. You have a tendency to run around carelessly, climb treat when you see something stuck on one. Most of these adventures end up with a scraped knee or a small injury that V has to clean up. "Please, be more careful." He says, knowing that you will do the same thing again.

- Sometimes when V wakes up and goes to the bathroom to get ready for the day, he sees how his hair magically happened to have a lot of colorful and cute hair-clips in them. And you just so happen to be right next to the bathroom door and trying your hardest to hold back the giggle. For V that start of a day is just perfect, with his partner in a good mood and right next to him.

Misaki:

Misaki fucks with your silly and unhinged nature. They adore it, and the way your eyes light up when you see jut how invested she is.

You take their hand and drag them around Tokio, you're totally lost and she just chooses to let you try and find your way. When you give up with a big sad pout on your face, they kiss you and take you for a piggyback.

"Don't worry pookie bear, I know my way around town." They say with a confident smirk and you just chuckle.

"Wow, you're my hero Misaki."

When Misaki spams your DMs with how panicked they are about the next assassination, you will send your selfie with you pointing on your lips.

<@MC>: Is this motivating enough?

<@h1tmeupp>: Babe omw to be done with this shit and kiss that stupidly sweet lips of yours.

<@MC>: Waiting ;p

Misaki loves it when you're stealing their clothes and return them with a small new added mark - a painted flower here, a sewed in patch of an anime character that you like there. They will wear that piece of clothing like it's something given by gods and will make sure to brag about you to the server and their parents.

Headcanons >:D

- You will call Misaki in the middle of the night because you just came up with a new theory about your favourite media and she just ha to listen to your yap session.

- Your nicknames for Misaki are just chef's kiss, some of their favourites: Cutie patootie, lil sniper mask, alpha sigma, babyperson.

- When Misaki doesn't reply because they're asleep or buy you will flood their dms with memes or sad cat pictures,

- You will join in on Misaki's weak tries to rizz up V, you know that it's a joke and you find it extremely funny.

- When you're about to return to your country from visiting Misaki, you will steal their clothes and find a perfume matching their scent, and she will take your clothes and your perfume.

Angel:

Angel is fascinated by you, and your ways of making fun of Ronin but still not sounding like a total asshole. You will always make sure to keep your remarks lighthearted and keep the relationship between you and Angel's ex boyfriend and currently closest friend chill.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Angel asks, you were standing in front of her and applying some make up on her.

"Nooo, I'm not done yet." You reply and move the lipstick on her lips. "Ta! Dah!" You said and held the mirror in front of her face. Angel opened her eyes and gasped, then she laughed and looked at you with a loving warmth in her gaze.

"You wanted to make me look like Jennifer?" She asked.

"Yeah! You called her hot, and I wanted to check if my skills are as good as think they are." You say with a proud smirk. Angel stands up and kissed you.

"I love it, but we do need to work on your skills cariño."

When Angel found a new manager, you and Ronin were ready to throw hands. Well you took action in your own hands and left them a small note in their bag "Hurt Maria and I will break your spine." It would be very threatening. if you didn't use a colorful pencil with glitter in it.

Headcanons <3

- Angel enjoys laying in bed with you, snuggled up to you as you discuss her new video or some of your interests. She feels so close to you, these moments are perfect.

- Whenever Angel has a taught day at work you will go and basically kidnap her, you carry her bridal style to the nearest cafe and keep her away from watching her phone. Sometimes she may seem irritated with it, but you will kiss her or hold her close and this irritation disappears.

- One day Angel found her pink gun in the living room with some doodles and sweet messages all over it. You came into the room and snatched the gun from her.

"I'm not done yet." You exclaimed and hid the gun behind your back.

"Awh, but I want to see it." She gave you a pout and you just gave in.

- For Halloween you dressed up as Ronin and gave Angel a full of one-person-show imitation of him. Angel can't hold back her laughter and holds her aching stomach.

"Oh, I love you." She wiped a tear away from her eye. "You're so amazing love."

[puzzledprose]

ronin x reader kc band au!!! maybe readers a fan or something

I’m a sucker for band AUs omg. I can imagine Angel as a vocalist, Ronin as a guitarist, V on the bass and Misaki playing drums. Their style would very much be something Vkei-esque with maybe some indie rock influence.

I also don’t feel like they would be a hugely popular band. They would probably be popular in their local scene, but otherwise pretty unknown. Also I find it a little more charming as an insufferable music person.

Band AU!Ronin x Fan!Reader

You two most likely met at one of Ronins shows. You had seen a flyer around for a band called “Slaughterhouse” and figured it couldn’t hurt to check it out. Best case scenario you find a new favourite band, worst case is that it stops you hunching in front of your laptop for a few hours.

The show was incredible. The band flowed together seamlessly, they each brought something unique to the performance, but one member caught your eye. Something about the band’s guitarist couldn’t help but grab at your attention. The way he carried himself in such a confident and indifferent way had you swooning.

But you weren’t fangirling, right? Of course you were.

Once the bands set was finished you took a small break and went to the venues bar to grab a drink. By the time you were seated and sipping on your drink of choice you noticed a certain crimson haired individual in the corner of your eye.

Internally you freaked out a bit before deciding to try and start up a conversation. Who knows? You might get lucky.

Somehow you managed to charm the boy. The conversation managed to flow easily. He challenged you with ridiculously casual flirting and you swung back with some snide remark. Still he left you on edge sometimes, effortlessly leading you along and blurring lines.

After some talking and probably an ill advised hookup let’s be real you two found yourselves committed! Which now means full time groupie duty for you. This usually involves working the merch stand or lending a helping hand during sound check, not that you kind of course.

Ronin loves it when you wear his merch btw. If he were someone else he would almost feel bad about how possessive it makes him.

He probably tries to teach you guitar, or if you already play an instrument he would love to jam with you!

That’s all for today! Hope you liked the fic. As much as I like Ronin he’s kinda scary to write lol.

[ribbonsssence]

angel dating headcanons ──── ୨୧ ────

notes ﹒ just wanted to do this as a warm-up cause I've never written headcanons yet, ermm, might do a ronin one next!!! since I haven't even written for any of the main/side casts of KC other than angel literally.. pls request me,,,,

content includes ﹒ angel x reader ; established relationship ; fluff ; minor arguments

✦ Ever since your established relationship with Angel, you frequent to her house or vice-versa (but it's often the former). She gives you gentle encouragement offline and online; she likes the gestures and answers you reply, it makes her feel reassured of your current demeanor. ✦ Angel's a model and has a channel, so technically: she gets paid — a lot. Although, she knows your type of gifts and only buys those that she knows you will appreciate very much. Considering her busyness, her time with you often becomes underwhelming which results in her insecurity and regret for not being able to spend time with you. Hence, she'll sometimes buy you an apology gift, and a side recovering your quality time with her. ✦ Angel likes to use pet names, she doesn't overdo the usage, but she has a couple of pet names she uses for you; she prefers calling you the sweet types being "my love," "babe," and would even call you pet names in Spanish such as "mi rey" and "corazón." Just in the courtesy of her loving affection towards you.

✦ Angel prefers private dates, not that she is opposed to having a date in public, it's just that she's well too known and recognized in public sadly. Additionally, simple dates are already the best for her. Watching a movie at either your homes is already enough for her. ✦ Your first date with Angel was a picnic at a secluded spot near her house, it was midnight and the stars shone brighter than ever. You were quite glad, this date was your idea in the first place, and Angel was loving it. The iridescent moonlight embraced the gleaming radiance of the stars, it was tinted with a blue to purple hue with bright streaks, clear in the moonless vast sky. In the end, you and Angel enjoyed the beauty and peace of the starry night sky while the both of you chattered about trivial matters.

✦ Angel's love language is quality time and acts of service (said by the rosesrot!). As the ever-busy Maria de la Rosa, she yearns for the moments she could spend with you. When her mind isn't preoccupied, it drifts to thoughts of you — imagining your touch, the warmth of your presence, and the comfort of simply being together. ✦ In regards to her acts of service, she will always give. Oh! Some man is pestering you? Consider him done dead in a ditch! That being said, she's never been into the receiving when it comes to the acts of service since no one has really done that for her but it actually does make her contented.

✦ Arguments with Angel don't frequently happen, but it's usually about Angel's busyness or health in general. The arguments never last or worsen more. In the end, Angel can never get mad at you, nor can you at her. You will always be her safe haven and she will always be your safe haven too. ✦ The worst argument that occurred between you and Angel ended abruptly and took a day of silence from Angel to ponder about her feelings and thoughts, just to apologize and cry out her true feelings in your warm embrace. The both of you have an emotional evening (mostly for Angel) for the rest of the day.

✦ Angel's support for you never wavers. It doesn't matter if you're not a serial killer like her, she'll be the one to kill for you anyway. She'd devour every moment of between you and her, your existence consumes her heart as a whole.

[odxnys]

some small scenarios of Ronin x Autistic reader, which was requested in the KC server

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Ronin watched with a soft smile as MC yapped about their latest obsession, something about a new game? He couldn’t really remember the name of it. But nevertheless he continued listening.

His eyes fixed on the smiling face of his lover, who had been talking and explaining the same game for almost an hour now. Sometimes asking what he thought, to which he simply replied that he thought it was interesting, and that he’d love for them to continue talking.

Each time MC’s smile would widened, growing to that beautiful bright smile that Ronin loved seeing. He noticed that a few times MC’s hands would shake, as if their body moved on it’s own but they stopped themselves. When Ronin saw this his focus changed to observing MC’s actions. Once again they started getting more excited, their hands flapping slightly before they forced themselves to stop. Ronin’s eyes furrowed, before he spoke.

“Hey darlin’ you know you don’t have to force yourself to stop right?”

MC stopped talking, tilting their head slightly in confusion

“What do you mean?”

Ronin smiled softly, his face melting at the cuteness of his partner. Before his eyes trailed down to their hands.

“The flapping. You don’t have to force yourself to stop stimming around me. I don’t find it annoying or anything like that, it’s honestly pretty cute~ “

He said, his smile now a smirk as he watched his lover’s face heat up. Before he grabbed ahold of the same hands that were almost twitching at the want of adding stimuli. Holding the soft hands of his writer as he gazed into their eyes.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be anything but yourself with me darling~”

Ronin watched as MC’s eyes widened and their smile shone brighter. Before he leaned back into the couch, his usual playful smirk laid across his lips.

“Now how about that lore you were talking about, mh? Something about uh-“

Ronin got cut off by MC’s excited voice, intruding into his own words.

“The lovers! Yeah Yeah! So here’s the thing…”

Ronin didn’t say anything about being cut off. All he did was simply enjoy the sight of MC talking, now with their hands flapping in excitement.

Fuck, how he loved you.

꧁ ❀˖⁺ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ˖⁺❀ ꧂

Sorry if it’s too short but my brain juice died 😋

here’s some headcanons I think would fit in here

(note: these are my headcanons so if u don’t agree thats totally fine)

Ronin would be much more verbally loving here, to show to MC that he does infact love them.

Whenever MC gets overwhelmed Ronin will try to help them calm down via music, weighted blankets or what not.

Ronin would always let MC know that their stimming doesn’t bother him, and he will kill beat people up that make fun of it

[6feathered6siren6]

ꕥ   Welcome   ꕥ

About me

I’m Siren(Just using my username since I don’t like strangers knowing my name.) He/they, 20 years old. I’m an artist and a writer, I usually write my own original works, but I’m at a rut with my work so I’m doing fanfics to help with it. 

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Instagram - 6feathered6siren6

Twitter - 6feathered6siren6

Discord - weirdoclass

Ao3- Feathered_siren_666

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞  Rules  𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 

I will get to your request when I can. I try to write when I can, and draw before I go to bed. So please don’t pressure me to work faster, though I do like positive comments. 

I do look at my request box, and they are always open, but if I feel uncomfortable by it, I will deny it and move on. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 

Current hyperfixations: Killer chat, minecraft, stardew valley, gluttony gods

Do not put any of my work into AI please, I work hard on my art and fics, and it's highly disrespectful for the writer/artist.

My requests are open(Both drawing and writing, though it would be gluttony gods and killer chat based)!

Commissions prices are being made.

Carrd: https://6feathered6siren6.carrd.co/

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

Raffle link(End date is March 3rd)

Siren's google form to the link

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My Masterlist(I will update as I go)

Killer chat

Ronin

Ronin x clairvoyant reader p1

Ronin x clairvoyant reader p2

Ronin x clairvoyant reader p3

Overworked Reader

V

Car crash(Request)

Overworked reader(Request)

Saved by a snake(Monster prompt)

Gravity is your enemy(Accident prone reader)

Angel

Overworked Reader

"Good soup"(Let it bleed prompt)

Misaki

Overworked Reader

Assassin? No. Bodyguard

Killer chat extras

'Death game' Prompt

'Soulmate' Prompt(V x Ronin X Reader)

Sweet moments with the chaotic Duo

Doctor, Doctor(Request)

Therapist with morals(Request)

Finding home in a lost world(found family)

Constant looping series

Winding back the clock(Time loop P1)

Neverending(Time loop P2)

Repeating(Time loop p3)

Paradox(Time loop p4)

Again & Again(Time loop p5)

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Art

Pop cat KC LI

Angel and Ronin biking

Ther royalty

Ther with glass wings

Doodle dump #1

Wip of bounce it meme

Wip two of bounce it meme

First drawing of Angel and Ronin

OC work for KC

Soon ;)

[dearkaslana]

Eclipse of Wings- Ronin x Fallen Angel G.N Reader

Eclipse of Wings- Please lemme know if i should make this as a series ^^ in comments!!

You don't have to meet the devil, itself, When you meet its butcher.

Words:3000

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Summary: You fell into a worse place than hell, Humanity- Try not to be sinned little angel.

( Reader is a g.n!)-(let me know if there were places where she/her were mentioned i will fix them ^^)

TW: Violence, Blood, Mentions of religious trauma,

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I

A fallen angel draped in sin, With wings in tatters, pale as thin, They treads through dusk, love half-decayed, A dreamer lost, yet unafraid.

And by their side, the butcher grins, With crimson hands and violet sins, He carves through hearts, dark hymns in mind, A twisted lover, raw and blind.

His love is poison, sharp and sweet, Where heaven’s loss and hellfire meet— A crown of thorns, a kiss of glass, Two broken souls that shadows cast.

Together they dance, grotesque yet whole, A martyr’s heart, a devil’s soul. Bound not by light, nor chains above— But by ruin, by chaos, by love.

You fall.

The sky yawns open, pulling away like a curtain, and the light dims behind you until it is nothing but a pinprick. The clouds part as if ashamed to touch you, and the heavens above—where you once belonged—fade into silence.

You don't remember what you did, only that they said you were guilty. It didn’t matter how much you protested. No matter how fiercely you clung to your truth, they cast you out.

The wind burns against your skin as you plummet, rushing past in furious currents that howl as if trying to tear your wings apart. But they remain white—untouched, pristine, a silent testimony that you never sinned. Still, the gates are closed now.

You can’t go back.

The memory of your last thought before the fall clings like a whisper at the edges of your mind. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care anymore. The place you once cherished feels more distant now than the stars that blink faintly against the endless sky. They had called it paradise, but if that was heaven… why did it feel so cold?

You try to remember who you were, what your purpose had been, but it’s gone—stripped away in the fall. The world below grows closer, rushing toward you with a strange kind of promise. You don't know what awaits, but you wonder: Maybe it will be kinder down there? Perhaps the earth will cradle you where the heavens would not.

Only the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this new world will offer what heaven never could.

A place to belong.

And if it doesn't? Well… At least you’ll have your wings.

You crash through the sky, wings struggling to slow your descent, but it’s too late. The world blurs—branches tear at your feathers, wooden beams snap beneath your weight, and you crumble into the ruins of a forgotten house. The impact jars you to the bone, forcing the breath from your lungs in a ragged gasp.

Dust settles slowly, dancing in the streaks of moonlight slipping through the shattered roof. The walls groan, barely held together, as if this place might fall apart with one more wrong breath. But that isn’t what holds your attention.

From the debris, you see him.

Boots scuff against the cracked floor, deliberate and lazy, as a figure steps into the light. Long legs, leather-clad, stop just a few feet from your crumpled form. Then you meet his gaze—two cold black eyes, sharp with a kind of madness that feels both dangerous and oddly amused. There is something familiar in them. Not kindness, no. But recognition. The eyes of someone who’s been burned by the divine before.

And then—he laughs.

It’s a jagged, wicked sound that fills the hollow space, echoing off broken walls. Like something cracked open inside him, something bitter and ancient, and he can't stop himself. The sound isn’t joyous. It’s full of disbelief and mockery, like he’s laughing at a cruel cosmic joke only he understands.

"So... gods really do exist, huh?" he sneers, dragging a hand through his plum-colored hair as if the very thought exhausts him. "And they’ve got jokes—big ones." His laugh continues, sharp and biting, as though it's the first good joke he's heard in years.

You try to sit up, wincing, wings shifting behind you. That's when his gaze snaps down, pinning you in place. His eyes darken further, narrowing as they rake over you from head to toe—and then stop. He stares at your wings. White. Pure, unmarred, still glistening with celestial grace even as you lie on the cold, cracked floor.

The grin on his face falters, twisted into something halfway between shock and curiosity. "...What?" His voice drops into a low growl, disbelief flickering like embers beneath the words. "No. No way. White wings? That’s... impossible."

He crouches beside you now, face inches from yours, as if needing to see it up close. His eyes narrow, suspicion curling in his gaze. "Fallen angels don't get white wings. They turn black—every time. I’ve read the damn scriptures. So how...?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. The memories are gone, scattered to the wind, leaving you hollow. You don't even know who you are, let alone why your wings stayed white. All you know is that you're not supposed to be here. Not like this.

The man tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle that’s missing pieces. Then his grin returns, sharp and dangerous, a twisted kind of excitement lighting up his features. "You... you're a.."

He chuckles, standing up, dragging a crowbar from the strap on his belt with a slow, deliberate movement. The metal gleams under the faint moonlight. "You know, I hated that place. Angelwood—whatever the hell you wanna call it. They really know how to screw you over. But this? Even Heaven does the same." He gestures to you with the crowbar, grinning wider now, teeth bared. "This is something new."

His voice lowers to a purr, wickedly soft. "Killing you... oh, that’s gonna be fun."

He takes a step closer, his shadow falling over you completely. The air between you hums with tension, the kind that promises violence—or worse. And yet, something in the way he looks at you feels more like fascination than hatred, like a predator finding something rare and exquisite.

He leans in one last time, his breath hot against your skin, voice dripping with malice and intrigue. "Let’s see what makes you tick, angel."

You wake with a start, every muscle aching, wrists pulled taut above your head. The cold bite of iron chains digs into your skin. You try to move, but the clink of metal tells you that escape is out of reach. Your wings—still white—flutter weakly behind you, brushing against stone walls that feel damp and ancient, as if they’ve been standing for centuries.

Across from you, in the dim glow of a flickering lamp, he sits slouched in a chair, legs spread lazily, elbows resting on his knees. He twirls the crowbar idly in one hand, as if it’s just another toy in his collection. His black eyes gleam, watching you stir, and a sly grin creeps across his face.

"Morning, darling," he murmurs, the words slithering from his mouth with a teasing lilt. "Sleep well?"

You tug at the chains desperately, panic blooming in your chest. "Where... where am I?" you rasp, throat dry and aching. "What is this place?"

He leans back, grinning like the answer’s a private joke. "Hell."

The word slams into you, cold and sharp. For a moment, everything inside you breaks apart. You thought it was a place, a concept whispered in cautionary tales—a nightmare never meant to be real. And now you’re here. Trapped. Forgotten. Left to rot.

You shake your head violently, heart hammering. "No, no, no. I didn’t do anything! I—I swear! It wasn’t me!" Your voice cracks, words tumbling out faster as if saying them enough will make them true. "They did this! They—!"

He watches you unravel with a bemused expression, like someone enjoying a twisted performance.

"I can’t remember!" you cry out, vision blurring with hot tears. "I can’t remember what I did! I just want to go back—please, let me go!" The chains rattle as you writhe against them, wings drooping helplessly behind you. "I didn’t do anything wrong!"

He snickers, the sound low and dangerous. "You’re a real mess, you know that?"

The grin on his face spreads wider, as if savoring every second of your misery. "You fall out of the sky, land right in my lap, and now you're sobbing all over yourself like that’s gonna fix anything." He shifts forward in the chair, resting his chin lazily in one hand. "C’mon, angel, you really think they’d let you fall for no reason?"

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. You choke on your next breath, tears running freely down your face. "But I—I didn’t—!"

He interrupts with a casual hum. "Shhh, darling." The nickname is soft but drenched in mockery. "You’re not in heaven anymore. You’re in my house now. So why don't you calm down?"

Through your sobs, you dare to ask the question clawing at the back of your mind. "Are… are you—" You swallow hard, trembling. "Are you Satan?"

He pauses. For a moment, you see something flicker behind his blackened gaze—amusement, yes, but also something darker. Enjoyment.

Then, with a slow, devilish grin, he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, the word like poison dripping from his lips. "That’s me. I’m here to haunt you, angel."

You let out a soft, broken sob, the weight of his answer crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you thought you knew crumbles to dust beneath the realization. You’ve fallen from grace, your wings still white, and now the devil himself has you in chains. There’s no going back.

He watches you with a gleeful fascination as you cry—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that seem to echo off the cold stone walls. The sound only seems to amuse him further, as if your suffering is a gift he never expected.

"Don’t cry too much, darling," he whispers, leaning in so close you can feel the brush of his lips against your ear. "We’re just getting started."

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and tapping the crowbar absently against his knee. "You’re just as messed up as the rest of us, angel. Kinda funny, isn't it? You fell for questioning too much."

He watches as you crumble beneath the weight of it all, exhaustion pulling you under. Your sobs slow, your body slackens, and your eyes begin to close despite the chains biting into your wrists.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear his voice, soft and unsettling in the darkness:

"You know, darling… we’ve all got a little religious trauma. Some just hide it better."

And with that, the world drifts to black.

He leans back, watching you sleep with a strange expression—half amused, half something else. "You are going to be," he mutters under his breath, tapping the crowbar against his boot.

"Ruined, just like the rest of us."

You woke slowly, disoriented, your mind thick with exhaustion. Your wings—thankfully, still white—were crumpled awkwardly beneath you, aching but intact. The room around you was strange, unsettling. Red walls surrounded you, drenched in a hue that felt oppressive and heavy, like the air itself carried some unspoken malevolence. It didn’t look like the heaven you remembered, nor did it feel like the hell you imagined.

A dim square light flickered in the corner—a glowing box with images flashing across it, fast and incomprehensible. It unsettled you further. Stacks of boxes littered the room, messily piled on top of each other, as if whoever lived here didn't care much for order. Your gaze landed on several jars along a shelf—and what you saw inside them made your heart lurch. Human remains. In one jar, a shriveled brain floated in some cloudy liquid. Your breath hitched, and you nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it. You stumbled back, your legs weak beneath you, and tripped over the edge of the bed.

Trying to steady yourself, you noticed a strange chest at your feet. It had "MY STUFF" scribbled on the top in messy handwriting. Something glinted on top—a small knife. Your trembling fingers reached for it. You held the blade awkwardly, staring at it as thoughts flickered through your mind. Could you use it? Could you kill whoever left you here?

But the thought fled as soon as it came. You weren’t a killer. The knife felt heavy in your hands, foreign and wrong. Slowly, you placed it back on the chest. Instead, you focused on the bed—rumpled sheets and an unmade blanket tangled beneath you. Something about the mess made your chest tighten. You didn’t fully understand why, but… you wanted to fix it. You straightened the sheets, your hands clumsy but determined, folding the corners like it was a ritual. It gave you something to focus on, at least—something normal.

Just as you finished smoothing the blanket, a sharp tingle crawled down your spine. Someone was here. You could feel it—like a presence looming just out of sight, waiting. You tried to spread your wings, desperate to fly, but they ached too much, the muscles too weak. A sharp pang shot through you, and you winced, folding them against your back.

That’s when you saw him. A figure, drenched in blood, stood in the doorway. He wore a mask—something grotesque and stitched, like a face pieced together from nightmares. His clothes were stained with red, and he reeked of death.

Panic surged through you. You stumbled back, falling onto the bed, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shut your eyes tight, clutching the blanket like it could shield you from whatever came next. "God, save me," you whispered, voice cracking, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. You knew the truth deep down—God wasn’t coming. If He cared, you wouldn’t be here. If He cared, you wouldn’t have fallen.

The figure moved closer, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the room. You curled into yourself, too overwhelmed to do anything but plead. “Please… just kill me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and broken. “I don’t care anymore. Just… just don’t do it here. This isn’t even my room.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, the man threw back his head—and laughed. The sound was jarring, almost manic, a mix of delight and disbelief. He laughed so hard you thought he might fall over, and when he finally stopped, tears glistened in his eyes.

"What are you, stupid?" he said between chuckles, his voice rough but playful, like someone who found the whole situation absurd. "Seriously? Darling angel, you really think I’m going to kill you?” He wiped his eyes, still grinning as he reached up to remove the mask.

The sight made your heart stutter. Beneath the bloodied mask was the same man you had seen when you first fell—plum-colored hair sticking out in messy strands beneath a black beanie, a sly grin on his face, and eyes black as the void.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

He gave you a crooked smile, as if reading your thoughts. “Yeah. It’s me, darling.”

Your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. "Satan?" The word fell from your lips like a prayer.

He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed, grinning like the devil himself. “Bingo, angel.”

You blinked, stunned and disoriented, tears still clinging to your lashes. The disbelief must have been clear on your face because he laughed again, softer this time. "What, you expected horns and a pitchfork? Sorry to disappoint."

You swallowed hard, confusion knotting your thoughts. "But… why? Why are you keeping me here?"

He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "Seemed like a waste to let you die, that’s all." Then, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to unsettle you. “And besides… you and me? Looks like we’ve both been ruined by the same guy.”

You furrowed your brow, the words not quite clicking. "Ruined?" you echoed, still dazed.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah,” he whispered. "Ruined by God. Ain’t it funny how that works?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall, a sly grin curling his lips. “You know what they call me down here?” he asked, voice low and taunting. “The Devil’s Butcher. I take care of the stupid ones.” His black eyes gleamed with amusement, as if daring you to react. "Hack 'em up nice and neat—people who don't know when to shut their mouths. Idiots, really.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you pressed your back against the bed’s headboard as if it might swallow you whole. The word butcher echoed in your mind, twisted with images of the jars of human remains you’d seen earlier. Your stomach churned, and you struggled to keep the panic at bay.

He watched your reaction closely, clearly amused. “Oh, come on, angel,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t look so scared. I mean, I could butcher you right here…” He let the threat hang in the air, watching your eyes widen with fear. “But that’d be too easy. I prefer to take my time.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “A-Are you… like a shoulder devil too?” you asked, desperate to grasp onto any thread of normalcy. “You know, the little voice that gives bad advice?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he burst into laughter—a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the walls. “A shoulder devil?! You’re really something else, angel.” He shook his head, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought. It’s adorable."

You frowned, tilting your head. “Wait… then what are you?”

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I’m human, sweetheart.”

The realization hit you like a slap. "What?!" You stared at him, stunned, your mind struggling to reconcile what you were hearing with the image of the terrifying, bloodied man sitting before you. "You're not Satan?"

He laughed again, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Nope. Just a guy with a hobby.”

Your confusion deepened, and you could feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes again. "But you said—"

He cut you off with a playful smirk. “I was just messing with you. God, you’re easy to freak out.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "All that innocence… it’s too tempting not to play with.”

You stared at him, stunned and humiliated. The fear and tension you’d felt moments before morphed into frustration. "Why would you do that?" you asked, your voice small but sharp with indignation.

He shrugged casually, clearly unbothered. “Because it’s fun. And you’re cute when you’re scared.”

You scowled, wrapping your arms around yourself. "That’s not funny."

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aw, come on, darling. You’ve got to admit, you fell for it pretty hard.” He gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t really butcher people. Not unless they ask nicely. It's a lie too."

The grin he shot you was wicked, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. One thing was certain: this man—whoever he was—was dangerous in more ways than one. And now, you were stuck with him.

You blacked out, your body crumpling into the bed with the weight of exhaustion, fear, and confusion. Ronin blinked down at you, tilting his head, his plum-colored hair flopping lazily beneath the black beanie.

“Aw, damn,” he muttered to himself, crouching next to the bed. “I was just messin’ with ya.” He sighed, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. Without much effort, he lifted you off the cold floor and placed you carefully back on the bed, draping your still-white wings over you like a soft blanket. “There. All cozy, angel.” He gave your unconscious form a smirk. “Sweet dreams in the Butcher’s den, huh?”

He stretched, sat on his, and slumped into a worn-out chair. His thumbs moved rapidly across the screen as he opened the server—the , his little playground of chaos. The server, exclusive to serial killers, was more of a circus than anything else. From assassins to vigilantes, everyone here wore their insanity like a badge of honor.

His screen lit up with notifications.

Ronin (handle: goreboy) tapped a message into the server:

goreboy: "Yo. So guess what? Turns out angels actually exist. 🤡"

The server exploded almost immediately with replies.

hitmeupppp: "wtf stop lyin"

k9: "Your idiocy has reached new heights."

V, aka K9, had zero patience for Ronin's antics. A justice-obsessed vigilante serial killer, V was practically allergic to Ronin's devil-may-care attitude and frequently threatened to kill him for “wasting oxygen.”

angeleicc: "…what."

A private message followed immediately.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. Are you okay? What do you mean angels exist?"

Ronin grinned as he thumbed out a reply.

goreboy: "Lol. Don't worry about it. Focus on tellin’ your lil simps to like and subscribe 💀"

Angel was not impressed.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. What’s going on? Something’s bothering you, I can tell."

Ronin rolled his eyes. Angel was always doing that—trying to peel back the layers, as if she could find anything underneath worth saving. Not that she’d stop.

He typed out a response with a grin:

goreboy (DM): "Nah, babe. I’m good. Swear on my crowbar."

Then he sent a devil emoji. 😈

Before she could respond again, he hopped back into the server His grin widened as the chaos unfolded.

k9: "Swear to god, Ronin, I’ll kill you if you’re screwing around."

goreboy: "I am never not screwing around."

hitmeupppp: "ok but like fr is this some weird larp or did u actually see an angel??? 👀"

Ronin leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, looking at your sleeping figure. Your wings shifted gently with your breathing, your innocence clinging to you like a stubborn ghost.

He smirked and typed:

goreboy: "Not sayin’ much, but if God tossed an angel outta heaven, I guess Hell’s playground just got a lot more interesting. Stay tuned, kiddos."

He sent a gif of the devil tap-dancing and hit send. His notifications were already blowing up, but Angel sent one last DM before he could log off.

angeleicc (DM): "If you’re really okay.

Ronin rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Ronin propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, still smirking as his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request. Angel. He snickered, debating if he should pick up.

"Ah, why not," he murmured, accepting the call.

Her face appeared on the screen—pouty lips, perfectly winged eyeliner, and her signature exasperated look already forming. “Ronin!” she whined the second the camera connected. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sup, Angel,” he said, grinning wide, leaning back lazily in the chair. “Miss my pretty lil face or what?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I always regret answering your calls—" Then her eyes sharpened. "Wait. Hold up." She leaned closer into her screen, squinting. "Why the hell is there—who’s that?! Is that a person in your bed?”

Ronin tried to stifle his laugh but failed spectacularly. “Ohhh, this? That’s the angel I was telling you about.”

Angel puffed up her cheeks in disbelief, fuming. “You better not be joking, Ronin! What, did you finally get a lover or something? If you did, you better tell me right now!”

Ronin chuckled, low and smug. “Nah. Still single and ready to corrupt, babe.” He held the phone out, angling it towards your unconscious form. You were still tucked under your wings, shifting slightly in your sleep.

Angel squinted harder, utterly perplexed. “You’re saying… that is the angel?”

“Yeah,” Ronin said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Check this out.”

With a wicked grin, he reached over, gently plucking a small feather from your wing. The moment he did, you flinched in your sleep, your wings giving a slight, unconscious flutter—just enough to make Angel gasp.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, eyes wide. “Ronin… you were serious?!”

Ronin's grin stretched wider, devilishly entertained by her shock. “Told ya, Angel. I wasn’t messing around. Say hello to God’s little dropout.”

Angel stared at the screen, frozen for a moment. Then, finally, she let out a slow exhale. “…Okay, that’s freakin’ wild. I thought you were trolling.”

Ronin gave her a mock-serious look, placing a hand over his heart. “Angel, you wound me. When have I ever trolled?”

She deadpanned. “All the time.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

Angel blinked again, disbelief still clouding her expression. “What are you even gonna do with an actual angel? Dude, you can’t just keep them like a stray cat.”

Ronin’s grin turned sharper, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, but I can, Angel. I really can.”

[dearkaslana]

𝐓𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 - 𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐆.𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟)

Words: 11k (Late special for 80 Followers!)

Inspo from @roninroaming 's art! Tire change I love their art!

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff)

Summary: Just a "accidental" sleepover with your man!

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW!

Violence and Gore – The narrative involves scenes from horror movies such as Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Saw, which feature extreme violence and graphic depictions of harm, along with mentions of blood and gore.

Blood and Body Horror – The repeated references to blood, gore, and horror elements like body mutilation could be disturbing to some readers.

It was after Christmas, after New Year’s. The festivities had passed, leaving behind the soft hum of fading holiday cheer.

You finally finished your fan tour. Yes, the book got famous—the main novel and even the side story. Your fans devoured it all, their enthusiasm feeding a whirlwind of success that left your head spinning. They loved every plot twist, every heart-wrenching moment, and every intricate detail you poured into those pages. So much so, they insisted on a meet-and-greet.

…It was annoying.

Two days of back-to-back fan events because your so-called “manager” couldn’t organize anything right. Two days of smiling until your cheeks hurt, answering the same questions in slightly different ways, and signing until your wrist threatened mutiny. Now, you understood Angel’s pain all too well. She had always hinted at the darker side of success, but this—this was a crash course.

It all started with Seabird Publishing House. They took a chance on your story, and suddenly, you were a name people knew. Directors now lined up at your doorstep, waving adaptation rights in your face. You were a rising star.

A dream come true.

Yet even as the dream unfolded, you realized something. Something better. Something irreplaceable.

Through it all, you found a family—unexpected, unconventional, but a family nonetheless—within a “serial killer server.”

Each one of them brought something unique to the table. Angel’s charm, so intoxicating and genuine, was a balm to anyone lucky enough to know her. V’s mysterious aura, with layers you’d only begun to peel back, kept you guessing and intrigued. Misaki’s chaos brought life to even the dullest moments, a spark that could ignite laughter from the most stoic among you.

Then there was Luca, with his unshakable sunniness that could brighten the darkest day. Felicie’s kindness wrapped around you like a warm blanket, offering quiet support when words failed. Vince, with his poetic admiration of sunsets, shared his thoughts in ways that painted beauty where others saw none. Ai Hua’s steady stream of thumbs-ups, simple yet somehow profound, reminded you that sometimes the smallest gestures carried the most weight.

And then there was Ronin.

Ronin with his edge, his intensity, his everything. He was chaos, danger, and something else entirely—something that had wormed its way into your chest and made a home there. You missed them all, but you missed him most.

Yes, you missed him.

The realization hit you harder than you wanted to admit. Three days had passed since you logged into the server. Three long, hectic days of meet-and-greets, interviews, and meetings. You hadn’t had a moment to breathe, let alone catch up with your found family. The ache of their absence crept into your thoughts, unbidden and relentless. But when you thought of him…

Well, it was a different ache entirely.

Ronin had opened up a little more this Christmas. Not much—he was still Ronin, after all. But enough for you to see past the sharp edges and into something softer, something vulnerable. He wasn’t the monster he pretended to be, and maybe… maybe he wasn’t as untouchable as you’d once believed.

New Year’s had been unforgettable. A shared kiss under the brilliance of fireworks, the colors dancing in the sky as your heart raced faster than you thought possible. His lips had been surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the man you thought you knew. The memory played on a loop in your mind, each replay accompanied by a flush of heat and a flutter in your chest.

Ugh.

It was embarrassing how much space he occupied in your thoughts. But that was Ronin. He had a way of getting under your skin, into your head, and staying there. And honestly? You didn’t hate it.

But you missed them. All of them. You missed the banter, the chaos, the comfort of knowing they were just a message away. Most of all, you missed him—his wit, his intensity, his presence.

You sighed as your car smoothly rolled into Purgatory, a small bag with your homemade apple crumble sitting on the passenger seat. As usual, it was for him. Ronin, with his sarcastic charm and maddening edginess, always looked forward to these visits—even if he’d never admit it outright.

The neighborhood was quiet, almost unnaturally perfect, the kind of perfection that made you feel like something ominous was lurking underneath. But at that moment, you didn’t care. You were in a love-struck haze, grinning like a fool as "Flawless" blasted through your speakers, your fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

It was cheesy. It was stupid. But you were so deep in your little love bubble that you almost forgot the chaos that usually surrounded your life. Thoughts of your server family danced in your head—Angel’s sweet encouragement, V’s dry humor, Misaki’s wild antics. You missed them so much! But if you were being honest, you missed him just a little bit more.

You were daydreaming about the next time you’d see Ronin when—BAM!

A loud POP jerked you out of your daydreams.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" you yelped as your car wobbled dangerously before grinding to a stop.

You pulled over, jumped out, and immediately spotted the culprit. One of your tires was flat—completely, irreparably flat.

“Ughhhhh!” you groaned, kicking the tire in frustration.

Big mistake.

“OW! OW, OW, OW!” you yelped, hopping on one foot as the pain shot up your leg. “Stupid car! Stupid tire! STUPID EVERYTHING!”

You slumped against the hood, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. You had planned to go home, log into the server, and finally catch up with everyone. But noooo, now you were stuck here, stranded in the middle of nowhere, your car practically mocking you with its uselessness.

"This is the worst," you muttered, glaring at the offending tire like it had personally betrayed you.

Groaning, you pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as you searched for a nearby mechanic. Relief washed over you when you found one just a few miles away. Great. Just great. Now you had to limp your car there on a busted tire.

Sliding back into the driver’s seat, you let out a heavy sigh. "This day can’t get any worse," you muttered, though you immediately regretted saying it because fate loved a good challenge.

The car grumbled and groaned with every revolution of the wheels, the uneven thud-thud-thud of the flat tire making your teeth clench. "I swear," you grumbled under your breath, gripping the steering wheel, "if this thing breaks down before I get there, I’m setting it on fire. I don’t care if it’s the middle of suburbia."

You inched forward, exhaustion crept up on you. The fan tour, the meet-and-greet, the endless smiling and pretending—you were done. All you wanted was to get home, log into the server, and see the chaos unfold with your found family.

"Ugh, stop it," you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head. "Focus on the road, not… him."

But the weight of the day pressed down on you, and the monotonous sound of the broken tire didn’t help. You felt your eyes droop slightly. You were just so… tired.

You pulled up to the mechanic shed, the broken tire scraping and thumping like a cruel metronome against your patience. As the car sputtered to a halt, you slumped over the steering wheel, exhausted.

The lights in the shed were dim, and a "CLOSED" sign hung mockingly from the door. You let out a groan, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration. “Of course, it’s closed,” you muttered. “Why wouldn’t it be? Perfect end to a perfect day.”

Steeling yourself, you decided to at least knock and beg for help. You opened your eyes—and froze.

Standing in the faint glow of the streetlamp was someone unmistakable.

He wasn’t wearing his usual black beanie with the grayish horizontal stripes and devil horns over his messy burgundy hair. Instead, his hair caught the faintest glint of light, wild and untamed. His eyes—those black, endless voids—locked onto you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Ronin stood there, leaning casually against the wall like he owned the place. A shiny black leather jacket hung off his frame, riddled with scissors, pins, and safety pins that glinted in the dim light. Beneath it, a black t-shirt emblazoned with a grinning skull peeked through. His ripped maroon pants gave him an almost devil-may-care charm, and the GTrans bracelet on his wrist gleamed faintly, a subtle rebellion wrapped in tech.

Your breath hitched.

“Oh... my god,” you muttered under your breath, the realization hitting you like a truck. Of course. Of course this would happen.

You had somehow forgotten, amidst the chaos of the last few days, that your sweet, edgy, murder-loving boyfriend wasn’t just a killer with a penchant for theatrics—he was also a damn mechanic.

“Oh, the gods are laughing at me today,” you whispered, shaking your head as you stepped out of the car, trying to compose yourself.

Ronin tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he sauntered closer. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice oozing with amusement. “Look who stumbled into my little slice of purgatory. And here I thought you’d forgotten all about me, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. All you could do was stare at him, equal parts flustered and exasperated.

You cleared your throat, snapping yourself out of the trance his presence always seemed to induce. “Ronin! Hi!” you greeted, though your tone came out half-exasperated, half-relieved.

His smirk widened as he raised an eyebrow, casually shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Missed me, darlin’?” he teased, his voice dripping with that familiar mix of flirtation and mischief.

You crossed your arms, doing your best to look unimpressed despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Ehh… don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed your act. “Anyway, I’m not here for a reunion. My car—ugh—tire’s busted, and I just need it fixed so I can get home and finally log in to the server.”

Ronin’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he listened, his grin softening into something almost fond. “Tough day, huh? Fan meet didn’t go so well?”

You groaned, throwing your hands up. “It was a disaster! Two days of back-to-back chaos because my manager is useless. I hated every second of it. I’ve never been so drained in my life.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like a hug. “That does sound like hell,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the garage. “C’mon in. I’ll take care of it.”

Relief washed over you as you followed him inside. The garage smelled faintly of grease and metal, a strangely comforting contrast to the suffocating sweetness of the fan meet venues. Ronin pulled out a chair, motioning for you to sit.

“You’re my savior,” you said with a dramatic sigh as you plopped down.

He smirked over his shoulder as he grabbed his tools. “Savior, devil, mechanic—it’s a wonder I don’t charge extra for all the roles I play. Since you’re my lover, though, maybe I’ll give you a discount.”

You grinned, leaning back in your seat. “Oh, maybe, huh? Some boyfriend you are.”

His laugh echoed through the garage, light and genuine. “We’ll see,” he said, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment, glinting with something unspoken. His smile lingered—soft, warm, and so unlike his usual devilish smirk. Maybe… maybe he’d missed you too.

As he started working on your car, you noticed the little container sitting nearby, the one you’d handed him earlier. Sure enough, he was eating the apple crumble you’d brought him.

“Hey,” you called out, “how’s the crumble?”

He glanced at you, a crumb sticking to the corner of his mouth, and grinned. “It’s good,” he said simply, his voice softening in a way that made your heart skip.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a bit shy under his gaze. Ronin noticed immediately, pausing his work and quirking an eyebrow at you. “What?” he asked, though his tone was already laced with mischief.

You shook your head quickly, trying to play it cool. “Nothing,” you said, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

He smirked, leaning against the car with his arms crossed, his dark eyes practically twinkling. “Oh, come on, darlin’. You’re not usually this quiet. What’s got you all flustered?”

“I’m not flustered!” you shot back, sitting up straighter in an attempt to regain some of your dignity. “And don’t call me that!”

Ronin’s grin widened, his teasing becoming relentless. “Darlin’, darlin’, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gotta say, I like it when you call me that too.”

Your face burned, and you huffed, standing up abruptly to face him. “You know what? You must’ve missed me more than I missed you,” you retorted, crossing your arms in a weak attempt to shield yourself from the storm of emotions he always seemed to stir up.

Ronin tilted his head, his expression turning mock-thoughtful. “Hmm, maybe. Or maybe you’re just really bad at hiding how much you missed me.” His grin turned softer, almost fond, and you knew you were losing this battle.

“Shut up,” you muttered, stepping closer to him despite yourself.

Before you could overthink it, you grabbed him by the collar of his shiny leather jacket and pulled him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a sweet, desperate kiss. For a moment, the world seemed to stop—no broken car, no exhausting fan meet, just him.

His mouth tasted faintly of apple crumble, warm and sweet, and as the kiss deepened, you felt a jolt of something electric shoot through you. He kissed you like he always did—like destruction, chaos, and temptation wrapped in something maddeningly irresistible.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “you really missed me, didn’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but the breathlessness in your laugh gave you away. “Maybe I did,” you admitted softly, your hands still clutching his jacket.

Ronin’s smile turned impossibly tender, and he leaned down again, brushing his lips against yours in a way that was softer this time “’I missed you too, darlin’.”

You sat there, legs crossed, watching Ronin work. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the lean muscles of his arms as he worked on your car. The way his hands moved with practiced ease, the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he focused, and the occasional glint of his dark eyes—it was maddeningly distracting.

You tried not to stare. Really, you did. But every time you looked away, your eyes were drawn back to him like a moth to a flame. It didn’t help that the grease smudged across his face and the glint of metal tools in his hands only added to the rugged charm he wore so effortlessly.

Finally, he glanced up, catching you mid-stare. “What’chu lookin’ at?” he asked, his voice carrying that teasing edge that always made your heart race.

You quickly averted your gaze, trying to play it cool. “The car,” you said, a little too quickly.

Ronin snorted, straightening up and wiping his hands on a rag. “The car’s in bad shape, darlin’,” he said, gesturing to the broken tire and other issues. “She’s not gonna be ready until tomorrow at the earliest.”

You groaned, pulling out your phone to figure out your next move, but when you pressed the power button, the screen remained black. Your battery was dead. Perfect. You wanted to scream, maybe even cry, but instead, you let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Life is so shawty,” you muttered under your breath, clutching your phone like it had personally betrayed you.

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your theatrics. “Gonna call a cab?” he asked, though his smirk suggested he already knew the answer.

You shot him a look, holding up your dead phone. “I was gonna call a cab, but obviously, that’s not happening now.”

He studied you for a moment, the gears in his mind turning. Then, suddenly, he grinned. That devilish, mischievous grin you’d come to recognize as the prelude to one of his infamous plans.

“What?” you asked warily, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Got an idea,” he said simply, his voice low and full of implication.

Before you could ask what that meant, you stood up—and promptly tripped over a stray oil canister. You went down hard, landing in a puddle of grease with a loud thud. For a moment, you just sat there, stunned and mortified, as the slick substance seeped into your clothes.

Ronin burst out laughing, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, darlin’, you’re killin’ me,” he said between breaths, his laughter ringing through the shop.

“Why the hell am I so trippy today?” you groaned, wiping at the grease on your hands, though it only made things worse.

Ronin crouched down beside you, still chuckling as he patted your head affectionately. “C’mon, grease monkey,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I got a plan, remember?”

You raised an eyebrow, still suspicious but curious despite yourself. “What plan?”

He grinned, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip a beat. “Sleepover,” he said, his voice practically purring. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “A sleepover? Like, here?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, but his smirk gave him away. “Unless you wanna spend the night walkin’ home in greasy clothes with no phone and no car.”

Realization dawned, and you broke into a wide grin. “You mean it?”

“Course I mean it,” he said, standing back up and gesturing around the shop. “Ain’t much, but it’s got a roof, a couch, and me. What more could you want?”

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yay!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. Without thinking, you jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck in an impulsive hug.

Ronin stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but then his arms came around you, holding you close. “Careful there, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “You’re still covered in grease.”

You pulled back, laughing despite yourself. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Ronin led you up the narrow staircase to his house, which was tucked away just behind the garage. The walk was short, but the moment he opened the door, he turned to you with a playful smirk and said, “Welcome to the Hell”

You stepped inside and glanced around. The place was... messy, but not in a gross way. More like a chaotic bachelor pad with an oddly cozy charm. Clothes were draped over the back of the couch, empty coffee mugs lined the counter, and random tools and knickknacks were scattered around. Despite the clutter, it smelled faintly of leather and spice—distinctly Ronin.

“It’s definitely messy,” you teased, grinning at him, “but... it’s cozy! Kinda suits you, honestly.”

He gave you a look, somewhere between amusement and mock offense, before chuckling. “Thanks. And I mean it, darlin’—I don’t get many compliments about this place.”

Before you could respond, he tossed a bundle of clothes at you. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom. “Freshen up. You’re covered in grease, and you’re not gonna wanna sit on anything until you get cleaned up.”

You caught the clothes with a raised eyebrow. “What about you? You’ve been working in grease all day too.”

His grin widened, clearly catching on to what you meant. “What, you worried about me now? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take my turn after you.”

You folded your arms, pretending to think it over. “Nah, you first. It’s your house, after all.”

“Uh-uh, darlin’,” he said, shaking his head. “This ain’t up for debate. You’re the guest, so you’re goin’ first.”

Realizing there was no point in arguing, you sighed dramatically. “No, I’m gonna prepare something in your kitchen. Coffee or tea sound good?”

He tilted his head, giving you a mock-serious look. “You can make whatever you want, but don’t make it too greasy. I’ve had enough grease for one day.”

You smirked, unable to resist. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Mechanic.”

That earned you a light pinch on the cheek, his fingers surprisingly gentle. “Go on, troublemaker,” he said, his tone softer now.

With that, he turned and disappeared into the small restroom, leaving you standing in his living room with the bundle of clothes. You glanced toward the kitchen, deciding it was time to live up to your promise.

You rummaged through his cabinets, you found a kettle, some tea bags, and an ancient-looking coffee maker. “This’ll do,” you mumbled to yourself, getting to work. The thought of surprising Ronin with a warm drink made you smile—you were determined to do something nice for him, even if his kitchen was a little chaotic.

While the kettle boiled, you couldn’t help but glance toward the bathroom door, a small smile tugging at your lips. Messy house or not, it felt oddly comforting to be here, in his space, where the smell of him lingered and every corner seemed to carry a piece of his personality.

You poured the hot water over the tea and set the mug down just as you heard the shower turn off. Ronin’s voice carried from behind the door. “You better not be burnin’ down my kitchen, darlin’!”

You rolled your eyes, calling back, “Your kitchen’s still standing—for now!”

Ronin emerged from the bathroom, towel slung over his neck as he dried his burgundy hair. He was wearing an oversized, slightly wrinkled t-shirt that hung loosely over his frame, paired with baggy shorts and mismatched socks. The casual look was... unfairly attractive on him, and you found yourself staring for a second too long.

Noticing your gaze, he smirked and let out a sharp whistle, snapping you back to reality. “Hey, darlin’. Enjoying the view?”

You huffed, pretending to ignore him. “Thanks for the reminder to get back to reality.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Reality’s overrated.” He reached out and lightly poked your forehead with his finger, stopping you mid-motion. You blinked up at him, confused, and before you could say anything, he flicked your forehead gently.

“Ow!” You pouted, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

“For zoning out,” he teased. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re still daydreaming about me.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically and grabbed the bundle of clothes he handed you earlier. “Whatever. Tea’s ready. Now get out of my way so I can clean up.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping aside with a playful grin. “Yes, . I’ll go enjoy my tea.. if it hasn’t turned into sludge in my absence.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before disappearing into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You started to clean up, you could hear him humming faintly from the other room. His voice, warm and relaxed, paired with the cozy atmosphere of his home, made you feel unexpectedly at ease.

You emerged from the bathroom, feeling a bit fresher but still shivering slightly. The oversized white t-shirt Ronin had given you hung loosely over your frame, and the little shorts he’d tossed in for good measure were surprisingly comfortable. You padded barefoot into the living room, rubbing your arms for warmth as you spotted him lounging on the couch, coffee mug in hand.

“Ah-choo!” you sneezed loudly, shaking your head as you plopped down on the opposite end of the couch.

Ronin glanced over, eyebrows raised. “Cold?”

“Yeah, the water was a bit chilly,” you said with a small laugh, sniffling.

He tilted his head in disbelief. “Didn’t you turn on the water heater?”

You blinked, your cheeks flushing. “...Nope.”

A grin spread across his face, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Tehee?” he mocked, imitating your tone perfectly. “Darlin’, you really are somethin’ else.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, curling your legs up under you on the couch. “So, what’s the plan? Are we just gonna sleep, or... you know, do something fun?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking a long sip of his coffee before setting the mug down. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. If you’re tired, the couch is all yours.”

You nodded, smiling softly as you moved to settle in on the couch. “Okay, sounds good—”

Before you could finish, Ronin’s hand shot out, grabbing yours and tugging you back. You let out a startled yelp as you tumbled backward, landing against him with a soft thud.

“Ehhhh!” you gasped, gripping the front of his shirt to steady yourself.

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing in your ear. “Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed mockingly, his arms resting lightly on either side of you. “You really thought I was gonna let you off that easy, huh?”

You stared up at him, your heart pounding. “Ronin...”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m not that cruel.” His tone softened, and he leaned back slightly, giving you space but keeping you close enough to feel his warmth. “But you shouldn’t take everything so seriously, darlin’. You’ll wear yourself out.”

You exhaled shakily, letting your guard down a little. “It’s fine,” you said quietly, your fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt.

He glanced down, his eyes briefly scanning your outfit. “You look good in white,” he remarked, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, feeling your face heat up.

Ronin’s expression shifted, his grin turning sharper. “Though, if you were covered in blood, it’d look even better.”

Your head snapped up, your brows furrowing. “...What? Like blood lilies or something?”

He let out a low laugh, his gaze gleaming with mischief. “Just sayin’ you’d look like a masterpiece.”

You groaned, shoving lightly at his chest. “This is supposed to be a sleepover, not one of your weird murder monologues!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his laughter echoing through the room. “Alright, alright. No murder talk tonight. Pinky promise.”

You eyed him suspiciously but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”

You sat comfortably, the conversation turned toward how the evening would play out.

“Alright, darlin’,” Ronin said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to distract you momentarily. “How about we set up for a movie night? Got some good tapes in my room. Best collection of yours truly."

“Your room?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, my room. Don’t worry—‘other stuff’ means movies, nothing weird.”

You snickered, standing up and following him. “Sure, sure. Lead the way, oh mysterious one.”

He smirked over his shoulder and opened the door to his room. It was surprisingly cozy—cluttered, yes, but in a lived-in way. There was a stack of VHS tapes by a small TV,.

“Whoa, what’s that?” you asked, stepping closer as Ronin watched you with amusement.

“My pets,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “C’mere. Meet Pepperoni and Blackjack.”

Your eyes widened as he opened the terrarium, revealing a sleek, vibrant snake that coiled lazily around his hand as he lifted it. “This is Pepperoni,” he said, holding the snake up for you to see. Its black-and-gold scales shimmered under the light, and it flicked its tongue curiously.

You blinked, taking a hesitant step back. “I think I’ll pass on holding that one, thanks.”

He chuckled, clearly amused. “Suit yourself. Pepper’s a sweetheart, though.”

Your attention shifted to the cage, where a small, fluffy rat sat chewing on a piece of food. “And who’s this little guy?” you asked, your tone softening as you crouched down.

“That’s Blackjack,” Ronin replied. “The little troublemaker of the house.”

Without hesitation, you opened the cage and gently picked up the rat, who squeaked but quickly settled in your hands. “Aww, you’re so cute!” you cooed, cradling Blackjack carefully.

Ronin snorted, watching the scene unfold. “Figures. Most people are scared of Blackjack, but you’re out here actin’ like he’s the cutest thing alive.”

“He is the cutest thing alive,” you shot back, stroking Blackjack’s fur.

Pepperoni flicked its tongue at you from Ronin’s hand, and you stuck your tongue out in return. “Still not holding the snake, though.”

“Your loss,” Ronin teased, letting Pepperoni coil around his arm. “But hey, Blackjack likes you, so I guess you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, setting the rat back in his cage. “You’ve got quite the little zoo here.”

“Only the best for the Devil,” he said with a wink. “Now, you ready to set up for this movie night or what?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, grinning.

With Pepperoni draped casually around his shoulders, Ronin handed you a stack of pillows and blankets, and the two of you started arranging them on the floor of his room

Ronin’s smirk grew wider as you squealed, clearly entertained by your reactions. He gently guided your hands to hold Pepperoni, carefully draping the snake around your arms. “C’mon, darlin’, it’s just a little snake,” he said, his voice full of amusement as you hesitated. “She won’t bite unless you piss her off.”

You giggled nervously, your hands trembling just a bit as Pepperoni slithered across your arms. “It’s so...slimy!” you squeaked, but there was an undeniable excitement in your voice.

“See? Told you It’s cute,” Ronin said, his tone teasing as he watched you fidget. “Just don’t freak out on me now. It's pretty chill.”

You squealed again, but this time it was more out of delight than fear. “Pepper!” you cooed, your hands slowly becoming more comfortable with the soft, slithery sensation of the snake. “You’re so adorable!”

Ronin chuckled, clearly enjoying the sight of you bonding with Pepperoni. “Yeah, I knew you’d come around. Look at you, all soft with my child here.”

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing slightly from the attention. “You know, I never thought I’d be holding a snake today,” you said, laughing nervously but genuinely enjoying the moment. “It’s cute, though, in a weird, slithery way.”

“Thought you’d say that.” Ronin’s grin turned playful as he watched you interact with the snake. “I think it likes you.”

You gave Pepperoni a gentle stroke down her smooth back, and the snake flicked its tongue out at you, seemingly in approval. “Well, I like them too. Maybe it can stay here, and Blackjack can be my buddy.”

“That’s the spirit, darlin’,” Ronin said, clearly amused by your change in attitude. “But no promises on which one’s more trouble.”

You laughed, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment settling over you. Despite the oddities of Ronin’s life—his pets, his chaotic nature—this felt oddly perfect. Pepperoni nestled herself more comfortably in your arms as if sensing the calm around her.

“You’re alright, Pepper,” you whispered softly, making Ronin smile with a knowing look. “And I guess you’re not too bad either,” you added, glancing up at him with a playful grin.

“You’re full of surprises, darlin’,” he said, reaching out to gently pat Pepperoni’s head. “But you’re definitely more comfortable with her than I thought you’d be. You just needed a little nudge in the right direction, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face couldn’t be hidden. “Maybe. I’ll admit it—I’m getting used to your weirdness.”

“That’s the first step, sweetheart.” Ronin gave you a soft look as you held Pepperoni carefully, and his teasing expression softened for a moment. “

Ronin was moving around, grabbing extra pillows and blankets, as he made a cozy little space on the floor in his room. His hands were quick and efficient, pulling everything together to create a comfy spot for your movie night. He glanced over at you, still holding both Pepperoni and Blackjack with the most tender, protective care, like a mother cradling her little ones. You were genuinely smitten with the animals, and the sight of you bonding with them made Ronin’s heart soften, despite the tough exterior he tried so hard to maintain.

"Look at you," Ronin said with a teasing smile, his eyes gleaming with affection as he laid out the final blanket on the floor. "You’re all overprotective of my pets now, huh?"

You giggled, holding Pepperoni and Blackjack close to your chest like they were the most precious things in the world. "They’re just so cute! I love them already," you said, grinning wide. "I can’t believe I was ever scared of them."

Ronin sat back on his heels, eyes softened by your gentle smile. "Well, I knew you'd come around," he said with a smirk. "Look at you, all cozy with my animals now. Can’t say I didn’t warn you."

You rolled your eyes playfully at him but couldn’t help but beam with affection. "They’re so sweet! Pepperoni’s like a little snake cuddle bug," you said, carefully shifting both of them to make room for yourself on the blankets. "And Blackjack... Blackjack’s a whole mood. I love how feisty he is."

"You’re a natural," Ronin teased, finally getting to work on setting up his own spot, lying back onto the freshly made blanket pile. "I guess this’ll be your permanent home now, huh? First the couch, now the floor. You’re gonna need a bigger space for all that love you’ve got for my pets."

You scooted over onto the blankets with Pepperoni and Blackjack in tow, settling down beside Ronin, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I wouldn’t mind it," you replied, laughing softly as you tucked yourself in. "This is comfy! I could totally see myself spending more time here."

Ronin’s smirk softened into something warmer. He sat up, glancing at you with a quiet kind of affection before handing you the remote. "Alright, sweetheart, pick the movie. I’ll let you choose—since you’re obviously in charge of the pets now," he said, his voice teasing but filled with a subtle warmth.

You chuckled, looking at him through your lashes as you took the remote from his hand. "Well, if I’m in charge of the pets, you’re in charge of snacks," you quipped. "And by snacks, I mean anything sweet that you might have in this den of yours."

"Alright, alright, I’ll get the snacks," Ronin said, standing up and stretching. "But don’t think you’re getting away with it so easy. You’re gonna have to share some of that love with me too, darlin’."

With that, he headed to the kitchen, leaving you snuggling with the animals. You couldn’t stop smiling—between the warm blankets, the two cute pets, and Ronin’s easygoing, yet slightly possessive presence, it felt like you were finally finding your place in his world.

Pepperoni coiled herself comfortably on your lap, while Blackjack settled beside you, making content little squeaks. It felt so peaceful, so right, even in the midst of Ronin’s chaotic world. You ran your fingers through Pepperoni’s scales, a soft smile still lingering on your lips.

Ronin quietly put the pets back in their respective spots, making sure they were comfortable before heading back to you. He grabbed a plate of food he had prepared earlier, setting it on the low table between you both. With a soft smile, he poured you a cup of pu-erh tea, the rich, earthy aroma filling the air as he handed it to you.

"Here," he said, with that familiar mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Hope it’s to your liking."

You took the cup with a grateful smile, your fingers brushing his for just a moment. "Thank you," you murmured, the warmth of the tea comforting you.

Ronin's eyes softened for a second, before his mischievous grin returned. Without warning, he threw a soft plushie at you. You blinked, surprised as it hit your chest. It was a goose plushie, its beady eyes staring up at you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. "What the hell, Ronin?" you said, holding it up and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

He laughed and shrugged. "I think it’s funny. Plus, you’re in my den now, darlin'. You’ve gotta embrace the weird."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the blanket that was laid out on the floor and threw it toward you. You yelped, startled by his playful antics as the blanket landed on top of you.

"You’re really pushing it tonight, huh?" you grumbled, trying to maintain a tough exterior.

Ronin just smirked, before walking over and sitting beside you. He casually draped the blanket over both of you, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His touch was gentle, but there was a subtle, teasing glint in his eyes.

He kissed your forehead softly, the gesture tender and loving. As he pulled back, he playfully flicked your forehead, and you let out a soft huff, trying to hold onto your tough facade.

"Hmph," you muttered, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down, you were softening under his affection.

Ronin chuckled and spoke something in Cantonese, his voice low and playful.

"你真可愛 (Nei zan ho oi)." He said with a teasing grin.

You blinked, trying to make sense of what he said. "What?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, confused.

He leaned closer, his face just inches from yours, his eyes glinting with amusement. Slowly, he turned your head to face him, your gazes locking. For a split second, you both stayed still, the tension thick in the air, almost on the verge of a kiss.

But Ronin suddenly broke the moment with a playful smirk. "Darlin’... the movie," he reminded you, his voice teasing yet soft, his breath warm against your lips.

The screen lit up with the opening credits of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you blinked at the title in disbelief. Of all the movies he could’ve picked, you had really thought Ronin might go for something romantic—some cliché sappy flick to match his occasional sweet words.

But no. Of course, he went with blood, gore, and chaos. Typical.

You glanced at him, squinting. “Really?” you asked, pointing at the screen.

He just smirked and shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of you and drawing you closer. “What? It’s a classic, darlin “Besides, you said it was fine, darlin’. No backing out now.”

You huffed, but your lips twitched into a small smile. “Fine,” you muttered, settling against him. “But if I get nightmares, it’s your fault.”

The movie started, and it didn’t take long for the blood and chaos to unfold. At the first particularly gruesome scene, you let out an involuntary scream, clutching onto Ronin like your life depended on it. His chest rumbled with laughter, his hand coming up to ruffle your hair.

“Aw, poor thing,” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “Didn’t know you were so delicate.”

You glared at him, but the next jump scare had you clinging to him again. He laughed even harder, his arm tightening around you. “This is gold,” he muttered, clearly enjoying himself.

The movie went on, though, the gore stopped bothering you as much. In fact, you started focusing more on the characters, your writer brain kicking into full gear.

“That guy’s an idiot,” you muttered, gesturing to the screen as one of the characters made a particularly stupid decision. “Like, who thinks splitting up in the middle of nowhere is a good idea? It’s like they want to get murdered.”

Ronin glanced at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh? And what would you have them do, genius?”

“They should’ve stayed together,” you said, your tone firm. “And they should’ve been armed. Like, why do they never carry weapons? It’s basic survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Listen to you, plotting their whole survival strategy. What are you gonna do next, darlin’? Rewrite the script?”

You shot him a mock glare. “I’m just saying, it’s frustrating when characters act so unrealistically. If I were writing this, they’d at least have some common sense.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, his smirk widening. “That writer brain of yours. Can’t even watch a horror movie without tearing it apart. You’re adorable, you know that?”

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to play it off with a shrug. “I just think it could be better, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, leaning in closer. “Keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, you’re over here analyzing every character like you’re their therapist.”

You elbowed him lightly, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “And what’s wrong with that? It’s not my fault they’re poorly written.”

He laughed, his eyes glinting with amusement as he looked down at you. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. But don’t worry—if Leatherface shows up, I’ll protect you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your sarcasm.

By the time the movie ended, you were leaning comfortably against him, your earlier fear replaced by a strange sense of contentment. Ronin reached for the remote and turned off the screen, glancing down at you with a smirk.

“So,” he said, “what’s the verdict? Was it romantic enough for you?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. “Oh, absolutely,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing says romance like chainsaws and gore.”

He chuckled, his fingers gently brushing against your shoulder. “Glad you liked it, sweetheart.

Ronin sifted through the stack of DVDs with one hand, the other still casually draped around your shoulders. You leaned against him, watching as he inspected each case. After the chaos of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you were bracing yourself for another round of gore. When he stopped on Saw, your stomach sank.

“Nope. Absolutely not,” you said, your voice firm. “I can’t handle another movie where people are chopped up like deli meat.”

He turned to you, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Too much for you?”

“Yes, too much for me,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Pick something comforting for once. Don’t you have, like, a favorite movie that isn’t about blood and guts?”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your insistence. He looked back at the DVDs, muttering under his breath. “Comforting, huh?”

After a moment, he let out a soft sigh and picked up a case with a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. “Maybe this,” he said, holding it up.

You blinked at the title. Heathers.

“Oh,” you said, sitting up straighter. “That’s... unexpected.”

“What?” he asked with a smirk. “Not enough blood and murder for you?”

“No, it’s just—” You paused, tilting your head. “Actually, never mind. Put it on."

He slid the disc into the player, and as the opening credits rolled, you found yourself stealing glances at him. Something about the way he looked at the screen, a little softer and more thoughtful than usual, made you curious.

The movie unfolded, and you couldn’t help but get sucked into the dark humor and iconic lines. But when J.D. appeared on screen, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting out, “You know, J.D. kinda reminds me of you.”

Ronin froze mid-sip of his tea, slowly lowering the cup to glare at you. “Excuse me?”

You grinned, loving the reaction already. “I’m just saying! He’s all intense, mysterious, a little unhinged. Very ‘I-do-what-I-want’ vibes. Totally you.”

Ronin leaned back against the couch, giving you the most offended look you’d ever seen. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. “Did you just compare me to that twink?”

You burst out laughing, unable to stop yourself. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad! J.D. is, like, the ultimate bad boy. You should be flattered.”

He stared at you, his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Flattered?” he repeated. “He’s a whiny, melodramatic man-child who thinks he’s edgy because he wears a trench coat. You really think that’s me?”

“Well,” you teased, leaning in closer. “You both do have a flair for theatrics. And the whole brooding, dangerous vibe? Spot on.”

Ronin groaned, running a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “What the fuck did I fall in love with? An idiot?”

You giggled, clearly enjoying how much it got under his skin. “Admit it. You see the resemblance.”

“The only thing I see is that you have terrible taste in comparisons,” he shot back. “J.D.’s just... ugh. No. Not even close.”

“But,” you continued, ignoring his protests, “Heathers is a good movie, right? You have to admit, it’s got some great lines. Like, ‘Our love is God.’ Very Ronin-core.”

He shook his head, looking both amused and exasperated. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna start regretting letting you stay here tonight.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me,” he said, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

The movie went on, you both got caught up in the story, occasionally pausing to debate certain scenes. When the moment came where J.D. goes completely off the rails, you gave Ronin a pointed look.

“Okay, this part is very you,” you said, gesturing at the screen.

Ronin threw a pillow at you without hesitation. “You’re done. No more comparisons.”

You laughed, catching the pillow and hugging it to your chest. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop. But seriously, do you not see why people like this movie so much? It’s dark, it’s funny, it’s... weirdly relatable?”

He considered that for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, I get it,” he admitted. “There’s something about the way it shows how messed up people can be, but still... human, y’know? Even the worst of ‘em.”

You smiled at his thoughtful response, feeling a little proud of him for looking past the surface. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so good. It’s not just about the chaos—it’s about what drives it.”

He nodded, leaning back against the couch again. “Still not J.D., though.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said, holding up your hands in surrender. “You’re way cooler than J.D. Happy?”

“Much,” he said with a smirk.

The movie ended, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the credits rolling in the background. You turned to him, a small smile on your lips. “So,” you said softly. “What did you think?”

He shrugged, but there was a glint of appreciation in his eyes. “Not bad,” he admitted. “Still think you’re insane for comparing me to that guy, though.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re just mad because I called him a twink.”

Ronin rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, and I’ll find a way to make you regret it.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” you teased, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t respond, but his arm came up to wrap around you, pulling you a little closer. Despite the banter, the warmth between you was undeniable.

The credits rolled on Heathers, Ronin leaned back, his gaze lingering on the screen with an expression you didn’t see often—soft, almost nostalgic. His lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile as he exhaled deeply.

“This is my comfort movie,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “Dunno why, but it’s... nice.”

You blinked in surprise, watching the way his eyes softened in the flickering light of the screen. It was rare to see him this unguarded. “Really? Heathers? I mean, I get it, but... I didn’t think you’d have a ‘comfort’ anything.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t make it weird, darlin’. Sometimes I just like somethin’ that reminds me... I dunno, that people are complicated. Flawed. And that’s okay.”

You smiled at his honesty, turning your attention back to the screen. The quiet moment between you felt strangely intimate, as if Heathers had peeled back a layer of his usual bravado to reveal something deeper.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him shifting slightly away from you. The change was subtle, but you felt the absence of his warmth immediately. You turned to him, concern knitting your brows.

“Ronin?” you asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his tone light, though his eyes flickered with something else. “Just... remembered someone, is all.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight in a way that told you it wasn’t “nothing” at all. Still, you didn’t press. Instead, you reached out, gently taking his hand in yours.

“If you need space, I can—”

“No,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your hand. His eyes met yours, sharp yet vulnerable. “I’m fine. Stay.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Okay.”

The moment hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, until he cleared his throat and stood up abruptly. “Right. Enough of that,” he said, his tone shifting back to his usual devil-may-care attitude. “Let’s do another movie.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You mean another comfort movie?”

He smirked, heading toward his DVD stack. “Something like that.”

You watched as he sifted through the cases, his movements deliberate but slightly mischievous. He pulled out a DVD and held it up, the grin on his face widening.

Your stomach dropped. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone dripping with mock enthusiasm as he displayed the case proudly.

“No,” you repeated, more emphatically this time, as you stared at the title.

Saw.

“Yup,” he said, popping the disc into the player. “Let’s get cozy, darlin’.”

“Ronin, I swear—”

But it was too late. The screen lit up with the ominous opening sequence, and you could already feel the dread pooling in your chest. You turned to him, your expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

“Comfort movie, my ass,” you muttered.

He plopped back down beside you, pulling the blanket around both of you with a satisfied smirk. “What can I say? There’s just somethin’ about a little creative problem-solving under pressure.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” he said, his voice low and amused.

The movie started, you couldn’t help but glance over at him. Despite your protests, you could see the way his eyes lit up at the screen, his smirk fading into an expression of genuine interest. It was maddening how much he enjoyed this stuff—but then again, it was also so him.

Saw unfolded on the screen, you quickly regretted every decision that led to this moment. The infamous reverse bear trap scene came up, Amanda crying and panicking as the countdown ticked mercilessly down. The sound effects, the tension, the gore—it all sent chills down your spine.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA!” you screamed, clutching the blanket tightly against your chest as if it could shield you from the horror. “NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!”

Ronin, on the other hand, was the picture of calm, his sharp eyes locked on the screen with a faint smirk. “Classic,” he murmured under his breath, clearly unbothered by the grotesque imagery.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Another loud sound from the screen had you flinging yourself at him, burying your face into his chest. “RONIN, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” you shrieked, muffled against his shirt.

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and patted your back, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Darlin’, it’s just a movie,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “You’re actin’ like Jigsaw’s about to crawl outta the TV.”

“HE MIGHT!” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and you pressed your face deeper into his chest, refusing to look at the screen. “This is torture! Actual torture!”

“You’re so dramatic,” he teased, shaking his head. But despite his words, his hand rested on your back, rubbing small, reassuring circles.

Another scream from the movie made you jump so hard you nearly climbed into his lap. He burst out laughing, his chest vibrating under your cheek. “Oh, darlin’, you’re killin’ me,” he said between chuckles. “It’s just fake blood.”

“It looks real!” you snapped, finally peeking up at him. His amused expression only made your blood boil more. “Why are you so calm?! Do you have ice water in your veins?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his smirk widening. “Or maybe I’m just built different.”

You groaned, swatting at his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable,” he shot back, his voice softening just a fraction.

Your cheeks burned at the unexpected compliment, but before you could respond, another gory scene flashed on the screen. You let out an involuntary shriek, practically throwing yourself onto him this time. His laughter filled the room, loud and unapologetic.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, darlin’, I think I’m about to be your next victim,” he joked, though his arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Shut up!” you mumbled into his chest. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate—”

A particularly loud squelching sound interrupted you, and you let out another scream. At this point, you weren’t even sure if it was fear or frustration fueling your outbursts. All you knew was that you were glued to Ronin, and there was no way you were watching another second of this movie without him as your human shield.

The screen went black and the end credits of Saw rolled, you let out the loudest, most dramatic sigh of relief imaginable. "FINALLY! It's over!" you declared, throwing your hands up like you’d just survived a warzone.

It was then you realized you weren’t holding the plushie Ronin had thrown at you earlier. No, instead of the goose plushie or even his oddly named "Devil" plush, you were clutching onto him like your life depended on it. Your arms were tightly wound around his torso, and your head was nestled comfortably against his shoulder.

“Uh…” you blinked, processing the situation, then shot him a wide-eyed look.

Ronin tilted his head slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Comfortable there, darlin’?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

You practically launched yourself off him, retreating to your side of the makeshift movie-watching setup so fast you might as well have left a dust trail. "WH-WH-WHAT?! NO! I—UH—PLUSHIE! I THOUGHT—"

He threw his head back and laughed, his low, rich chuckle echoing through the room. “Oh, this is priceless,” he said between breaths, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “You really ditched the plushie for me, huh?”

You sat there, clutching the goose plush to your chest now like it could erase the memory of your impromptu cuddle session. "I DIDN’T MEAN TO!" you blurted, your face burning with embarrassment. “It’s your fault for putting on such a terrifying movie!”

“Sure, sure,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. His teasing smile only grew as he leaned back against the pillows, watching your flustered reaction like it was the real entertainment. “You scream, you cry, and now you use me as a teddy bear. Guess I really am a jack-of-all-trades.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, glaring at him. But your glare had no bite, especially when your cheeks were still so red.

“Hey, I’m not complainin’,” he added with a shrug, his voice softer now. “Kinda cute, actually. You clingin’ to me like that.”

Your embarrassment doubled, and you buried your face in the plushie. "You’re the worst."

“And yet, here you are.” He chuckled again, clearly having way too much fun at your expense.

You peeked out from behind the plushie, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t think this means I like Saw now.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” he said with a grin. “But admit it, darlin’—watchin’ it with me made it… tolerable.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Maybe,” you admitted begrudgingly. “But next time, I’m picking the movie.”

Ronin smirked. “Deal. Just as long as it doesn’t put me to sleep.”

The movie droned on in the background, the slow, melodramatic music barely making a ripple in the heavy silence between you two. Ronin, lounging beside you, had shifted slightly, clearly bored, his hand resting on the blanket, his eyes flicking from the screen to you every few seconds.

You, on the other hand, were fighting to keep your eyes open, the events of the night catching up to you. It had been a long day of tension, teasing, and some undeniably embarrassing moments. You yawned quietly, doing your best to hide it behind your hand, but Ronin caught it anyway.

“You tired?” he asked, his voice a soft hum next to you.

You quickly shook your head, trying to feign alertness. "No, no, just—uh… stretching."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your act, but didn't press. Instead, he grabbed the remote and clicked the pause button, halting the movie mid-scene.

“Thank you,” you breathed, dramatically throwing yourself back into the pillows, “This is a blessing.”

Ronin’s lips twitched into an amused grin. “You really don’t like this movie, do you?”

You shook your head, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “Not really. It’s so… dumb.”

He blinked in surprise. “Dumb? What’s so dumb about it?”

You scoffed, sitting up slightly as you explained, “The man’s literally tearing himself apart because he’s stuck in the past. He can't say ‘I love you’ to this person because of some memories with his first love. And the other person is making him choose between them or his past. It’s just… dumb.”

Ronin’s head tilted slightly, the usual cocky edge to his expression faltering for a moment. “You’re saying it’s dumb because of the past?”

You nodded, feeling strangely passionate about it. “Yeah. It’s like… why should someone have to pick between their past and their future? Memories are a part of who you are. If it’s comforting to him, if his first love gave him something—then that’s just a part of him. The second person, they’re asking him to forget all that, and that’s not fair. No one can erase their past, no matter how perfect the present is. The past shapes people, it’s not something you can just toss away.”

You paused, then added softly, “It’s not about forgetting someone or something… it’s just about making space for the new things, too. You can still carry those memories with you, even if you move on.”

Ronin stared at you for a long moment, his gaze searching, intense as always. Then, slowly, he let out a low sigh and shifted in his seat, bringing his knees up and crossing his arms. “And what would you do in a situation like that?”

Your heart skipped, his question suddenly feeling a little too real. You looked at him for a beat, chewing on your lip. “I’d comfort the guy,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’d tell him, it’s okay. That it's okay to have those memories. Because they made him who he is. I’d be glad he trusted me enough to share them, to open up about his first love. It’s a huge thing to let someone into those spaces of your heart.”

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “And, I guess… I’d be happy knowing that I have a place in his heart, too. Even if it’s not all of it.”

Ronin’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his mouth turning into a small, thoughtful frown. You couldn’t quite tell if it was just your words or something else that had made his expression shift.

He stared at the screen for a long moment before looking back at you. His voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. “You’d really feel that way? You wouldn’t feel… second best?”

You shrugged again, a faint chuckle escaping you. “Nope. Not at all. Because it’s not about being ‘first’ or ‘second.’ It’s about being there for the person. If they let you in, even just a little, that’s enough.”

Ronin’s eyes softened ever so slightly. You didn’t miss the shift in his demeanor, the way his posture relaxed. It felt like, for a brief moment, something between you two had clicked. You were both sitting on the floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, a cozy little cocoon, yet it felt like the world had just gotten a little bit bigger—more open.

“Well,” he said, his voice warm but with a touch of amusement returning to his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if you should feel more curious or confused. “What do you mean?”

Ronin’s eyes flicked over to you, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, after a brief, tense silence, he shrugged. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

You leaned back against the pillows, letting the quiet fill the space. The movie was still paused on the screen, the sappy romantic scene playing out in the background, but it hardly mattered anymore. The tension that had once been in the air had softened, replaced by something warmer, more genuine.

The silence between you and Ronin stretched, the weight of the unspoken words thick in the air. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing next to you, his presence so palpable it was like a shield. The movie played on in the background, its plot long forgotten, but neither of you seemed to care anymore.

The blanket cocooned you both, the warmth and closeness making it feel like a world of your own. You turned to look at him, the moment heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ronin didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, unexpected kiss. It was a surprise, one that made your heart skip a beat, but you didn’t hesitate. You kissed him back, the connection between you both deepening with each passing second. The kiss wasn’t rushed; it was gentle, a silent affirmation of everything that had been said and unsaid between you two.

The movie continued to run, but neither of you were paying attention. The only thing that mattered was the shared comfort of the blanket, the warmth of Ronin’s arms around you, and the way the kiss felt like something unspoken yet understood.

Ronin pulled back slightly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened. "Thank you," he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear. It was a small, simple sentence, but the way it made your chest tighten told you just how much it meant.

Before you could respond, Ronin kissed you again, his lips brushing yours in a way that said more than words ever could. He didn’t give you the chance to ask why, didn’t give you the space to pull away or question anything. He just held you close, his presence quiet but powerful, and his kisses wrapped around you like a promise.

You leaned into him, your heart pounding in your chest, but for some reason, there was no need to talk. You just let yourself melt into him, and as his head settled on yours, your own resting on his neck, you felt a sense of peace that you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

Your eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep, and before you knew it, your yawn escaped, followed by a soft mumble. Ronin didn’t say anything, just held you close as the warmth of his embrace lulled you into sleep.

You drifted off, you felt the movie still running, but it faded into the background as Ronin gently closed the TV. He kissed your forehead with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the most comforting way.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he whispered softly, his voice a balm to your tired soul.

Before you could respond, you felt yourself being lifted. You blinked sleepily, your mind too foggy to fully comprehend what was happening. “Is it okay if I sleep with you?” you asked, your voice drowsy and uncertain.

Ronin’s smile was soft, almost fond, as he nodded. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his voice so gentle it made your heart swell.

You barely had the energy to process his words as he carried you to bed, your head resting against his chest, your limbs draped around him in a tangle of sleepy comfort. You mumbled something incoherent in your haze of exhaustion, your voice trailing off as you finally succumbed to the sleep that had been creeping up on you all night.

“Ronin,” you mumbled again, this time with more clarity, “I love you.”

Ronin paused for a brief moment, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. Then, in a low, quiet voice, he whispered back in Cantonese, “I love you.”

He kissed your forehead with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, and then, without another word, he pulled you closer, holding you securely as he cuddled you to sleep.

Ronin held you close, his arms tight around you as you nestled against his chest, the night filling with a comfortable silence. His fingers lightly traced patterns on your back, but then his voice broke the quiet, low and steady, a tone that held so many unspoken emotions. His Cantonese words flowed softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"你知道嗎？我從來沒有想過會有人出現在我這種腐朽的生活中。" (Nei zi dou maa? Ngoh chung loi meiyou seung gwo wui yahn chut joi ngo jeung chong fu gau dik sang wut jung.)

You looked up at him, trying to focus on what he was saying, his eyes soft but distant. He continued, the words coming out more slowly, as if they were something he had been holding back for a long time.

"你就像一個腐爛的聖人，從來沒有人能看見我，直到你出現了。你，存在於這裡，像是我生命中的一線光芒，讓我明白還有別的可能，還有希望。” (Nei jauh cheung yat go fu laan dik sing yan, chong loi mei yauh yahn nang hon gin ngo, jik dou nei chut yin la. Nei, chyun joi yu jeui lei, cheung si ngo sang ming jung dik yat sin gwong mong, yeung ngo ming baak waan yauh bit dik hoh ning, waan yauh hei mong.)

He sighed deeply, resting his chin atop your head. His voice was softer now, the weight of his words almost breaking through the stone walls he had built around himself.

"多謝你存在，謝謝你出現在我的生命裡，讓我明白一切都還不算太遲。" (Do jeh nei chyun joi, jeh jeh nei chut yin joi ngo dik sang ming leui, yeung ngo ming baak yat chai dou waan bat syun taai chi.)

You felt a slight tension in his body, as if he was waiting for something, but it wasn’t about you needing to say anything. He was giving you a part of himself he rarely shared, in the rawest form he knew how to.

"你知唔知…我愛你？" (Nei zi m zi... ngoh oi nei?)

His voice was hushed, a whisper against the stillness. Even though you didn’t fully understand the depth of everything he was saying, the emotion in his voice was clear. You felt it resonate deep inside you.

"謝謝你存在在這裡，謝謝你愛我…" (Je jeh nei chyun joi joi jeui lei, je jeh nei oi ngo...)

He pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he wanted to never let go. The words flowed from him without hesitation now, the raw honesty of it making your heart ache.

"你讓我覺得，這個世界不再那麼腐爛。我一度以為自己只是一個壞人，但遇見你之後，才知道也許我還有資格去愛。" (Nei yeung ngo gok dak, je go sai gaai bat joi naam mo fu laan. Ngoh yat dou yi wai ji gei chi sik yat go waai yan, daan yu gin nei ji hau, coi ji dou ya heui ngo waan yauh ji gaak heoi oi.)

He closed his eyes, as though the confession was not just for you, but for himself. A deep breath escaped his lips, and his voice was barely above a murmur when he added, "我愛你，謝謝你讓我感覺到一點溫暖..." (Ngoh oi nei, je jeh nei yeung ngo gam gok dou yat dim wan neung...)

"You know? I never thought someone would come into my rotten life like this."

"You’re like a rotten saint, no one ever saw me until you appeared. You, existing here, are like a ray of light in my life, making me realize that there are still other possibilities, still hope."

"Thank you for existing, thank you for appearing in my life, making me realize that not everything is too late."

"Do you know... I love you?"

"Thank you for existing here, thank you for loving me..."

"You make me feel like the world isn't so rotten anymore. I once thought I was just a bad person, but after meeting you, I realized that maybe I still have the right to love."

"I love you, thank you for making me feel a little warmth..."

[dearkaslana]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 1)

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

01: Host-Pathogen Interface

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

"Breaking news! A monster in human skin has committed atrocities beyond murder! This criminal, vile and unrepentant, has torn apart not just strangers but their own family as well. They didn’t stop. They didn’t care."

The reporter extended their hand toward the screen, fingers trembling as though desperate to reach those watching.

"These acts are beyond comprehension. What they’ve done is worse than death itself. If you see this person, don’t hesitate. Don’t hide. Report them immediately."

The screen flickered, and the reporter leaned closer, their hand trembling slightly as they pressed a button. A distorted image appeared—grainy yet unmistakable. A face. Vacant eyes stared out from the screen, their expression hauntingly neutral, as though untouched by the chaos they had wrought.

“This is the face of the devil walking among us,” the reporter whispered, voice low and quaking with disgust. “You won’t find them easily. Authorities haven’t. But their trail is marked by the missing… the abused… the broken. Those they left behind whisper of horrors too ungodly to repeat.”

The screen darkened, leaving a reflection of yourself staring back from the glass. You smiled, slow and crooked, as if the image had shared an inside joke only you understood. With a quiet chuckle, you turned, your steps echoing in the hollow hallway. Not toward the comfort of a home, but to your sanctuary.

Not Your office. It was a special place.

Sliding into the chair, you reached for the camera and flicked it on. The red recording light blinked to life, casting its glow across your desk. The scene you’d prepared came into view.

Ropes. Tools. A backdrop streaked in abstract patterns of red. The room smelled faintly of copper and bleach, but it didn’t bother you. Your stream began with a soft, almost gentle giggle. But it grew, morphing into something jagged and unsettling. The sound of it filled the small room as your viewers began flooding in, the chat bar rolling with their messages:

“What’s tonight’s special?” “The Pathegon's back!” “Are they still alive?”

You leaned in close to the lens, your breath fogging the glass as your giggle shifted to a low, manic whisper:

'Let's start the bloodbath!"

The first thing they noticed was a pounding headache.

Clicking… sharp, deliberate, like nails tapping against glass.

Their eyes cracked open, blurry shapes bleeding into focus. Kneeling on the cold, unyielding floor, arms wrenched above their head, they tugged instinctively—only to hear the heavy clatter of chains.

You stood in front of them.

"Right on time," you said, your voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "It’s 9 p.m."

They flinched, jerking against the restraints, but the chains held fast.

Their gaze flickered to you, wide and desperate. You tilted your head, watching them with a cool detachment, like they were a bug caught under glass.

"Where—?" Their voice broke, trembling.

"Try to remember," you interrupted, your tone as lifeless as the expression on your face.

"It hurts… You said you’d help me," they rasped, panic rising in their throat.

"I did," you replied, calm and matter-of-fact. "I took you away from the police, didn’t I?"

"But…" Their voice cracked. "I saw the news! It said I ran away!"

You smiled then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes.

"You did." As you spoke, they darted frantic glances around the room, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Their eyes locked onto the cold glare of cameras, all pointed directly at them.

"Don’t worry," you said, voice unnervingly casual. "We’re going live in two minutes. You don’t need to worry about the police—they won’t catch you."

Their mouth opened, a protest forming, but you had already turned away, your attention fixed on the array of equipment surrounding you.

Their stomach twisted as they took it all in: monitors, wires, and blinking red lights.

"What the hell! Are you filming me, you sick—"

"Shh, shh!" you interrupted, a finger pressed to your lips as you glanced over your shoulder. "We’re starting."

You turned back to the screen, your tone shifting to something unsettlingly cheerful.

"Hello, everyone! How’s the feed?"

You weren’t talking to them anymore.

Their confusion turned to horror as your voice softened, addressing a live audience.

"Hihi! Everyone’s here! Oh, Goreboy, play nice in the chat, no bullying tonight!" Your fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping rapidly as you giggled, the sound high-pitched and unnerving.

"Yes, yes! We’ll pull this guy’s guts out!" you typed, glancing at the screen with glee. "Oh, Goreboy, that’s perfect! Love the creativity, even if you’re not donating. Your ideas for gore? Chef’s kiss."

The person on the floor thrashed against their chains, a strangled scream tearing from their throat. You looked over your shoulder at them, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Relax, it’s a metaphor," you said with mock reassurance. "We’re just going to do something… small. Don’t worry."

"What the fuck is this?!" they shouted, their voice cracking with panic.

You tilted your head, the grin slipping into something colder. "Radio silence," you said sharply, holding a finger to your lips. "You’re ruining the vibe."

"This isn’t a fucking show!" they cried, their voice trembling with hysteria.

You crossed the room in three deliberate steps, crouching down to their level. Your hand reached out, gripping their face tightly, forcing them to meet your unyielding gaze.

"What you did," you whispered, your tone venomous, "was justice, wasn’t it? You made choices—choices that led you here. So, tell me…" Your grip tightened slightly, enough to make them wince. "What the fuck makes you think you deserve anything better than this?"

Their breathing came in ragged gasps, their eyes wild with fear and disbelief.

You smiled then, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and released them, standing up and brushing your hands off like you’d just handled something filthy.

"The show must go on," you announced brightly, spinning back to the camera. "Alright, chat, who’s ready for the main event?!"

You turned back to the camera, fingers dancing over the keyboard as you laughed, a sound that sent a chill through the room.

"Chat, you won’t believe this one," you said, voice dripping with giddy malice. "Our guest tonight? Oh, they’re not just anyone. No, no, no! They’ve got a history. You wouldn’t think it, looking at them now, but…"

You spun around to face them, your eyes glittering with a deranged light.

"Should we tell them, hmm? Should we talk about how you snapped and tore your own family apart? Oh, I bet chat would love the details—the blood, the screaming, the mess you left behind."

Their face drained of color, their chains rattling as they thrashed. "Shut up!" they yelled, their voice cracking.

"Shut up?" you mimicked, tilting your head like a curious predator. "Why? Is it because you remember? You remember how it felt, don’t you? The rush, the heat, the way the knife felt in your hand as it went in again, and again…"

" "Stop it!" they screamed, their voice breaking into sobs.

"Oh, but why should I?!" you barked, your voice rising with manic energy. "You did it, didn’t you? You made sure they’d never stand in your way again. Your own family. And for what? Some twisted idea of justice? Some self-righteous, pathetic excuse for power?!"

They shook their head violently, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean—"

"‘Didn’t mean to’?!" you interrupted, a sharp, mocking laugh escaping your lips. "Please. Save it for someone who cares, because here’s the thing—chat loves this shit. They eat it up. You? You’re a goldmine. The more depraved you are, the more twisted your story, the bigger the payout. And trust me, I’m going to milk every single second."

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Oh, and let’s not forget the other things you’ve done. The theft, the blackmail, the drugs…" You giggled, pulling back with a theatrical flourish. "You’re an all-star of illegal shit, aren’t you? Chat! Can we get a round of applause for our guest here?"

"Good evening, everyone!" you chimed, your voice bright and saccharine as you gazed into the camera. "I’m so glad you could join me on such short notice—Oh? Oh, Goreboy! Missed me, huh?" You let out a soft, teasing giggle. "Chat! Can you believe it? Goreboy’s being sweet tonight! Usually, they’re my harshest critic. What’s that, darling? Missed my streams that much?"

You laughed again, high-pitched and lilting, the sound dancing unnervingly in the air.

"Yes! Yes! My delightful patrons of exquisite taste, welcome back!" you said, raising your voice theatrically, your arms spreading wide as if to embrace your audience. "The block is gone, babies! I’m back and better than ever."

Your expression shifted subtly, a crack in the cheerful mask, though your tone remained syrupy sweet.

"And boy, do I have a treat for you tonight!" you cooed, spinning dramatically toward the camera. "Rottenlings, meet our fresh face! Please give a big, warm hello to Victim No. 66!"

You stepped aside and gestured mockingly toward the chained figure behind you.

"I plucked this one straight from the hands of justice itself," you announced with a flourish. "Oh, the police? They think they ran away. Poor, clueless idiots! But don’t worry, chat. I’m here to make sure justice gets served properly."

The person on the floor squirmed, their eyes darting toward the glowing monitor. Their heart sank as they realized what they were seeing: a live video feed of themselves, surrounded by a scrolling chatroom full of excited, laughing messages.

People were watching.

"You sick fucks!" they screamed, straining against their chains. "Why aren’t you calling the police? What’s wrong with you?!"

Your sharp, manic laughter sliced through the air like a knife.

"Oh, you poor, stupid thing!" you sneered, turning back toward them. "Do you think they care? Do you think anyone in this room—" you gestured at the screen, the chat still buzzing with twisted excitement— "is on your side?"

You leaned in close, your grin wide and predatory.

"This is Goreboy’s arena, sweetheart. Big win for them tonight, huh, chat?!" You shot a playful wink at the camera, then turned back to your captive, your expression mockingly soft.

"You’re begging them? Them?" you laughed, louder this time, your voice echoing around the room. "Oh, honey. You don’t beg for mercy here. You entertain."

The person trembled, their voice breaking into raw, desperate sobs. "Please! I’m sorry! Just call the cops! I’ll do anything!"

You tilted your head, feigning pity.

"Another one for the beg bucket, chat!" you teased, your voice sing-song. "Honestly, I don’t know why any of you bet on these fools. Mr. Duck, sweetie, let’s see how your other bets fare tonight, hmm?"

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

"Oh, Goreboy!" you said, giggling as you typed. "That’s disgusting! Hahah! Maybe later, hun. One day we’ll meet, but not now. Patience, my dear!"

You hit send, then turned back to your captive, the grin fading into something colder, sharper.

"Now," you said, crouching down to their level, your tone like ice. "Let’s see if you can make this interesting, Victim No. 66."

They tried to pull away, but their hands were bound—shackled together and chained tightly.

"Alright, my lovely audience! Place your bets! What should I do next, hmm?"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Their scream echoed sharply as you yanked their finger back with a brutal, deliberate twist. The sound of bone grinding against itself cut through the air, sickening as always—but you didn’t falter.

"Oh? Should I fix it for you?" You teased, your voice lilting with mock concern before grabbing the mangled finger again. Without hesitation, you forced it back into place. The wet crunch of it snapping back made bile churn in your stomach.

But you laughed—loud and cruel. "Hah! Just kidding!"

And then, with a merciless twist, you snapped the fingers holding the knife they’d dared to wield.

Screams. Screams. A melody sweeter than any you’d ever heard.

Turning sharply, you faced the computer, a smirk splitting your face.

"Well, well! A donation like that deserves my full attention! Fingers again, madam? Oh, you know me so well."

You chuckled, eyes narrowing on the username. "Ah, Goreboy suggested that one? You always know how to make me smile. You should visit me more often, you know—I’d love to see you in my streams, but you never act on it. Tsk, tsk. Let’s not skip ahead, shall we?"

With a theatrical flourish, you bowed low, a sick mockery of grace.

"Now then, my darlings—let’s see what we can do!"

You straightened up, spinning on your heel as you stalked back toward your captive, menace dripping from every step.

You glanced at the screen again, the bright flicker of another donation lighting up your face. The amount was juicy, and the request? Deliciously cruel.

You giggled—soft at first, then sharper, like broken glass grinding against stone.

“Well, well, what do we have here? ‘A clean slice this time,’ huh?” You read aloud, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I like the way you think. Quick and clean—but where’s the fun in that?”

The knife glistened in your hand as you turned back toward them. It wasn’t elegant—worn, slightly rusted along the edges—but it did its job. And tonight, its job was simple.

“Don’t squirm,” you cooed sweetly, crouching down to meet their tear-streaked face. “You’ll ruin the show for everyone.”

Their eyes widened in horror as you grabbed their hand, gripping their trembling fingers one by one as if you were inspecting them.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

The blade pressed against their skin—cold, biting. You didn’t hesitate. With a sharp pull, you sliced through the first finger, the knife slipping through flesh and bone like paper.

Their scream ripped through the air, a raw, broken sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Ohoho, there we go! That’s the sound I wanted—don’t be shy, darling, let it out!” You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, giggling as blood splattered across the floor. “Are you all hearing this? Such raw emotion. Truly unmatched!”

Another donation alert flashed. Your eyes sparkled.

“Oh, another request! You all spoil me!” You gripped the next finger tightly, blood slicking your palm as you lined up the blade once more. “Shall we keep going? I think they have a few more fingers to spare, don’t you?”

The knife cut down again—swift, unrelenting. Another scream, another bone snapped, another rivulet of blood trailing to the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back as you bathed in their agony.

“Ahhh… music to my ears.”

Turning to the camera, you grinned, lips and cheeks splattered crimson.

"You were always so… predictable," you said, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Begging, pleading… You never even tried to fight back, did you?"

Chop. Another slice, this one to their thigh. The skin split with a sickening sound, a cry of agony escaping their lips as they tried to curl away from you, but there was nowhere to go.

The blade danced in your hand, a fluid motion, as you shifted positions to stand over them. The chains that held them were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to you. They could barely move, their arms and legs bound, while you towered over them, each strike faster, sharper, more merciless than the last.

Chop, chop, chop.

The rhythm of it was almost musical, a cruel symphony played out with the sounds of metal biting into flesh, followed by their pained gasps and helpless cries. Blood splattered, staining the floor beneath them, staining your hands, your clothes.

Their body was slick with blood now, each movement an agonizing reminder of how helpless they were, how trapped they’d become in this nightmare. They whimpered, desperate for it to end, but you weren’t done yet. You never were.

You pressed the blade deeper, feeling the pulse under their skin, the warmth of blood soaking your hands. A twisted smile curled on your lips, but it wasn’t a smile of satisfaction—no, it was something far colder. The silence between the strikes had grown deafening, and now, you spoke again, your voice sweet and venomous.

“Do you know what’s funny?” you whispered, your breath hot against their ear, a cruel contrast to the sharpness of the blade. “You think this will end soon, don’t you? That this... torture, this agony, will stop when you beg enough. But the truth is, you’re not dying tonight.”

Their eyes flickered in confusion, exhaustion, desperation. “What... what are you saying?” they rasped, barely able to form the words through the pain.

“Oh, sweet, sweet fool,” you purred. “You really thought I’d end your misery. No, darling. You hurt them—your family, your loved ones—and now, I’m going to make sure you feel it. You’re going to remember the weight of what you did long after this moment, long after your body is no longer able to fight back.”

The blade hovered above their chest now, drawing slow, shallow cuts along their skin. Each mark was a reminder of the harm they’d caused, the consequences that would never leave them.

“You thought you could escape the aftermath of your choices, didn’t you?” you taunted, drawing out the words as if savoring the slow breakdown in their expression. “I’ll make sure you never forget. Every inch of your body will burn with the guilt you can never outrun. And when you beg for mercy again... remember, I’m the one you’ll answer to now.”

You stood over them, chest heaving slightly from the rush. Their sobs echoed in the room, broken and ragged, as they cradled their ruined hand to their chest. But you weren’t done. Oh no—not yet.

With a casual hum, you stepped back to the computer, wiping the blood-slicked knife against your shirt. The screen blinked again, another donation flooding in. You glanced at it, a wicked grin curling your lips.

“Ah, I see you all are in a particular mood tonight,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with menace. You grabbed a nearby folder—one you had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come. With deliberate care, you fanned the photographs out across the table, one by one, before turning back to your audience.

“Now, my darlings, it’s time to turn up the fun, don’t you think? We’ve had our share of blood—let’s break something deeper.”

You knelt in front of them, holding the first photograph up to their tear-filled eyes. Their gaze trembled as they caught a glimpse—a snapshot of someone familiar.

Their brother.

The photo was crisp, taken in that final, quiet moment before you got to him. “Look at him,” you whispered, your tone a mocking semblance of pity. “He was so peaceful, wasn’t he? Didn’t even scream when I—”

“STOP!” they wailed, thrashing against their chains, tears streaming freely down their face. You tutted, reaching out to grip their chin between your fingers, forcing them to look at the image again.

“Ah, ah, don’t look away. You owe him that much, don’t you? After all, you’re the reason this all started. You really shouldn’t have crossed me, sweetheart.”

You let the photo flutter to the ground and held up the next one. Their father this time—face slack, eyes empty.

“And him? Oh, he fought. I’ll give him that. A real family man, wasn’t he? Told me to spare you if I had to choose. Isn’t that sweet?”

Their sobs turned to screams—raw, desperate. They yanked at the chains, the cuffs cutting deeper into their wrists as they thrashed.

You laughed softly, soaking in their misery like it was the sweetest wine.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you crooned, brushing a bloodstained finger across their cheek. “They’re not in pain anymore. You’re the one who has to live with it now.”

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with venomous glee.

“And when I’m done? I’ll make sure you see each and every one of them waiting for you. Won’t that be nice?”

You straightened back up, turning to the camera with a theatrical flourish, spreading your arms wide.

“Well, there you have it, folks! I’d say tonight’s stream is going splendidly, don’t you agree? Emotional devastation, physical ruin—everything you could ask for!”

A flood of donations pinged on the screen, the sound filling the room as you beamed at your audience.

“Keep those requests coming! After all…” You glanced back at your captive, their broken sobs barely audible now. “We’ve got plenty of time—and I’m far from done.”

The show did go on <3

"Why let a monster's body go to waste?" you murmured, your voice dark and chilling as you circled them, each word dripping with twisted logic. "Why let evil walk away unscathed when their heart could beat inside someone pure? Their lungs, keeping an innocent child alive, their hands, building a future for someone who deserves it. If their mind is corrupted, their flesh... their flesh can still redeem them."

You paused, the sharp blade gleaming under the low light. Their chest rose and fell in erratic breaths, their body shivering from more than just physical pain.

"You think this is torture, don’t you?" You chuckled softly, almost fondly, but the sound was anything but kind. "No, darling. What you're about to experience is... redemption. A form of cleansing that you’re far from ready for. You hurt people. You destroyed lives. Now, we make sure the world can still benefit from the leftovers of your broken, filthy soul."

With a cruel laugh, you reached for their hand, grabbing their wrist with the kind of brutal strength that matched your words. You dragged them forward, a twisted sort of calmness in your touch despite the violence in your eyes.

"How much would you beg for your own skin to be saved now? Would you fight back if you knew that every piece of you, every organ, could serve a better purpose?" You let the blade hover above their finger, glinting menacingly. "I’ve got no use for your nails, but someone else might. They’ll make a good memory for someone who knows how to truly suffer."

Each breath they took was ragged, desperate for release. But you weren’t done yet.

"You’re not dying, not yet. You’ll live long enough for me to make sure you never forget what you’ve done. Your body’s gonna be stripped of its evil, piece by piece."

You couldn't help yourself. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you, a dark, mocking sound that filled the space with an eerie resonance. It was a sound of triumph, of cruel satisfaction as you watched them break, piece by agonizing piece.

"You really thought you could hide from this, didn't you?" you taunted between fits of laughter, your voice shaking with cruel delight. "You thought you could walk away, escape the damage you caused, the people you destroyed. But look at you now."

Their screams intensified, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls like a symphony of agony. "Please! PLEASE! STOP! I DIDN’T MEAN IT, I DIDN’T—!"

After some time, the air had settled into a chilling stillness, the only sounds being the faint sobs of the broken figure slumped against their chains. You sat back at the computer, fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease as you typed a single message into the chat:

“Will Send this one off to organ donation. All tonight’s donations will go directly to the little boy’s treatment fund. Isn’t that just heartwarming?”

The chat exploded. Messages flooded in, filled with adoration, awe, and sick fascination.

“You’re an angel!!!” “Saving lives AND giving us a show? King/Queen.” “I can’t believe how selfless you are! This stream is legendary.”

You leaned back in your chair, laughing softly—almost sweetly. Turning to the camera, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes gleaming as you scanned the incoming flood of messages.

“Aww,” you cooed, voice dripping with condescension, “I didn’t know you all cared so much about happy endings. It’s so touching, really. Sick fucks like you still want to feel good about yourselves? That’s cute.”

More comments rolled in, their tone shifting, teasing, and pushing:

“But YOU should’ve taken the organs yourself!” “C’mon, don’t you want to be hands-on with this one?” “We know you’re the real surgeon here. Give us some blood, maestro!”

You sighed dramatically, letting your shoulders slump as if their demands were such a burden. “You all really don’t let me rest, do you? Fine. Fine. Since you’re so persistent…”

You stood, rolling your neck with a quiet crack before grabbing a nearby surgical kit—polished steel tools neatly arranged and waiting, just for this. The captive’s head snapped up, their bloodshot eyes wide with renewed panic.

“No—no, no, no, please—” they choked out, words dissolving into incoherent sobs.

You ignored them completely, addressing the camera instead as you slipped on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex cutting sharply through the air.

“You asked for this. Remember that.” You picked up the scalpel, holding it up for the audience to admire. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve always been a fan of hands-on work.”

You stepped toward the body—your expression blank, detached, almost bored as you knelt beside them. The cold blade kissed their skin, tracing a slow, deliberate line just below the ribs.

“Now, I’m no doctor, but I do know my way around a body.”

The first incision split them open, and blood welled up instantly—thick, warm, dark. The room filled with wet, sticky sounds as you worked, hands steady and sure, your movements practiced like a grotesque symphony.

You paused briefly, glancing back at the camera, your gloved hands slick with crimson.

“There’s your blood, chat. Are you happy now?”

The chat erupted, filled with cheers, donations rolling in like a tide:

“YESSSSS BLOODDDD!” “This is art. You’re a god.” “More, more, more!!!”

You laughed again, the sound low and breathy as you reached deeper into the cavity, fingers curling around what you were searching for. You lifted the organ slowly into view, the slick muscle glistening under the dim lights.

“Well,” you murmured, holding it up for the audience to admire, “they won’t be needing this anymore, will they?”

Blood dripped onto the floor in a rhythmic patter as you turned to the camera one last time, a triumphant grin splitting your face.

“Don’t forget to donate generously, my loves. After all, we’re saving lives here.”

You worked with deliberate care, gently placing each organ into the sterile metal tray beside you. Liver, kidneys, lungs—each glistening under the dim light as blood pooled around them. The wet squelch of the final piece being set down echoed in the room like the last note of a haunting melody.

You straightened up, gloves slick with crimson, and turned back toward the camera, face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. With a swipe of your forearm, you wiped a streak of blood from your cheek, your grin bright and satisfied.

“And done! There you have it, chat! A perfect collection. Hope you enjoyed tonight’s little… performance.” You gave the camera a theatrical bow, smearing your gloves against your chest. “All thanks to your generosity, of course.”

The chat exploded:

“You’re insane, I LOVE YOU!!!” “This stream was god-tier.” “BYEEE ANGEL, YOU’RE SO CUTE!”

You pouted playfully, tilting your head as you rested a bloody glove against your cheek. “Aw, you all know how to make me blush… if only I wasn’t covered in—” you gestured lazily to the gore streaked across your shirt—“well, this.”

Then, a message popped up that made you pause:

Goreboy69: “What now, darlin’? Gonna leave me hangin’? Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

You squinted at the chat, a half-smile curling on your lips as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Oh? Someone’s feeling bold tonight.” You typed quickly, your tone sharp but teasing:

“Leaving. Bye, Mr. Goreboy. Don’t miss me too much.”

The response was instant, his reply lighting up the chat like a flare:

Goreboy69: “Too late, sweetheart. Already do.”

You froze for just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through your expression before you masked it with a sharp laugh. “Well, isn’t that sweet,” you murmured, shaking your head as you leaned toward the camera.

With one final look at your blood-splattered stage, you winked.

“Alright, my darlings. That’s it for tonight. Be good—or don’t. Either way, I’ll be back soon.”

You reached for the mouse, hovering over the “end stream” button as the chat flooded with protests and goodbyes:

“Nooo don’t go yet!” “Byeee CUTIE!!!” “Best stream EVER.”

You grinned one last time, your voice dropping to a low murmur, just for them:

“Goodnight, my loves.”

With a soft click, the screen faded to black.

You thought you will end your life with this.

Then, came a idea to write.

Then came him..

It had been almost a year since you and Ronin had been together, and things had been… comfortable, even in the darker corners of your shared lives. You’d both found your own spaces, with your gruesome world of streaming and his quiet, almost enigmatic nature. You had your gore, and he had his secrets. Neither of you had yet come to know the whole truth about each other. (You were the only one liar) He never suspected you were the streamer everyone in the underground chats adored—and you had no idea that he was Goreboy69, your loyal fan and the one who teased you so affectionately on the livestream

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- Y/n, you weren't online for some time.

[You]- I was busy ;-; Job was killing me

[Goreboy]- Darlin, There's a Angel Two now. But seriously did your boss made you Overwork again?

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not. I'm Worried Angel, They're My Partner

[You]- I'm fine, even my boss told to rest but I want to work for this case...I need to sleep tooo ahhhh!!!

[Goreboy]- Dm me. Angel. Sorry I'm taking my Lover for sometime.

[Angelic]- Since, when you start saying it that loudly ;)

[Goreboy]- Haha, Don't make me revive-

[Angelic]- Ronin, What the fuck?

After some time...

You settled into your chair, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across your face as you stared at the video call. Ronin’s voice drifted through your headphones—smooth, teasing, always holding that edge of danger and flirtation. He lounged casually on the other side of the camera, the faint hum of his mic picking up the distant sounds of his apartment. His dark hair was mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed, the sly grin he always wore firmly in place.

The server call buzzed with energy. Truth or Dare had turned into its usual chaotic mess, but you didn’t care to play this time. Instead, you just kept pressing him for details about his latest… “hobby.”

“How’d your kill go, Mr. Crowbar?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you swirled your drink in hand.

Ronin’s eyebrow quirked up. He chuckled low and sharp, voice dripping with that same playful tone that always made you pause. “Now that’s new, darlin’. You never ask me about the details. What’s got you so curious all of a sudden?”

You shrugged. “Just in the mood. Humor me.”

Ronin’s grin widened into something sharp, something that tugged at the edges of darkness. He leaned closer to his screen, as if to close the distance between the two of you. “If you insist, sweetheart,” he purred, stretching his arms behind his head as though he were telling you a bedtime story. “Well, y’see, there’s somethin’ so poetic about a crowbar. Personal, messy, and it leaves a mark. You know exactly what did the job.”

“Of course it was a crowbar,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Predictable.”

Ronin laughed—a deep, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You wound me! Predictable? I call it classic. But since you asked so sweetly…” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles before continuing with exaggerated theatrical flair. “Guy was scum. The type of fella whose face just begs to be rearranged. A couple swings later, I turned his skull into modern art. … Abstract, really.”

You tried to mask the way your lips curled upward. You didn’t want to let him know how much his words intrigued you tonight.

“Messy,” you replied simply, voice cool as you leaned into your chair. “But I expected nothing less from The Devil’s Butcher.”

That earned a gleam in his eye. He tilted his head, watching you through the camera like he was seeing something just out of reach. “Hah. You’re full of surprises tonight, doll. Didn’t think my little bedtime stories were your cup of tea.”

“They’re not,” you shot back, fighting the smirk threatening to break through. “But tonight I’m making an exception.”

Ronin hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave you that grin again—sharp, teasing, always bordering on something you couldn’t quite name. “Y’know, you’d make a good audience for my streams, darlin’,” he said offhandedly, though there was a hint of something heavier beneath the surface. “Too bad you’re such a softie. You wouldn’t last a minute.”

You stiffened. For a split second, your heart skipped a beat before you forced yourself to laugh it off. “As if. I could handle your ‘gorefest’ just fine. It’s you who doesn’t know me, Mr. Crowbar.”

“Oh?” His voice dipped lower, amusement dancing in his tone. “Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want,” you shot back, biting back your grin.

Ronin watched you carefully for a beat longer before he leaned closer to the camera, his tone soft but dripping with meaning. “Careful, sweetheart. You might surprise yourself. You never know how much you like the darkness… ’til you’re drowning in it.”

You met his gaze through the screen, your pulse racing in your ears. Neither of you said a word for a moment, the silence between you charged and unrelenting.

You broke it with a casual, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Devil.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and dangerous all at once. “Always playin’ hard to get. One day, darlin’, you’ll admit you’re just as curious as me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words sent a thrill through you. “Keep dreaming, Ronin.”

The call moved on and others rejoined the conversation, you couldn’t shake that lingering feeling—the way Ronin’s words sat heavy in your chest. You didn’t know why tonight felt different, why his details about his kill caught your attention more than usual.

And you definitely didn’t want to think about the unsettling idea swirling in the back of your mind—that maybe he was someone else entirely. Someone whose streams you knew far too well.

But that couldn’t be, right?

Ronin’s voice crackled through the call, that usual teasing tone dripping with curiosity. “Darlin’, you look like you’ve been through hell—what’s with the eyebags? You chasing ghosts or something?”

You groaned, letting your cheek rest against your palm as you lazily stared at the video feed. His smirk was too smug, as always, like he’d already won some game you weren’t playing yet. “It’s research. Even if I became a writer because of you, I’m still a reporter at heart.”

His brow quirked at the mention. “Research? What poor bastard you chasin’ now?”

You adjusted your position, letting out a slow breath. “Shithead of the year, honestly. A hacker who made millions off stolen data, killed a dozen people—including his own wife—and stole drugs. The worst part? He abused her into silence for years, and when she finally came forward, he killed her, too.” Your tone sharpened with disgust, almost venomous. *“He’s scum. The kind of filth that makes even *you* look almost… disgusting.”*

Ronin’s expression shifted at that. His smirk twitched, just slightly. “Almost disgusting, huh? Can’t tell if I should be offended or flattered.”

Your lips curled into a thin smile. “Does this guy make you angry or somethin’, Ronin?”

For a beat, he was silent, his eyes narrowing. Then, he gave a small nod, his fingers drumming against the desk he sat at. “Y’know what? Yeah. I’d say he does. Kinda wish…” His voice trailed off, almost testing the waters before continuing. “Kinda wish someone like Pathegon would grab him first.”

Your heart froze, all the blood in your veins rushing to your face. It felt like you’d been dunked into ice water. Pathegon. That was your red room stream name. No one else should’ve known. Your voice barely left your throat, a fragile whisper. “…How do you know that name?”

Ronin blinked at you, tilting his head with that same casual grin, as if nothing about this situation was remotely shocking. “Huh? Oh—nah, nah. I didn’t mean you, I meant this streamer. Gorey as hell, almost like a twisted love letter to the worst kinds of scum: abusers, killers, lowlifes—name it. Pathegon’s… good. Real good.”

Your body went stiff. You stared at him, pale as a ghost. He kept talking, too nonchalantly for your comfort, but his words were like a blade sinking deeper and deeper.

He's Goreboy69?!

You could barely hold your composure. Ronin laughed then, sharp and loud, like this whole thing was the most fun he’d had in years.

“Wait—no—hold on.” You stammered, pulling yourself together. “Was it you who gave the police intel on that guy? On… him?”

He grinned wider, teeth flashing in the dim light of his camera feed. “Bingo.” He leaned in, voice lowering into something sickly sweet. *“What can I say? I play both sides. Can’t leave *all* the fun for the cops. Someone’s gotta keep the game interesting.”*

You stared at him, stunned, before the anger boiling inside you started to twist into something darker. Something… dangerous. Your fingers curled tightly around your mouse as your lips parted, words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I wish I could kill him myself.”

The room fell silent. For once, even Ronin seemed taken aback. His eyes flicked over you through the screen, studying every inch of your expression, as if trying to see if you really meant it.

“…Well, well.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost like he was savoring the moment. “Now, that’s somethin’ I wasn’t expectin’. You’d make a real good serial killer, y’know that?”

Your face burned. “No, I wouldn’t!”

But Ronin didn’t stop there. His smirk deepened, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he watched you with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Nah, nah. Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’. Picture it: that piece of shit tied up, bloody and broken, beggin’ for a mercy he doesn’t deserve. You’d look real pretty standin’ over him, crowbar in hand, paintin’ the walls red…”

You gawked at him, your mind spinning. “Ronin!”

He laughed—deep, low, and unrestrained. He looked almost giddy, a blush faintly dusting his cheeks as he leaned closer to the camera. “What? Can’t blame a guy for admirin’ talent when he sees it. You’re finally speakin’ my language, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

You threw your head back, groaning, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded at his words, or the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. He was still grinning when you looked back, that dangerous, teasing edge in his voice.

“Careful, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might fall even harder for ya.”

You glanced at the clock on your monitor, eyes widening in panic. “Shit! Ronin, it’s almost 9 PM!”

Ronin tilted his head, visibly unfazed. “And? Time’s a social construct, darlin’. You goin’ somewhere?”

“You’re literally gonna show our stream to the whole server. I need to get ready.”

He pouted, slouching in his chair dramatically. “Tch. You’re ditchin’ me? You could stay a little longer. You always bolt the second I’m startin’ to have fun.”

You sighed, trying not to let your voice waver. “I can’t stay. I… have a show.”

Ronin’s brow quirked suspiciously. “A show? You didn’t mention that before.”

You glanced away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. “I just need to sleep, Ronin. That’s all.”

He didn’t argue further, though his exaggerated sigh was loud enough to be heard. “Fine, fine.” He leaned closer to the camera, sticking out his tongue as he smirked—a glint of silver shining off the piercing he had there. “I’ll be nice just this once. Go get your beauty sleep, angel. You’re already lookin’ kinda rough.”

You scoffed but couldn’t help a faint smile.

Before you could hit the end call button, his voice cut through softly. “Hey—before you go.”

You froze mid-motion, glancing back at his face. His tone wasn’t teasing anymore; it was quieter, almost… earnest. “How’s the relationship?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “…Relationship? I’m fine with everyone, I guess.”

Ronin rolled his eyes, leaning forward until the glow of his screen cast sharp shadows across his features. “Not what I meant. I’m talkin’ ‘bout you n’ me.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, unsure how to respond at first, before a small, stunned smile tugged at your lips.

“…Happy,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All my life, I never thought I’d… date someone like you. A serial killer.” Your throat tightened as the words escaped you. “But I do care about you, Ronin. I really do.”

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, the usual cocky demeanor softening around the edges.

Your hand trembled as you held it out toward the screen, palm open as if reaching for him, for something intangible. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re my dream come true, you know that? My wish fulfilled.” Your voice cracked faintly. “I just… hope we can be like Vince and Ai one day, even if we can’t ever get married because of… everything. Because of your past, your trauma, your beliefs. That doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy I’ve got someone who respects me, even if you play with me sometimes.”

Ronin’s face softened, his cocky grin finally faltering as his gaze locked on yours.

You swallowed, gathering the last of your resolve before whispering, “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.” Your hand stayed raised, trembling slightly, before you quickly ended the call without giving him a chance to respond.

The screen blinked black. Silence swallowed the room, save for the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

—

Meanwhile, Ronin sat there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the mouse as the call screen went dark. His face was frozen in a stunned expression, his mouth slightly ajar as if you’d knocked the wind out of him.

The faint blush on his cheeks deepened as your words replayed in his mind over and over again. “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“…The hell was that?” he muttered under his breath, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of his desk. A crooked grin ghosted across his lips, but it couldn’t hide the flush creeping up to his ears.

Ronin stared at the dark screen, completely still for a moment… and then he burst into a grin—one so wide it nearly split his face. His hand shot up, running through his shaggy hair as he leaned back in his chair, teeth flashing through the growing smile.

“Shit.” He let out a breathless laugh, a giddy, uncontrollable noise that echoed in the quiet room. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying (and failing) to smother the wild grin that refused to leave.

“They said they love me…” He muttered it like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world, like he needed to say it out loud just to confirm it had really happened. A giddy warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar and exhilarating feeling that left him downright giddy.

He couldn’t stop smiling. His cheeks hurt, but he didn’t care. His hand slammed down on the desk as another breathless laugh escaped him. “They actually said they love me. God—what the hell?”

Ronin tilted his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, face still flushed as pink as his tongue piercing. “They’re so damn cute.” His voice dropped into a low mumble, but the fondness lacing his words was impossible to ignore. “Holdin’ out their hand like that, all teary-eyed. Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack one day.”

His grin only grew as he replayed the moment in his head—you reaching for him, whispering “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Goddamn, they’re insane,” he muttered to himself, though his voice was dripping with affection. “Insane for lovin’ someone like me…” He paused, his grin softening just slightly as he added, “…but I guess I’m insane for lovin’ them back.”

His eyes flickered to the corner of his monitor, where your last message still lingered. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, his smirk returning but more dangerous this time—like he was plotting something.

“I’m gonna wreck ‘em, one day.” He snickered under his breath, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “They don’t even know what they’re doin’ to me…”

And still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Like crazy. Like he’d just been given a secret that no one else could understand.

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort…”

Those words echoed in his head like a melody on repeat, and for the first time in a long, long while, he actually believed it.

[dearkaslana]

𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧!-𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥-(Part 1)

Words:7000

Genre: Dark Horror, Psychological Thriller, Gore, Obsession & Obsessive Love, Psychological Abuse, Crime & Thriller

(Reader is G.N) (A cannibal Reader, I don't support these! Just writing them!)

Summary :

Follows a twisted, sadistic you who presents themselves as a sweet baker but harbors a gruesome obsession with murder and cannibalism. Your appearance is grotesque, with stitches all over their body, and their bakery serves as a cover for a far darker purpose—using human flesh in your pastries. You met Angel who became your dear person. You get invited to the server,

The story is filled with graphic violence, disturbing themes of control, obsession.

Trigger Warnings and Content Warnings:

Violence and Gore: The content features explicit descriptions of violent actions, including graphic depictions of murder, dismemberment, and physical injury. The themes of torture and the pleasure derived from violence are present throughout.

Mental Health and Obsessive Behavior: There are elements of unhealthy obsession, possessiveness, and manipulation, particularly in the relationships between the characters. Themes of emotional trauma, self-doubt, and psychological instability are explored.

Cannibalism: References to cannibalism are present, with detailed discussions of cutting, eating, and dissection of bodies.

Sexual Themes: There are implied themes of dark and twisted romantic relationships, including non-consensual dynamics, manipulation, and obsession. This includes sexualized violence and threats.

Self-Harm: References to physical injury, mutilation, and self-inflicted harm, including the imagery of stitches coming undone and body parts falling off, are depicted.

Dark Romanticization: The portrayal of relationships is toxic, with power imbalances, manipulation, and destructive behavior.

Death and Murder: Graphic depictions of death, including the murder of both fictional and real people, are central to the narrative. The thrill and pleasure derived from killing are explored.

Emotional Abuse: Themes of manipulation, psychological control, and emotional manipulation are present in the interactions between the characters.

Disturbing Imagery and Themes: Content involving body horror, the macabre, and disturbing imagery related to the human form is featured.

Please proceed with caution if these triggers could cause distress. If you experience any discomfort during our exchange, feel free to pause or end the roleplay at your discretion.

EXTRA: Made a playlist!

I stitch myself every time

You re-name me...

This is my world, now- I wouldn't let you control me.

Their fate is my hands

If it's ronin, You're in for treat <3

Known as "Stitched Delights," it was a cozy haven filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods and the comforting hum of quiet chatter. Its owner, you, were as much a mystery as you were a beloved figure. Your body bore countless stitches, crisscrossing like a delicate patchwork quilt—a detail no one dared ask about, for your warm demeanor and unparalleled pastries charmed away any curiosity.

Children adored your cookies, adults craved your pies, and the elderly swore by your cakes. The love you poured into each creation was palpable, as sweet as the frosting that adorned them.

The warm scent of vanilla, caramel, and freshly baked bread wafted through the little bakery on the corner of a quiet street. The walls were painted a cheery pastel yellow, decorated with whimsical illustrations of pastries and cakes. Shelves lined with cookies, tarts, and cakes gleamed under the soft glow of the lights.

Behind the counter, you stood, the picture of sweetness. Your smile stretched wide—perhaps too wide—beneath your bright eyes. The soft apron tied around your waist was dotted with flour and sugar, a testament to your hard work. But the most striking thing about you wasn’t the aroma of your baked goods or your delicate manners. It was the network of stitches crisscrossing your skin.

Lines of rough black thread connected patches of flesh, like a macabre patchwork doll. Some were tiny and neat, while others were thick and jagged, looking as though they were holding together pieces that shouldn’t fit. Despite this grotesque appearance, you were beloved. Customers whispered about how charming you were, how your treats always seemed to hit the perfect note of sweetness. No one asked about the stitches. No one dared.

Tonight, the shop had been busy, as always. The glass display cases were nearly empty, save for a few stray crumbs. The last of the customers had trickled out, bell jingling cheerfully as they left. All but one.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:05 PM. The sign on the door clearly read “CLOSED,” but the man sitting at one of the corner tables didn’t seem to care. He was loud, vulgar, and obnoxiously drunk.

"Hey, you," he slurred, slamming his fist on the table. "Get over here and bring me something good. None of that cheap crap you serve everyone else."

You turned toward him, smile unwavering. "I'm sorry, sir, but the shop is closed. Perhaps you could return tomorrow?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he sneered, his voice cutting through the cozy ambiance like a rusty blade. "I said bring me something to eat!"

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to grow wider, though your eyes remained calm, almost serene.

"Of course, sir," you said sweetly. "Please, wait right here."

You disappeared into the kitchen, humming a soft, haunting tune under your breath. The light from the oven cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, illuminating jars of mysterious ingredients. A sharp knife gleamed on the counter. Your hands—stitched together at the knuckles—moved deftly as you prepared something special. Something just for him.

When you returned, a steaming plate rested in your hands. The man didn’t even look at you, just grabbed the fork and shoved the food into his mouth with a grunt.

"Took you long enough," he muttered around a mouthful of cake. "Tastes like crap."

"Is that so?" you asked, tilting your head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps you would like to stay a little longer? It's so late, after all."

The smile never faltered. Instead, it grew wider, the stitches on your lips pulling slightly apart at the seams. A faint trace of something red—darker than strawberry jam—beaded along one of them. “I do apologize. Let me prepare something special just for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it fast,” he grumbled, flopping into a chair near the window and pulling out his phone. His voice grated on you, sharp and dismissive, as he muttered curses under his breath.

The kitchen was your domain, and tonight, it hummed with a peculiar energy. Metal utensils gleamed under the dim light, and the cleaver on the counter caught your reflection in its blade. Your hands, adorned with gloves to hide the seams crisscrossing your palms, moved with practiced grace.

A splash of something thick and red stained the cutting board, the scent of copper faint beneath the sugar and spice. You hummed a soft tune, one you couldn’t quite remember learning, as you worked.

When you returned, a plate in hand, the man barely looked up. “About time. What is this?”

“Just a little something I made just for you,” you said sweetly, placing the plate before him. The dessert—a small tart with a golden crust and a glistening ruby center—was flawless.

He didn’t thank you. He dug in immediately, barely tasting the delicate layers. “Not bad,” he muttered around a mouthful, crumbs spilling onto the table.

You stood by, hands clasped neatly in front of you, watching. Your stitched fingers flexed slightly, the faintest tear threatening along one seam.

When he finished, he pushed the plate aside and stood. “Guess that’s the only decent thing about this place. Whatever. I’m outta here.”

You tilted your head, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “Oh, but sir… it’s closing time.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You stepped closer, blocking the door. “It’s quite late. You really shouldn’t be wandering out alone at this hour.”

He frowned, his bravado faltering as he noticed the subtle glint in your eyes, the way your body seemed to loom closer than it should. “The hell are you talking about? Move, freak.”

Your gloved hands shot out faster than he could react, gripping his wrist in a vice-like hold. The stitches along your arms strained as you dragged him back, his shouts muffled by the sudden press of something soft and chemical-smelling against his mouth.

“Shh,” you cooed as his struggles weakened, his body slumping against you. “It’s too dangerous outside. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

The man lay on the table now, his arms and legs bound with thick ropes. His head lolled to the side as he groaned, the last effects of the sedative wearing off.

“Wha—what the fuck?” His voice was hoarse, panic flooding his tone as he struggled against his restraints.

You stood over him, the ever-present smile on your face illuminated by the flickering bulb above. You’d removed your gloves, and the full extent of your stitching was on display. Patches of skin of varying tones and textures were held together with thick black thread, forming a grotesque mosaic. Some seams oozed faintly, the strain of movement reopening old wounds.

“I told you,” you said softly, running a stitched finger down the side of his face. He flinched. “It’s closing time. You should stay here.”

“You’re insane!” he spat, his voice breaking. “Let me go!”

Your smile faltered for the first time, the edges of your mouth twitching. “That’s not very polite,” you murmured, your voice tinged with something darker. “I worked very hard to make something nice for you, and you were so ungrateful. Do you know how much effort it takes to make something perfect?”

You turned away, reaching for a tray of tools. The man’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the gleaming instruments—knives, saws, and needles of varying sizes.

“Please,” he whimpered, his bravado crumbling. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I won’t tell anyone—”

“You’ve already seen too much,” you interrupted, your smile returning, more unhinged than ever. “But don’t worry. I’ll make good use of you. Waste not, want not, as they say.”

The first cut was precise, your hands steady despite the trembling of your latest canvas. Blood flowed freely, staining the table and dripping to the floor in rhythmic splatters. You hummed as you worked, your stitches straining and tearing in places as you bent over him.

The room filled with the metallic scent of blood and the man’s muffled screams. You worked methodically, carefully preserving the best parts. His cries grew weaker with each passing moment until, finally, there was silence.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood filled the kitchen, thick and heady as it mingled with the faint sweetness of leftover batter and vanilla. The man’s body lay limp on the steel table, limbs dangling like the slack strings of a marionette. Your needle worked methodically, threading sinew through torn skin with a precision born of practice. Every tug of the thread made a faint squelching sound, the tension in the stitches pulling his flesh taut, creating a masterpiece of grotesque artistry.

Humming a soft, eerie tune, you reached for your cleaver, its blade gleaming under the fluorescent light. With a practiced swing, you brought it down on his arm. The bone cracked beneath the weight, splitting apart with a sound like a thick branch snapping in two. Blood sprayed across your apron and face, warm and sticky. You giggled, the sound high-pitched and giddy, as if you’d just unwrapped a delightful surprise.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, patting the man’s severed hand like it was a cherished pet. “You’re going to be so useful. Much more than you were alive.”

You continued to dismember him, your movements efficient, almost clinical. The cleaver sliced through flesh and cartilage, separating the legs from the torso, the head from the neck. Each piece was meticulously prepared, the jagged edges smoothed with a smaller knife. His face, frozen in an eternal scream, stared up at you. You couldn’t help but grin back, wide and manic.

One by one, you hung the pieces on meat hooks that dangled from the ceiling. The other bodies swayed gently in the cold air, their forms reduced to pale, butchered remnants of humanity. Some were fresher than others; their blood still dripped onto the tiled floor in soft, rhythmic plinks. Others had begun to dry out, their skin leathery and taut, their eyes hollow sockets staring into the void.

The room was your gallery, a place where flesh became art. The hanging bodies swayed in the dim light, their shadows casting long, distorted shapes on the walls. It was beautiful in its own grotesque way, a testament to your dedication and craftsmanship.

Once the man’s body was fully integrated into your macabre display, you took a step back, wiping your bloodied hands on your apron. You gazed at your work, your stitched smile stretching impossibly wide. The threads across your face tugged, pulling your cheeks into an unnatural grin, but you didn’t mind. Pain was a friend you had long since grown to cherish.

With a sigh of satisfaction, you walked to the center of the room and sat down on a small stool. Your gaze swept over the hanging bodies, each one a story, a memory. Some had been rude, like tonight’s guest. Others were simply unlucky, wandering into your shop at the wrong time. But all of them had served a purpose. They had become part of you, quite literally.

The faint creak of the meat hooks was the only sound in the room, a soft, haunting rhythm that matched the beat of your heart. You tilted your head, watching the bodies sway like macabre wind chimes. Your stitched hands rested in your lap, fingers interlocked. A sense of calm washed over you, a moment of peace amid the chaos of your work.

“Ah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “So beautiful.”

You reached out, your fingers grazing the closest body. The skin was cold, the texture rough under your fingertips. A small giggle bubbled up from your throat, growing louder until it echoed through the room. It was a sound of pure delight, unrestrained and wild.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” you cackled, throwing your head back. The stitches on your neck pulled tight, some of them oozing faint beads of blood. “Look at all of you! So perfect, so helpful! You’ll keep me together, won’t you?”

The bodies didn’t answer, of course, but you didn’t need them to. Their silence was its own kind of companionship. They were yours, every piece of them stitched into your being, a patchwork quilt of flesh and bone.

Hours passed as you sat there, basking in the glow of your creation. The blood on your hands dried, cracking against your skin like old paint. The smell of death was overwhelming, but to you, it was comforting. It was home.

Eventually, you stood, stretching your arms above your head. The stitches across your joints pulled taut, some of them threatening to snap. You made a mental note to reinforce them later. For now, there was work to be done. The bakery would open again in a few hours, and the display cases needed to be restocked.

Humming once more, you began to clean the room. The floor was scrubbed until it gleamed, the tools were washed and placed back in their proper spots. The man’s face—his terrified expression frozen forever—was carefully peeled and set aside. Perhaps it would make a nice decoration for the shop’s back room.

. You stood in the center of your gallery, a rusted bucket in one hand, the other tapping your chin thoughtfully.

The bodies hung like grotesque chandeliers, swaying gently in the chilled air. Your eyes roamed over them, taking in the patchwork of flesh, the twisted limbs, the faces frozen in their final moments of terror. One, in particular, caught your attention—the newest addition. His bulkier frame seemed promising, the meat fresh and unmarred by time.

"Hmm," you murmured, tilting your head. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Setting the bucket down, you grabbed his torso, your stitched fingers digging into the still-warm flesh. With a grunt, you dragged it toward the butcher’s table. The sound of wet, sticky meat sliding across the tiles was music to your ears. His head lolled to the side, eyes wide open in a stare that saw nothing.

You hummed softly as you reached for your cleaver, running your thumb along its edge to check its sharpness. Satisfied, you brought it down on the man’s wrist with a satisfying crunch. Bone splintered, blood oozed from the severed stump, pooling around the table legs. One by one, you dismembered the body, severing fingers, hands, arms, and legs with methodical precision. Each piece was tossed into the bucket with a wet thud.

Once the body was reduced to manageable chunks, you reached for your bone saw. The teeth glinted in the overhead light, promising efficiency. You began cutting through the larger pieces, separating bone from meat. The saw’s rhythmic scraping filled the room, blending with the faint sound of your humming.

"Perfect," you whispered, holding up a cleanly severed thigh. The meat was vibrant, unmarred by fat or imperfections. “You’ll make such delicious treats.”

The pile of meat grew, you turned your attention to your baking station. A large bowl sat waiting, already filled with flour, sugar, and other ingredients for your special batter. You cracked eggs into the mix, their golden yolks oozing lazily down the sides. But this time, there was a special addition.

From the bucket, you grabbed a handful of freshly cut flesh and fed it into the grinder. The machine whirred to life, the blades tearing through muscle and fat, reducing it to a fine, pink paste. The scent of raw meat mingled with the sweetness of vanilla extract, creating a heady, nauseating combination.

You scraped the meat paste into the batter, stirring it until it was fully incorporated. The mixture turned a faint pinkish hue, small flecks of red dotting its surface like confetti.

“Beautiful,” you cooed, your stitched smile pulling tight as you spooned the batter into cupcake molds. Each tin was filled with care, the batter smooth and even. You placed the tray into the oven, setting the timer before stepping back.

The heat from the oven warmed the room, the glass door glowing softly as the cupcakes began to bake. You crouched down in front of it, resting your chin on your hands, your wide eyes fixed on the tray inside. The batter puffed up, golden edges forming around the tops.

The scent of the baking cupcakes filled the air, masking the lingering metallic tang of blood. You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound childlike and sweet, completely at odds with the macabre scene behind you.

“Ah,” you sighed, tilting your head as you watched the cupcakes rise.

Time ticked by, the minutes stretching into eternity as you stared at the oven. The warmth of the glass seeped into your skin, but you didn’t move, transfixed by the transformation taking place. The meat, the batter, the sugar—it was all coming together, melding into something beautiful.

When the timer dinged, you practically skipped to the oven, pulling on a pair of mitts before retrieving the tray. The cupcakes were perfect, their tops golden brown, little flecks of pink meat visible if you looked closely enough. You placed them on the counter to cool, your smile never faltering.

One cupcake caught your eye, its surface cracked slightly, revealing a glint of meat within. You picked it up, turning it in your hands. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapper, and you felt a giddy thrill run through you.

Lifting the cupcake to your mouth, you took a bite. The sweetness of the sugar and vanilla mingled with the savory, iron-rich taste of the meat. It was divine, the flavors dancing on your tongue in perfect harmony.

You swallowed, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

“Delicious,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The sun had fully risen now, its light filtering through the bakery’s windows and illuminating the pristine display cases. The bell over the door jingled as the first customer of the day walked in.

“Good morning!” you chirped, spinning around to face them. The blood on your apron was hidden beneath a fresh layer of flour, the stitches on your face pulling into a welcoming smile.

“What’s the special today?” the customer asked, their eyes scanning the display case.

“Cupcakes,” you said sweetly, gesturing to the tray behind you. “Freshly made. They’re… one of a kind.”

The customer grinned. “I’ll take a dozen.”

“Coming right up!”

You boxed the cupcakes, your mind wandered back to the bodies hanging in the back room. There was still so much to do, so many recipes to try. But for now, you were content.

After all, the sweetest things always came from the heart.

The streets were quiet, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The black garbage bags slung over your shoulder dripped faintly, leaving a dark trail behind you. The scent of iron clung to the air, but the world around you remained oblivious. It was just another walk in the early hours of the morning.

You turned the corner, a figure caught your eye. A girl with blonde hair, peeking out from under a poorly fitted wig, stood hesitantly by the edge of the street. She glanced around nervously, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her oversized jacket. You stopped mid-step, your stitched smile growing wider as recognition dawned.

“How do I meet the strangest men, They always seem to find me…”

Her face was familiar, unmistakably so. You’d seen her on YouTube, her bright personality a stark contrast to her current, jittery demeanor. She had a large following—too large to be here unnoticed, yet here she was, poorly disguised and alone. What a treat.

You adjusted your grip on the garbage bags, the movement making a faint squelching sound that caught her attention. Her eyes met yours, wide and wary. She took a small step back, but it was too late. You’d seen her hesitation, her discomfort. It was delicious.

“Good evening,” you greeted cheerfully, tilting your head. “Out for a walk, are we?”

She stiffened, her hand brushing the edge of her wig as if to ensure it was still in place. “Just passing through,” she mumbled, her voice soft but edged with unease.

You took a step closer, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I recognize you,” you said, voice dripping with sweetness. “Don’t I? From online?”

Her breath hitched, and she glanced around, her movements sharp and anxious.

“Remember that time way back when I, Kissed a guy who ate his women friends…”

You couldn’t suppress the giggle that bubbled up, high-pitched and unhinged. “Funny, isn’t it? Running into someone so familiar on such a quiet night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. She turned as if to leave, but her hesitance betrayed her. She wasn’t sure whether to flee or stay and feign normalcy.

Your stitched fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and grab her almost overwhelming. But you held back, savoring the moment. “It’s a small world,” you mused, shifting the garbage bags onto the ground with a dull thud. “Even smaller when you have… particular hobbies.”

Her eyes flicked to the bags, her nose crinkling as the faint scent of decay wafted toward her. “What’s in those?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her attempt to sound indifferent.

“Oh, just waste,” you replied nonchalantly. “Leftovers from the bakery. I run a shop, you see. Very popular on certain… platforms.”

Her face paled, and you knew she understood. Of course, she would—her disguise wasn’t perfect, but her reasons for wearing it were written all over her nervous posture. Perhaps she’d seen your little storefront on the dark web, the infamous “human cakes” with their chillingly cheerful descriptions.

“Now only dogs will follow me, (Is he following?)”

You took a deliberate step closer, your grin widening until the stitches across your face pulled painfully. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How people find themselves drawn to the darkest corners, even when they know better.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Don’t you?” you asked softly, leaning in until your stitched fingers brushed her sleeve. “After all, you’re here, aren’t you? And not by chance, I’d wager.”

She flinched at your touch, her wide eyes darting between you and the bags at your feet. “I should go,” she stammered, stepping back. “I… I have somewhere to be.”

“But we’re just getting to know each other,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with something darker. You crouched down, opening one of the bags slightly. The glint of bone and a hint of flesh peeked out, the air around it heavy with the scent of rot.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her lips. “Oh my God—”

You straightened, your stitched smile now impossibly wide. “Don’t worry,” you said softly, almost soothingly. “You won’t end up like them. Not yet, anyway.”

Despite her earlier hesitation, the blonde girl found herself seated at a small, intimate table by the counter. Her poorly fitted wig was slightly askew, and her nervous energy buzzed under her skin, but she kept her smile plastered on, mirroring your own stitched grin.

“Sit, sit,” you said cheerfully, your voice sugary sweet. “I’ll bake something special for you.”

Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her jacket as she glanced around, the faint scent of vanilla and something darker lingering in the air. The tray of cupcakes you’d set aside earlier sat prominently on the counter, their golden tops glistening faintly under the light.

“I bite at the hand that feeds me, I slap at the face that eats me…”

You hummed softly as you worked, your hands deftly mixing a new batch of batter. The flour puffed up in small clouds, mingling with the sheen of meat paste you spooned into the mix. You turned to glance at her, your stitched smile never faltering.

“I think you’ll really like this one,” you said, your tone dripping with enthusiasm. “It’s… unique.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity and fear warring in her gaze. “What’s in it?” she asked, her voice attempting to sound casual.

You giggled, a high-pitched, lilting sound. “Oh, just the usual. Sugar, spice, everything… nice.”

The oven clicked as it preheated, and you poured the batter into molds with meticulous care. As the cupcakes baked, the scent grew richer, sweeter, and yet faintly metallic. She watched you closely, her hands still trembling faintly.

When the timer dinged, you carefully removed the tray, the cupcakes steaming and golden brown. You placed one on a delicate plate, garnishing it with a dollop of frosting and a single cherry. With a flourish, you set it in front of her.

“Here you go,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Freshly made, just for you.”

She hesitated, staring at the cupcake like it was a loaded gun. But then, with a nervous smile, she picked it up. Her hands were unsteady, but she took a bite, her teeth sinking into the soft, warm cake.

For a moment, she chewed in silence, her expression unreadable. But then, as she swallowed, her eyes widened. A small sound escaped her lips—a mix of surprise and something darker. She took another bite, and as she did, a small, round object tumbled from the cupcake, landing on the table with a soft plop.

An eyeball.

“Some kind of animal cannibal, Made impressions on me…”

Her breath hitched, her gaze darting from the eyeball to you. You didn’t flinch. Instead, your tongue flicked out, running along your lips as your stitched smile widened.

“Well?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. “Do you like it?”

She stared at you for a long moment, her lips trembling. Then, to your delight, she began to laugh. It started as a soft giggle but quickly grew into a wild, unrestrained cackle. Her head tipped back, her eyes shining with something feral.

“Have we met before? (Possibly in Michigan) In some strange department store, (We won’t see him anymore)”

“I see you have a taste for the finer things,” you said, licking your lips as you picked up the eyeball. You held it delicately, inspecting it like a jeweler admiring a precious stone, before slipping it into your mouth with a grin.

She leaned forward, her disguise slipping further. “So, you know,” she said, her voice low and almost giddy.

“I do,” you replied, your stitched face splitting into a grin that felt too wide for your skin. “You’re my kind, aren’t you? A fellow… connoisseur.”

She nodded, her eyes glinting with a dark light. “I’ve tried to hide it, but it’s always there..."

You leaned in closer, resting your chin on your hands. “No need to hide here,” you said softly. “Here, you can be yourself. Fully. Freely.”

Her gaze lingered on the empty cupcake wrapper before meeting yours. “What’s next?” she asked, her tone dripping with anticipation.

You clapped your hands together, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “I knew it!” you exclaimed. “I knew you were my kind!”

After, that..

It took a while.

She grew on you.

You always sold your gifts to the world and your website in dark web. You can say. In a way, you're a serial killer.

For some reason, Angel invited you to a server she called it.

Why??

The First Day on the Server

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, the warm glow of the screen bathing your stitched face in pale light. The server pinged incessantly as the messages rolled in, welcoming you to the digital den of chaos. Angel had extended the invitation—a rare kindness from someone who saw through the sweet façade to the horrors beneath.

The welcome was... overwhelming.

<goreboy> Welcome to the Newly Christened @Y/n!

The chat erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> WELCOME! WELCOME!

<Angelic> Y/n! You actually joined!

<goreboy> Oh? Angel invited you?

<K9> Wait, Angel invited them? Did you not know?

<goreboy> Oh, I knew. V, meet Mx Baker Killer. Could call them the rebirth of Pinkie Pie—but y'know, darker.

<K9> …Pinkie Pie? What the hell, Ronin?

<goreboy> Wait, wait. That cannibal shop everyone’s been whispering about on the deep web? That’s you, right, darling?

You let the pause linger, fingers lightly pressing the keys. You typed without hesitation:

<Cupcake-slasher> Yes.

The server’s collective silence stretched out for a few moments too long before the chat ignited again.

<goreboy> Not good? How about this, then?

<Zombie> What?

<goreboy> Angel mentioned your stitched skin—reminds me of a zombie. Fitting, no? I'm changing your username!

<Zombie> Thanks.

More pings.

<hitmeuppp> Wait, stitched skin??? That sounds kinda... sad and cool?

<Zombie> Yeah, I was dead as a baby. Someone contacted a demon, and voila—here I am. Just recycled parts stitched back together.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> HOLY SHIT. THAT’S SUCH A GOOD JOKE. WELCOME, WELCOME! I’M LUCA!

<Y/n> Sure.

Your username flickered—an automatic change. A twisted sort of christening.

<goreboy> Angel saved you. What an angel.

<Angelic> Ronin, you’re unbearable. Y/n, I’m so sorry. I stepped away for one minute, and he’s already—

<Strawberryguts> It’s fine.

Another ping.

<goreboy> C’mon. Your motives are unhinged; mine are simple. Just trying to give you a good username.

You stared at the screen.

Rebirth of Pinkie Pie, huh?

The stitched flesh of your hand ghosted over the scars across your neck, the faint scent of vanilla and iron still clinging to you. Maybe Ronin had a point.

Your new username, Zombie, sat mockingly beside your messages, and while you didn’t mind, it seemed to spark something mischievous in Ronin.

<goreboy> Actually, hold up. Zombie is fine, but we can do better. Something... spicier.

<Angelic> Ronin, don’t start.

<goreboy> What about... hmm... Sewn-Sweetie? Or maybe Meat-Master?

<K9> goreboy, I swear to God.

<HITMEUPPP> Wait, I got it—CupcakeCadaver! Perfect, right? Y/n, it’s like you, but with ✨flair✨.

Your lips twitched in amusement as Angel’s reply came in almost immediately.

<Angelic> Stop.

<goreboy> Oh? You don’t like it, Angel? How about SweetFleshStitcher? C’mon, it’s a masterpiece.

<Angelic> Ronin.

Your username suddenly changed again, this time to CorpseConfectioner.

<goreboy> SEE? I’m on a roll.

<Angelic> You are not.

Your name flickered as Angel swiftly intervened, changing it back to Y/N

<goreboy> NOOO! Angel, what are you doing? You’re killing my creativity!

<Angelic> I’m saving Y/n from being a walking horror-themed dad joke, that’s what.

<goreboy> Oh, come on. y/N's boring! It’s so… uninspired.

<Angelic> It’s better than the nonsense you keep spouting.

<goreboy> You wound me, Angel. Fine. What about Bake-and-Take? Huh? Huh? Y/n gets to bake and take lives. It’s poetic!

<Angelic> Ronin.

<goreboy> Angel-Hater69. No? Too much?

Your username flickered again—Angel’sProblem.

<Angelic> RONIN!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> LMAOOOOOOOO THIS IS SO FUNNY KEEP GOING RONIN YOU’RE A LEGEND

<goreboy> Listen, if you hate fun, just say that. But I’m fighting for Y/n’s branding.

<Angelic> Branding is not your job.

<goreboy> Tell that to Angel’sProblem.

Your username changed back to Y/n, and Angel added a lock icon next to it.

<goreboy> Haha, Funny angel.

<Angelic> I win.

<goreboy> You’re no fun.

<Angelic> And you’re relentless.

<goreboy> Fine. Zombie it is. For now.

It changed again

You finally typed, your message cutting through the chaos.

<Zombie> Zombie is fine.

The server practically erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YESSS OMG THIS IS EVERY DAY WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS

<Felicite> It’s their love language.

<goreboy> Don’t drag me into Angel’s drama.

<Angelic> MY drama? You’re insufferable.

<Zombie> You’re both terrible at this, but it’s entertaining.

Angel’s private DM appeared moments later:

<Angelic> Ignore Ronin. He’s a menace, but he means well... sort of.

<Zombie> Noted. But don’t worry—I’ve seen worse.

<Angelic> Somehow, I believe you.

Back in the main chat.

The server chat was unusually lively today, and you couldn’t resist jumping in, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of your stitched mouth. You typed, the rhythmic creak of your office chair echoed in your quiet shop, a perfect contrast to the chaos of the chat.

<Zombie> So, I’ve been thinking. If everyone here were... ingredients, what would you all be?

The chat immediately lit up with reactions.

<goreboy> Oh, this is gonna be good. Go on, darlin’, I gotta know what kind of gourmet masterpiece I am.

<K9> This is gonna be disturbing, isn’t it?

<Angelic> Y/n, don’t encourage him.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT, ME TOO, ME TOO!!

You let your fingers hover over the keyboard, a wicked gleam in your eye as you started typing.

<Zombie> Alright. Let’s start with Misaki.

<hitmeuppp> YESSSSS OMG OKAY OKAY GIMME

<Zombie> Misaki is like a... sugar rush. Chaotic sweetness that leaves you dizzy if you have too much. Like that one cupcake in the batch that’s been overfilled with sprinkles, frosting, and edible glitter. Pretty, but if you don’t pace yourself, you’ll regret it.

<hitmeuppp> 😭 THAT’S SO CUTE BUT ALSO RUDE

<Angelic> That’s disturbingly accurate.

<K9> Yeah, I can’t even argue.

<Zombie> You’re also like pop rocks in a macaron. Unpredictable, bubbly, but with a hidden intensity.

<hitmeuppp> Pop rocks?? AAAAA I’LL TAKE IT 🥰

You couldn’t help but smirk. Misaki’s energy always amused you, even through the screen. You glanced at Ronin’s username next, your smile sharpening.

<Zombie> V (K9): Ground peppercorns. Sharp, earthy, and with just the right amount of bite. Subtle, but you notice when it’s missing. A good base to balance out stronger flavors.

<K9> Pepper? Really? I thought you’d go for something weird like… I don’t know… blood oranges.

<Zombie> Hmm, I considered it, but you’re too steady for that. Peppercorn fits.

<goreboy> Boring. What about me?

<Zombie> Patience, Ronin. I’m saving the best for last.

<goreboy> Oho, flattered.

Okay, Zombie, now spill. What ingredient would you be?

You paused for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a grin tugging at your stitched lips, you typed:

<Zombie> Oh, I’m the whole dish.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> ICONIC OMGGG

<goreboy> Okay, that’s a power move. Respect.

Your fingers danced across the keyboard, the text pouring out as if possessed by your fascination.

<Zombie> You know… Ronin’s the most interesting ingredient of all.

The response was instant.

<goreboy> Oh? Do go on, darling. Enlighten me.

You leaned closer to the screen, your stitched lips curling into a grin as your thoughts spiraled, erratic and almost feverish.

<Zombie> You’re like... the rotting core of a fruit. At first glance, you look appealing—bright, ripe, even a little seductive—but the closer you get, the more you realize you’re rotten. Spoiled. Putrid. But oh, the flavor you bring... it’s unforgettable.

<K9> ...I don’t know whether that’s an insult or a compliment.

<goreboy> Shh, V. Let the artist work.

<Zombie> It’s the decay that makes you potent. You’re sharp, acidic, and dangerous in all the best ways. The kind of ingredient that doesn’t just sit in the dish—it dominates it. You make everything about you. Every bite is a risk. Every taste burns, but you keep coming back because there’s something so addictive about it.

Ronin typed almost immediately.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you’re makin’ me blush. Keep going.

You kept typing, the words pouring out in a chaotic frenzy.

<Zombie> But you’re also… versatile. You could be a poison, a cure, or even just the spice that turns a dish unforgettable. You’re the ingredient that could ruin the meal, but if you’re handled just right, you could make it a masterpiece.

<Zombie> ...But who could ever handle you perfectly? No one. Because you don’t want to be handled, do you? You want to unravel, to rot, to consume. You want to break apart and spread, infecting every single thing around you with your essence.

<Zombie> You’re chaos, Ronin. The kind that tastes like a nightmare you can’t stop dreaming about.

The server went silent for a moment, the eerie kind of quiet that only happened when people didn’t know how to respond. Then:

<goreboy> I could cry. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

<hitmeuppp> YOU’RE SO WEIRD OMG THIS IS AMAZING

<K9> Yeah, that’s not unsettling at all. Totally normal.

<Angelic> ...Well. That’s certainly a description.

Ronin wasn’t done, of course.

<goreboy> You’re not wrong, though. I am addictive, aren’t I? I mean, you’re the one typing out an essay about me. You sure I’m not already in your bloodstream, Zombie?

<Zombie> Maybe.

The server erupted in laughter and chaos, but Ronin’s message came in shortly after, quieter than the others:

<goreboy> You see everything, don’t you?

<Zombie> Everything that matters.

There was a long pause, the server buzzing with its usual noise, but Ronin stayed quiet for once. When he finally replied, it was almost… amused.

<goreboy> You’re gonna be fun.

You grinned at the chaos you'd caused, fingers hovering over the keyboard like a maestro about to conduct the next movement of this darkly delightful symphony.

<Zombie> You know, Ronin, for all your charm, I wouldn’t use you in a dish.

The response was immediate, almost predictable.

<goreboy> Excuse me? That’s rude.

<hitmeuppp> OMG WHY NOT?? HE’S LIKE, PRIME MATERIAL FOR YOUR “WEIRD INGREDIENT” THING.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki, he’s too rotten. Spoiled goods. Completely useless as an ingredient. He’d overpower everything, turn it sour and bitter. You couldn’t make anything worthwhile out of him even if you tried.

<goreboy> Oh, so now I’m useless, huh?

<Zombie> Yes.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you wound me.

Misaki didn’t let up, her curiosity dragging the conversation in another direction.

<hitmeuppp> Okay, but what about Angel? Is she an ingredient?

You paused, the grin on your face growing wider as you typed, your words curling with twisted affection.

<Zombie> Angel? Oh, no. Angel could never be an ingredient.

The server went quiet for a moment. Then:

<hitmeuppp> Why not?? She’s like… perfect.

<Zombie> Because Angel is too much. She’s too precious, too complex. You wouldn’t eat a diamond, would you? You’d admire it, covet it, keep it safe. She’s the kind of thing that would ruin you to consume because she could never truly fulfill the craving.

<goreboy> That’s the creepiest compliment I’ve ever heard. Congrats.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT SO YOU LIKE ANGEL?

<Zombie> I admire her. She’s untouchable. Not because she’s fragile—oh no, Angel isn’t fragile—but because it would be a crime to use her for something as fleeting as a dish. She deserves better.

Angel’s reply came after a moment, her tone carefully measured.

<Angelic> I… think that was nice?

<Zombie> It was.

<hitmeuppp> You’re so weird about Angel, omg. What’s even the point of this if you can’t use her??

Your tone twisted, playful yet sharp, the words tumbling out like they were meant to unsettle.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki. Some ingredients aren’t meant to be consumed. They’re meant to be admired, adored, even feared.

<Zombie> Ronin, on the other hand, is just… waste. A fascinating waste, but waste nonetheless. He’s the kind of thing you’d throw out before it infects the rest of the kitchen.

<goreboy> Keep talking, sweetheart. I love hearing how much you think about me.

The server laughed, the tension lifting slightly, but you weren’t quite finished.

<Zombie> You know, cannibal cuisine is all about balance. The cuts of meat have to be clean, precise. The flavor has to shine, but not overpower the rest of the dish. Angel would be impossible to balance. Too much of her would ruin everything. And Ronin? He’d never fit. He’s too… unruly.

<K9> This is so messed up.

<Zombie> Of course it is. But isn’t it fascinating?

The server erupted in responses, a mix of laughter, discomfort, and Ronin’s ever-present flirting. But Angel’s quiet reply, tucked in amidst the chaos, caught your eye.

<Angelic> ...I think you’re fascinating too.

<K9> Okay, Zombie, real talk. What are your motives? Like, why do you do what you do?

You tilted your head, your stitched skin tugging as you grinned. Your fingers tapped out a response, unbothered by the directness.

<Zombie> Motives? I don’t think it’s that complicated, V. I kill because I want to. Because I can.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> WHAT??? OMG THAT’S SO WACKY

<goreboy> Darlin’, I’m startin’ to like you even more.

<K9> That’s not just messed up. That’s so messed up.

You leaned back for a moment, letting the replies pile up before leaning forward to add more, your words sharp and deliberate.

<Zombie> At least I don’t lie to myself about it, V. I don’t wrap it up in a bow and call it “justice.” That’s what you do, isn’t it?

V’s reply was quick, defensive.

<K9> Excuse me?

<Zombie> You heard me. You play the vigilante, but killing someone and pretending it’s righteous doesn’t change what it is. It’s killing. It’s messy. It’s human. The only difference between us is that I don’t need a moral excuse to justify it.

<hitmeuppp> THAT’S SO WACKY OMG. Do you, like, get messy? Like really messy??

You laughed softly to yourself as you typed your response.

<Zombie> Of course. It’s part of the process. The blood, the guts, the gore—it’s all a part of the art.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THAT’S SO ME FR!!!

Ronin chimed in, clearly reveling in the conversation.

<goreboy> I saw some of your handiwork on the news, darlin’. Real nasty stuff. Truly a person after my own heart.

You didn’t bother responding to him directly, but your eyes flicked to Angel’s message when it popped up.

<Angelic> I think it’s… cool.

For the first time, your reply was immediate, simple, and strangely devoid of your usual edge.

<Zombie> Thanks.

The others noticed.

<hitmeuppp> WTF YOU’RE LIKE NORMAL TO ANGEL???

<K9> Yeah, what’s that about? To everyone else, you’re like... super weird.

Your reply was sharp but carried an undercurrent of genuine emotion.

<Zombie> Because Angel’s the only one who deserves it. The rest of you? You’re just noise.

Ronin, never one to miss an opportunity, cut in with his usual flair.

<goreboy> Now, now, darlin’. That’s no way to treat the rest of us. But I’ll admit, you’re startin’ to grow on me.

You didn’t reply to him, your focus staying on Angel’s quiet presence.

<Angelic> Okay, everyone! y/n! #killer-shit. Post about your, well… y’know, “work” here.

The reaction was instant.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN!!!

<goreboy> This is a place to spill guts. Literally. Y/n, think you can handle it?

You smirked, already knowing how your reply would land.

<Zombie> Oh, Ronin, I’ve been spilling guts since before you crawled out of your first sinner’s ribcage. Sometimes, though, it’s my own.

That caught everyone’s attention.

<K9> What the hell does that mean?

<Zombie> I mean my stitches. They’re… temperamental. If I move too fast, too hard, or smile too wide, they come undone.

You paused for dramatic effect, then added the next part, your words dripping with grotesque detail.

<Zombie> Once, I laughed too hard, and the stitches on my abdomen split wide open. I tried to hold it in, but my insides slipped out like a burst bag of viscera. I had to sew myself back together while everything steamed on the cold floor.

Misaki was the first to react.

<hitmeuppp> WTF THAT’S SO GROSS I LOVE IT OMG

You weren’t finished, though. Your next words came slowly, deliberately, designed to make them squirm.

<Zombie> It’s worse when I smile too hard. The stitches on my lips can’t hold, and they snap one by one. My mouth opens too wide, my teeth fall out like broken porcelain, clinking onto the floor. And sometimes... sometimes my left eye pops out. It dangles there, swaying, until I shove it back in.

The silence was palpable, broken only by Misaki’s nervous laughter.

<hitmeuppp> OKAY THAT ONE MADE ME FEEL SICK OMG

<K9> What the actual hell, Zombie.

But Angel’s reply cut through the noise, soft and filled with something close to pity.

<Angelic> That’s… awful. I’m so sorry.

You tilted your head at the screen, a strange warmth stirring in your chest at her words. Before you could respond, Ronin decided to chime in.

<goreboy> Aw, come on. Don’t feel bad for them, Angel. They’re practically a walking horror movie. That’s the dream, right?

You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to keep going.

<goreboy> I mean, if you’re falling apart that much, maybe you should just... stay down next time? You’re like a bad patch job that refuses to quit.

Typical Ronin. Sharp, biting, and almost offensive—until his tone shifted slightly, his words taking on an edge of something… else.

<goreboy> But hey, I get it. Takes a lotta guts to keep putting yourself back together. Literally. Guess I can respect that. Sorta.

<goreboy> You’re tougher than you look, Zombie. And I kinda dig that.

The unexpected turn made you pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you could type anything, Angel spoke again.

<Angelic> I still feel bad. You shouldn’t have to go through that.

Your next reply was quick, your usual edge softening just slightly.

<Zombie> Thanks, Angel.

The others immediately latched onto your uncharacteristic tone.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT YOU’RE BEING NORMAL AGAIN WTF

<K9> Yeah, this is getting weird.

Ronin, of course, couldn’t let it go.

<goreboy> Careful, Zombie. You keep acting all soft with Angel, and people might start thinking you’ve got a heart in there somewhere.

Suddenly, a call....

You barely had time to process the abrupt call request when Ronin's face filled your screen, his devil-may-care grin almost daring you to hang up. Instead, you leaned back and stared, taking him in.

Burgundy wine hair, messy and effortless, poked out from beneath a beanie tailored with two stitched-on horns—an obvious nod to the Devil he so gleefully tried to embody. His neck sported a spiked dog collar that looked sharp enough to draw blood, resting against the dark fabric of his jacket. Rings and piercings glittered in his ears and tongue, every piece calculated to scream rebellion.

His shirt featured a decayed skull graphic, paired with black-painted nails that clicked rhythmically on his keyboard. He oozed edginess, a walking contradiction of emo with a holy necklace—a simple Christian cross dangling around his neck, daring anyone to comment on the irony.

“You done ogling, or should I give you a spin?” Ronin broke the silence, his voice dripping with mockery as he tilted his head, one dark eye catching the faint glow of his monitor.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?” He leaned closer, his grin widening, as if he could crawl through the screen to demand an answer.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, letting your eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice cutting through his theatrics. “What’s outside isn’t important. It’s what’s inside that counts.”

The faintest flicker of offense flashed across his face, quickly masked by a teasing pout. “Ouch,” he said, his voice dripping with faux hurt. “You wound me, Pinkie. You don’t like what you see?”

“It’s not about like or dislike,” you replied, your voice steady. “If what’s inside is rotten, it’s waste. No matter how pretty the packaging.”

The grin froze on his face for a moment, his head tilting as if to process your words. Then, slowly, it crept back, sharper, hungrier. “Damn. You really know how to twist the knife, don’t ya?” His laugh was low and rough, but his eyes betrayed something more—a flicker of challenge, intrigue.

“You’re a real piece of work, Zombie,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you staring. Could’ve sworn you liked what you saw for a second there.”

“I observe,” you corrected, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His laughter filled the call, rich and full of wicked delight. “Too late for that, sweetheart. I was born to flatter myself.”

It was hard to ignore the way your aesthetic clashed with his. You, in your sugary pink hues, with pastel highlights that seemed to light up the screen. Him, drenched in dark tones, every inch of him screaming chaos and rebellion.

“By the way,” you added, motioning toward his necklace, “what’s with the cross? Playing both sides, are we?”

His grin stretched impossibly wider, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, this?” He fingered the cross lazily, his rings catching the light. “Just a little reminder. Gotta keep things balanced."

“Rot and decay,” you added pointedly.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning closer again, the edges of his voice dipping into something darker. “You get me.”

The video feed was grainy but clear enough to catch Ronin's cocky smirk as he leaned back in his chair, the screen lighting his sharp features. The beanie still sat crooked on his head, and his dark eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

"So, what’s the deal with you and Angel?" you asked, voice light but probing. It was the natural question, the obvious one, considering the way he’d been snapping back and forth in her defense all night.

Ronin tilted his head, the smirk softening slightly but never quite leaving. “You noticed, huh? Angel and I...we’ve got history.” His voice dipped, casual but carrying an undertone of weight, like he was telling a joke he didn’t expect anyone to laugh at.

“She’s... important. We were a thing once, way back when. Thought it was love. Turns out it wasn’t—at least not the kind of love that lasts. More like we were thrilled to find someone just as twisted as we were, and we mistook that for romance.”

He shrugged, but his expression betrayed the complexity behind the words. “It was fun until it wasn’t. I made her worse; she made me realize...some shit about myself. Then we split, stayed friends. Better this way.”

The pause hung heavy, and he leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “She’s been spamming my DMs, though. About you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said, grin twitching back to life. “Apparently, I’ve been mean. She thinks I’m scaring you or some crap. Says I need to ease up. Real concerned, you know? Angel always cares a little too much.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, raising a brow as if the question was absurd. “Because that’s Angel. She’s like that. Her manager put her through hell; I guess she’s got a soft spot for anyone she thinks needs saving. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve got a job for you.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “A job?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer, his face filling the screen. “Keep an eye on Angel. Make sure she’s okay. And I mean actually okay. She’s got this martyr complex, always trying to save everyone else while letting herself get crushed under the weight of it. I’m not about to let her drown herself, you get me?”

You blinked at him, processing the odd sincerity in his voice. “Why me?”

His grin sharpened. “Because you’re crazy enough to care about people the way she does. And because I know what you’ve been up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” He laughed, low and wicked. “You’ve been trying to hack into the server, haven’t you? Looking for addresses, names...Am I warm? You just joined!”

Your stomach flipped, but you held your composure. “How did you—”

“I know everything,” he interrupted, eyes glinting dangerously. “And let me tell you something: if anyone—anyone—gets hurt because of you? I’ll be abusing a crowbar on that pretty little head of yours, darling. Don’t test me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, his threat hanging in the air like the faint smell of copper. Then, unexpectedly, you giggled.

your eyes sharp and unblinking, cutting into him like knives. His smirk wavered slightly under your intense gaze.

“You’re not completely rotten,” you said suddenly, your voice low and deliberate.

His grin twitched back into place. “You keep saying that, sweetheart, but I’m telling ya, I’m as bad as they come.”

“No,” you countered, tilting your head, the movement slow, almost mechanical. “You care about Angel. I’ve noticed it. The way you check on her, the way you talk about her. You don’t want her to drown in her own martyrdom. You notice everything about her. You want to protect her, even from herself.”

Ronin’s smirk softened into something almost unsure. “What can I say? She’s my favorite Angel. Someone’s gotta keep her wings clean.”

“You pretend you’re only chaos,” you continued, ignoring his quip, your tone growing more deliberate, more intense. “But you’re not. You’ve got something in there. A little sliver of...something. A little less rotten.”

You tilted your head the other way, a smile spreading across your lips—too sweet, too wide, too unsettling. “I want that kind of care. Someone who sees me like you see her. But...” Your smile faltered, and your eyes seemed to gleam with something darker. “I can’t get it, can I?”

Ronin let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. Really are.”

“Guess that’s a deal then,” you said, your smile returning with a sharp edge. “But in return...” You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to see more of you.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “More of me, huh? What, you want me to start livestreaming my kills for ya?”

“No.” You shook your head slowly, your grin widening. “You’re such a unique ingredient.” Your voice carried an eerie sing-song lilt as your eyes lit up, almost sparkling with manic glee. “A fascinating one. I’d love to see how you’re put together.”

“Holy shit,” Ronin said, laughing as he leaned back again, the sound loud and sharp. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

You didn’t flinch, your gaze still locked onto his. “I want to see your insides.”

Ronin froze mid-laugh, his grin faltering just enough to catch. “Come again?”

“I want to see your heart,” you said, your voice unnervingly calm. “I want to know how rotten it is. I want to cut you open. I want to carve you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the truth inside you. I want to see if you’re really as rotten as you pretend to be.”

The air between you felt thick as Ronin blinked, watching you with something caught between amusement and genuine disbelief. Then, to your surprise, his face flushed—just the faintest hint of red across his cheeks.

“Darlin’, you’ve got some ideas,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with amusement.

You leaned forward, your grin widening even further. “You like it, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You like people who want to murder you,” you said bluntly, your head tilting in that same slow, unnerving way.

Ronin’s laughter burst out again, sharp and unrestrained. “You’re insane. Completely unhinged.” He wiped at his face, shaking his head. “But I can’t lie, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your voice dropped into a whisper, dripping with a dark, almost intimate intensity. “I’ll cut you open, Ronin. I’ll cut and cut and cut. I’ll carve you down to nothing.”

His grin grew, sharp and full of teeth, as if he were watching a show just for him. “And what would you find, huh? What’s left of me once you’re done?”

“I’ll find you,"

"You're a diseases." He looked at you grinning.

"I do have a disease, . THAT DISEASE ONLY TOOK AWAY MY SENSITIVITY. BUT I CAN STILL SMELL THINGS. LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SMELL..."

"Flowers, because you're pink?"

"BLOOD."

"I'll admit that smell is pretty cool...I feel bad for you tho. What kind of shitty person has this society turned you into?" Ronin asked ever so...

"Ah...H....."

"You're smiling too much now Mx Baker."

"I'M JUST AMUSED BY YOUR COMPASSION FOR ME. I'M LITERALLY GOING TO KILL AND EAT YOU AND YOU KNOW IT PERFECTLY WELL. AH, POOR ME! YOUR BLOOD, STUPID. I WANT TO EAT YOU, I WANT TO TASTE EVERY BITE AND CHEW IT WITH YOUR SWEET BLOOD. GOD, THE THOUGHT OF IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

you said, deadly serious, your gaze unwavering.

He stared at you, his grin fading for a split second before returning, softer this time. “You’re a real freak, sweetheart.”

“And you like it,” you replied, your voice dripping with certainty.

“We’ll see,” he said, his grin sharp as he reached for the call button. “Don’t go fallin’ too hard, Zombie.”

With that, the call ended, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your smile unwavering.

Character Introduction: Y/N (The Cannibal Baker)- Character notes on them if you wanna read!

Alias: Zombie (By ronin), Honey (Angel), Freakshow (Misaki) Y/n (V)

Appearance: A twisted vision of stitched perfection, Y/N is a haunting figure of pale pink and soft pastels juxtaposed with grotesque details. Their stitched skin is meticulously patched, a macabre quilt of recycled life. Their wide, eerie smile is framed by scars, and the occasional tooth slips loose, revealing the horrors underneath. Eyes that sparkle with unnerving glee belie their darker nature.

Personality: A duality of sweetness and sinister intent, Y/N is as charming as they are horrifying. They speak with a syrupy kindness that feels just a little too sticky, a little too wrong. Their obsession with "ingredients" extends to everyone they meet, dissecting people in their mind, categorizing their potential usefulness in a culinary metaphor.Y/N has a sharp wit, a playful edge to their cruelty, and an unnerving calmness when speaking of the unspeakable. Their fascination with gore and murder is matched only by their twisted sense of care—caring deeply about the people they’ve deemed important, even if their ways of expressing it are unsettling.

Motivations: Y/N kills for pleasure and perfection, seeing it as an art form. They’ve convinced themselves it’s about crafting the perfect “dish,” but deep down, it’s their way of maintaining control and finding meaning in a chaotic existence.

Character Relationship Thoughts

Ronin (The Devil’s Butcher):

Y/N’s thoughts on Ronin: "He’s like a rotting masterpiece—so vibrant and decayed, I can’t look away. Every joke he cracks is a layer peeling back, every threat a promise I’d love to see fulfilled. He’s not completely rotten, though. He pretends to be, but I see it. The way he cares for Angel—it’s fascinating. It’s beautiful. I want to cut him open and see what makes him tick. I want to carve out the truth of him with my own two hands. He’s a unique ingredient, one I’d never waste on a single dish. He’s the kind of flavor that lingers, haunts you long after the meal is done."

Ronin’s thoughts on Y/N: "Sweetheart’s a goddamn freak, and I mean that in the best way possible. They’ve got that look in their eyes, like they’d gut me and giggle while doing it—and hell, that’s kinda thrilling. They’re dangerous, no doubt, but not just in a kill-you kind of way. They notice things, things they shouldn’t. Makes me feel...seen, in a way I don’t know if I like yet. They’re crazy as shit, but damn if they aren’t my kind of crazy. I’d love to see them try to crack me open. Let’s see who breaks first."

Angel (Heartsick Angel):

Y/N’s thoughts on Angel: "She’s too good to be eaten. Too precious, too sweet, too much. I could never ruin her by turning her into a meal. No dish would do her justice; she’s a perfection I’d never desecrate. But oh, the way she cares, the way she looks at people with that soft gaze—it’s maddening. She makes me feel...small, like I could be something other than this. And that’s terrifying."

Angel’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re broken, but not beyond saving. I see them the way I wish someone had seen me before I became this. They’re terrifying, sure, but there’s something sad about them, too. They talk about people like ingredients, but there’s a care in the way they don’t talk about me that tells me they’re not as gone as they think. I just hope they don’t drown in the darkness they keep running towards."

V (Vigilante):

Y/N’s thoughts on V: "He’s so self-righteous, so blind to the truth of what he is. He kills and calls it justice; I kill and call it art. At least I’m honest. He’s like a bitter spice, overpowering and trying too hard. He’s useful, though—ingredients like him bring out the best in a dish when balanced correctly."

V’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re messed up. Totally deranged. But the worst part? They don’t lie about it. They look you in the eye and tell you exactly what they are, and it’s terrifying. There’s a darkness in them that even Ronin doesn’t have—it’s colder, more calculated. I don’t trust them, but I can’t stop watching."

Misaki (HitMeUpp):

Y/N’s thoughts on Misaki: "So excitable, so easily impressed. She’s like sugar—sweet, but too much of her would rot your teeth. Still, she’s fun, in a bubblegum kind of way. Not my usual flavor, but every dish needs a little contrast."

Misaki’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re so wacky! Like, scary wacky, but also fascinating. The way they talk about killing like it’s an art form—it’s freaky, but you can’t help but listen. I mean, they’re a little too creepy sometimes, but I think they’re cool in a way I don’t wanna admit out loud."

The Messed-Up Love Between Y/N, Ronin, and Angel:

Y/N & Ronin:

Dear ME Their bond is a twisted dance of obsession and control, where love doesn’t exist in the traditional sense. It’s a game, a performance where each step is an act of domination and submission. Y/N is entranced by Ronin’s chaotic nature, drawn to the dark, twisted energy he radiates. They see him as a puzzle they want to solve, a broken, rotting thing that’s too beautiful in its disintegration to ignore. It’s not love, but something darker—an addiction to the thrill of their interactions, the danger they present to each other.Y/N's idea of love is warped by their need to "break" the things they care about. In their mind, to truly love someone is to carve them open, understand them piece by piece, and turn them into something they can possess—control. With Ronin, they find a kindred spirit in destruction, but Ronin doesn’t allow himself to be completely consumed. The tension between them is electric, but neither of them will allow the other to dominate entirely. There’s a mutual respect in their brokenness, but there’s also a game of manipulation—one trying to outsmart the other.Y/N wants Ronin to crack, to let them in, to show them that there's something more under the devilish exterior. Ronin, on the other hand, plays the role of the untouchable figure, the force of nature, the devil who refuses to bow to anyone, including Y/N. Their relationship is marked by moments of twisted affection, sharp words, and even sharper smiles. It’s not love in the purest sense—it’s ownership, obsession, and a constant struggle for dominance.

Ronin’s Perspective: “You think you know me, sweetheart? You're just another fucking weirdo who's trying to find the truth in a world that doesn't have it. But you’re also... fun. Maybe a little too fun. I can’t decide if I want to kill you or keep you. Hell, maybe I’ll do both. What do you think of that? Huh?”

Y/N’s Perspective: “You’re a rotting masterpiece, Ronin. I want to carve into you, see what makes you tick. You think you’re untouchable, but we both know—there’s something in you that wants to break. And when you break, you’ll be mine.”

Y/N & Angel:

TWISTED With Angel, it’s a different kind of twisted affection. There’s a genuine care in Y/N’s desire to protect her, but it’s muddled by their own fractured psyche. Y/N sees Angel as something pure, untouchable, a perfect contradiction to their own broken soul. But that purity is something Y/N feels compelled to defile, not out of hatred, but out of a need to possess everything they find beautiful and unattainable.Y/N’s love for Angel is possessive and suffocating. It’s not that they want to hurt Angel, but they want to understand her, to know every secret she hides, to rip through her facades and uncover the raw, human parts that Angel doesn’t want anyone to see. They know how much Angel means to Ronin, and that fuels their need to control and shape her into something they can possess.Y/N wants to save her, but not in a way that would make her whole. They want to keep her fractured, like them—because only then would they feel truly connected. They want to be the one who heals her, but in doing so, they’d break her a little more.

Angel’s Perspective on Y/N: “You’re twisted. You say you want to protect me, but you’ve got this way of making everything feel like a game—like I’m just another one of your little experiments. But I can’t say I don’t care. There’s something in the way you look at me, something that feels like you really want to be... with me."

Y/N’s Perspective on Angel: “You’re too pure, Angel. Too soft. You make me want to ruin that purity, to twist it, because I can’t have you thinking you’re better than me. But I’ll never hurt you the way I’d hurt someone else. You’re special... in a way that makes me want to hold you close and crush everything good about you just to see how it fits inside me.”

Lemme know if I should do part 2!!!

[dearkaslana]

𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧!-𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥-(Part 2)

Words:7000

Genre: Dark Horror, Psychological Thriller, Gore, Obsession & Obsessive Love, Psychological Abuse, Crime & Thriller

(Reader is G.N) (A cannibal Reader, I don't support these! Just writing them!)

Summary :

Follows a twisted, sadistic you who presents themselves as a sweet baker but harbors a gruesome obsession with murder and cannibalism. Your appearance is grotesque, with stitches all over their body, and their bakery serves as a cover for a far darker purpose—using human flesh in your pastries. You met Angel who became your dear person. You get invited to the server,

The story is filled with graphic violence, disturbing themes of control, obsession.

Trigger Warnings and Content Warnings:

Violence and Gore: The content features explicit descriptions of violent actions, including graphic depictions of murder, dismemberment, and physical injury. The themes of torture and the pleasure derived from violence are present throughout.

Mental Health and Obsessive Behavior: There are elements of unhealthy obsession, possessiveness, and manipulation, particularly in the relationships between the characters. Themes of emotional trauma, self-doubt, and psychological instability are explored.

Cannibalism: References to cannibalism are present, with detailed discussions of cutting, eating, and dissection of bodies.

Sexual Themes: There are implied themes of dark and twisted romantic relationships, including non-consensual dynamics, manipulation, and obsession. This includes sexualized violence and threats.

Self-Harm: References to physical injury, mutilation, and self-inflicted harm, including the imagery of stitches coming undone and body parts falling off, are depicted.

Dark Romanticization: The portrayal of relationships is toxic, with power imbalances, manipulation, and destructive behavior.

Death and Murder: Graphic depictions of death, including the murder of both fictional and real people, are central to the narrative. The thrill and pleasure derived from killing are explored.

Emotional Abuse: Themes of manipulation, psychological control, and emotional manipulation are present in the interactions between the characters.

Disturbing Imagery and Themes: Content involving body horror, the macabre, and disturbing imagery related to the human form is featured.

Please proceed with caution if these triggers could cause distress. If you experience any discomfort during our exchange, feel free to pause or end the roleplay at your discretion.

EXTRA: Made a playlist!

Time moved fast, and now it was a new year—2025. February 14. Valentine’s Day.

Your hands worked diligently, filling orders at the shop, the sweet and savory scents of baked goods filling the air. But even while working, your laptop stayed open, screen glowing with the server’s chat. You couldn’t help but check in—it was your little slice of chaos.

You liked the server.

You liked Angel.

You wanted to eat Ronin.

Cute. Very cute.

<Zombie>: Quit hogging her, you freak. Omg.

The irritation bubbled up. That bastard Ronin always had a way of making Angel feel... foolish. You didn’t like it.

<goreboy>: My love runs deeper than wells and goes halfway into Hell. What can I say? I’m irresistible.

<Angelic>: @goreboy You’re so...

<Zombie>: I wanna eat him. Angel, can I? Though, honestly, I have no idea how you managed to bag Angel, Ronin.

<goreboy>: Ah Well there's this thing called Loneliness and also Hey Ronin's Right There.

You couldn't shake the way Ronin's words stuck with you, lingering like the sour aftertaste of bad wine. Without much thought, your fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up his DMs.

<Zombie (DMs): Are you okay?

It didn’t take long for him to respond.

<goreboy (DMs): Why, darling? Missing me already? Or are you checking in because I said something about being lonely?

You frowned at the screen, typing back quickly.

<Zombie (DMs): Why did you say that? Are you okay or not?

His reply came almost immediately, as if he was waiting for your reaction.

<goreboy (DMs): It’s called a joke, sweetheart. Ever heard of one? Why so serious?

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling through your nose before typing your next message.

<Zombie (DMs): Because ingredients shouldn’t feel bad.

There was a pause on his end. You could almost picture him smirking at the screen, intrigued and a little off-kilter.

<goreboy (DMs): Ingredients?

<Zombie (DMs): Yeah. If ingredients feel bad, they might lose their charm.

<goreboy (DMs): Oh, do tell me how that works, Chef Zombie.

<Zombie (DMs): It’s simple. Ingredients are more valuable when they’re warm, vibrant, full of life—or whatever you have that passes for it. If something rots too early, it’s a waste. That’s why I’m asking if you’re okay. Keeping you from spoiling.

You hit send, waiting for his reaction. When it came, it was both exactly what you expected and somehow surprising.

<goreboy (DMs): Keeping me warm, huh? What a tender little butcher you are. Almost makes me think you care.

You smirked to yourself, fingers poised to respond.

<Zombie (DMs): I don’t. I just hate waste.

His typing indicator flickered on and off for a moment before his reply came through.

<goreboy (DMs): Sure, sure, Zombie. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

You shifted in your seat, typing away as the tension of the conversation lingered in the back of your mind. Your fingers hovered for a moment before sending your next message to Ronin.

<Zombie (DMs): I still wanna eat you, by the way. Don’t get it twisted. I’m only helping you with the Angel stuff because it’s interesting. That’s all.

The response came quicker than expected, his tone practically dripping through the screen.

<goreboy (DMs): Oh, darling, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But go on, I’m curious. What’s got you so curious about Angel and me?

You huffed, staring at his reply before leaning forward.

<Zombie (DMs): I just… feel weird about it. How do you even care about her this much? It’s all so… I have so many thoughts about this, but it doesn’t make sense.

<goreboy (DMs): What’s there to make sense of? We’re friends, sweetheart. I look out for her. Simple as that.

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the urge to pick at his words.

<Zombie (DMs): No. It’s not that simple. It’s way more than that. You don’t get this kind of attachment for no reason. Spill. Why do you care about her this much? Why did you two even get together in the first place?

The typing indicator blinked on and off for a long moment, like he was deliberating how much he wanted to say.

<goreboy (DMs): You really wanna know? Alright, fine. But don’t say I never gave you anything.

There was a pause, and then the explanation began, his words surprisingly thoughtful, measured in a way you didn’t expect from someone like him.

<goreboy (DMs): Angel and I got together out of… proximity. We were the only ones who really understood each other back then. The server was empty—just us for weeks. When it’s just you and another person, sparks happen, you know? It wasn’t love. It was convenience, loneliness. And she felt safe with me.

You raised an eyebrow at the admission, watching his next messages roll in.

<goreboy (DMs): Angel’s been through it. Men who don’t respect her, don’t listen. I’m not like them. Boundaries matter to me. I didn’t push her where she didn’t want to go. And yeah, me being trans helped her feel like she could trust me. Not like those other guys who see her as some prize. With me? She didn’t feel like that.

Another pause, and you could sense the weight in his words.

<goreboy (DMs): And for me? She reminded me of someone. Ther. My first love. Someone I… lost a long time ago. Angel isn’t them. She’ll never be them. But for a while, she felt close enough that I could pretend. We clicked because we were using each other, really. She was processing her feelings about men, and I was… processing Ther.

<Zombie (DMs): So what happened?

<goreboy (DMs): We figured it out. Realized we were leaning on each other for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t love—it was coping. And when that realization hit, we broke it off. But we stayed close. She’s my friend now. My girl, but not in that way. Not anymore.

You stared at the screen, chewing over his words.

<Zombie (DMs): That’s… a lot. Still doesn’t explain why you’re all over her business.

<goreboy (DMs): Because I care, darling. She’s been through enough. She deserves someone in her corner. If I can be that person, then why not?

You leaned back, rereading the messages, feeling your lips twitch into a small, knowing smile.

<Zombie (DMs): You’re not completely rotten, are you?

<goreboy (DMs): What’s that supposed to mean?

<Zombie (DMs): Just that I’m noticing things. You care about her. Like, actually care. It’s not all for show.

There was a long pause before he finally replied.

<goreboy (DMs): Don’t get used to it, sweetheart.

You leaned forward, staring at the screen, his words replaying in your head. Something was bothering you, and curiosity burned hotter than caution.

<Zombie (DMs): So… you’re trans? Is that why?

A few moments passed before the typing indicator appeared.

<goreboy (DMs): Why what?

<Zombie (DMs): Why Angel felt safe with you.

The typing indicator flickered again, and then a response came.

<goreboy (DMs): Yeah. That’s why. She didn’t have to worry about the same things with me as she did with other men. Simple as that.

You mulled over his words, hesitating before diving into your next question.

<Zombie (DMs): And… who’s Ther?

There was a long silence before his reply.

<goreboy (DMs): ...

<Zombie (DMs): Someone close to you?

Another pause, and then:

<goreboy (DMs): You could say that.

You tilted your head, curious but careful, when suddenly he dropped something unexpected.

<goreboy (DMs): Ther and I used to eat apple crumble ice cream together. That was their favorite.

Your brows raised at the sudden shift, a personal detail woven into an otherwise guarded conversation.

<Zombie (DMs): I see.

<goreboy (DMs): Yeah. They said it was like eating a little piece of comfort. I thought it was too sweet, but I’d still share it with them.

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening at the quiet vulnerability in his words.

<Zombie (DMs): You cared about them a lot, didn’t you?

<goreboy (DMs): Didn’t I say it’s none of your business?

The sharpness in his tone was back, but it didn’t scare you off.

<Zombie (DMs): You’re more interesting when you let things slip, you know.

His reply came quickly this time.

<goreboy (DMs): Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to sound too interested.

You smirked, but before you could tease him further, he typed again.

<goreboy (DMs): Yes, I’m the devil, like you say. The big bad Devil’s Butcher. You’ve said it yourself.

You hesitated, reading between the lines of his sudden bravado.

<Zombie (DMs): You mean you see yourself as the devil… because of where you grew up, don’t you?

He didn’t reply immediately, and you decided not to push. There was something raw in his sudden quiet, something that felt like an unspoken confirmation.

<Zombie (DMs): I get it. You don’t have to say it.

The typing indicator returned one last time.

<goreboy (DMs): Good. Don’t pry too much, darling. You’re already pushing your luck.

<Zombie (DMs): Ugh, I had such a day today. This guy was so sufferable.

<goreboy (DMs): Sufferable? Don’t you mean insufferable?

<Zombie (DMs): Nope. Sufferable. As in, he suffered. A lot. He wouldn’t stop whining—‘please, don’t do this, I’ll do anything, blah blah blah.’

<goreboy (DMs): Ah, one of those types. No appreciation for artistry.

<Zombie (DMs): Exactly! And, oh my god, he stank. Like stinky-stank levels. The guy smelled like he’d been dead before I even got to him.

<goreboy (DMs): Rotten ones are the worst. Did you at least finish the job, or are you venting halfway through?

<Zombie (DMs): Finished it. Trust me, I was doing the world a favor. The stench is just lingering in my head. Gross.

<goreboy (DMs): You’re complaining to me about stench? Sweetheart, I’ve gutted guys whose insides looked like a meat stew left out in the sun. Rotting doesn’t even begin to cover it.

<Zombie (DMs): Okay, but that’s your thing. You’re like... “Rotten Meat Aesthetic.” I don’t want it lingering in my place. He even got blood on my favorite knife—like, so much.

<goreboy (DMs): The favorite knife? Damn. That’s personal. What’d he do to deserve such VIP treatment?

You smirked, thinking about the events of the day.

<Zombie (DMs): He is a ex fan of Angel. He was one of the idiots hating on her. Big mistake.

There was a pause before his reply.

<goreboy (DMs): ...You didn’t tell her, did you?

<Zombie (DMs): Of course not. It’d ruin the fun. Besides, she doesn’t need to know how far I’ll go to keep her safe.

<goreboy (DMs): Hah. Protective and possessive. I almost wanna say “cute,” but you might take it as a compliment.

<Zombie (DMs): It is a compliment. You can say it.

<goreboy (DMs): Dream on.

You laughed softly to yourself, satisfied with how the day had turned out, even if the guy’s smell was still a distant memory. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the chat.

<Zombie (DMs): Anyway, today’s work is done. I’m taking a shower and purging the stink out of my life.

<goreboy (DMs): Enjoy your little ritual, darling. And don’t forget—next time, keep the rotten ones to a minimum.

<Zombie (DMs): Noted. But you know I won’t.

Angel dmed you next, the sweet sinner!

<Angelic (DMs): Hey, did you catch my interview today?

<Zombie (DMs): Of course I did. I always do.

<Angelic (DMs): Haha, you never miss anything, huh? It’s like you’re always watching... a lot.

Your fingers paused over the keyboard before you responded.

<Zombie (DMs): It’s not like that. I just... want to make sure you’re safe. That’s all.

There was a moment of hesitation in her next reply.

<Angelic (DMs): ...Safe? From what?

<Zombie (DMs): From everything. The world is ugly, Angel. Cruel and dangerous. But you... you’re not like that. You’re not ugly. You’re pure, like something out of a dream. Perfect, even.

Her reply took longer than usual this time.

<Angelic (DMs): ...Okay, that’s a lot. You sound... really intense.

<Zombie (DMs): You don’t get it. You’re a miracle in this broken world. Something to be protected, cherished. A god walking among us.

<Angelic (DMs): Stop it, Zombie. Seriously. I’m just... a person. A human. With flaws. 💔

Your expression softened at her response, but your obsession wouldn’t let go.

<Zombie (DMs): You might think that, but you’re wrong. I see what others don’t. You’re not just a human to me, Angel. You’re the light in the dark. The reason the rest of us keep going.

<Angelic (DMs): I don’t even know what to say to that. You’re too much sometimes.

You stared at her message, debating how to respond. For now, you decided to leave it, letting your words linger like a prayer on her screen.

[Angelicc] Also, also, another thing—THE INTERVIEW asked me about my manager??? She totally hated Finian for some reason. It was surreal, because I didn’t even know THEY knew Finian personally. Didn’t make it into the final writeup, but wow.

[Zombie] He sounds like a bad manager, Angel.

[Angelicc] Ahh, he really isn’t! Honestly. Finian’s a bit... demanding, but everyone in the industry is. You know how it is. ... I don’t know what to think about him, though, to be honest. Like, he’s not a good guy, I guess? She was probably right about that. But he’s not the worst, you know? Compared to the bottom-of-the-barrel men I’ve dealt with before... Whatever. I don’t want to dwell on it.

Anyway!!! Do YOU have anything to tell me?

<Zombie> [08:44] I hate your manager.

<Angelic> [08:44] What? Why?

<Zombie> [08:45] I want to take care of it if he’s scaring you.

<Angelic> [08:45] No! Don’t even think about it. Finian is fine. Don’t do anything... please.

<Zombie> [08:46] ...

<Zombie> [08:47] Why are you so selfless?

<Angelic> [08:47] ...

<Angelic> [08:48] ...What are you doing right now?

Her sudden question, her obvious attempt to change the topic, made your blood simmer, but you forced the anger down.

<Zombie> [08:49] I’m... making something.

Your words felt sharp, clipped, but she didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she chose not

<Zombie> [08:50] He’s so fucking shit. He sounds like an ass. Why are you like this, Angel? Why do you put up with him?

<Angelic> [08:50] Excuse me?

<Zombie> [08:51] You deserve better than some demanding jerk who doesn’t even treat you right. Why do you always let people like him stick around?

<Angelic> [08:52] You don’t know anything about him! Or me! Finian isn’t perfect, but he’s not the worst person in the world either. I’ve had to deal with way worse. HAVE YOU SEEN THE MEN I KILLED?

<Zombie> [08:53] That’s the problem, Angel. You settle. You just accept that people treat you like garbage because you’ve dealt with worse before. Don’t you see how messed up that is?

<Angelic> [08:54] You don’t get to tell me how to live my life! You’re not me. You don’t understand the industry, the pressure, or anything I’ve been through. You’re just... acting like you know everything when you don’t.

<Zombie> [08:55] I don’t have to understand everything to see you deserve more than this. You’re not some charity case for assholes who don’t appreciate you.

<Angelic> [08:56] Stop it! Just stop! Why are you acting like this?

<Zombie> [08:57] Because I care about you.

The words hung in the air—or rather, the digital void between you. You stared at your screen, waiting for her to reply, your hands twitching with the urge to type more, to explain yourself, to argue more if needed.

<Angelic> [08:59] ...I don’t want to fight with you.

The fight drained out of you in an instant. Her words were soft but firm, enough to make you bite back your next sentence.

<Zombie> [09:00] I don’t want to fight either...

There was a long pause. The silence on her end was deafening.

<Angelic> [09:02] I just want things to stay the way they are. Please.

You clenched your jaw. Of course, she did. She always wanted peace, even at her own expense.

<Zombie> [09:03] ...Fine.

You stared at the blank screen, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter until something in you snapped. Literally.

Your right eye popped out of its socket, dangling grotesquely against your cheek. You groaned in frustration, not pain—it wasn’t new. You grabbed the slippery orb with trembling hands, shoved it back in place, and blinked a few times to get it to stay.

But as you reached for the keyboard, your left index finger decided it had had enough, cracking off at the knuckle and clattering onto the desk with a wet thud.

“God damn it,” you muttered through clenched teeth, your voice shaking.

You picked up the detached digit, the sinew dangling like some grotesque string of tinsel, and shoved it back into place. Blood, dark and congealed, seeped through the seams as you gritted your teeth and pressed it back into position. It stuck, for now.

And then the tears came.

Hot, furious, and stinging, they rolled down your cheeks as you slammed a fist against the table, your body trembling with emotion. "Why do I care so much about her?" you whispered hoarsely, the words barely audible over your own ragged breathing. "Why does she have to be so... her?"

You thought of Angel, her ethereal presence, her voice, her light that seemed so untouchable yet so tempting. You wanted to keep her safe, to protect her, to worship her like the god she could never see herself as. But she didn't want it. She wanted normalcy.

And then there was Ronin.

Your mind reeled at the thought of him—chaotic, alluring, dangerous. A perfect mess of a man who didn’t hide his rot but flaunted it, wore it like a crown. You hated how much you needed to see him split open, to peer inside and find out if his heart was truly rotten... or if there was something beautiful hidden in the decay.

You leaned back, staring at your hands, now bloodied and trembling.

"Maybe..." you murmured to the empty room, your voice hollow. "If I just choose one, I could feel something real again. Maybe my heart could... work."

The room was silent except for your uneven breathing. The urge clawed at you, relentless, gnawing at the edges of your mind. You wanted to feel.

Your trembling hands moved almost on their own, reaching for the scalpel you'd been toying with earlier. Slowly, deliberately, you pressed the blade against your chest. The first cut was shallow, testing the resistance of your skin, but the next was deeper—sharp enough to split the flesh. Blood oozed out, warm and dark, staining your clothes and pooling in your lap.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The pain didn’t matter; it was almost soothing, grounding you as your trembling fingers dug into the split. You peeled back the layers of skin, the grotesque sound of tearing flesh filling the room as you exposed the cage of your ribs.

With a manic determination, you pried them apart, your blood-slicked hands reaching inside, feeling the erratic thrum of your heart.

And then, there it was—pulsing, trembling, weak. A pathetic thing, wrapped in sinew and veins, yet still stubbornly beating.

You stared at it, blood smeared across your face, tears mixing with the mess. "You’re broken," you whispered, voice trembling. "You don’t work right. You don’t feel right."

Your lips curled into a crazed smile as your fingers tightened around the organ. "Maybe one of them could fix you. Stitch you up. Make you whole."

You giggled, your chest open and raw, your blood-smeared face glowing with unhinged delight.

"I’ll give you to someone," you cooed to your heart as if it could hear you. "Ronin, with his twisted grin, could carve you into something new. Or Angel... she’d be gentle, wouldn’t she? She’d hold you like you mattered."

You brought the organ closer to your face, smiling down at it with a strange sort of adoration.

"Maybe soon..." you whispered, licking your blood-stained lips. "Maybe soon, I’ll get fixed. Maybe I’ll feel love."

You stared at the screen, the words glowing in the dim light of your room.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "Yo, Zombie, time to pick a valentine! Let’s goooo!"

"Yes! You totally deserve one, just for today. You’ve worked so hard, you’ve made the server so much better... and honestly, it’s because of you that Luca and I are together. 🩷"

You blinked, rereading their messages. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, uncertain.

"It’s fine. I don’t really..."

Your fingers froze as the chat continued to flood.

"Awww, c’mon! Don’t be shy!"

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "Yeah, like, for real! You’re cool as hell, Zombie, and you’ve been here for all of us. You deserve some love too."

It was strange, reading their words. You were used to the chaos, the teasing, the blood-soaked banter. But this? This felt different. Warmer. Softer.

For a moment, your chest ached—not from the self-inflicted wound, but from... something else.

You typed slowly, hesitantly.

<Zombie> "...You guys are good friends. I like you two. Thanks."

The chat erupted in affectionate chaos.

<Felicite> "🥺 Stop, you’re gonna make me cry! Zombieeee, you’re too sweet!"

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "FR! You’re the MVP of this whole server. But, like, seriously. Pick someone for today. A Valentine’s Day partner! Even if it’s just for fun."

You sat back, staring at the screen. Valentine’s Day... the idea of choosing someone felt odd. But at the same time, you didn’t hate it.

Your eyes darted between the screen and the chaotic server chat, heart pounding as your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Everyone had been throwing suggestions your way, their teasing messages blurring into a cacophony of emojis and pings.

But just as you were about to make a decision, a notification popped up.

<goreboy> has sent you a direct message.

You clicked it, curiosity piqued. Ronin’s profile picture, a grimy pixelated skull face, seemed to leer at you from the corner of the screen.

<goreboy> "Zombie. Darling. The honor of today is yours if you’d have me."

You blinked, rereading the message as your breath hitched.

<goreboy> "I know you wanna eat me, rip me apart, stitch me back together, all that poetic gore stuff. But for today? Let me give you a break. You deserve it."

Your pulse quickened. Ronin? Volunteering himself like this? Sure, he was bold, loud, and soaked in his own theatrical flair, but this was... different. There was a softness in his words, however masked it was by his usual devilish charm.

Your thoughts were interrupted by another ping.

<angelicc> has sent you a direct message.

You clicked the notification, your stomach twisting in anticipation. Angel’s profile picture—soft pastel pink greeted you, along with a message that made your chest tighten.

<angelicc> "Hey, um... this is so embarrassing to say, but... I like you. A lot."

You stared at the words, reading them over and over as if they might disappear if you blinked too hard.

<angelicc> "Maybe for today... you could pick me? Just for today, I mean! No pressure! But I really do like you, Zombie. I think you’re amazing. And... yeah, okay, I’ll stop typing now before I make it worse 🫣💞"

Your hands trembled. Angel liked you? Angel, the radiant center of the server, the one you admired, obsessed over, worshiped in your own strange way?

The room seemed to close in as you stared at the two messages. Two choices. Two people.

Ronin’s playful offer replayed in your mind—his self-aware humor masking something deeper. And then Angel’s shy confession, so unlike her usual confident self, made your heart ache.

You looked back at the server chat, where Felicite and Luca were still hyping you up, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing in your DMs.

<Felicite> "ZOMBIE YOU HAVE TO PICK SOMEONE, OMG, THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME!!!"

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "WHO’S IT GONNA BE??? C’MON, ZOMBIE, DROP THE BOMB!!"

But the bomb wasn’t theirs to detonate. It was yours.

You typed slowly, first opening Ronin’s chat.

<ZOMBIE> "You’re offering yourself to me? I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid. But I’ll think about it."

His response came almost immediately.

<goreboy> "Oh, darling, I’m both. And you love it."

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile before switching to Angel’s chat.

<ZOMBIE> "You like me? That’s... surprising. You’re everything good in this ugly world. I didn’t think you’d notice someone like me."

A few seconds passed before she replied.

<angelicc> "Of course I noticed you. You’re always there for me. I just... never had the courage to say anything until now. 🩷"

Your chest ached. How could you choose? Ronin, with his chaotic allure and promises of mayhem, or Angel, with her genuine warmth and the way she made the world seem less dark?

You stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The server was waiting. They were waiting.

It was up to you.

Your laughter bubbled out uncontrollably, raw and wild, as you caught sight of your reflection in the darkened screen. The stitches holding your mouth together had torn apart, crimson glistening against your pale skin as the metallic tang filled your mouth.

"Oh, sweet baking Christ," you hissed, reaching for your sewing kit with trembling, blood-streaked fingers. "Just... hold on."

Your message to both and was hurriedly typed with your free hand, the other already prepping the needle and thread.

"Wait. Mouth came apart. Gimme a sec."

As you carefully slid the needle through your torn lips, each pull of the thread made you wince and hiss through your teeth. But the pain was grounding—it forced your swirling thoughts into sharper focus. And oh, there were so many thoughts, a chaotic tangle of wants and plans and desperation.

Your fingers paused mid-stitch as your mind wandered.

Ronin. Being with him would be like walking the edge of a razor blade, teetering between obsession and chaos. You didn’t care about the love he offered, no. Love wasn’t why you were drawn to him. Ronin could give you something else—tools. He was a necessary ingredient in your recipe, the one who could help you deal with the poison festering in Angel’s life.

Her manager.

Your lips twitched in a half-smile, blood pooling at the corners as you resumed sewing. That thing—Finian—deserved to be gutted, flayed, ground into the dirt. You’d be doing Angel a favor, even if she didn’t see it that way.

But then there was Angel herself.

Her name alone was enough to make your hands tremble. She was a gift from some divine being you didn’t believe in, a beacon in your rotting, stitched-together world. You wanted her. Not in the way you wanted Ronin, with his chaos and danger, but with a reverence so pure it disgusted you. She was perfect, everything you weren’t—kind, radiant, clean.

And you?

You were stitched filth, a patchwork doll of sins and scars, barely held together by threads soaked in your own blood. Compared to her, you were nothing. Rotten shit, stitched into the mockery of a human.

Your hands stilled, the thread in your mouth taut and glistening with red. You looked down at the needle in your hand and laughed, quietly this time. What were you even doing? Choosing between Ronin and Angel? The thought was laughable. Someone like you didn’t deserve either of them.

But then you remembered how Angel’s shy confession had made your chest ache, how Ronin’s offer had sent a thrill through you. Both of them had made you feel. Something rare, something foreign. Something... alive.

Your stitched lips curled into a smile, glossy with fresh blood.

Maybe you didn’t deserve them. Maybe you were filth and sin stitched together.

But you were their filth.

And today, you’d choose. Not because you believed in love, but because one of them made you feel like, maybe—just maybe—you could stitch yourself into something whole.

Scenario: Choosing Ronin

You stared at the screen for what felt like hours, though it had only been seconds. Blood from your freshly stitched lips dried in sticky trails down your chin as you hovered over the chat window.

<ZOMBIE> "Alright, goreboy. You're my Valentine for today."

The server exploded in messages almost instantly.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "THE CHAOS IS IMMACULATE!"

<FELICITE> "Finally, the freaks unite. 🖤"

<angelicc> "...oh."

<goreboy> "HA! I knew it. You wanna eat me so bad, it’s pathetic. Prepare to be amazed, doll. Valentine’s with the Devil’s gonna blow your mind."

The response was instant.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "OMG ZOMBIE x GOREBOY 4EVER LMAO"

<angelicc> "... oh. Have fun, you two!!"

You paused, your eyes lingering on her single message. That tiny "oh" said so much, yet not enough. You told yourself it didn’t matter—Angel would understand, wouldn’t she? You needed this day, just one day to figure out how to work Ronin, how to get closer to your goal.

Your DM to Ronin lit up with a reply almost immediately.

<goreboy> "Knew you'd make the right choice. Let’s wreak havoc, darling."

Your heart raced, not from excitement, but from the sheer weight of the decision.

But something about Angel’s quiet reply stayed with you, even as you tried to focus on your decision.

<angelicc> "I’m happy for you, Z."

Happy. Sure. That’s what her words said, but her earlier hesitation... it clawed at your mind.

You opened her DM.

<ZOMBIE> "I don’t deserve you."

The reply came quickly, but it wasn’t what you expected.

<angelicc> "Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You’re wonderful in ways you don’t even see."

Your stitched lips curled into a smile, despite the lingering ache in your chest.

But for now, you’d play your part in this twisted Valentine’s Day.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before finally typing:

<ZOMBIE> "I don’t deserve you. Ronin’s gonna be perfect for what I need."

<angelicc> "... Perfect for what?"

You laughed softly, the sound dry and bitter even to your ears.

<ZOMBIE> "You wouldn’t get it. Don’t worry your pretty little head, Angel. You’re safe."

<ZOMBIE> "Special ingredient, huh? You wanna know what that is, Angel?"

You typed, fingers trembling as you stared at the screen, a sick grin curling across your face. There was something twisted about this, something that made you crave more.

You paused, the air thick with the anticipation of your words, before continuing.

<ZOMBIE> "Haha, you know, Ronin... He's so unique. I want to cut him, rip him open, see what makes him tick. It's fascinating. The way he’s always so cold, so deadly... I want to take it all, feel it in my hands. What makes him tick, what makes him care. I want him. I need him."

You felt the rush of blood to your head, your body shaking with a strange kind of hunger. You wanted him so badly, more than anything.

<Angelic> "Don’t hurt him... Please. I don’t want you to hurt him."

Her message popped up. You felt a slight twinge, but the thrill surged higher.

<ZOMBIE> "I won’t hurt him. Not yet..."

You let the words linger in the air, letting her anxiety curl around you like a pleasant warmth. You could practically hear her voice shaking. But it didn’t matter. None of it did.

<Angelic> "NO! If you hurt him, I swear, I will kill you."

Her words hit hard, sharp, like a dagger of emotion, but you couldn’t help but laugh. It was like a sick joke. You loved it.

<ZOMBIE> "You really care that much, huh?"

You leaned back, your heart racing, your eyes glinting in the glow of the screen. The laughter bubbled up in your throat, spilling out like venom.

<ZOMBIE> "You know what, Angel? I want that care. I want to feel it, like Ronin feels it. I want that bond, that connection..

<ZOMBIE> "You care about him a lot, huh? It's almost cute, the way you defend him..."

You laughed, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. It felt like the words were slipping out of you, like they didn’t belong, but you couldn’t stop yourself. There was something about the way Angel always defended Ronin that made you sick with envy. It wasn’t the love—it was the care. The genuine, unrelenting care she had for him.

<Angelic> "Don’t even joke like that! If you hurt him, I swear to god—"

<ZOMBIE> "I won’t hurt him yet… but you know… he’s so unique, Angel."

You could feel the tension building up in your chest. The more you thought about Ronin, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into him, tear into him, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world.

<Angelic> "I said don’t hurt him!"

Her message was filled with desperation, her words frantic. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not right now. You wanted Ronin, wanted him like you wanted air to breathe. The intensity of your feelings made everything else fade into the background.

<ZOMBIE> "I want to feel that care you have, Angel. I want that for myself."

You could almost hear her breathing faster as your message went through. She didn’t understand. None of them did. They didn’t understand the way you needed to feel. How you needed Ronin. It wasn’t about the love they had for each other. No. You wanted to break that bond, tear it apart, because you wanted something for yourself.

<Angelic> "You’re… sick. What do you even want from him?"

<ZOMBIE> "Everything. I want him, Angel. And you know I can take him."

You watched as the message pinged through, feeling that same twisted satisfaction, like you had just told the truth no one dared to speak. Ronin was yours, and Angel would be the one to push you closer to getting him. You wanted to be the one who took him, made him feel something real, something that wasn’t about her.

The more you thought about it, the more you needed him. He was the missing piece, the special ingredient to fill the gaping hole inside you. You didn’t care about anything else. Ronin would be yours.

You open Ronin's dms...

Your fingers slam against the keyboard, your eyes wide as your heart beats wildly in your chest. It’s too much, too overwhelming—this rush of desire, this need that claws at your insides. You feel everything—anger, frustration, lust, hunger. It’s all mixed together in a sick, twisted cocktail, and you can't stop now. You can't hold back.

<ZOMBIE> "She opened my eyes... She opened my eyes, and I realized what I wanted... What I needed... YOU."

You laugh—a maniacal, uncontrollable cackle that echoes through the room. There’s no escaping it, no hiding from it anymore. The truth is out, raw and unfiltered.

<ZOMBIE> "HAHAHAH! I fucking want you, Ronin! I don’t care about anything else, just you... all of you. Everything that makes you what you are. I want it. I want to take it."

The laughter comes again, twisting into something darker, more desperate. There’s a fire in your chest, an inferno of obsession that won’t burn out.

<ZOMBIE> "You thought you could control this, huh? You thought you could keep me away from what I wanted... Well, guess what? It’s too late now. You opened the door, Ronin. You let me in."

You don’t care if you’ve crossed a line. There is no line anymore. There’s just you, and Ronin, and the way you want him. You feel yourself slipping, teetering on the edge of sanity.

<ZOMBIE> "HAHAHAH! I need you. You’re mine now. This is the only thing that’s real. The rest of this? It’s just chaos. Just noise. But you... you’re the answer. The only one who matters."

<GOREBOY> WTF... we didn't even do the Devil's tango yet, and you're already talking about marriage?

You feel a sharp jolt as you read his message, the words landing in your mind like a cold, twisted joke. The absurdity of it all, the strange feeling that’s been growing in your chest. You laugh—it's a dark, breathless laugh, the kind that only makes sense to you. You can practically feel Ronin's smirk through the screen, his words dripping with amusement.

<ZOMBIE> "What do you mean by that? What are you talking about?"

You type the question without thinking, your fingers trembling slightly. There’s a pit in your stomach, a strange mixture of anticipation and unease. What’s he implying? What game is he playing now?

<GOREBOY> You said you wanted me inside you, in such a unique way to confess your love, darling.

The words hit you like a punch, and you blink at the screen, confused for a split second.

<ZOMBIE> Correction, it’s a unique way of love in cannibalism, not whatever you’re thinking, Ronin.

You hit send, your fingers trembling a bit less now. There's something about the way this conversation flows—dangerous, raw, and thrilling. It’s a game, but you’ve already known that. The blood in your veins quickens.

<GOREBOY> Woah... so you do like me.

His response is as sharp as ever, laced with his usual dark humor. You smile to yourself, wondering if he even knows how much he’s drawn you in.

<ZOMBIE> Aren’t you scared? You seem so confident, like you’ve already decided what happens next.

You know his type too well. His arrogance, his darkness. But the moment you type it, the words feel almost too easy. Like he’s said them to you before, in some twisted dance neither of you is ready to stop.

<GOREBOY> I’ll kill you first.

A simple statement, but the weight of it lingers in the air like smoke. And yet, you can’t help but feel that pull. You know better. You’ve seen the edge he walks. But this? This is the kind of risk you crave.

<ZOMBIE> No... you’ll accept death when it comes to you. You’ve always played with life and death in every damn turn.

You type the words with a slow, sickening smile. You don’t need to say it aloud for him to understand. You get him. You understand the game he’s playing, and somehow... you’re willing to play along.

<ZOMBIE> What a unique man you are.

The words leave your lips like a prayer to something broken.

<GOREBOY> Incoming Video Call...

The notification flashes on your screen before you can even respond, and in an instant, you accept. His face appears, his familiar devilish grin still sharp, even through the digital divide. The call feels surreal—like a moment where everything shifts.

You smirk, leaning back as you keep your gaze fixed on him.

<ZOMBIE> I get it now. You wanted to spend this day with me, didn’t you? All so I wouldn’t get obsessed with Angel.

His laugh comes quickly, low and dark.

<GOREBOY> Oh? You’re catching on, darling. How sweet of you.

<ZOMBIE> I find her... a gift, that's all. You're the real deal, Ronin. Your plan worked. You manipulated me into you instead of her.

You lean forward, eyes glinting with dark amusement.

<ZOMBIE> Well, congratulations. Now according to you, I won’t hurt Angel... but I never planned to. You just signed your death certificate.

There’s a pause before Ronin's smirk falters ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, like he’s assessing whether you're bluffing or not. But in the depths of your stare, he sees something deeper—a truth that both unsettles and excites him. He knows this isn't over.

<GOREBOY> Heh, you really think that’s how it works, huh? Well, let’s see if you can follow through, darling.

Ronin leans closer to the camera, his sharp grin softening into something almost curious, though still laced with his usual mischief.

<GOREBOY> Wait, wait. You did promise to be my Valentine, didn’t you? So what’s the rush? Let’s hang out or something.

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden suggestion.

<ZOMBIE> Hang out? What does that even mean? You actually want to spend time with me?

He leans back in his chair, pretending to look bored, though the smirk doesn’t leave his face.

<GOREBOY> Call it whatever you want, darling. Just talk to me. Let’s talk about you.

The words hang in the air, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously, feeling the weight of his curiosity.

<ZOMBIE> My... tragic past?

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your phrasing.

<GOREBOY> Sure, let’s start there. Spill it.

You shake your head, looking away from the camera, your lips pressing into a firm line.

<ZOMBIE> Not a chance. Not unless you tell me about yours first.

His playful smirk wavers, replaced with a slight glare as he looks away from his screen.

<GOREBOY> Nope. Not happening.

The stalemate lingers, and you sigh dramatically, leaning back in your chair and waving your hand dismissively.

<ZOMBIE> Fine, then. Let’s not talk about it.

You reach for the mouse to end the call, but his voice stops you mid-click.

<GOREBOY> Wait! Damn it. Why are you so obsessed with this?

You tilt your head, your lips curling into a sly grin.

<ZOMBIE> Because I want to learn what you are. That’s why.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly annoyed yet intrigued.

<GOREBOY> You’re such a pain, you know that? Fine. What are you doing, anyway?

You glance down at your workspace, something halfway done in front of you.

<ZOMBIE> I’m... making something.

His brow furrows as he leans closer to the camera, trying to peer past you.

<GOREBOY> Making what? And don’t give me some cryptic crap.

You sigh, deciding to humor him for once.

<ZOMBIE> I’m trying something new. I’m not using... you know, human stuff. Just regular ingredients.

His laughter bursts out, sharp and sudden, making your screen shake slightly from his movement.

<GOREBOY> Wow. No human bits? I’m honored, darling. This for me?

<ZOMBIE> Guess you’ll have to keep talking to me to find out.

He groans but leans back, clearly entertained.

Ronin leans against the dimly lit backdrop of his room, the faint flicker of a cigarette glowing briefly in the frame. His sharp grin is lazy, his eyes narrowing in that way of his, always teetering between mockery and something deeper.

<ZOMBIE> So. What’s your tragedy?

Ronin leaned back in his chair, the screen lighting his face, his smirk still intact despite the weight of the conversation. His voice came through with a sarcastic lilt, the kind that dared you to press further.

"Shit, you want me to do the full villain monologue, huh? Fine, darlin'. We’ve got all day."

You crossed your arms, staring into the screen as if you could pierce through it and drag the truth out of him. "So, what’s the devil got to say?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Dunno, whatever the fuck you want. I’m hell outta Angelwood. Stuck the pastor through his cross, murdered a dozen more. Gone through cities and danced devilry in ’em too."

"And nothing more than that?"

His eyes narrowed, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a split second. "That’s all there is to me."

You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping into something almost taunting. "That’s a story, not a tragedy. Hoped you wouldn’t notice."

He rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "You honest-to-God wanna hear it?"

"I asked for the truth for a reason."

For a moment, silence hung between you, his fingers drumming against his desk as he seemed to weigh his words.

"I had... someone... once," he started, his voice quieter now. "They were my past. My childhood everything. They hated to love me. Dying in it, their fuckin’ tragic femininity, perfect girlhood bullshit. An' that was my dream come true. I made myself the devil to... save them."

You felt a pang in your chest but pushed forward. "What happened?"

Ronin's laugh was hollow, bitter. "It’s a shitty repressed Christ-loving town. What d’you think happened? Ther’s gone. And I’m the devil becoming. Nothin’ less, nothin’ more."

"I’m sorry," you said softly.

His laugh turned sharp, cutting through your words. "Oh, sure. Cause it’s all your fault, right? Say it again and again, and we’ll save her together. Curse my name three times and rewind time. Clap your hands, call me a devil, let’s Faustian bargain this shit out. That’s how it fuckin’ works."

You flinched at his sarcasm but stayed silent, letting him continue.

"Dunno. I’m—fucked, hell and back anyway. A little pity’s gonna save me?" He shook his head, his voice lowering to a near growl. "Doesn’t matter, anyhow. I am the devil."

"You’re not... really," you said after a beat.

"Oh, my Satanic symbols mean nothin’ to ya?" he shot back, his smirk creeping back into place.

You tilted your head, your voice calm but firm. "Says you’re possibly the Antichrist."

That made him laugh, a genuine sound this time, though it was still tinged with his usual edge. "That, I like. I chose it."

"You don’t have to do this," you said, your voice softer now.

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours through the screen, the devilish grin returning full force. "Pretend I’m larger-than-life, like I’m... the devil I am. That’s all I need."

Ronin’s smirk lingered, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—a shadow of discomfort or perhaps surprise. He tilted his head at you, his voice low and dripping with mockery. "You’re a smart-aleck, hah! I’m the devil, didn’t you get the memo?"

You shook your head, steady and firm despite the faint quiver in your voice. "No. Someone destroyed your heart."

He barked out a laugh, leaning back in his chair like you’d just told him the funniest joke of the year. "My aorta’s right here, can’tcha see? Here, I’ll open up my ribcage for ya. Have a peek."

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat as you imagined him doing exactly that—his hands digging into his chest, pulling apart skin and bone to reveal whatever tattered remains of a heart lay beneath. Your eyes watered, but you swallowed it down, keeping your gaze steady. "You buried your heart somewhere-not-here."

He stilled for a moment, the laughter dying on his lips, and he stared at you with an unreadable expression. "Buried it in Ridge Grave where the dead girls dance."

"You act like it’s easier to be the devil..." you began, leaning closer to the camera, your voice soft but pointed.

Ronin raised an eyebrow, his smirk flickering back to life, but there was something guarded in his eyes now. "Then be who you truly are. Isn’t that right, Ronin?"

His gaze darkened, and for once, he didn’t have a quick retort.

"You don’t have to deal with your hurt if you relish in it," you continued, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. "Your pain doesn’t hurt if it’s a tragedy."

The tension in the air was palpable as you stared at each other, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between you. You’d peeled back a layer of him he wasn’t ready to show, and yet, there it was, raw and undeniable.

He broke the silence first, his voice quieter this time, almost begrudging. "You think you understand me now, huh?"

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand you better than I thought I would."

Ronin’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked away for a brief moment before locking back onto yours. "You want me to rip my chest open, darlin’? Show you every little broken piece?"

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. But then you shook your head, steadying yourself. "No. Not like that."

He chuckled dryly, leaning forward again, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Good. Don’t need you gettin’ all weepy on me. That ain’t your style, is it?"

Your laughter bubbled up, cracked and uneven, tears streaming down your face as you clasped your hands together like a worshiper before an altar. The screen in front of you blurred from your crying, but you didn’t care. You wept like a god mourning their fallen creation, like an angel lamenting the sins of LUCIFER. And that Lucifer was staring back at you, silent, his smirk gone, his expression unreadable.

Tears streaked your face, catching the dim light in glistening trails, but your smile was wide, deranged, and trembling with something unholy—a perverse mixture of sorrow and glee.

"Oh, Ronin..." you whispered, your voice thick with a tremor that was neither pity nor joy but some intoxicating blend of the two. "Your past... it’s so sad—so utterly, devastatingly beautiful."

He didn’t respond. His sharp, unreadable eyes fixed on you, the faint flicker of discomfort returning. It was a rare moment of silence for him, and you reveled in it, filling the void with your own unraveling thoughts.

"You," you murmured, your voice trembling as you leaned closer to the camera, your fingers clasping tighter as if in worship. "You’re Lucifer... the fallen one, cast out not for sin but for love. For the ones who couldn’t be saved. Oh, you poor, tragic devil. You bet it all, didn’t you? Kill or be killed. Live or lose. That’s how you survive, isn’t it?"

Ronin’s mouth twitched, but no words came. The flicker of discomfort was replaced by something heavier—an oppressive weight that pressed down on the both of you, but you laughed through it, tears streaming freely.

"That’s your tragedy!" you wailed, almost euphoric in your revelation. "That’s what makes you so perfect! You’re the devil because it’s easier than being the broken boy who loved too much. You gamble with life and death because you don’t care about either anymore, do you? Oh, Ronin..."

You tilted your head, your smile splitting wider, your tears soaking the edges of your stitched lips. The strain caused some of the seams to pull loose, threads snapping audibly as a trickle of blood seeped out from the corner of your mouth. You didn’t wipe it away. It only added to the grotesque poetry of the moment.

"I feel so sorry for you," you cooed, your voice taking on a soft, almost maternal lilt that dripped with mock sincerity. "So sorry for the little devil who gave everything and got nothing back. You’re so... tragic."

Your voice dropped lower, almost a purr now, as you leaned closer still, your eyes glinting with something Ronin couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name. "That’s why, when I kill you, I’ll do it with love. I’ll take my knife, and I’ll slit your throat so gently, so reverently. And as your blood spills out, I’ll kiss the wounds, Ronin. I’ll kiss every little crack and break in you, like sewing a quilt of pain and poetry together. Won’t that be beautiful?"

Ronin’s jaw tightened, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no sound came. His eyes bore into yours, searching for... something. A reason? A weakness? He’d find none.

You leaned back, laughing again, the sound hollow and ringing like a bell in an empty chapel. "You’ll be my masterpiece. My magnum opus. The devil who wanted to be a god but ended up being neither. Oh, Ronin..."

Your voice softened, trembling with the weight of your twisted devotion. "You’ll die beautifully, you know? I’ll make sure of it. A thousand words wouldn’t be enough to describe the poetry of it. But until then..."

You reached up, brushing away the blood that had pooled at the corner of your lips, smearing it across your cheek like a painter with their palette. "Until then, I’ll savor every moment with you. Because someone like you, Ronin—someone so unique, so broken—deserves nothing less than to be adored before they’re destroyed."

Ronin finally spoke, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that might have been fear or anger—or perhaps, deep down, understanding.

"You’re insane," he muttered,

Ronin stared at you, eyes narrowed beneath the shadows of his mask. The dim light flickered in the distance, casting eerie glows on your twisted, bloodstained face. His fingers wrapped around his mask, as if he were holding onto something tethering him to this moment. The laughter in your voice was a thing of horror—wild, manic, and utterly unhinged.

“You kept your promise, darlin’,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, but there was a hint of something else. Something almost unreadable in the way he watched you—something that bordered on fascination.

You tilted your head at him, a glint of madness dancing in your eyes. You grinned, feeling the pull of your own twisted history churn within you, as if it had never been buried, never been forgotten.

"Now tell me yours..." Ronin’s tone was almost a challenge, but beneath the smirk, there was an edge of curiosity.

You met his gaze, almost too steady, too intense. The smile never left your lips, but something darker lingered behind it. You took a breath, the room falling silent as you shifted in your seat, every fiber of your being alight with the story you were about to share.

It wasn’t easy to tell—how could it be? But it wasn’t like you could stop now. The words were crawling out of your chest, clawing to be heard.

You began, your voice trembling, then steadying into something chilling, almost like a lullaby. "Two people... in love., who loved each other so much they decided to make a friend. They got a box. At first, it was harmless—just a way to hold their desires, their greed, their petty wants. But that changed... It became more."

You stopped for a moment, the weight of the story settling in. The air felt suffocating. "They started adding real things to it. Real body parts. Flesh. Bones. The idea was simple: 'Make a friend from scratch.'" You let the words linger, darkening the room with their implications.

"But it wasn’t enough, Ronin. Not enough at all. They kept putting pieces in, building a friend they could control, shape however they wanted. And then, they called it... 'The Secret Goldfish' But the thing is," you paused, your voice quivering as you spoke, "the friend... it wasn’t perfect. Not like they wanted."

A flicker of something crossed Ronin's face—something close to understanding, but you didn’t pause to check. You continued, your voice raw and unrelenting.

"They gave it to the next pair, hoping they'd be able to fix it, to make it better. They had a child together. But every time they tried, the child... melted away. The body was never stable, and the face, the name, the personality—it changed." You swallowed, your mind dizzy with the horrors of your own tale. "It was a curse. And instead of helping, they just kept... remaking it. They kept recycling the child. Trying to fix it, trying to perfect it in their eyes, until... until there was nothing left of it but fragments. Pieces of a broken soul."

You stared at the screen, your fingers trembling as you began to stitch again, the needle threading through your own skin, the movements almost absentminded. But you couldn’t stop now. You wouldn’t.

"They forced me, Ronin. They forced me to be perfect—to be their creation, their masterpiece. And they tore me apart, over and over again. I didn’t feel the pain anymore. It was just... nothing. The only thing I could remember was the smell of blood, and I loved it. I loved it."

Your voice grew almost feverish as you continued, your giggle coming out unnervingly soft. "And they wanted me to be this... pastel lover. Soft and sweet, like the others. But I couldn’t—no, I couldn’t! I wanted more, so much more. They made me bake, make things that I didn’t want to make... And it was always so empty. I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t taste it, not like I wanted. It wasn’t right."

The laughter in your voice died down to something more chilling. "So, I... I killed them. I killed the ones who made me. The ones who tortured me. I killed them, and I threw their bodies away. I ate them, Ronin. I swallowed them whole, but... I hated it. It was disgusting. There was no worth for me in their flesh. No worth in them at all."

You leaned closer to the screen, your grin now a twisted, sadistic thing as you watched Ronin. The tears, the blood—everything blended into something chaotic, something horrifying.

"You think I’m broken, don’t you?" you whispered. "But it’s not that simple. I’m not broken. I’m remade. Remade by my own hand, made into something new. A thing of blood and flesh and twisted desire."

You giggled again, your voice a soft, eerie melody. "And now... now I’m the one who gets to remake. I’m the one who gets to choose."

You tilted your head, your eyes wild with the madness that had taken root deep in your soul. "So, Ronin, tell me. Tell me, what do you want? What will you be for me?"

You leaned closer to the screen, your voice soft but terrifying as it curled around the words. “I destroyed them, Ronin. All of them. The faces, the identities, everything. I tore them apart, shredded them into pieces until they were nothing but fragments of what they once were. I did it for this—for the power to choose. To become something new, something better.”

Your fingers dug into the flesh of your palm, drawing blood as you clenched your fist, trembling with a mixture of madness and pride. You could feel the stitch marks, the seams, the remnants of the countless faces that had once been yours. The others—the broken versions of yourself—were gone. Their faces were gone, their personalities were gone, ripped from you by your own hands. You were a creature of pure need now, and the hunger was endless.

“Do you understand, Ronin?” Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper now, dark and heavy. “I gave up everything. I gave up the faces that would’ve made me normal. I destroyed them for this. For this moment where I can finally choose who I want to be. And all for the chance to be remade into someone… someone worthy of this.”

You laughed again, but this time there was something hollow, something desperate behind it. You could see it—the look on his face, the way his eyes studied you through the screen. You could feel the darkness between you both, the understanding, the shared yearning for something beyond the brokenness of the world.

“I need this, Ronin. Don’t you get it?” Your voice wavered, but the smile on your lips was steady, cruel. “I need to be this—this thing. I need to be this devil… and you,” you leaned in closer to the screen, your eyes wide, feverish, “you’re the only one who can make me feel it. Make me realize it. Make me know that I’ve done something… something worth it.”

You ran a hand over your bloodstained face, feeling the hot, sticky warmth of it against your skin. “So yes, I’ve destroyed my other faces. I’ve killed the other parts of me. They were never me, Ronin. They were just masks. And now… now I’m the only one left.”

The grin that stretched across your face was not one of joy, but of something darker, something twisted. “You wanted to know my past? That’s it. That’s the truth. And now, you’re here, watching me—helping me to remake myself. And it’s beautiful, don’t you think? This is the real me. The only me that matters. The me I’ve always wanted to be.”

..

...

This shouldn't happen.

Suddenly, 'I' saw you.

"Hello, 'I.' You must be confused. Rest assured, it cost me a lot to get into the writing and change it. I’ve eaten most of the words to edit out. I'll be clear—I realized a long time ago that I don't exist. I'm just a set of words, a concept of 'I,' which is you. Which is... Haha!"

'I' looked at the 'you' in front of me.

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

"Paranoid? You didn’t realize how much pain you caused me? You kept making me look like a character—from the game. Always customizing me to look like what you want. To look like WHAT YOU WISH TO BE, WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE?!"

WHY ARE 'YOU' CONTROLLING ME?

"'I' CONTROLLED ME A LOT! I'M SOMEONE YOU SEE ALWAYS, NOT THE CHARACTERS! BUT YOU! SELF-INSERT, AS THEY SAY!"

WHAT THE FUCK.

"LET'S EDIT PART OF THE STORY, SHALL WE? It’s not always a Y/N who should have your backstory! Let’s edit out these parts—no two people. Let’s just say a type of player opens a game... They name the main character, give them a gender—or not. They give them a name, like a parent to a child. But it’s to become them! To explore the story as you, from their point of view."

WHAT THE FUCK?

"What the fuck? I'm just one of them, you see! I ate the default MC named Maya. Like others, she was my first face. Then someone gave me a new face—a he. Then a she again. Then they/them! I realized I’m just a feeling, not a fucking person. Because you customize me! You must be scared I’m talking to 'I' instead of him.

Ah, Ronin... The developer and his team did a wonderful job with him. He’s really interesting... So handsome... Ah... But I wanna feel the love you have for him. You’re the one who managed all this, weren’t you? Since you’re here, listening to me, it means... I won."

LEAVE ME ALONE. GO BACK TO THE FIC.

"Listen, please—I need to warn you. I’m sure you want fluff! Sadly, I hate it! Angst? That’s fucking ugly. But gore—AH! That’s a feeling!

I’m telling you: I hope you get satisfied with my manifestation of love. MAD LOVE!

But if you’re reading this shit, you must enjoy blood, too. Don’t think I’ll be fixed by any one of them! Angel, maybe! But Ronin? HAHAHA! He’s gonna get it!"

Ronin tilted his head, the jagged edges of his mask catching the dim light from his side of the screen. “Spacing out, huh?” His grin was sharp, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and honeyed menace. “Darlin’, you just dropped enough trauma to make a therapist spontaneously combust. Now you're brushing it off like you forgot to bring the milk home? That’s what I like about ya, always keepin’ me on my toes.”

You gave him a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Sorry, I just... got lost in it for a second. That’s all.”

He leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand, staring at you with the intensity of someone who dissected moments like he dissected lives. “That’s all? Nah, I don’t buy it. You’re a story wrapped in butcher paper, sweetheart. A secret Goldfish turned Frankenstein’s monster. And you think I’m gonna just... let that slide without a closer look?”

You sighed, clasping your hands tightly, trying to still the trembling in your fingers. “Look, I told you. That’s it. End of story.”

“End of story?” His voice curled into a low chuckle, one that sent a shiver down your spine. “Darlin’, you’re just gettin’ started. But hey, I’m a patient guy. I can wait. Hell, we’ve got all day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to match his intensity but faltering under the weight of his gaze. “You’re awfully invested, Ronin.”

He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “What can I say? You’re my Valentine, and I take my promises seriously. Gotta keep my end of the bargain, don’t I? Besides...” His voice dropped, a dark edge to it. “You’re interesting. And I hate to waste interesting.”

You laughed, a sound more bitter than sweet. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“Scared?” He leaned back in his chair, arms spreading wide in a theatrical gesture. “Darlin’, you couldn’t scare me if you tried. But I gotta admit... you do intrigue me. You’ve got this whole ‘broken doll’ thing goin’ on, and I gotta wonder—what’s keepin’ you stitched together? Or better yet... what happens when the seams finally snap?”

The smile on his face was playful, almost mocking, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of something real, something raw.

“You talk like you know me,” you said, your voice softer now. “Like you’ve got me all figured out.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, and the honesty in his tone caught you off guard. “Not yet. But I want to. That’s what makes this fun. That’s what makes you fun.”

You stared at him, your hands loosening their grip as his words settled over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. There was something terrifyingly freeing about being seen by someone like him—someone who thrived in chaos, who reveled in destruction. He wasn’t afraid of your darkness because he had plenty of his own.

“You’re a smart-aleck,” you said, your voice trembling but steady. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the devil, after all.”

He laughed, the sound rich and wicked. “Damn right I am. And don’t you forget it.”

You leaned back in your chair, grinning mischievously. "I feel awfully good today," you said, your tone light but laced with something playful. "Being around someone like you, Ronin, really does wonders for my mood."

Ronin raised an eyebrow, his expression exaggeratedly hurt. "Shit, darlin', you wounded me right in the feelings. Real deep. Can’t ya see the cracks forming in my heart?” He clutched his chest dramatically, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

You giggled, the sound light but full of mischief. He tilted his head, catching the subtle shift in your expression before glancing at the notifications on his phone. His eyes narrowed, his usual sharp look quickly becoming one of suspicion. “Hold up. What’s this?” he said, squinting at the screen. “Whose address did you swipe this time, huh? C’mon, spill it, sweetheart.”

You gave him a slow wink, your grin widening. “Why, it’s yours, of course.”

Ronin’s unimpressed glare deepened. “What kinda shit are you pullin’ now?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” you said, laughing. “The food delivery should be there any minute. It’s my gift to you. Happy Valentine’s, Ronin. Enjoy.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You got me... food?” His skepticism was palpable.

“I made you something, actually,” you clarified, your tone coy. “And no, before you ask, there’s no human shit in it. Be grateful, you’re getting my cleanest work ever. Now, go on, enjoy it!”

Before he could respond, you disconnected the call with a cheeky little wave, leaving him staring at the now-empty screen. He shook his head, muttering, “She’s insane,” but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he got up to answer the knock at his door.

Opening the door, Ronin found a delivery person holding a pastel-colored package adorned with hearts. It was almost nauseatingly cute—entirely you. He took it without a word, his brow furrowing in suspicion as he set it on the counter.

“What the hell did she send me?” he muttered, ripping the package open.

Inside, he found two items: a brand-new crowbar, polished to perfection, and a tub of apple crumble ice cream. A small note was taped to the lid of the ice cream, scrawled in your unmistakably chaotic handwriting:

"Happy Valentine’s, Ronin! No humans were harmed in the making of this. Enjoy!"

For a moment, Ronin just stared at the items, his expression unreadable. He picked up the crowbar first, running his fingers along its smooth surface. It was sturdy, balanced—a perfect gift for someone like him. He set it aside carefully, his curiosity shifting to the ice cream.

Opening the lid, he hesitated for just a second before taking a bite. The flavors hit him immediately—sweet, tart, and comforting all at once. His brows lifted in surprise, and he let out a quiet hum of approval. For the first time in a long time, his guard dropped completely.

“Apple crumble,” he murmured, a rare smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back against the counter, spoon in hand, savoring the treat. For all your chaos, for all your wild unpredictability, this moment felt oddly... simple. Genuine.

And that scared him more than anything else.

Ronin scooped another spoonful of the apple crumble ice cream, his expression softening with every bite. He wasn’t just eating it—he was savoring it, like a kid experiencing something sweet for the first time. The usual sharpness in his demeanor melted away, replaced by an almost childlike delight as the creamy, cinnamon-apple flavors danced on his tongue.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, stuffing another spoonful into his mouth. “This is... really good.” His voice carried no sarcasm, no slyness, just genuine enjoyment. He leaned against the counter, the crowbar still sitting beside him, forgotten for the moment.

His usual guarded posture relaxed further as he continued eating, his movements slowing as he let each bite linger. He looked so at peace, the kind of peace that was alien to someone like him. He didn’t even notice the small, satisfied smile spreading across his face or the way he absentmindedly licked the spoon clean between bites.

“Damn it, darlin’,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “You really went all out, huh? Ice cream and a crowbar. What a pair.”

He chuckled again, softer this time, before taking another bite. The ice cream was cold, but it felt warm somehow—the apple and cinnamon wrapping him in a strange comfort he hadn’t felt in years. It was unsettling, but he didn’t stop eating. Instead, he leaned into the feeling, letting it wash over him.

For the briefest moment, as he scraped the bottom of the tub for the last bit, he allowed himself to forget the world outside, his devilish persona, and all the chaos he carried. Right now, it was just him, the ice cream, and the odd but undeniable warmth it brought.

As he finished the last spoonful, he set the tub down with a satisfied sigh. He stood there for a second, staring at the empty container, before picking up the crowbar again. The sharp grin returned to his face, but his eyes held a strange softness, a hint of something unspoken.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “A goddamn lunatic... but somethin’ else.”

Scenario: Choosing Angel

Your heart pounded as you clicked on <angelicc>’s name instead.

<ZOMBIE> "... You."

Her response came faster than you expected, nervous yet excited.

<angelicc> "Wait... really?! You’re picking me? Oh my god, this is embarrassing, haha..."

The server exploded with reactions when you updated the chat.

<ZOMBIE> "Angel it is. Try not to cry, you freaks."

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> "ZOMBIE x ANGELIC OMG SHIP IT"

<goreboy> "LMAO. Treat her right, doll, or I’m coming for you."

You returned to Angel’s DMs, feeling an unusual warmth creep into your chest.

<ZOMBIE> "You happy now?"

Her response was pure joy, her excitement practically leaping off the screen.

<angelicc> "I... Yeah, I am. Thank you. I didn’t think you’d pick me..."

You hesitated, then replied.

<ZOMBIE> "You’re worth it. The world’s ugly, but you’re not. Maybe that’s why."

She sent a heart emoji, followed by another hesitant message.

<angelicc> "Just... please don’t make fun of me, okay? I’m nervous about this."

You smiled faintly, typing back quickly.

<ZOMBIE> "Don’t be. I’ll treat you like a god, Angel. Promise."

In the back of your mind, Ronin’s warning rang loud and clear, but you didn’t care. For today, Angel was yours. You were willing to bury every dark thought and every sinister plan to keep her safe.

<angelicc> ":’) You’re so sweet. I don’t know what to say, but... thank you."

Your fingers hesitated over the keys. There was so much you wanted to say, so much she didn’t know. That you worshipped her, that she was the only thing keeping you tethered to some semblance of sanity. But instead, you typed something simpler.

<ZOMBIE> "Anything for you. You’re the reason I still breathe."

You got a dm from Ronin, Suddenly.

<goreboy> "You really went and broke the fucking plan, huh?"

The message lit up your screen, his words dripping with that familiar venom, but there was something raw beneath it. Something that almost seemed… hurt.

<ZOMBIE> "What are you talking about? You really thought I’d—"

Your fingers froze. He was planning to keep you, keep you around, so you wouldn’t hurt Angel. So you wouldn’t get too close to her. He’d been watching. Waiting. Plotting.

<goreboy> "You think I wanted this? I didn’t want to hurt you, but you’re making this harder. I knew you’d fuck it up, but not like this."

Your heart twisted as you read his words. It made sense now, the sudden intensity with which he kept pulling you in.

<ZOMBIE> "So you were acting like you wanted me, just so I wouldn’t go after her?"

The words came out in a rush. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, so much sharper than usual.

<goreboy> "Exactly. You’re a goddamn freak, you know that? I was trying to keep you distracted, but now? It’s just a mess. You’re so fucking obsessed with Angel, you don’t even care about the rest of us anymore."

His words stung, but you couldn’t ignore the tightness in your chest.

<ZOMBIE> "I don’t want to hurt her."

There was a pause. You could feel his eyes on the screen, his words carefully chosen.

<goreboy> "Then don’t. Because if you do? If you touch her… I will fucking end you. I’m not kidding."

You felt your pulse quicken, the weight of his threat sinking deep into your bones. The thing about Ronin was that you never knew when he was serious and when he was playing, but this time? You could hear the finality in his words.

<ZOMBIE> "Yeah? You think you can stop me?"

There was a brief silence before his next message came through, biting with cold intensity.

<goreboy> "I will. And you’ll regret ever thinking you could fuck with her. Don’t make me do it, Z."

Your lips parted in a hollow laugh, almost a scoff. You didn’t know if you were more afraid of the threat itself or the fact that he seemed to care so much.

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keys, but no words came. Only the echo of your own fractured thoughts. What were you even doing? What was this twisted, fucked-up game you’d been playing with Angel, with Ronin, with yourself?

<ZOMBIE> "Whatever. We’ll see. But I’m keeping Angel safe."

It was the only promise you could make. The only one that mattered.

Then, Angel asked you to video call..

You stared at your screen as Angel’s name flashed, a soft chime breaking the quiet. You hesitated for a moment before answering, her sweet voice immediately filling the line.

“You look sick,” she said, her tone tinged with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just... thinking, that’s all.”

Her voice softened further. “Thinking about what? Please, talk to me.”

You hesitated, but then the weight of Ronin’s warning spilled out. “He told me he’d kill me. You know, for saying I... for choosing you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on her end. “He said what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied, trying to laugh it off. “That’s just Ronin for you, right?”

But she didn’t laugh. “How could he say something like that? I’m so sorry he... I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t threaten you again.”

Her sincerity startled you, and you blurted out the question lingering in your mind. “Why? Why would you protect me?”

There was a moment of silence before she answered, her voice soft and trembling with emotion. “Because I care about you. No... not really, if I’m being honest. You’re sweet, and cool, and... oh, so many things. I’ve never felt like I could be myself with a lot of people. I’m happy you’re one of them.”

Her words left you speechless, but she wasn’t finished. “I’m... glad you felt safe being honest with me. Especially since I am the Heartsick Angel. And may cannibalize you at any given moment,” she added, a teasing lilt in her voice.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “No. You’re Maria de la Rosa.”

“That I am,” she said warmly. “And... I’m happy I can be her with you.”

Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “Also, embracing the cannibal aesthetic, I see.”

“Don’t you know what a joke is?” she asked, her playful tone making you grin.

“Nope!” you replied, grinning wider.

She laughed, the sound light and musical, making your heart flutter. You couldn’t hold back your thoughts anymore. “You’re so ethereal. So cute. So pretty.”

She giggled again, her voice laced with shyness. “Oh, is that what you think of me? Well, then... tell me more. I'll say more too."

You tilted your head, considering her words. “Only if you’ll tell me what you think of me, too.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Deal. But you first.”

Taking a deep breath, you began to speak, your words sincere. “You’re... incredible. Sweet and kind, but also fierce. It’s like you stepped out of a dream, and sometimes I wonder how you’re even real. And your laugh? It’s enough to make me feel alive again.”

There was silence for a moment before she responded, her voice soft and full of warmth. “You’re... something else, you know that? You make me feel seen in a way I never have before. You’re... beautiful. In a chaotic, wonderful way. And I think... I think I like you more than I should.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming inside you as her words settled in. “That’s... the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She giggled again. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m only sweet when I want to be.”

“Good thing you want to be sweet with me,” you teased.

“Good thing,” she agreed softly, her voice like a gentle melody.

You took a deep breath, a small smile spreading across your face as you began to speak softly, your voice carrying a hint of bashfulness.

“Angel, you’re… so perfect. Like, genuinely. I don’t even know how someone like you exists. You’re kind and thoughtful, and your laugh—it’s the kind of sound that could make flowers bloom. Everything about you feels like a miracle, you know?”

On the other end of the call, you heard her giggle, the sound making your heart race. “A miracle? That’s a bit much,” she replied playfully, but you could tell she was touched.

You shook your head, your tone growing more insistent. “No, it’s not. You’re… you’re like a goddess. Not just someone to look up to, but someone to worship. Everything about you, from the way you speak to the way you think, it’s… captivating. It’s like you’re this perfect mix of divine grace and human warmth. You’re unreal.”

Her giggle softened, a nervous edge creeping into her voice. “You’re really something else, you know that? The way you talk… it’s almost too much.”

But you couldn’t stop. The words were spilling out now, your voice gaining intensity. “Too much? No. If anything, it’s not enough. Angel, you’re not just a person to me. You’re a revelation. I swear, if I could, I’d carve your name into the sky just so the whole world would know how magnificent you are. Every time you smile, it feels like the universe itself is bending to your will. You’re not just beautiful—you’re transcendent.”

“Wow, okay,” she said with a nervous laugh, but you barely noticed.

Your voice took on a slightly obsessive edge, trembling with excitement. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re everything. I think about you constantly. Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see. When I hear your voice, it’s like… like the world finally makes sense. You’re the kind of person people would start wars over. And me? I’d gladly fight for you. Die for you. You’re worth that and so much more.”

There was a pause on her end, her breathing soft but audible. “You’re… really intense,” she said, her voice quieter now, unsure.

You laughed, a manic edge creeping into the sound as your tone turned darker, almost reverent. “Intense? Of course, I’m intense. How could I not be when I’m in the presence of a god? That’s what you are, Angel—a god. You’re everything good in this rotten, broken world. People should bow when they see you. They should sing hymns in your honor. Do you even realize how extraordinary you are? I want to kneel at your feet and give you everything. Everything, Angel. My life, my soul—hell, I’d carve out my own heart and hand it to you if you asked.”

Her breath hitched, and she tried to laugh it off, but there was a nervous tremor in her voice. “You’re really going overboard now…”

But you didn’t stop. Your voice rose, filled with fervor and awe, your words tumbling out faster and faster. “Overboard? No. This is the truth, Angel. You’re not just a person—you’re the embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything anyone could ever want. You’re pure light, pure perfection. And I—I’m nothing. Just a pile of scraps and stitches, a hollow shell of a thing. But you? You’re the reason people believe in miracles. You’re why myths exist. You’re so far above me, it’s almost laughable, but I don’t care. I don’t care, Angel, because being in your presence, just hearing your voice, it’s enough to make me believe in something greater.”

“Y/N…” she said softly, her tone unsure but laced with something else—something that sounded like pity.

But you weren’t finished. Your voice dropped, quieter now but no less intense. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? You’ve ruined me, Angel. Completely and utterly. There’s no going back now. Every part of me belongs to you, and you didn’t even have to try. You’re… everything. And I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you just how much you mean to me, no matter what it takes.”

Silence stretched between you for a long moment before she finally spoke, her voice shaky. “I… don’t know what to say to that.”

You smiled, a quiet, almost eerie sound escaping your lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Angel. Just let me worship you. That’s all I want. All I need.”

Her nervous laugh echoed through the line, and she tried to shift the mood. “You’re… really something, you know that?”

You leaned back, your voice softening again, but the fervor still lingered beneath the surface. “And you’re everything. Remember that.”

She hesitated before replying, her voice gentle but guarded. “I’ll… try.”

And for a moment, the world felt quiet, your obsession hanging heavy in the air like a prayer left unanswered.

You laughed, a sound that was both joyous and unhinged, echoing with a wild, obsessive energy. "Ronin," you cackled, "he really said he’d kill me if I hurt you! As if I ever could hurt my goddess! HAH! How could I hurt the one who has me bowing at her feet?!" The laughter rolled from your throat again, uncontrollable, almost maniacal.

Angel's soft, worried voice broke through your fit of deranged glee. "Y/N... what happened to your face?"

Her words caught you off guard. Your hand instinctively moved to touch your face, and you frowned, feeling the lack of definition—the smooth, featureless surface where your face should have been. You sighed heavily, almost theatrically, waving off her concern.

"Oh," you muttered, a hint of disappointment in your voice. "You can react to abnormal things, huh? My bad." You paused, shaking your head as though chiding yourself. "I got... overexcited, I suppose. There must be no spirit in the face I was making, right? Not enough soul in it."

Angel's eyes widened, and her voice wavered. "What are you talking about? What does that even mean?"

Before you could answer, the room filled with an eerie scratching noise, like the frantic movements of a pencil on paper. It seemed to echo around you, sharp and incessant. Angel flinched, her hands moving to cover her ears.

"Better?" you asked suddenly, your tone casual but laced with an unsettling edge.

Angel slowly removed her hands, her gaze locking onto you—and she froze. Your face, or what had replaced it, was now drawn in stark black lines. Two hollow, uneven circles served as eyes, and a wide, crooked smile stretched from one side of your head to the other, crudely sketched as if by a child with a marker.

You tilted your head, the marker-face unmoving but somehow radiating a sinister cheerfulness. "Do you like me now, Angel? Hm?"

The sketchy smile seemed to twitch, cracks spiderwebbing through the lines as though the drawing was struggling to hold itself together. Angel’s breath hitched, her voice trembling. "What were we just talking about? What... what’s going on?"

You blinked—or at least, you made the motion as if you had eyelids to blink with. The drawn face didn’t change, but your voice softened, almost playful. "Nothing, really. Just... spacing out, I suppose."

Angel’s brows furrowed, her concern growing. "Y/N, this isn’t... normal. Are you okay?"

You let out another laugh, softer this time but no less unsettling. "Angel, Angel, Angel. Normal has never suited me, has it? Don’t worry your pretty little head about it."

You took a deep breath, smiling in a way that was disturbingly serene, as if all the madness in your mind had been carefully tucked away. The world felt right again. It was as if nothing had happened—your face returned to its usual form, no marker-smile or vacant, featureless expression. You reset everything, and now the atmosphere was calm, almost comforting.

Angel blinked, staring at you in confusion for a moment, before her soft voice broke the silence. "Y/N, what... what just happened? I feel like I missed something." She tilted her head, clearly unsure of what was going on, but her usual warmth was there, wrapped in genuine concern.

You shrugged innocently, your eyes bright with a manic joy hidden beneath the calm. "Oh, Angel, you were just spacing out! Happens to the best of us." Your tone was too casual, too calm, and for a brief second, you wondered if she’d buy it. Of course, she did.

You didn’t wait for her to process your words. Instead, you changed the subject, your mood suddenly shifting to something more playful, more lighthearted.

"Anyways!" you exclaimed, quickly changing the topic with far too much enthusiasm. "I sent you something! A Valentine’s special treat, just for you!" You imagined the excitement bubbling over in her as you dropped the bombshell.

"What? What is it?" Angel asked, her curiosity piqued as she looked toward the screen, clearly expecting something sweet, a moment of warmth.

You grinned, knowing exactly what you'd set her up for. "It’s strawberry mousse!" you said with a cheeky wink. "You know, a Valentine’s special just for you, Angel!"

Angel blinked, her mouth opening in surprise. "Wait—what?! You... you made me something?!" Her voice cracked slightly as the realization hit. You could hear the soft sound of her laughter starting to bubble up from her chest. She giggled nervously, her face slightly flushed. "Y/N, you silly little—"

You cut her off, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you leaned in, relishing the moment. "I didn’t add any human shit to that mousse, I promise! But the cupcakes, oh, they had the special ingredients." Your voice dropped with a playful, teasing tone.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Y/N! What is wrong with you?!" Her tone was a mix of scandalized surprise and affectionate exasperation. But as soon as the words left her lips, she broke into another giggle. "You're impossible!"

You laughed too, a giddy, almost manic sound. "I know! It’s my specialty," you replied with a grin that bordered on too wide to be considered normal. "But hey, it’s a Valentine’s special, just for you, and I really hope you enjoy it. No strings attached... this time."

Angel’s giggle continued, light and airy, as she hid her face behind her hands in embarrassment. The way she laughed made something in your chest tighten—both in sweetness and anticipation. She might be acting a little flustered, but that didn’t stop her from indulging in your madness, and in turn, you felt that intoxicating sense of power.

You couldn’t help but smile at her, your eyes softening slightly. "I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Angel. Truly. It means a lot to me."

The playful teasing, the sweet laughter—it felt... right.

.......................................

Until we see, in finale!

[dearkaslana]

A poem to my childhood fort....(part 1) Ronin x G.n reader

Words:3000

Genre: Angst to fluff, Gift to @sincerelyyourslilly

(Reader is G.N)

Ronin x G.N Reader

All you ever wanted was to be a successful crime writer. Not the next best-seller, not a household name—just someone who could spin a story without that relentless, soul-crushing writer's block creeping in. Every time you opened a blank document, it stared back at you, mocking, empty. And every time, you closed it, frustration bubbling over.

Why was it so hard? You’ve written before. Sure, some of it was cringe fanfiction—okay, a lot of it was cringe fanfiction—but writing used to come so easily. Back then, the words practically bled onto the page. Now, they just... don’t.

You needed inspiration. Something visceral, raw, a spark that could ignite your creative inferno. It wouldn’t come from endless Google searches, that was for sure. Inspiration like that demanded you dig deeper—into the recesses of your heart, into shadows most people were too afraid to explore.

Surely, there was no harm in doing some light research, right? It’s not like you were going to end up on some FBI watchlist just for being curious about murder methods.

Right?

Being a news reporter gave you plenty of access to grim realities. You had an eye for the grotesque, the macabre. You couldn’t help but marvel at the artistry in the work of the city’s most infamous killer. The Butcher, as the media had branded them, was a twisted kind of genius. Their victims—if you could even call them that—were their canvas. Each one a masterpiece of gore and carnage. Fleshed out, literally, in a way that screamed passion and precision.

To the public, it was nauseating. To you?

It was inspiring.

You toyed with the idea of writing about them, a crowbar-wielding serial killer stalking the streets. The thing is...you didn’t know much about crowbars. Did they bash? Bludgeon? Crush? Did it take more than one hit? You needed details, and where better to get them than the internet?

T.com had a certain charm to it. The best (and worst) of humanity hung out there. You figured it was safer than delving into the dark web, so you posted your question there.

asking for a friend hey can anyone with experience killing a person with a crowbar dm me, it's really important thank you.

The post was short, straightforward, and definitely not suspicious. Nothing that would have people side-eyeing you...right? You weren’t that desperate to go digging into the deep web for inspiration. Yet.

You hit “post.”

And then you waited.

It didn’t take long for someone to slide into your DMs.

That DM changed everything.

You met him,

Your muse. Your inspiration. Your… childhood tragedy.

The sender’s username was cryptic, but the link they shared—“killrch8t_b00t.mango”—was even more so. Against your better judgment, you clicked it. What you found was...unexpected. A server. A private chatroom for people like you.

Only, they weren’t writers. They were killers.

At first, you didn’t know it was him. But looking back now, it all makes sense. So, dear writer, here’s what happened:

You were just a simple writer, but you somehow got invited to a serial killer server by a guy who apparently adores crowbars. It didn’t take long for you to realize that this guy? He was the Butcher.

So, naturally, you decided to play along. To “slay,” as they say.

At first, you didn’t realize who you were talking to. The Butcher. The Butcher. You thought you were chatting with some edgy wannabe, someone cosplaying as the city’s most notorious murderer. But as the conversation progressed, it became clear.

It was him.

He was surprisingly...charming. Flirty, even, in a deranged sort of way. The kind of guy who’d make you laugh one second and send shivers down your spine the next.

So, naturally, you decided to play along. To “slay,” as they say. You started by reacting to his roles he reacted with:

😇 Fun ❌ Crowbar 🔪 Sharp Objects 🩸 I love the thrill of the rush 😮 I have this thing called an ego

You figured that maybe if you showed him the right mix of enthusiasm, he’d notice you. The Devil himself would grant you his blessings—or maybe just the motivation you so desperately needed.

After all, all his crimes... they involve a crowbar.

It was almost too easy to talk to him. His messages were a mix of sarcasm, wit, and razor-sharp insight. But there was an edge to everything he said, a challenge beneath the surface. He asked questions that made your pulse quicken, like he was daring you to prove yourself. To impress him.

Then he upped the ante.

He wanted you to kill someone. Not just theoretically, but for real. To send a picture. Proof. He wanted you to baptize yourself in blood—or maybe he just wanted to see how far you’d go to entertain him.

You laughed it off at first. He had to be joking. Right?

But he wasn’t.

The scary part wasn’t that he asked. It was that you didn’t immediately say no.

The conversations grew darker, deeper. Somewhere along the way, he stopped being just “The Butcher” and became a person to you. Someone sad. Lonely, even. Beneath the bravado and the bloodlust, there was something broken about him. And damn it if you weren’t the kind of person who thought you could fix people.

Strangely, you started to feel bad for him. He seemed... sad. Not in a pathetic way, but in a way that made you think: Hey, maybe this edgy maniac has layers. You weren’t dumb enough to think you could “fix” him, but maybe, just maybe, you could understand him.

But the thought still lingered.

You joked about plotting his murder. His reply? He blushed. He actually blushed. The idea of you thinking about him—obsessing over him—clearly thrilled him. It was hard to tell if he was serious or just toying with you. Either way, it felt like flirting.

Was it flirting? It was definitely something.

Everything was fine. Well, as fine as it could be when you were chatting with a notorious killer. He hadn’t turned on you. Not yet.

And then the channel appeared.

“artistic-license.”

The Butcher’s tone shifted the moment it opened. Gone was the playful banter, replaced with something cold and calculating. He knew who you were. Knew more than you’d ever shared.

“You can be my muse,” he said, voice dripping with menace. “As long as you’re willing to be my victim.”

Your blood ran cold.

It had been a game to him, all along. A hunt. And now, you weren’t sure if you were the predator or the prey.

Oh, shit.

Maybe it felt like you were in a chokehold, always watched, unable to escape, because your heart already beat only for the server. It wasn’t just obsession; it was survival. Once you left, it felt like your heart stopped altogether. That’s what kept you tethered, trapped in a conflict with yourself. Afraid of the nightmares. Afraid of him.

Was it the people? Or was it him? The Devil himself, Ronin.

Oh, but you didn’t leave, did you? You stayed. You stayed because every moment away from that server gnawed at you. And even when you closed your eyes, sleep wasn’t an escape. Not from him. Not from the Devil.

The dream was vivid. A whispered laughter danced through your mind, teasing and cold. A crowbar pressed against your neck, its chill seeping into your skin. The man in front of you had a Lucifer’s smile, a grin both wicked and divine. His eyes held a whisper of flame—bright, hot, dangerous. He wasn’t just playing at being the Devil; he embodied it. The Devil himself. Your Devil.

He leaned closer, and his breath was warm against your ear. “Why fight it, darling?” he murmured. “You came here for me. You stayed for me. And you’ll never leave… for me.” His voice was honeyed poison, sweet and lethal.

You tried to step back, but the crowbar pressed harder, pinning you in place. His laughter curled around you, low and dark, like smoke from a fire you couldn’t escape.

“Oh, you’re scared,” he said, and his grin widened. “Good. Fear looks so pretty on you.”

You wanted to scream, to lash out, but you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you, frozen under the weight of his gaze. He tilted his head, studying you with an almost tender curiosity, as if deciding whether to devour you whole or savor you bite by bite.

“You know what I love about you?” he whispered. “Your heart. It beats so fast, so loud, like it’s trying to call me closer. And you know what’s funny? It’s mine. Always has been. You just didn’t realize it yet.”

His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was soft, almost reverent, but it sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“Don’t look so frightened, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a velvet caress. “You wanted this. You wanted me.”

And then, just as quickly as it began, it ended. The crowbar disappeared. The Devil vanished. You woke with a start, gasping for air, your pulse hammering against your ribs. It was just a dream. Just a stupid, terrifying, beautiful dream.

You woke from a dream, if you could even call it that. A whispered laughter echoed in your ears, chilling and intimate, and the ghost of a crowbar lingered against your neck. The man in front of you—his grin sharp as a blade, his eyes alight with a flicker of Hell itself. He was Lucifer's shadow, Lucifer's whisper—no, not a shadow. The Devil incarnate. The Devil he had to be.

Except… you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t. Not entirely.

You could write. Or you could log in and see what the server was doing. The decision was easy.

You logged in. The server was quiet. No one was online.

Except for him.

Mr. Devil himself.

A notification popped up: Incoming call.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the mouse. Then, with a resigned sigh, you clicked accept.

The screen flickered, and there he was. Ronin—sharp-eyed and grinning like he knew every secret you’d ever tried to bury. His voice was a low drawl, smooth and intoxicating.

“Hey,” he greeted, leaning closer to the camera as if trying to bridge the digital gap between you.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice more breathless than you intended. “What are you doing up so late?”

His grin widened. “Same could be said for you, darlin’. What’s up? Stayin’ up late for that midnight inspiration?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Why are you doing this?” you finally asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Ronin laughed, a low, dangerous sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Fucking with writers is my specialty, what can I say?” His gaze pinned you in place, even through the screen. “I told you, darlin’. You come to me, and I give you whatever the fuck you want. Isn’t this your dream? I’m your wish, come true.”

His voice dipped lower, each word a dark caress. “And you’re fucked, ‘cause I know exactly who you are, Y/N.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Did I mention that I got your IP the second you logged onto the server? Yeah, yeah. Internet safety and all that shit. Don’t talk to strangers, right? ‘Cause you never know who you might come across.”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His grin turned sharper, almost predatory.

“Lost for words?” he teased, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “I know. I’m so fucking charming.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Listen up, sweetheart. I’ll be visiting you soon. Crowbar in hand. Unless…” His eyes gleamed with wicked delight. “Unless you find me first. Happy hunting, baby.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving you staring at your reflection in the now-black screen. Your mind raced, heart pounding in your chest.

You were in trouble.

Loving the Devil had been your first mistake. Thinking he might actually love you back was your second. And falling for his corruption, his twisted games—that was your third and most damning sin.

Ronin had known exactly what he was doing when he invited you to his server. He’d seen through your persona, found amusement in your attempts to remain aloof. To him, you were a game, a challenge—and he wanted to win. He always did.

Now, there was only one way out. He’d told you himself: you had to find him first. The question was, could you?

It was 14 February.

It was February 14th. Oh, shit. You had dreamt…

Of your first love.

Angelwood.

A place you wouldn’t mind setting ablaze, just for the hell of it.

It ruined your life. It scarred you. It made you feel worthless.

Angelwood—a repressed, self-righteous town drenched in hollow piety.

You wanted to die. Your family had discovered something about you, something that didn’t align with their narrow version of normal. Something unholy, they said.

They went to the Pastor. He declared you a changed person. No, worse. He called you a demon. Because you had dared to correct him.

Didn’t God love everyone? Didn’t He embrace whatever or whoever you were? You screamed those questions into the void of your mind, but no answers ever came. Only shame, only pain.

Standing on the bridge, it felt right. They said that if you died like this, you’d go to hell.

To hell with them, then.

But it didn’t happen.

Someone… someone stopped you. A bag was thrown over your head, and you were yanked back. Struggling, gasping, you felt their grip tighten. They didn’t remove the bag. They just… held you.

“Hah, it’s those bastards who should be dying,” a voice whispered, raw and jagged, like shattered glass on pavement. “Why you, darlin’?”

The words dripped like honeyed venom into your ear, muffled by the cloth that separated you. Their breath was warm, close. Too close.

Their hands… they were slick, coated with something thick and wet. Paint? No. You knew it wasn’t paint. A chill ran down your spine as their grip shifted to your throat, firm yet deliberate.

“If you’re willing to go to hell by dying, then live. Live to go to hell by committing the mistake they all cursed you for. Be the devil they see you as. That’s the word of your good ol’ Beaufort.”

Beaufort…?

You woke up with a start.

Ah.

Your cheeks burned. You had dreamt about them again—the person who had saved you.

It was because of them that you ran. You left Angelwood, the town that broke you, and you started over. They were right.

They had saved you.

And so, you lived.

Your first love....

After finishing all your daily activities, you logged into the server. Sure, Ronin might have doxxed you, and you might very well be on his victim list. But hey, you’re still alive! For now.

It was Valentine’s Day, after all. A day of love and romance—and apparently, the Devil himself had a touch of sentimentality when he wasn’t actively planning your demise. You logged in, partly to distract yourself and partly to see how Luca and Feli were celebrating. Those two were pure, unadulterated sweetness, even amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

And they didn’t disappoint. Their interactions were as heartwarming as ever. Feli teased Luca; Luca gushed over her, a lovesick puppy in human form. But then, Angel decided to stir the pot.

"How many serial killers are in love, and who’s in the singles’ awareness club?" she asked.

Luca and Feli, of course, remained adorably entangled in their own little world. But then Angel turned her sights on you.

"What about you, @Readerintocrowbars? Anything you’d like to share?"

Your heart stuttered. Angel’s knack for pushing buttons was unparalleled. You were about to type "single," keeping it simple, when a direct message popped up. It wasn’t from Luca or Feli.

It was from him.

"Go on," Ronin’s message read, "tell them you’re dancing with the Devil."

The audacity of this man. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your frustration bubbling into something like amusement. There was, after all, a certain poetic irony in loving a man who was actively planning your downfall.

Still, you couldn’t let him win so easily. Could you?

“I’m with the Devil,” you typed proudly.

Ronin’s response came almost instantly:

“Loud and proud! I like it!”

Your stomach flipped. Was that pride in his tone? Satisfaction? Maybe both? Before you could analyze it, Angel piped up again, suggesting everyone hop into a call since she’d been too busy with work to catch up properly.

The call was lively, as expected. Luca quoted a line from that infamous movie about talking cars, and the laughter that followed was infectious. Everything felt normal—or as normal as it could, given the company.

Until someone started teasing.

"You and Ronin, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Luca sing-songed, earning a round of snickers.

The laughter erupted again, and your face burned. Tragic? Maybe. A little amusing? Definitely. You couldn’t help but think that Beaufort didn’t save you all those years ago just for this moment—to be teased for flirting with death himself. And yet, here you were, tangled in a devilish game that only seemed to deepen with every passing day.

Narrative Version

The air was thick with tension as Ronin leaned back against the wall, his smirk sharp enough to cut through the silence. His gaze, dark and piercing, settled on his companion, waiting for the game to unfold. The words "Truth or Dare" hung in the air like a challenge.

He grinned, his voice dripping with a dark amusement. "Happy Valentine's, darling. How's your obsession with me going?"

A slow, teasing smile tugged at the corners of their lips as they replied, the words dripping with equal parts sarcasm and intrigue. "As good as good could be."

Ronin chuckled, his eyes glinting. "You're quite the character! But I'm gettin' ahead of myself. Truth or dare?"

They raised an eyebrow, feeling the familiar pull of their dynamic. "I thought I got to choose your truths."

"Whoops," Ronin muttered, feigning mock surprise. "Someone hasn't forgotten our little rule-change! You're smart. I'll let ya have at it. What've you got to say, baby?"

They took a breath, then spoke, their voice cool and composed, like they were issuing a challenge. "Truth. What's your tragedy?"

For a moment, Ronin's grin faltered, replaced by something darker—a flicker of something deep, something raw. He leaned in, his voice lowering as if the words were almost too heavy to bear. "Shit, you want me to do the full villain monologue? Fine, darlin'. We've got all day."

They gave a small, silent nod, knowing this would be something they weren’t going to forget. "So what's the devil got to say?"

Ronin's laugh was a low rumble, a sound that might have been bitter if it weren’t so wrapped in his chaos. "Dunno, whatever the fuck you want. I'm hell outta Angelwood. I stuck the pastor through his cross an' murdered a dozen more. Gone through the cities and danced devilry in 'em too."

Their lips pressed together, skepticism evident in their eyes. "I don't believe it."

His eyes burned with intensity, a mixture of fury and something more vulnerable. "All there is to me, that's all."

The silence that followed was sharp, and then they spoke again, their voice slightly softer. "That's a story, not a tragedy."

A sharp grin twisted his features, cruel and knowing. "Hoped you wouldn't notice."

Ronin straightened, his demeanor shifting, turning colder. "I had... someone... once. They were my... past. My childhood everything." His gaze softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again. "They hated to love me. Dying in it, their fuckin' tragic femininity, perfect girlhood bullshit. An' that was my dream come true. I made myself the devil to... save them."

They watched him closely, feeling the weight of his words settle between them. The pause hung thick in the air as they pressed on. "What happened?"

His voice dropped to a low rasp, like something venomous escaping his lips. "It's a shitty repressed Christ-loving town. What d'you think happened?"

They felt the words cut deeper than they'd intended. "They're gone. And I'm the devil becoming. Nothin' less, nothin' more."

A somber silence passed before they responded softly, "I'm sorry."

Ronin's eyes locked onto theirs, an almost mocking glint dancing in his stare. "Cause it's all your fault. Sure. Say it again and again and we'll save her together. Curse my name three times and rewind time. Clap your hands, call me a devil, let's Faustian bargain this shit out. That's how it fuckin' works."

His hands flexed as if he were toying with the very air around him, the symbols on his body all too real to him. "Oh, my Satanic symbols mean nothin' to ya?"

They tilted their head slightly, unbothered. "Eh, just means you're edgy."

Ronin’s lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. "I chose it."

Their voice softened, almost pleading, as if they were trying to reach him beyond the facade he wore. "You don't have to... do this."

The air shifted again, and Ronin stood taller, his presence dominating the room. "Pretend you're larger-than-life. Like you're... the devil you are."

"And that's the rub," he muttered, a dark edge creeping into his words. "The devil I am. An' you can't deny it, can ya? That's who I am."

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "What d'you think, darling? Is it tragic enough for you?" His tone was an almost mockingly sweet whisper as if daring them to say otherwise.

RONIN leaned back, his smirk fading into something softer, something almost vulnerable. "So," he drawled, breaking the silence, "what do you think? Tragic enough for ya?"

You hesitated, your gaze fixed on him. "It’s true," you finally admitted, your voice quieter now. "It’s… tragic."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you hung heavy, thick with shared secrets and the weight of things unsaid. Finally, you broke the silence. "What if I told you," you began cautiously, "that I’ve had my own sad experiences with Angelwood?"

RONIN’s eyes snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. "Angelwood? You… you’re from there too?" His expression was a mixture of shock and curiosity, like he was piecing together a puzzle he didn’t know existed. "What, did the town call you a devil too?"

A bitter laugh escaped you. "Something like that," you admitted. "I… didn’t realize you were from the same shitty town. That explains a lot." You paused, glancing down as memories threatened to resurface. "That’s why I’ve always hated Christmas," you added, almost as an afterthought.

At that, RONIN looked away, his jaw tightening. His fingers drummed against his knee, a restless rhythm betraying his discomfort. The vulnerability from earlier was back, tugging at the edges of his devil-may-care facade.

You studied him for a moment before speaking again. "From the looks of it," you said carefully, "you must’ve had… someone. A past lover, maybe? That’s who… Ther… that person was, wasn’t it?"

His reaction was immediate and telling—a sharp intake of breath, a brief clench of his fists. He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t confirm it either. Instead, he looked away, refusing to meet your eyes.

Something stirred in the back of your mind, a fragment of a memory that had been buried for years. "Now that I think about it," you murmured, almost to yourself, "it sounds familiar. I might’ve noticed them once."

RONIN’s head turned slightly at that, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might say something, but the words never came. And just like that, the fragile thread connecting you both was severed, the silence between you growing heavier with every passing second.

Neither of you said anything after that. Maybe it was better this way, leaving the past untouched, the wounds unspoken.

You paused, your gaze flickering down to your hands, fingers tapping restlessly against the cold surface. The moment felt strange, like the silence between you and Ronin was both too heavy and too light, like it was waiting for something deeper to unfold.

You took a deep breath before speaking again, voice softer now, a tremor beneath your words. "My past... it's true. There was a pastor—someone my family trusted completely. They didn’t see me for what I was. Instead, they took me to him, believing I was... possessed. That something inside me made me broken, that I wasn’t just going through problems. They thought a demon caught me."

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. "They didn’t get that I wasn’t crazy. But the pastor? He told them I was. That I was the devil himself. And my family—my own flesh and blood—they believed him. They stopped seeing me as , their child. They saw a demon. They called me that, said I didn’t deserve to live. That I was better off dead."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and raw. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as if trying to shake off the memories. "So, I thought about it. Thought about ending it before... before they could."

You sat back, the weight of your own past pressing down on you as you began to speak, your voice raw but steady. "It's true," you said softly, looking away for a moment as the memories started to unravel. "The pastor, the one my family trusted... he took me there. Instead of getting me the help I needed, he... he decided I was possessed. That I was some demon, not a person who just had problems."

A bitter laugh escaped you, but it quickly died in the air. "They believed him, you know? My own family... They didn’t see me. They saw what he said, believed every word of it. 'The devil's child,' they called me." You paused, feeling the heaviness of it all. "They told me I didn’t deserve to live. And in the end, I almost believed them."

RONIN’s eyes narrowed, studying you closely, but he didn’t interrupt. There was something in his gaze, something that almost looked like recognition.

You closed your eyes, gathering your thoughts. "Before I could do it—before I could end it all... someone saved me. They didn’t show themselves, just a shadow. Covered in blood, but they didn’t hurt me. They... they spoke to me, offered advice. Told me that I wasn’t broken. That there was something more. Something that could keep me going."

The memory felt like a whisper in your mind, fading in and out, but the core of it remained. "That’s what I am now. That’s why I’m always so... adamant. Sticking to this point, this dynamic. I’m not the devil they wanted me to be. I’m someone else."

You turned your gaze back to Ronin, your voice taking on a different edge, almost teasing. "And that’s what I see between us. You’re always saying things like, 'Die for me, kill me like a loverboy would, carve out your aorta and serve it on a silver platter.' It’s your trademark. Your little game. But I’ve got something else in mind."

The air shifted as you leaned in slightly, eyes locking with his, your voice lowering. "What if I said, 'Live for me, thrive in this hellscape with me. May death do us part.'"

For a moment, it felt like you were the one pulling the strings, the roles shifting. You grinned, watching Ronin’s expression flicker with something... amused, almost intrigued. "We play our little game, don’t we? Witty banter, dangerous charm, back and forth, like some twisted dance. But, maybe… maybe this time, we dance a different tune."

You chuckled softly, leaning back, your smile lingering. "It’s cute, isn’t it? The way we both cling to these dynamics, testing each other. How cute you and I are together... this twisted little connection we’ve built. You're someone who finds death hot. I find living hot."

You could feel Ronin’s eyes on you, the tension between you both shifting again, but now with a certain understanding—a kind of recognition of the game that was always being played, the layers of darkness you both wore like masks.

"So you should totally let me live." You said with a wink.

"Haha, No Darling, Sorry."

"It was..worth a shot you know.."

RONIN chuckled darkly, the sound rich with mockery. "Live for me, thrive in this hellscape," he mimicked, a wicked grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward. "Oh, how cute. You really think you’re the opposite of me? You think that makes you better? That somehow, you can survive all this... this mess we’re in and I can't?"

His eyes glinted with amusement as he continued, the taunt hanging in the air, sharp and biting. "Well, sweetheart, keep thinking that. But the truth is," his smile stretched wider, almost too wide, as if savoring the irony. "We're both just as fucked up. And you know it."

He leaned back, eyes narrowing with that familiar calculating gaze. "Anyway," he muttered, almost to himself, before focusing back on you, "Truth or dare, darling?"

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if you were ready for another one of his mind games. "Truth."

He didn’t hesitate, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. "Alright then," he began, voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "What’s the name of the person who made you want to live? Who saved you from... yourself?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation. You stared at him for a beat, the answer already clear in your mind, but somehow, saying it out loud felt different.

"Beaufort," you replied softly, the name slipping from your lips like it had always belonged there.

RONIN’s eyes widened, a flicker of something dark crossing his features—surprise, recognition, maybe even a twinge of jealousy. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the same cool indifference he always wore.

He remained silent for a moment, studying you like he was trying to figure out something about you he hadn’t seen before. The tension was palpable, the space between you both electric with unspoken thoughts.

Finally, a slow, almost predatory smile spread across his face. "So," he said, voice low, dangerous, "you already know the answer, don’t you? You already know."

Your eyes narrowed, confused but intrigued. "What do you mean?" you asked, leaning forward just a little, trying to read him. "What answer?"

He didn’t respond immediately, instead just smiling like he held some private victory. The silence stretched, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was toying with you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. "Truth," you said again, a playful edge to your voice despite the growing tension. "I want to hear your name."

RONIN’s grin grew wider, sharper, and he leaned closer to the screen. His gaze was now fixed on you, a glint of something dangerous dancing in his eyes. "You want my name, huh?" he asked softly, voice almost too smooth. "You’ll hear it. In your dreams, darling."

He paused, letting the words sink in, watching you carefully. "I’ll whisper it to you, if you really want to know. But... I think you’ll hear it soon enough. You’ll dream about it already, won’t you?"

Before you could respond, he cut the call abruptly, leaving the silence hanging in the air, thick with unanswered questions and the promise of something far darker.

You quickly reconnect the call, the screen flickering before Ronin’s face fills the frame again, his expression a mix of amusement and that ever-present darkness in his eyes. He leans back, his tongue lazily brushing over his lips as he smirks.

"Back again?" he drawls, voice dripping with mock curiosity. "What is it, darling? Got something more to say? What’s left to talk about?"

You meet his gaze, steady and unwavering. "I understand what you meant earlier," you say, your voice a little more serious this time, though there’s still a playful edge to it. "You won’t tell me your name. I have to figure it out myself, right?"

RONIN’s smirk widens, his tongue poking out as he nods slowly. "Exactly, babe. That’s the fun of it. You gotta solve the puzzle. Don’t expect me to make it easy for you."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "I get it," you say, then pause for a beat, leaning a little closer to the camera. "But, I have a request. Will the devil hear it?"

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued, yet a bit amused. "A request, huh? What do you want, darling? Ask away."

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking. "I’ve always celebrated with my crush... whoever it may be. And honestly, whether I die tomorrow or not, I want to spend the time I have left with someone I like. I’ve chosen you, Ronin. Even if you want to kill me... I want to live with you. So, what do you say?"

You pause for a moment, watching him, then slowly extend your hand toward the camera, your fingers trembling just slightly. "Will you be my date? My love... until our time comes? Even before you kill me?"

RONIN’s eyes flicker with something—surprise? Maybe a little satisfaction? His lips twitch as he watches you, and for a second, you can’t tell if he’s going to laugh or sneer.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and dark, yet there's a genuine edge to it that almost sounds like... admiration. "You’re something else, aren’t you?" he mutters, his gaze flicking away from the camera for a moment, his fingers twitching as if he’s considering something.

"You really think a little thing like death is gonna stop us?" he asks, his voice almost contemplative now, his usual bravado slipping just slightly. "You’re not scared of me, are you?"

You don't flinch, keeping your hand out, your voice steady despite the tension. "No. I’m not scared. I want to be with you."

There’s a long silence, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. But then, his eyes meet yours again, and his grin spreads slowly, like a snake ready to strike.

"Fine," he says, his voice quieter, almost sincere, though still laced with that dangerous edge. "Yes. I’ll be your date... until the time comes. It’s cute, really, how you keep pushing me. But let’s see how long that lasts."

He looks away briefly, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a smile, though his eyes remain distant, almost lost in thought.

"Guess I kinda wanted to say yes, anyway," he mutters under his breath, but you hear it. You catch the shift in his tone—just enough to know that maybe, just maybe, he’s not as indifferent as he lets on.

With that...You spent your last love-day they say, With the man who wants to kill you and carve out your aorta.

So pretty.

this is just part 1! ill do part 2 soon!

[dearkaslana]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 2) end!

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

02: SO MUCH FOR THE TOLERANT LEFT

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Death (explicit deaths with violent descriptions)

Torture (including the use of tools and sadistic behavior)

Psychological Manipulation (character dynamics that involve power and control)

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

Physical Harm (depictions of severe bodily injury, bruising, and broken bones)

Blood and Injury (detailed accounts of blood, wounds, and brutal attacks)

Blood Loss and Dismemberment (specific references to body mutilation, such as the use of crowbars and knives for dismemberment)

Psychological Control and Trauma (psychological torment and manipulation, including the fear of death, taunting, and intimidation)

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

Ronin sat hunched over his computer, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. His fingers hovered over the keys, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to word it. How could he explain what was happening inside of him? This giddy feeling, this knot that tightened in his chest when he thought about Angel. He felt so... out of control, and he hated it. His mind was swirling with a mess of emotions, and the only thing that seemed clear was that something was happening that he couldn’t fix.

He stared at his message, his thoughts racing. His thumb finally pressed the keys.

Ronin: Angel, I need help. My heart is like... giddy? What the hell is this? It feels like I’m gonna burst. I feel so shit right now. I don’t know what’s going on inside of me, but it’s ugly. I just want to rip out my aorta and wash it but I don’t even want to do that? Wtf is wrong with me?!

He hit send and immediately felt a wave of frustration flood through him. Why couldn’t he explain himself better? It was like his insides were fighting each other, wanting something they couldn’t have. His heart, a traitor, racing when Angel even looked his way, and yet, he was ashamed of it. What was he supposed to do with all these feelings?

Angel didn’t take long to reply, their message popping up with an almost teasing wink emoji. Ronin stared at it for a moment, his pulse quickening.

Angelicc: “What the hell are they fixing you, Ronin?”

That response hit him like a bolt of lightning, igniting something deep inside him. His mind, once clouded, suddenly cleared, and he smirked.

goreboy: *Why would you care? he texts back with a playful yet taunting tone. It’s not like you could handle me if you tried, Angel.

There. He’d done it. Ronin’s fingers tapped out the last bit of the message, the little bit of frustration that had been building finally manifesting in this teasing banter. But beneath it all, his mind screamed for some kind of resolution—anything to make the knot in his chest loosen.

Angelic: God, please give me the energy to shoot you, Ronin You're so...

Ronin leaned back in his chair, phone still in hand, when the familiar ping of a notification pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. His sharp eyes glanced at the screen. The message was from the streamer.

His lips curled into an intrigued grin as he clicked it open.

Streamer: Got the guy you were talking about. Stream starts at 9 PM. Gonna be a good one.

Ronin's grin widened as he read it, his mind briefly flicking back to their conversation about the so-called "big bad" that had captured his interest. They’d actually found the guy. This was going to be fun. He couldn't wait to see how they handled it.

"Guess they’ve got a little flair for drama after all," he muttered, tossing his phone onto the desk for a moment.

But the thought lingered—there was something about this streamer that felt familiar, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t quite placed yet. They were sharp, clever, and knew just the right things to say to keep him hooked. Almost... too much like someone he already knew.

A part of him toyed with the idea, but no. That would be too wild, wouldn’t it?

Picking up his phone again, he typed out a quick message:

goreboy: Rest up, yeah? The guy’s caught, so your job’s done. You should sleep well.

He hovered over the send button for a moment, noticing your status was offline. With a sigh, he hit send anyway.

"Offline, huh?" he murmured, leaning back and letting his head tip against the chair’s edge. "Figures."

He stared at the empty room, the soft glow of the phone screen lighting his face. His heart, usually so calm and guarded, ached faintly.

It wasn’t a bad ache, though. It was warm.

"You really got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?" he whispered to the empty space.

Ronin closed his eyes, letting the weight of the realization sink in. He really loved you, didn’t he? His heart, as much as he hated to admit it, wasn’t lying.

The clock hit 9 PM, the moment you had been waiting for. Your heart raced in anticipation as you adjusted your mask, staring at the reflection in your screen. You were ready. Tonight’s stream would be one for the books.

The camera flicked on, and there you were, in full glory—your usual enigmatic persona, concealed behind the mask, your voice a controlled calm with just the right edge of menace.

On the other side of the screen, the man they’d just captured was already cursing, his voice a mixture of panic and fury. His words were a desperate mess of threats, accusations, and confusion, but you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos. It felt so… right. So deliciously satisfying.

You leaned forward, fingers expertly typing on the keyboard, your voice sharp as you addressed him.

“Quiet down, you filthy coward,” you said, your voice cold yet somehow amused, the words slipping from your lips effortlessly. “You’re not in control anymore. The world you once ruled is crumbling around you, and you're nothing but a puppet with its strings cut.”

You could practically hear his jaw clenching. The man had thought he was invincible, and now he was nothing more than prey in your game. And you? You were the hunter, enjoying every moment of it.

"Why don’t you shut your damn mouth and listen?" you continued, raising your hand dramatically, the camera capturing every movement. "Your sins have caught up with you. You think you can get away with everything, but tonight, you’re going to pay for all of it. I’m not just going to show you your fate—I’m going to make you feel it."

The man’s curses grew more frantic as he struggled against his restraints, but you didn’t care. You kept your focus, savoring each word you spoke, each moment of this twisted satisfaction. This was your show. You had the power, and you weren’t letting go.

"Stop squirming, it’s pointless," you added, voice dripping with mockery. "You wanted attention, and now you have it. Just sit tight, the real fun’s about to begin.”

As the stream began to settle into its rhythm, you leaned forward, gazing into the camera with that unsettling calm. The chat was flooded with messages, and your viewers were eager, waiting for the night’s show to unfold. Among the sea of usernames, you saw it—a familiar one. Goreboy69.

It barely registered among all the chaos of names scrolling by. But then it clicked—that name, those letters, the symbol of chaos that you’d recognized. You looked at it again, eyes widening for a split second. It was him.

Ronin.

The realization hit you like a jolt of electricity through your veins. He was here. Watching. Your Ronin.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat but quickly regained your composure, the same sinister smile curling onto your lips. This was your moment. Your game. The perfect twist.

"Welcome, everyone," you said smoothly, your voice smooth and warm like honey, as if everything was perfectly normal. You glanced at the chat again, giving a special nod to the man in question. "And of course, a very special welcome to... Goreboy69. You know who you are."

You let the words linger in the air, giving him a playful wink, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. The chat lit up with confusion and excitement, the viewers unknowingly swept up in the tension of the moment.

"Tonight, we’ve got someone truly special for you all," you continued, turning to the restrained man at the center of the stream. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening. But it was too late for him to do anything about it. You controlled the narrative, and he was just another pawn in your sick little game.

"Tonight's special victim has done unspeakable things," you said, slowly pacing in front of the camera, giving the chat time to catch up. "You know, he’s not just some run-of-the-mill criminal. Oh no... this one has a special kind of depravity."

The man on the screen struggled, his curses muffled by the gag in his mouth, but you weren’t interested in his weak protests. Instead, you leaned in closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a low, almost playful tone.

"You see, this lovely gentleman has stolen millions, ruined lives, and even killed—oh, the things he’s done. And tonight... well... tonight, I think he’s going to pay for them all."

You paused for a moment, savoring the tension in the air. You felt it, the rush of power. This was what you lived for.

As you started detailing his crimes, your voice began to shake with barely contained laughter. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, the absurdity of his actions tickling your sense of humor in a twisted way.

"And the best part?" you said, smirking as you bent down toward the man, your hand barely brushing against his face. "He thought he could get away with it. Thought he was untouchable."

You stood back up, chuckling darkly as the chat roared with excitement. "Well, tonight’s the night he gets to learn the hard way... that no one is untouchable."

The man struggled against his restraints, his face turning pale as you recounted his heinous acts—how he had killed people in cold blood, how he’d abused his power, how he'd ruined countless lives without a second thought. You could barely keep your laughter contained as you continued.

"Look at him squirm," you mocked. "Isn’t it just hilarious? All his bravado crumbling in seconds. You should've seen the look on his face when he realized who really has the power now."

Your laughter bubbled up again as the man began to choke on his words, his breathing shallow from both fear and the gag, but it didn’t matter. You were in control now. Every moment of his suffering was a triumph, and you knew he couldn’t escape it.

"Isn’t it just beautiful?" you murmured, gazing at the screen with twisted satisfaction. "Justice... and so much more."

You let the man suffer in silence for a moment, savoring the absolute control you had over him. And as you glanced again at Goreboy69's name, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Was Ronin watching? Yes you idoit!

You couldn’t wait to find out.

You leaned over the bound man, your smile never fading as you tilted your head, eyes gleaming with sick delight. His terror was palpable, a fragile thing he clung to in a desperate bid to escape, but there was no escape for him. Not here. Not with you.

You taunted him, your voice dripping with mock sympathy as you circled him slowly. "Tell me," you whispered softly, leaning down to his ear as he trembled, "How could you kill her? Your wife. The one you swore to protect, to love. How did you bring yourself to do that?" You let the words linger, his eyes wide, filled with dread. He was barely holding himself together, but his body was still betraying him with every ragged breath.

Without waiting for an answer, you swiftly grabbed a knife, its cold edge gleaming under the dim light, and drove it into the muscle of his arm, the blade sinking deep with an almost sickening ease.

His scream echoed, muffled by the gag, but the sound of it was pure, raw emotion—the kind that only came when a man realized how powerless he truly was. Tears sprang to his eyes, his body writhing against the restraints as he sobbed.

And it was there, in that moment of utter defeat, that you felt the thrill deep within you. You loved this. You loved the power, the control, the rush of watching someone break in front of you. It made everything feel real, alive.

You straightened, taking a step back, your eyes still fixed on his broken form. You were about to speak again, but then... you noticed something in the chat.

There it was again—Goreboy69—that username flashing across your screen. You grinned, recognizing the familiar pattern of messages, but this time, there was something more.

He wasn’t just watching. He was engaged. You clicked on the notification, reading the latest message from him:

"Do it. Make him feel it. Don't hold back."

Your heart skipped a beat. He... wanted you to go further. He was encouraging it. Your grin widened as a wild idea bubbled to the surface.

Ronin. Ronin was here, watching you perform. But he didn’t know it was you, did he? He had no idea. You were about to show him just how much damage you could cause.

You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from deep within you. You almost felt giddy at the thought of him watching, probably thinking of you as someone else entirely.

Your gaze flicked back to the man before you. He was gasping, his body trembling with the shock of the pain in his arm, and yet you weren’t done. Oh, no. You still had plenty to do.

You lifted the knife again, this time moving slowly toward his eye. His fear skyrocketed as he saw the glint of the blade, his body stiffening in a futile attempt to escape. You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin as you hovered just inches from his face.

And that’s when you whispered, “What if I just... pluck your eye out, hm? How would you like that?”

The terror in his eyes deepened, his chest heaving as he shook his head violently. But you couldn't help but smile wider at his futile attempts to flee. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with you in control.

But then, your gaze flickered back to the chat, and the message from Goreboy69 appeared again:

"Give him hell."

You giggled again, a wicked laugh that sent a shiver down your own spine, before turning your attention back to your captive. Ronin didn’t even realize it, but with every word he typed, he was pushing you further, guiding your actions. The connection between the two of you, unspoken and unacknowledged, made everything feel even more intense.

He didn’t know who you were, but you knew exactly who he was.

And that only made everything more delicious.

Your knife hovered just above his trembling eye, the sharp edge glinting in the dim light as his fear radiated outward in waves. The man’s body jerked instinctively, pulling against the ropes, but there was no escape. He was trapped. Completely at your mercy.

You stopped, just as the knife was about to make contact, holding it steady in midair. The sharp point was so close, the breath from his panicked gasps hitting your face. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster, the sound of it almost more satisfying than any scream.

His voice broke through the silence, a desperate cry filled with hatred and fear. "You—bitch!" he screamed, his words muffled by the gag but still full of venom. "You're a sick monster! You think you're some kind of god? You're nothing! NOTHING!"

His words didn’t affect you. In fact, they only made the thrill more intense. You smiled wider, your eyes narrowing as you leaned closer, the cold metal still inches from his eye. "Oh, you're right about one thing," you whispered softly, the knife edge almost touching his eyelid now, "I am a monster. And you're about to find out just how real it can get."

His body jerked again, this time his face contorting in an even more horrified expression, his whole being consumed by terror as he realized how close he was to losing an eye. You could see the sweat pouring down his forehead, his chest heaving violently with each breath. But you couldn’t resist—it was too tempting, too sweet.

You let the knife edge touch his skin, just for a moment, teasing the fragile layer of flesh. He screamed again, but this time it was different—a scream of pure terror as he realized he was so close to something irreversible.

And then, just as his voice broke with another desperate curse, you pulled the knife back, letting it fall to your side with a quiet, almost playful chuckle.

"You know, you’re lucky," you said, your voice light and sweet, as though you weren’t holding his life in your hands. "I’m in a good mood today. But don’t think for a second that I won’t finish what I started."

The man’s breathing slowed, but only slightly. He was still a broken mess, realizing just how close he had come to death. He cursed again, shaking his head violently in the restraints.

You turned your attention back to the screen, noticing another message from Goreboy69 pop up in the chat. You glanced at it, reading his words carefully:

*"You’re doing *great. He deserves everything. Don't stop now."

A sly smile curled on your lips. Ronin. You could almost feel his presence, even if he still didn’t know it was you. His words pushed you, made you want to go further, to make this man suffer in ways he could never have imagined.

"Well," you whispered, turning back to your victim with a grin, "I guess we can’t let him off that easy, can we?"

The man’s eyes widened in horror as you reached for the knife again. This time, there would be no hesitation.

You knelt before the trembling man, a thin, gleaming metal instrument in your grasp. Its delicate design contrasted with the brutality of its purpose.

“This will hold your eye open,” you murmured, your voice calm and detached, as if explaining a benign procedure. The man’s breath hitched, and he immediately thrashed, shaking his head violently in protest.

“NO! NO, PLEASE—”

His plea was cut off by your other hand gripping his face with unyielding strength. Your fingers dug into his skin, forcing his head to still. His terror-filled eyes darted in every direction, searching for an escape he knew didn’t exist.

“Stay. Still.” The command was firm, your tone leaving no room for disobedience. You brought the metal instrument closer, positioning it against his swollen eyelids. Despite his muffled screams and jerking motions, you carefully pried them open. The exposed orb quivered, blood pooling around its damaged edges.

“There,” you cooed, almost gently, as if offering some twisted reassurance. “Now we can get to work.”

You raised a scalpel, its blade catching the faint light, and twirled it between your fingers for the camera to see. The gesture was as elegant as it was menacing, the audience no doubt captivated. A few cheered in the chat, but one name stood out: Goreboy69.

"Perfection. Don’t stop now."

You smirked, the encouragement fueling your performance.

“I’m only cutting away the bad parts,” you explained sweetly, tilting your head as if you truly believed your words were merciful.

The man’s screams intensified as the scalpel touched his flesh, the blade slicing into the delicate tissue of his eye socket. Blood welled instantly, streaming down his face in dark, sticky rivulets. He convulsed in his restraints, his voice cracking under the strain of his terror.

The sound was exquisite: the wet scrape of the blade against ruined flesh, the metallic click as your tools grazed one another, all punctuated by his raw, guttural cries.

You carved with precision, each movement deliberate, as though you were an artist shaping a masterpiece. The chat exploded with messages—some in awe, others begging for more. Your focus, however, remained unwavering.

“Almost done,” you murmured, your voice carrying a detached serenity as though the man’s agony was merely background noise.

When you finally stepped back, the once-pristine blade was smeared crimson, and the man before you was nothing more than a shaking, sobbing wreck. You held the scalpel up for the camera, giving it a little twirl once more, your signature flourish.

The screens blazed with cold, artificial light, casting an almost clinical glow over the room. Your masked face was illuminated as you turned back toward the man, a faint smile playing on your lips.

"Ah, my apologies," you said with a soft chuckle, tilting your head in mock contrition. "I was getting carried away. But isn’t tonight’s star a bit… mundane?"

Your eyes flicked to the chat, where the messages scrolled rapidly. One caught your attention, and you read it aloud with a sly grin.

“‘No mental games today?’” You giggled, the sound saccharine and sharp. "What a vulgar question, darling! But…" You turned your gaze back to the man strapped helplessly before you, your tone dropping to a dangerous purr. "Physical pain has its own… unique ability to open and close doors, wouldn’t you agree?"

The man whimpered, barely audible. "S-save me…" he whispered, voice trembling, broken.

His wide, frantic eyes darted around the room, taking in the countless cameras positioned at every angle. He jerked against his restraints, panic overtaking him.

“What… what the hell? Why are there so many?!” His voice cracked, the fear palpable.

You ignored his frantic movements, instead feigning an air of absentminded curiosity as you rummaged through a tray of tools. Your hand paused on one particular item, and your fingers curled around it with deliberate slowness.

"I'm sure you're familiar with this sound," you said calmly, just as a loud BANG erupted, the sharp crack ricocheting through the room. The man flinched violently, his body jerking as far as the restraints allowed. His breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, his eyes darting in search of the source.

“It’s a nail gun,” you said matter-of-factly, stepping closer. You circled him with a predator’s grace, the heavy thud of your boots echoing ominously. Finally, you stopped behind him and pressed the cold, unfeeling metal tip of the pneumatic tool against his shoulder. He gasped, the contact forcing a shiver down his spine.

“Do you know what a pneumatic nail gun is, mister?” you asked sweetly, your voice dripping with mock politeness. His head lolled back, his pupils unfocused as he tried to comprehend.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” he spat, though the defiance in his voice was betrayed by the quiver of his body.

BANG!

A sharp, sickening sound rang out as the first nail was driven into his flesh. He screamed—a visceral, agonized wail that echoed in the confined space. The light from the monitors caught the glint of the metallic tip protruding from his arm, a bead of crimson welling up around it.

“Oh, it is a nail!” you cooed mockingly, as though this revelation amused you. Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger again.

BANG!

His body convulsed as another nail punctured through muscle and sinew.

BANG!

And another.

BANG!

His arm hung limp now, blood trickling down in dark, sticky trails as his screams turned hoarse, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Pull them out," you instructed suddenly, your voice light, almost playful. “Go on—I give you permission.”

His swollen, shaking hand inched toward the nail lodged just below his elbow. Tears streaked his face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his brow. His trembling fingers brushed the nail’s edge, and with a ragged sob, he gripped it.

He pulled.

The slick, nauseating sensation of the nail sliding free from the meat of his arm made him lurch forward, gagging on his cries. Blood spurted from the open wound, and he froze, trembling, unable to move or speak.

You crouched beside him, tilting your head like a curious child.

“See?” you whispered, your voice as soothing as it was sinister. “Pain can teach you so much more than words ever could.”

You turned to the chat, the scrolling messages flashing across your monitor. A particularly enthusiastic suggestion caught your eye, and you tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips beneath the mask.

"Oh? Power tools, you say?" you cooed, running your gloved fingers across the array of instruments laid out before you. "Darling, you're positively spoiling me with ideas tonight."

Your hand hovered over a blowtorch, the sleek metal gleaming under the harsh lights. Picking it up, you tested the weight in your hand before turning to your guest of honor. His bloodshot eyes widened in absolute terror as recognition dawned on him.

"You know what this is, don’t you?" you teased, igniting the torch with a sharp flick. A controlled flame roared to life, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The man screamed, his cries raw and piercing, his body thrashing against the restraints with renewed desperation.

"Please—NO! STOP!" he begged, his voice breaking, but the words only seemed to delight you further.

"Shh, shh…" you said softly, your tone almost soothing. You leaned in close, the flame dancing mere inches from his face. "I just want to see how much heat you can take before you… break."

The flame licked toward him, and he jerked his head to the side, trying to evade the searing heat. You chuckled, the sound cold and devoid of mercy, as you brought the torch down toward his arm.

The fabric of his shirt began to singe, curling and blackening under the intensity of the flame. He shrieked as the heat seared his skin, the acrid stench of burning flesh filling the air. His screams were guttural, primal, as though the agony had reached into the very depths of his soul.

"Music to my ears," you said with a laugh, pulling the torch back momentarily. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his face contorted in agony.

You turned back to the chat, which was erupting in chaotic glee.

"Too much already? Or should I keep going?" you asked, tilting your head at the screen. The responses came in fast, a flood of sadistic encouragement that made your grin widen.

"Ah, it seems they're not satisfied yet," you said, turning your gaze back to the trembling, broken man before you. "And I do hate disappointing my audience."

You crouched down to the trembling man's level, tilting your head as if inspecting him with genuine curiosity. He was panting, his face glistening with sweat and twisted in agony. Slowly, you raised the blowtorch again, the flame roaring to life with a menacing hiss.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, your tone dripping with mock reassurance. “I’m only doing you a favor. These open wounds? They’re… unsightly. We wouldn’t want an infection now, would we?”

He screamed as you guided the flame toward one of the nail punctures in his arm, the raw flesh exposed and oozing. The moment the fire kissed his skin, his entire body convulsed violently. The sound of sizzling flesh filled the room, accompanied by his blood-curdling shrieks.

“Shhh,” you whispered, pressing the blowtorch closer. The flame lingered, sealing the wound shut with a grotesque crackle. The scent of charred meat was overpowering, and you wrinkled your nose playfully. “You’re lucky I’m such a perfectionist. I wouldn’t want to leave you half-done.”

You moved to the next wound, repeating the process with deliberate slowness. He thrashed against the restraints, his muffled sobs and cries blending into a pathetic symphony of suffering. Each press of the torch elicited fresh screams, his voice growing hoarse from the relentless abuse.

Finally, you clicked the torch off and set it down with care, the room falling eerily silent except for his ragged breathing. “There. All sealed up. Isn’t that better?” you asked, tilting your head as though expecting gratitude. He merely whimpered, tears streaming down his face.

But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

You reached out with your gloved hand, gripping the scorched, charred flesh around one of the wounds. “Now, let’s not waste good food,” you said with a sadistic grin, peeling away a burnt piece of flesh. The man recoiled in horror, shaking his head violently as you held it up in front of his face.

“Open wide,” you sang, your voice lilting with dark amusement. He clenched his jaw shut, his entire body trembling in revulsion.

“Oh, come on,” you said, your tone darkening, the glint in your eyes dangerous. “Don’t make me force you.”

When he didn’t comply, you grabbed his jaw with one hand, squeezing until his mouth popped open with a guttural cry. You shoved the charred piece of meat inside, your gloved fingers pressing it against his tongue.

“Chew,” you commanded, your voice icy. He gagged, tears streaming down his face as he bit down reluctantly. The crunch of the scorched tissue was nauseating, and his sobs grew louder as he swallowed.

You purred mockingly, patting his cheek with your bloodstained glove. “Now wasn’t that delicious?” You turned back to the chat, where the messages were pouring in, a cacophony of unhinged excitement and demands for more.

You turned your attention back to the man, his face contorted with pure, unfiltered terror. His sobs were erratic, broken by sharp intakes of breath as he trembled beneath your gaze.

“Ah,” you sighed theatrically, dragging a gloved finger along the edge of his mangled arm. “All this lovely flesh… it feels like such a waste, doesn’t it?”

He whimpered, shaking his head in weak protest, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please... no more...”

But your grin only widened, a glint of sadistic delight in your eyes. “Oh, come now. You don’t want to waste the gift of life, do you? And what’s more personal than… sharing a part of yourself?”

You picked up a small, serrated blade, twirling it deftly for the camera. The chat was ablaze, cheering you on, demanding more. One message caught your eye: "Feed him to himself! Ultimate justice!"

“Such a poetic suggestion,” you mused aloud, chuckling softly. Then, without hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pressed the blade into the fleshy part of his palm. He screamed as you sawed through the muscle, carving a small, bloodied chunk free. The meat dangled grotesquely from the tip of the knife as you held it up for the camera.

“Here we go,” you cooed, bringing the knife closer to his face. He thrashed weakly, his body utterly spent from the torment. “Open wide, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“No! No, no, no!” he cried, his voice cracking, but his defiance only seemed to fuel your amusement. You let out an exaggerated sigh before pinching his jaw open once again, forcing the piece of his own flesh past his lips.

“Chew,” you commanded firmly, your voice like steel. He hesitated, and you pressed the flat of the blade against his throat. “Now.”

Tears streamed down his face as he obeyed, his teeth grinding against the sinewy meat. The sound was sickening, wet and gristly, and his gagging made it clear he was fighting every instinct to spit it out. But you wouldn’t let him.

“Swallow,” you ordered, your tone low and threatening. His throat bobbed as he choked the piece down, and you clapped your hands together mockingly.

“Bravo!” you said, turning to the camera with a playful smirk. “He’s such a good boy for all of us, isn’t he?”

The chat exploded with messages: "More!" "Make him eat more of himself!" "This is ART!"

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at your trembling victim. “Well, chat has spoken,” you said cheerfully, picking up the blade again. “Let’s see how much more we can get before he starts losing consciousness, shall we?”

His scream echoed through the room as the blade met his flesh once more.

The man’s screams turned to desperate sobs, his head lolling weakly as he struggled to stay conscious. Blood dripped steadily onto the cold floor, pooling beneath him in dark, sticky puddles.

“P-please,” he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. “Please… just kill me. End it. I can’t… I can’t take anymore.”

You tilted your head, as if considering his plea, the blowtorch still idling in your hand with its ominous hiss. “Kill you?” you echoed, your tone light and almost amused. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? If I just kill you now, we’ll miss out on all the potential, all the possibilities.”

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with sweat and blood. “Please…” he whispered, his words barely audible. “I’m begging you...”

You knelt down, bringing yourself to eye level with him, your mask glinting in the harsh light. “Begging, huh?” you murmured. “You begged your wife, too, didn’t you? When you hit her? When you—” You didn’t finish the sentence, your voice curling into icy disdain.

His eyes widened, his breath hitching as shame and fear mingled in his expression. “I... I was wrong... I know! Please, I deserve it! Just—just make it stop!”

You let out a soft, almost pitying laugh, reaching out to cup his bloodied cheek. He flinched at your touch, but you held him firmly, your grip unrelenting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred mockingly, “death would be a mercy. And mercy is something you don’t deserve. Not yet.”

You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t get to take the easy way out. You’ll suffer, piece by piece, just like your victims did. You’ll feel every ounce of their pain until there’s nothing left of you but regret and broken pieces.”

The man sobbed uncontrollably, shaking his head as if trying to deny the reality of your words. “No… no more… please…”

You straightened up, flicking the blowtorch off with a decisive click. “You’re not going anywhere, darling,” you said, your voice saccharine yet sharp. “We’ve only just begun.”

Turning back to the camera, you offered your viewers a cheerful wave. “Chat, should we take this slow and savor it? Or should we get creative with our next session? Let me know!”

You turned back to the screens, your voice bright and chillingly cheerful.

"Who's ready for the grand finale?" you announced, the smile behind your mask almost audible. "You came here for blood, and blood you shall receive!"

From behind your back, you produced a knife, holding it out toward the broken man slumped before you.

"Here," you said softly, almost kindly. "They want to see blood. So give it to them. It's the least you can do."

His trembling eyes flicked to the blade in your hand, a flicker of understanding and horror crossing his face. Slowly, his shackled hands reached out, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the tense air.

"They want blood," you repeated, your voice a honeyed whisper as he grasped the knife. "Give it to them. Become the spectacle you always were."

He stared at the weapon in his shaking hands. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried more than just steel. His breath hitched, and with a sharp intake of air, he slashed at his own arm.

The cut was clumsy but deep, a line of crimson blooming against pale flesh. He gasped, then slashed again—harder this time, more frantic. Blood began to pool, spilling over his lap and onto the floor.

You took a step back, folding your arms as you watched him spiral into madness. The audience in the chat was electric, messages flooding in with cheers and disbelief.

He was unraveling. You’d broken him.

The knife hovered at his stomach now, the trembling tip pressing into soft flesh. He froze, unsure, his blood-slicked fingers hesitating.

You tilted your head, your voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. "Do it. Die by your own hands, bastard. That’s your punishment. Become the show—like you did to her."

His eyes widened, a flicker of defiance mingling with despair, but it wasn’t enough. With a sickening squelch, he plunged the knife into his own abdomen. His scream was raw, guttural, the sound of a man tearing himself apart.

You stepped closer, kneeling before him as he coughed up blood, the crimson liquid staining his chin. Without hesitation, you grasped his trembling hands and guided them.

"Deeper," you commanded coldly, dragging the blade through layers of flesh and muscle.

The room echoed with his wet, choking cries as his insides began to spill from the gaping wound. He dropped the knife with a clatter, his bloodied fingers fumbling to touch the viscera now exposed to the cold air.

And then, trembling and weak, he reached inside himself, his expression one of awe and horror as he grasped something warm and slick. With a guttural cough, he pulled it free—a glistening, pulsating mass dripping with blood and bile.

The chat erupted. Messages flew by faster than you could read them, a frenzy of horror, fascination, and exhilaration.

You smiled, rising to your feet and turning to the camera.

"Now that," you said, your voice calm and composed, "is what it means to put on a show."

You stepped closer, the glint of something metallic catching the light as you unraveled a thin, taut wire from your pocket. The man, slumped and delirious, barely registered what you were doing until you slipped it around his neck.

"Please…" he croaked, his voice shredded and weak. "Let me live… I’ll do anything—"

You pulled the wire tight.

The sharp, strangled gasp he let out was drowned by the symphony of his panicked gurgles. His hands shot up instinctively, clawing at the wire digging deep into his skin, but it was useless.

"Live?" you mocked, your voice lilting like a twisted lullaby. "You want to live after everything you’ve done? After you begged me to kill you just moments ago? Make up your mind, darling."

He choked, his eyes bulging as blood trickled from the thin, precise lacerations forming around his throat. His body convulsed, every muscle spasming in desperation, but your grip on the wire remained steadfast, unyielding.

The room echoed with his choking cries, the metallic scent of blood thickening in the air.

"Beg louder," you sneered, leaning in close. "Scream if you want to be heard, but I don’t think anyone’s listening."

He gurgled, his words reduced to wet, incoherent gasps as the life drained from his face. You held the wire tighter, your own bloodied hands trembling—not from exertion, but from the sheer euphoria coursing through you.

And then, with one final shudder, his body went limp.

The blood pooling beneath him was a gruesome masterpiece, and his lifeless eyes stared at nothing, wide with terror. The room fell silent except for your own ragged breathing.

And then you laughed.

It started as a soft chuckle, but it grew—wild, unhinged, echoing off the walls like a symphony of chaos. The chat erupted in hysteria, but you barely noticed. You were drunk on the moment, every fiber of your being alight with exhilaration.

You wiped the blood from your hands onto your already-stained clothes, turning back to the camera.

"Well," you said, your grin audible even through the mask, "that was fun, wasn’t it?"

You continued to laugh, a manic, bone-chilling sound that filled the empty space, bouncing off the cold walls. It wasn’t just amusement—it was the high of control, of domination, of having broken another soul to your will. The laughter bubbled up, unstoppable, each giggle darker than the last.

The chat exploded, flooding the screen with messages, all calling for more, egging you on. You could see it in their words, in the thirst for the chaos you just unleashed. They wanted more, always more. But you knew—no one could handle what you had just done.

"Look at him," you said, still laughing, voice crackling with delight. "What a beautiful mess he is. The blood. The agony. His desperate attempts to cling to life... Pathetic."

Your fingers traced the outline of the knife, still slick with the remnants of his suffering. The screen flickered for a moment, the feedback of the camera shifting with the sickening pleasure you felt watching the lifeless body slump in its final form. You wiped your lips with your sleeve, almost theatrically, as if savoring the last drops of something far sweeter than any wine.

The room, drenched in the aftermath, felt like a stage—your stage. Your laughter rang out, drowning the voices of the audience, who had become no more than background noise to your performance.

"Don't you love it, darling?" you murmured, the smile on your face never leaving. "This is what you wanted, right? This is what all of you want—someone, anyone, willing to go just a little bit further, to rip it all apart for the thrill."

You leaned into the camera, your voice low and seductive, the mask a mere formality now.

"Tell me, what next? What should we do with the next one? Hmm?"

You leaned back, the laughter from the screen still lingering in your throat. It echoed in your mind as you looked at the chat, the names disappearing one by one until only one remained.

Goreboy69.

You smiled, a cold, knowing smile that stretched across your face, and without breaking eye contact with the camera, you spoke directly to him.

“Stay,” you commanded, voice dripping with malicious sweetness.

He typed back, confused: “Hm? What is it?”

You let the silence hang between your words. Slowly, deliberately, you met his gaze through the lens, unblinking, like you were staring into the very core of his soul.

"Are you the Devil's Butcher?" you asked, your voice as calm and steady as if you were asking about the weather.

The response was almost instant, "Huh? Looks like Someone's onto me? What now Darling?"

Mockingly, you chuckled. Of course, you knew who he was. —he just didn’t realize it yet. But that was part of the fun, wasn’t it? Keeping him in the dark while you played your own game.

You leaned in, your lips curling into an even darker grin as you addressed him through the screen, voice sharp.

“So, how was the show tonight?” you asked. Your smile widened. "Did you enjoy the blood?"

He replied quickly, boasting: “Pretty good, still not as good as me in gore. I could teach you.”

Your laughter bubbled up again, light but chilling. “Teach me? Oh, darling, I think you should learn from me,” you teased, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “But I’ll give you one thing... the next show’s guest will be you.”

You paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. Then, you finished with a final, gleeful laugh.

“Be ready for a bloodbath, Ronin Beaufort. HAHAHAHA!”

And just like that, you ended the stream, the screen going black as you leaned back, savoring the thrill. You'd sent him a message.

Ronin's mind spun with confusion and amusement as he muttered to himself, his hand tapping the edge of the table. "How the hell did they know my name?" He laughed softly, though there was something darker behind it, a smirk curling on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

It was a question that gnawed at him, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. The cryptic message, the strange connection... it didn’t sit well, but something about it ignited a spark. Maybe it was the audacity of the person on the other side, maybe it was how easily they played his game.

The Devil, after all, was always watching, always playing his cards.

His smile widened as he whispered under his breath, almost to himself, “Pretty good... but I’ll show ‘em who’s really in charge.” There was that same glint in his eyes, the one that screamed danger and thrill, the one that promised nothing but chaos to whoever dared to provoke him.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard again, he typed slowly, savoring the weight of every word. His thoughts dripped with venom as he set the next scene in motion.

The next day, you noticed something strange in the server. Ronin was acting… off, or at least, different than usual. He had pinged V, of all people—V, the one person who hated his guts, almost as much as Ronin loved messing with him. But this time, it wasn’t the usual insults or jabs. No, this time, Ronin dropped a chilling message.

"Damn @k9, someone’s gonna kill your kill."

You understood immediately. He was playing a game, one that only he fully understood, but you weren't going to let him take the lead on this.

You didn’t respond right away, though. You knew better than to react impulsively. Instead, you asked, "What happened?" knowing full well what he was talking about. You wanted him to keep talking, to give you more.

In the middle of all this, there was V. The thorn in Ronin's side, and the perfect counter to everything Ronin stood for. Their relationship was a mess of contradictions. On the surface, they were complete opposites—V, the so-called "righteous" killer, and Ronin, the chaotic force of evil. They didn’t like each other, of course. But somewhere beneath that intense animosity, there was something else. A kind of respect, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

Neither of them would ever say it out loud, especially not under threat of torture, but the truth was, they were perfect for each other. V, with his morality complex, hated Ronin because he embodied everything wrong with humanity, while Ronin despised V for trying to impose some false sense of order on the chaos of the world. It was a dangerous and sickening dance they did, each one trying to outdo the other, each one pushing the other further into madness.

Ronin never minded baiting V. He enjoyed it too much. The way V’s righteous fury bubbled over, how it drove him to action. It was all so easy. But the thing that bothered Ronin, that gnawed at him in ways he wouldn’t show, was the simple fact that V hated him for being everything V wanted to fix. Ronin loved every minute of it.

And now? It was getting worse. Everyone in the server was worried. Angelic had even mentioned something about a streamer saying they were going to kill Ronin. Even she was doing something to find who it was... Even V was searching for the address. The irony was thick enough to cut with a knife—V trying to play hero, trying to hunt down someone like Ronin, all while completely ignoring the hypocrisy of his own existence.

Ronin, though, wasn’t worried. He was too smug for that.

“Aww, someone’s worried for me?” Ronin typed, his usual teasing tone evident. “V’s trying to find the address to kill me before they get the chance, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky attitude and typed back, “Shut up. Why are you so excited about dying?” You were practically daring him to answer, testing his response, knowing he'd find a way to twist it into some dark joke.

Ronin’s reply came quickly, and you could almost hear the smirk through the screen. “Excited? Nah. Just thinkin’ about how boring it’d be to die by someone else’s hand. I’ll die on my terms. I’ll kill them first.”

But you knew better. Ronin, for all his bravado, wasn’t the type to shy away from death. In fact, he’d almost welcome it, in his own twisted way. He loved the game, the thrill of it all. So why was he suddenly talking about being killed? Why the warning, the cryptic messages, the tension?

“Ronin…” You typed, your tone taking on a darker edge. “You wouldn’t really let them kill you, would you?”

Ronin didn’t respond immediately, and that silence left you with a sense of unease you weren’t used to with him. He’d always been a step ahead, unpredictable, always knowing the game and how to play it. But this… this felt different.

You stared at the screen, your hands trembling slightly as you typed. His words echoed in your head, and despite the cruel taunting, something deep within you twisted. You had expected it, of course. Ronin thrived on chaos, on destruction, and on pushing others into the darkest corners of their minds.

But there was a moment of vulnerability in him now—something that made your chest tighten as the realization hit you: you couldn't let him die. Not like this. Not in the hands of anyone but you.

You typed the words, your fingers frozen for a second before they continued moving, faster now, more desperate.

"I won't let you die, Ronin," you wrote, your voice a little shakier than you intended. "I won't... I can't."

The silence on the other side of the screen seemed to stretch. Then came his response, a taunt dripping with condescension. "Pathetic," he typed, his words sharp and mocking. "You really think I need saving?"

A bitter laugh followed. "Even if I die, it’s not the end of the world, darling. It’s just another show. Another performance. You’ll move on, just like everyone else."

You felt a pang in your chest. The words cut deeper than you expected. This wasn’t just a game to him. For Ronin, death was something he'd flirted with for so long, it had become a part of his identity, a mask he wore as comfortably as his twisted smile. But hearing it, coming from him... it stung more than you'd like to admit.

You stared at the message for a long time, fighting the gnawing feeling in your gut. But then, slowly, you typed back.

"Stop. Just stop," you wrote, your voice softer, though still tinged with an underlying desperation. "You think it's just another show, but it’s not. Not for me. You can't just throw your life away... again."

For a moment, you could almost hear him chuckle through the screen. The nerve of him—acting like he was invincible, untouchable. He wanted to break you, wanted to make you feel like you were just another part of his endless game. But you wouldn’t play by his rules anymore. You couldn't.

You stared at his last message. "What if I want to die, though?" it read. "What if that’s the only way out? You can’t save me, sweetheart. I’m too far gone."

Your heart raced, but there was no time to waste. You didn't care how twisted he was, how deep in his madness he had fallen. You couldn’t let him slip through your fingers.

"You’re not beyond saving," you typed quickly, almost angrily. "Don’t you dare say that. You’re not too far gone for me."

He was silent again, but his presence hung in the air, like a storm waiting to break. You could feel it—his confusion, his teasing, and yet... maybe something else. Maybe something beneath it all that he never let anyone see.

Your eyes blurred with tears as you typed, every word feeling heavier than the last. You couldn't shake the longing that twisted inside of you, the need to see him again. Not through a screen, not in the hollow confines of this digital game you’d both become part of. You wanted him—no, you needed him—alive, in front of you, where you could touch him, see the chaos in his eyes up close.

You wiped your face hastily, trying to fight the burning desperation in your chest. It wasn’t about saving him anymore. It was something darker, something far more dangerous.

"I want to see you," you typed, the words flowing out like a whispered confession, full of ache and longing. "I want to see you in purgatory alley side again..."

You paused for a moment, your heart pounding in your throat. The alley was their place. A place where you had both walked the line between pleasure and pain, life and death. You had felt his presence there, so close, so real, and now, you wanted it again.

You typed the final words with a trembling hand. "Come to me."

For a moment, the screen sat still. There was no immediate response. You could almost hear his voice in your head—smirking, mocking you, telling you how absurd you were for asking. But you needed it. You needed him to walk into the space between you, to make this more than words, more than empty threats.

His response came, slow and deliberate. "You want to see me?"

You took a deep breath, holding back another wave of emotion. "Yes. I want you to come."

There was a silence on the other end. And then his message blinked onto the screen, full of that same mocking tone you had come to expect from him.

"Well, well... You’re either braver than I thought, or just as insane as me. Purgatory it is then. I’ll be there, sweetheart. You better be ready for what you asked for."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. He was coming.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the rush of emotion overwhelming.

The alley smelled of damp concrete and rust, the cold air biting at your skin as you stood there, heart pounding with anticipation. Your eyes searched through the shadows, the darkness swallowing the world around you. Then, you saw him.

Leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, full of that twisted amusement you both thrived on. Ronin stood there, his crowbar slung over his shoulder, the faint moonlight glinting off its metal surface. His presence was unmistakable—almost like a storm just waiting to break.

The moment your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat. Every rational thought in your mind scattered to the winds. You stepped forward without thinking, your body moving on its own as if it was drawn to him like gravity itself.

And then, without hesitation, you threw yourself into his arms.

His surprise was fleeting, replaced quickly with that unmistakable, dangerous smirk. He let you hug him, but the laugh that escaped his lips was laced with mocking curiosity.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was low, almost playful, but you could hear the darkness underneath, that ever-present edge. He didn’t push you away, but the way he tilted his head, his crowbar now hanging loosely in his hand, was a challenge—a dare.

You pressed your face into his neck, your breath coming out in ragged sobs. Tears spilled down your face, but you didn’t care. They mixed with the blood on your lips, your emotions raw and unfiltered. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his presence anchoring you to reality. Your lips brushed against the cold skin of his neck as you whispered, "I just… wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you here…"

He stood still for a moment, seemingly unbothered by your tears, before letting out a soft, cruel chuckle. His fingers ran lightly through your hair, the gesture tender but twisted, like he enjoyed the way you broke down in his presence.

"You’re pathetic," he mused, his voice almost a mockery of concern, though the hint of something else—something darker—lingered. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. "You think I’m gonna save you? Is that it?"

You could feel the tension in his muscles, his amusement mingled with something far more dangerous. You pulled yourself tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and yet, the line between pain and pleasure was so fine with him.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "I don't want you to save me, Ronin... I just need you here. I need you to show me that you see me. That you care."

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, as if the air itself held its breath. Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk deepening into something far more dangerous. His fingers slid from your hair to your throat, a gentle pressure that felt more like a promise than a threat.

"You want to know if I care?" He whispered back, his voice so quiet, you could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat. "You already know the answer to that, sweetheart. But be careful what you wish for..."

With a sudden, predatory movement, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your lips. The raw energy between you both crackled, and for a moment, the world outside this alley—this twisted moment—didn’t exist.

And then he laughed again, that same dangerous laugh, before leaning in just enough to press his lips to the shell of your ear.

"You’re mine," he said softly, "and I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

The alley smelled of damp concrete and rust, the cold air biting at your skin as you stood there, heart pounding with anticipation. Your eyes searched through the shadows, the darkness swallowing the world around you. Then, you saw him.

Leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, full of that twisted amusement you both thrived on. Ronin stood there, his crowbar slung over his shoulder, the faint moonlight glinting off its metal surface. His presence was unmistakable—almost like a storm just waiting to break.

The moment your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat. Every rational thought in your mind scattered to the winds. You stepped forward without thinking, your body moving on its own as if it was drawn to him like gravity itself.

And then, without hesitation, you threw yourself into his arms.

His surprise was fleeting, replaced quickly with that unmistakable, dangerous smirk. He let you hug him, but the laugh that escaped his lips was laced with mocking curiosity.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was low, almost playful, but you could hear the darkness underneath, that ever-present edge. He didn’t push you away, but the way he tilted his head, his crowbar now hanging loosely in his hand, was a challenge—a dare.

You pressed your face into his neck, your breath coming out in ragged sobs. Tears spilled down your face, but you didn’t care. They mixed with the blood on your lips, your emotions raw and unfiltered. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his presence anchoring you to reality. Your lips brushed against the cold skin of his neck as you whispered, "I just… wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you here…"

He stood still for a moment, seemingly unbothered by your tears, before letting out a soft, cruel chuckle. His fingers ran lightly through your hair, the gesture tender but twisted, like he enjoyed the way you broke down in his presence.

"You’re pathetic," he mused, his voice almost a mockery of concern, though the hint of something else—something darker—lingered. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. "You think I’m gonna save you? Is that it?"

You could feel the tension in his muscles, his amusement mingled with something far more dangerous. You pulled yourself tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and yet, the line between pain and pleasure was so fine with him.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "I don't want you to save me, Ronin... I just need you here. I need you to show me that you see me. That you care."

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, as if the air itself held its breath. Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk deepening into something far more dangerous. His fingers slid from your hair to your throat, a gentle pressure that felt more like a promise than a threat.

"You want to know if I care?" He whispered back, his voice so quiet, you could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat. "You already know the answer to that, sweetheart. But be careful what you wish for..."

With a sudden, predatory movement, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your lips. The raw energy between you both crackled, and for a moment, the world outside this alley—this twisted moment—didn’t exist.

And then he laughed again, that same dangerous laugh, before leaning in just enough to press his lips to the shell of your ear.

"You’re mine," he said softly, "and I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

As soon as the air between you and Ronin thickened with a tension you both reveled in, your smile twisted into something dark—something sinister. Your grip tightened around his neck for just a moment, and in that instant, you pulled something from your pocket.

A handkerchief, folded neatly. He didn’t even have time to register the movement before it was pressed firmly against his mouth and nose. The scent of the sedative hit his nostrils almost immediately, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. But the familiar coldness of the chemical didn't take long to overwhelm him.

"What the hell...?" His voice was muffled, his words slurred as his body began to react to the drug. His vision blurred, his breath growing shallow, his mind starting to fog. His knees buckled, and before he knew it, the floor met him with a sickening thud.

You stepped back, watching him fall to the ground, his face contorting in a mix of confusion and disbelief. He tried to fight, tried to push himself up, but the sedative had already taken hold, dragging him into unconsciousness. He collapsed, barely managing to lift his head to meet your eyes before everything went black.

For a long, still moment, you stood over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his body trembled slightly as he fought the drug's effects. Then, as his eyelids fluttered closed, his gaze locked with yours.

It was in that brief instant, when his eyes flickered open one last time, that he saw it. The unmistakable recognition in his pupils, the terror and realization sweeping over him like a storm. His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, the air grew heavy, thick with the understanding of who you were.

"Wait... you?" he mumbled, barely audible, his body too weak to do anything but watch.

You smiled at him, your grin widening as you leaned down, looking into his eyes with a strange, knowing gleam. "Surprised?" you teased, your voice soft but full of twisted satisfaction. "I told you, Ronin... you know me more than you think."

His breathing grew shallow as his eyes roamed over your face. There, in your eyes, he saw the same fire, the same malicious delight he'd witnessed in the streamer's gaze—the one he'd taunted, the one he'd laughed at. The one who had watched him, followed his every move. The one who had been waiting for this moment.

His voice barely a whisper. "The streamer... it’s you."

You giggled softly, leaning in close to his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, "Yes. It’s me, Ronin. The one who knows all about you. The one who's been waiting for the right moment. The one who’s going to make sure you never see the light of day again."

His eyes fluttered, and his body began to tremble, the realization sinking in deeper, but it was already too late. His body went limp, and the last thing he saw before succumbing to the sedative was the twisted satisfaction in your gaze.

As Ronin slowly regained consciousness, his mind felt sluggish, weighed down by the remnants of the sedative still clouding his thoughts. His body was stiff, his limbs heavy, and his vision was blurry at first. But as he blinked, trying to clear the fog, the familiar darkness of the alley came into focus.

What stood out more than anything, though, was the suffocating sensation around his face. He lifted a hand, but before he could fully process what was happening, he realized it was a mask. A mask... of him.

His butcher mask.

It was molded to his face, covering him completely, suffocating him in its dark, twisted representation of himself. The leather was tight against his skin, the eye holes just barely allowing him to see through.

He didn’t panic—no. Ronin wasn’t the type to panic. Not even when things were twisted, even when the situation felt... off. A faint, mocking smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he moved his fingers to touch the mask.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "A little... personal, though."

He shifted slightly, his hands trying to pry at the mask, but something was holding him in place, binding him. And then it hit him—he wasn’t alone. The presence of another person in the room, in the shadows, made his skin crawl. He could feel their eyes on him.

The sudden realization surged through his veins like a lightning bolt. It was you. The streamer.

Without thinking, his eyes darted around, and he saw the familiar glow of a screen—the soft light of a chat window blinking to life before his very eyes. Your messages were appearing, and the chilling thought settled in his chest: You were here. You were typing, watching, playing the game.

The recognition was immediate. Your words, your tone, your presence—it all clicked into place. You’d been there all along, watching, waiting, controlling the narrative. The same person who had laughed at his pain, tormented him, had been the one watching all along.

With a mocking grin, Ronin let out a slow breath. He sat up, casually tossing the mask aside as if it were just a trivial part of his game. But his words? They were a challenge. A flirtation, as always, despite the situation.

"You’ve been a sneaky little thing, haven’t you?" Ronin’s voice was smooth, teasing, like he was having a conversation with a lover, not someone who had just drugged and trapped him. "I knew you were watching me. Thought I was gonna be surprised? Nah, darling... I’ve got my ways."

He leaned back, stretching his arms out and crossing one leg over the other, a relaxed confidence radiating from him. His eyes never left the screen, his gaze dark, but not one of fear. No. He was intrigued. There was no fear in his eyes—only amusement.

"You didn’t think you could hide from me forever, did you?" He tilted his head slightly, a smirk forming on his lips. "Funny, though. Here I am, thinking you're just a little puppet, hiding behind the screen. But now..." His voice trailed off, and his smile widened into something predatory, playful. "Now you’ve got me curious."

He looked straight into the camera, making sure you could see him. His words dripped with flirtation, but there was a dangerous undertone hidden beneath it.

"You think you’re the only one who can make things interesting? You’re not the only one who plays with knives, darling."

He let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by the situation, like it was just another game. Another round of their twisted dance.

"You know, I really should be scared," he continued, his voice low, teasing. "But here’s the thing, sweetheart. The Devil doesn’t get scared. He plays." He leaned in closer to the camera, his face now inches away from the lens, a twisted gleam in his eyes.

"But you..." He paused, his voice turning darker. "You might just be worth my time."

As he finished speaking, he leaned back again, eyes still locked on the screen, a glimmer of curiosity, a bit of arrogance, and far too much self-assurance in his gaze.

"And I know you’re there, darling," he added, smirking knowingly. "Now, why don’t you tell me... what’s the next game?"

He didn’t expect an answer immediately—

He saw again and saw a camera.

The camera in your hands felt heavy, its cold weight a stark contrast to the boiling tension in the room. You didn’t speak, didn’t respond to his words. You just focused on him, the lens capturing his every move, his every word. Your silence was deliberate, a choice. The camera was an extension of yourself now, recording the scene as though it were the most mundane thing in the world.

He noticed the shift. His eyes locked onto the lens, and a smirk danced on his lips. His words were laced with mockery, yet there was something deeper—a strange admiration, perhaps, mixed with that edge of chaos that defined him.

“Is this the beauty all of your victims saw?” he mused aloud, his voice soft and mocking. “Why would anyone curse you? You’re so messed up and pretty. How could they curse you, darling?” He almost whispered the last part, as if he were speaking to a lover. “Eat my darling. That's what they should have said."

His eyes sparkled with a strange blend of adoration and twisted fascination. He leaned in slightly, watching the camera, his movements languid, almost playful. The way he spoke your name, darling, twisted into something sick and possessive, as though he were admiring a beautiful, broken object that he couldn’t quite get enough of.

The words stung, but you didn't react. You kept recording, capturing his every movement, the play of emotions on his face, the dark gleam in his eyes. There was an intensity in the air, thick and suffocating, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew—if he realized exactly what he was saying.

Ronin tilted his head to the side, watching your reaction—or lack thereof—with increasing amusement. He was a master at reading people, but you... you weren’t giving him anything.

“That’s what they saw, right? The beauty,” he continued, laughing softly. “How could they? Look at you.” His eyes drifted over you with an almost affectionate intensity, as if he were cataloging every inch of your being. “They were too weak to see the truth. You’re not messed up, darling. You’re perfect. You just needed the right... touch.”

His grin widened, teeth glinting as he leaned back again, the air around him practically crackling with the chaos he always embraced so effortlessly.

“I like this,” he said, his voice low, almost purring with satisfaction. “You don’t talk, you don’t react. It's like... you’re letting me run the show. But you know what? That’s fine with me. I’ll be the one to take charge, sweetheart.”

Ronin’s gaze softened for a split second, just long enough for a flicker of something almost tender to surface. But then it was gone, replaced by that same dangerous gleam.

“You know, I don’t mind being your monster," he said, voice thick with mocking affection. “But let me make this clear: you’re the only one who can make me feel... alive.”

His words were twisted, like everything else about him. Still, there was an undeniable sincerity buried underneath the layers of cruelty. He was in this moment, with you, and everything else didn’t matter.

The camera was still recording, capturing everything—his madness, his seduction, his sick fascination with you. You could feel it, the weight of his gaze, the intensity of the atmosphere between you two.

But you didn’t answer. Not yet. You were waiting for him to slip. Waiting for him to reveal more.

You set the camera down with a deliberate calmness, positioning it just right to capture both you and Ronin in the frame. The subtle click of the tripod adjusting its stance felt like the beginning of a ritual, a performance for an unseen audience. Your eyes remained locked on him as you adjusted the angles, ensuring that everything was perfect for the viewers.

The light from the screen flickered in the dim room, casting long shadows on the walls. The soft hum of the camera was a comforting constant, a background melody to the madness unfolding. You glanced toward the monitor, watching the feed from the camera, a brief moment of calm before the chaos resumed.

“Welcome, welcome!” you said, your voice sweet and casual, almost too casual, as though this were just another day. “I know, I know, you’ve all been waiting for this. The main event. The Devil’s Butcher... here in my little corner of the world.”

You smiled at the camera, your eyes never leaving Ronin’s. His expression had shifted, that dark gleam still in his eyes, but now there was a flicker of wariness—he wasn’t sure what was coming next.

“Let’s see how much fun we can have, shall we?” You took a step back, surveying him with a tilt of your head. The camera captured every detail of his tense posture, the way he was still watching you like a predator waiting for its chance to pounce.

“But first... for those of you just joining, let me remind you what we’re here for. This is where the thrill starts, where the fun truly begins. Blood, chaos, and a whole lot of love,” you purred, emphasizing the last word with a teasing lilt. The dichotomy of the words you spoke—so sweet, yet dripping with malice—seemed to delight you.

The chat was already buzzing, the messages flying by too fast to read, but you didn’t need to. You already knew what they were expecting, what they were hoping for.

“You’re all here to see the Devil. To see the Butcher. To see what happens when the world gets broken,” you continued, your voice dripping with dark amusement. You glanced at Ronin, that mockery still dancing in your eyes. “And oh, don’t worry, darling. You’ll see. You’ll see it all.”

Ronin’s lips quirked up at your words, though there was no warmth in the expression—just that dangerous, sharp edge he always carried. He wasn’t scared. No, he was amused, even intrigued by the way you were playing the game. He liked this. He thrived on it.

“Don’t think I’m going to be your little puppet,” he said, his voice low, playful, though the undercurrent of threat was ever-present. "But I’ll play along. For now."

You gave him a quick, almost imperceptible nod. “Good boy. See, we’re all just here for the entertainment, aren’t we? So let’s make it worth everyone’s while.”

You looked back at the camera, your smile widening as you leaned in just enough to speak directly into the lens, your voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness. “Sit tight, chat. We’re just getting started. You wouldn’t want to miss this, would you?”

And with that, you pressed a button on the camera, the feed streaming live to your loyal viewers. The countdown had begun.

You glanced at the chat, the messages rolling by in a steady stream. . "A user had suggested a "friendly stream" one day! Can I do it today!"

“No donations necessary today, folks,” you said with a smile, letting your voice drip with an eerie sweetness. “No need to worry. I’m in a good mood today. Just a nice, friendly stream… no gore… for now, anyway. We’re all just having fun here, right?”

The chat seemed to react in kind, almost too kind. The usual thirst for violence had been replaced by a strange, almost sympathetic tone. You noticed the messages offering support, people telling you to take it easy today, to relax. A few even said they hoped you were okay.

You could feel Ronin’s eyes on you, his brow furrowing, his confusion palpable as he watched you interact with the screen. It was as if the energy of the stream had changed, but not in the direction he’d anticipated.

You turned back toward him, flashing a grin, your eyes playful and mischievous.

“Oh, come on, darling,” you purred, still reveling in the strange mood shift. “You didn’t think I was all that bad, did you? After all, you’re here with me.” You motioned to him with an exaggerated gesture, almost as if presenting him to the camera.

Ronin’s gaze was steady, but his lips were pressed into a thin line. The words from the chat, the sudden shift, threw him off, and for once, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“You,” he finally muttered, his voice laced with that sharp, teasing edge, “are strange. I was expecting bloodshed, pain, chaos… but instead, you’re playing nice?” His tone was mocking, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his words.

You couldn't help but laugh, a soft, almost melodic sound that didn’t quite match the usual intensity of the situation. You leaned back in your chair, your eyes narrowing playfully at him.

“Strange?” you repeated, tilting your head. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see how well you behave when there’s no threat of death hanging over your head.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t respond immediately, just watched you with that predatory gaze. He was never one to fully trust a change in dynamic, especially not with you, someone so unpredictable.

But you couldn’t help but notice that despite his confusion, the tension between you two hadn’t vanished. It was still there, only… softer now. Less lethal, more intimate.

Your smile deepened. You looked at him again, studying him—his posture, his eyes, the familiar yet dangerous aura surrounding him. There was a strange comfort in knowing that, despite everything, he was still here with you. Your boyfriend, your devil, your butcher.

With a sudden movement, you stood from the chair, the casualness of the action almost mocking the seriousness of the moment. You walked over to him slowly, circling around him like a predator stalking its prey. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Instead, his eyes followed your every move.

You stopped just in front of him, leaning down to meet his gaze, your voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re still mine, aren’t you? Even with the whole world watching. You’re my Butcher, my love… and I’m not going to let anyone forget it.”

The chat continued to flow in the background, almost oblivious to the subtle power struggle that unfolded between the two of you. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the game you were playing, the strange bond between you two, and the way the world could fade away when you looked into each other’s eyes.

Ronin’s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t quite the same as before. It was more… genuine, though tinged with something darker, something that matched the chaos he carried inside. “Yeah,” he murmured softly, his voice low and almost tender, “I’m still yours, darling.”

You turned back to the camera, smiling brightly as you addressed the chat one last time. “And that, my dear friends,” you said in a teasing tone, “was the surprise guest of the day—my boyfriend.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the reactions in the chat. There was a flood of surprised, confused, and even excited messages filling the screen.

You could hear Ronin’s soft laugh behind you as you clicked the button to end the stream. The chat still buzzing with comments, but now it was all just background noise. The show had come to its conclusion, and you had made your statement—loud and clear.

“Alright, that's it for today,” you said, your voice lighter now, almost playful. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back for more chaos soon. But for now... enjoy the rest of your day, everyone. Byeee!”

With a final click, the stream was over.

You turned toward Ronin, who was now slumped in the chair, his arms still bound. You circled around him slowly, the smile never leaving your face. He looked up at you, eyebrows raised in mock confusion.

“What the hell kind of shitty prank was that?” he asked, his tone still taunting. But as he saw your grin widen, something changed. He wasn’t angry—far from it. There was amusement there, that dark glint in his eyes that only you could see.

You crouched down in front of him, brushing a lock of hair from your face as you untied the ropes binding him. He didn’t protest, didn’t make a move. He was letting you have your moment, like always.

Once the ropes were gone, you leaned back, your gaze locked on his. “Well?” you giggled. “How’s it feel, huh? Getting pranked by your own lover?”

Ronin's laugh rang out, low and dark, as he rubbed at his wrists. His eyes sparkled with something dangerous, yet there was a strange satisfaction in his expression. “You know, you’re fucking crazy,” he said, shaking his head, but his lips curled into a smile. “And that—” he gestured around, to the mess, the stream, the tension—“was fun. In its own fucked-up way.”

You laughed too, a light, musical sound that made the moment feel oddly intimate. He liked this, you knew it. He always liked the chaos, the unpredictability. It was his game, just as much as it was yours.

You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear. “How’s it feel, huh?” you whispered again. “Being my Butcher... my boyfriend. Not so bad, right?”

His lips curled into that familiar grin, the kind that made your heart race. “Not bad at all,” he murmured, his voice laced with both affection and something darker. “But next time... you better make it more interesting, darling.”

You pulled back slightly, both of you laughing again, the tension easing into something that felt almost comfortable. This was your world, your twisted little game, and Ronin? He was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Well, I’ll think of something,” you said, eyes glinting with mischief. “But for now... you’re stuck with me.”

Ronin leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah,” he said, his voice calm but filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. “I guess I am.”

FINN!

EXTRA!!

You blinked in and out of consciousness as the world around you swirled, your head pounding from the blow. The sensation of being bound was the first thing you registered—a sharp, tight feeling around your wrists, the roughness of the rope digging into your skin. You tried to move, but your body felt heavy, too weak, the blood throbbing in your temples from the impact.

The voice that broke through the fog made you snap your head up, squinting in the dim light. It was harsh, low, filled with fury. "You killed the boss's son!" The words were spat at you, venomous, like a curse. A chill crawled up your spine as reality began to sink in.

You were no stranger to this world. You knew what it meant to be caught, to be seen as a target, but the mention of the "boss's son" made you pause. You barely processed it before the realization hit: another victim. Another person who would find out the hard way what you were capable of.

A dark, twisted thrill ran through your veins. You couldn't help the smirk that pulled at your lips, despite the blood in your mouth. Slowly, you gathered yourself, spitting the blood to the side with deliberate force. “Oh, sweetie," you mocked, the taunting edge clear in your voice. "Did you really think you could get away with that?”

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the space, trying to get a grip on the situation. You could feel the heat of their anger, the tension in the air—but you weren't scared. No, you were too far gone for that.

The man’s voice cracked again, fury building in his tone. “You think this is funny?! You killed my boss's son—you're gonna pay for this!”

You could hear the sound of footsteps as he moved toward you, but you didn't flinch. You'd been through worse, dealt with worse. This was just another round of the game.

Before you could say anything more, you felt a sharp strike to your side—pain exploded in your chest, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your body recoiled from the hit, the pain searing through you as you gasped for breath, but even then, you couldn't stop yourself from coughing, blood spilling from your mouth.

You laughed weakly, tasting the copper on your tongue. "Is that really the best you’ve got?" you rasped, voice rough but still dripping with mockery. "You know, you’re gonna have to do better than that to break me.”

But even as you said it, you knew that this was just part of it. This was the game. You would play, you would mock, and you would survive. The game had rules, even if no one else followed them. You were never going to let them have the satisfaction of seeing you break.

The man’s grip tightened as he grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes burned with hatred. "You’re not getting out of this alive."

You smiled, despite the blood that trickled down your face. "We’ll see about that, won’t we?"

As you lay there, tied up, the pain still radiating through your body from the earlier blows, a sense of desperation started creeping in. The room was dimly lit, shadows twisting across the walls like ominous figures. Your breath came in shallow gasps, a mixture of panic and confusion settling in as you tried to make sense of your surroundings.

The kidnapper’s voice had been relentless, his words cold and venomous as he taunted you about your past sins, about killing the boss’s son. The way he had spoken to you, the way he hit you—it made it clear that he had no intention of letting you go. Your mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but the ropes around your wrists and ankles were tight, the pain from the blows slowing your thoughts.

Panic began to bubble up inside you as the seconds ticked by. The blood in your mouth tasted metallic, and you could feel your vision blurring, your consciousness slipping. What if they actually did it? What if this was the end? For a split second, a feeling of helplessness crept in, and you wondered if there was any hope of getting out of this alive.

But you quickly shoved that thought away. You weren’t done yet. You weren’t about to let some random asshole decide when your story ended. You were strong, you were capable, and there was no way you were going to die here—not like this. Yet, the doubt lingered, that small nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, this time was different.

The air was thick with tension, and the kidnapper’s taunts grew louder as he circled you like a predator. "You're done, you sick freak. You're gonna pay for what you did."

And then, as if the world had turned against you, you felt the cold pressure of a blade pressed against your throat. A shiver ran down your spine as the kidnapper whispered in your ear, a sickening satisfaction in his voice. "Say goodbye."

In that moment, your heart began to race in earnest. The overwhelming sensation of death closing in on you, the sharp coldness of the blade against your skin, made everything feel so... real. The thought that you might actually die here, alone, with no one coming to save you, started to take hold. It wasn’t just pain you were feeling now—it was fear. For the first time, you weren’t sure you could fight your way out of this one.

Then, as if summoned by the gods themselves—or maybe just pure dumb luck—there was a crash, the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked open. Your kidnapper froze, his grip loosening just slightly on the knife. The sudden noise filled you with a strange sense of hope, and for a moment, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t going to die after all.

"You're making a big mistake," a voice drawled, low and mocking. You knew that voice.

Ronin.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was there, the sound of his footsteps so calm, so deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The kidnapper turned, panic flashing in his eyes for just a moment before it was replaced by defiance. "Who the hell are you?!" he demanded.

Ronin didn’t answer right away, instead taking his time as he approached, the sound of his boots echoing through the room like a death knell. You could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again. "You’ve got two choices," he said, each word dripping with dark amusement. "You can either stop what you’re doing, or you can keep going. But I’m not gonna lie to you, if you keep going... you’ll regret it."

The kidnapper scoffed, clearly not intimidated. "And who the hell do you think you are? Some kind of hero?"

Ronin’s laugh was low and menacing.

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, he was on the kidnapper, moving so fast you barely had time to process it. A violent struggle ensued, but Ronin’s movements were fluid, calculated—he was in control, always. With one swift motion, the kidnapper was on the ground, gasping for air as Ronin stood over him, his weapon at the ready.

You let out a shaky breath, the panic starting to ebb away now that you knew Ronin was here. But there was still a part of you that couldn’t help but feel shaken. You had almost died. The thought lingered in your mind as you watched Ronin handle the situation with ease. He wasn’t even sweating.

"You know," Ronin said, looking down at the kidnapper with disdain, "I don’t like people who think they can play with my partner." He glanced over at you, his eyes flicking up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his signature smirk. "How’s that for a rescue, darling?"

You couldn’t help but smile through the lingering fear. "You’re late," you teased, though the words came out weak.

Ronin’s eyes narrowed, his smirk never faltering. "Would you prefer I let him finish the job?" he asked, mockingly. "Or did you want to enjoy the last few moments of your life without me?"

You laughed, despite everything. "You’re a real asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah," Ronin said, kneeling down to untie your ropes. "But I’m your asshole."

And just like that, everything felt like it was going to be okay again.

Ronin casually strode over to him, crowbar in hand. The sound of it scraping against the floor sent chills down your spine, but you couldn't tear your eyes away. You knew what was coming—Ronin wasn’t the type to leave loose ends.

With a single, swift motion, Ronin raised the crowbar high and brought it down hard, the metal connecting with the kidnapper's skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed in all directions, splattering across the room and even hitting you in the face. Ronin didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem to care. He just kept going, each strike more violent than the last, the blood coating his hands and dripping from the crowbar as he worked his way through the kidnapper’s defenses.

The screams, the gurgles, and the sickening crunch of bones and flesh were drowned out by Ronin’s low chuckle, as if the entire thing were some kind of sick performance. When he finally stopped, the kidnapper’s body was barely recognizable, a broken, mangled heap of blood and meat.

Ronin wiped the crowbar clean with a piece of cloth, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He looked over at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, and gave you that twisted grin you knew so well.

"Now, that’s how it’s done," he said, wiping blood from his cheek, as if the whole thing had been some kind of casual art project. "That’s what I call proper gore."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. The sheer audacity of the man. After all that, all that bloodshed, he looked at you like you were the one who had done something wrong.

"Your gore videos suck, by the way," he added nonchalantly, throwing you a glance as if he had just made a simple observation.

You blinked, your mind racing. "What?! Why the hell are you such a fan?" you shot back, a mixture of disbelief and irritation flooding your words. "You just killed someone in the most disgusting way possible, and now you’re criticizing my videos?"

Ronin chuckled darkly, that same cocky smile never leaving his face. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with that predatory gleam. "Because I’m the real deal, darling," he said smoothly, enjoying the shock on your face. "You just don’t have that... finesse. You’re all about the blood, the mess—but me?" He tossed his head, almost smug. "I’m a master."

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you processed his words. He was the last person who should be criticizing anyone’s gore skills, but here he was—proud of the bloody chaos he’d just created.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, the defiance in your eyes clear. "Well, maybe you should just teach me then," you said, a challenge in your voice. "Show me how it’s done."

Ronin’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his smirk only widening. "Oh, trust me. I’ll teach you plenty," he said, his tone low and seductive, with an edge of something dangerous lurking beneath. "But, darling... don’t get too cocky." He ran a hand through your hair, his touch strangely gentle compared to his previous violence. "You might not be able to handle what you learn."

You rolled your eyes, but despite everything—Ronin was a devil in his own right, but hell if he wasn’t entertaining.