#kc x reader

[lav-is-writing]

omg another killer chat writer!! i love your work!! could i ask for some ronin fluff? maybe like with a reader that’s a horror game streamer but the reader is terrified of playing them?

Thank you! Happy you enjoy my writing :D

Ronin x !Streamer!Reader

Warnings: None

“Okay everyone!” You spoke through your headset, smiling as you noticed the numbers of viewers growing steadily. “Today, we’re gonna be playing . . . “ Your smile fell, before rushing to plaster on a fake one. “A horror game! Yay . . . “

. . .

Ronin watched, a smirk present as he watched your reaction to his request. Anonymous, of course, he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. It had been months since he had begun to watch you, a popular online streamer. You were cute enough, especially when you were screaming at the games you played.

Thanks to him, your recent content has become the one thing you dreaded the most- horror. 

Trashy knock-off games made you both laugh and scream, so he started with those. But it wasn’t enough. Ronin turned to real horror, the most gory and brutal ones he could find. 

Noticing the chat, he typed in a message of his own. 

goreboy: scared, darlin’?

. . .

Most of the time, you didn’t bother to interact with your viewers. Sure, you occasionally found one intriguing and made sure to read their comments, but other than that, they mostly went ignored. That is, until now.

goreboy: scared, darlin’?

God, how he taunted you. He only watched your horror content, leading you to believe that he was the one requesting them all. You could see him behind his screen, a devilish smirk on his face as he watched you suffer to get through each suggestion without screaming in terror.

Yet, you were growing fond of him. 

Constantly checking if he viewed your latest videos, if he left a like or dislike. You loved his comments, whether they were about how a certain murder method was off, or if you screamed too much or too little. 

Then you would adjust to his taste, trying to . . . please him? The thought caused you to stop, baffled. You didn’t like him- no, he was just a minor distraction from your work. Shaking your head, you tried to focus on the game.

“goreboy, I’m not scared at all!”

. . .

Ronin froze.

Did . . . Did you just address him directly?

No, he must’ve heard wrong.

But what if . . . ?

. . .

Hours passed as you worked to finish the game, and despite your previous statement, you were screaming the entire time. It was amusing to your viewers, but felt like torture to you. But you managed to get through it, with goreboy’s help.

goreboy: try the red key, darlin’

goreboy: jumpscare warning

Although you would never admit it, his comments got you through the game. The warnings helped you prepare, and you were able to continue time and time again from his hints. You ended your stream, leaning back in your chair with a smile.

And on the other side, Ronin was doing the same, the both of you anticipating your next stream, his next suggestion to answer and scream to. 

[npookie0]

Hi there! Love your work for Killer Chat, I've adore the way you write all the LI's, I was wondering if it would be possible for you to write something with the LI's helping an autistic Reader through a minor panic attack via being overstimulated? (I Totally get it if your uncomfortable with writitng something like this.)

((PS: I got a bit Over-stimed yesterday from noises, but your fics really helped me refocused afterwards. So thank you.))

Also thank you for reading and for all the hard work that you do with all of these fics. I Hope That You Have A Wonderful Day/Night. 🔍- anon.

To Regain a Peace of Mind.

KC! li's x autistic overstimulated reader, fluff, comfort

Disclaimer! This fanfic is based off of my personal experiences and what I read online about panic attacks especially with autistic people, my friend who is diagnosed read this and said that she finds it pretty accurate.

Edit to my fanfic: I decided to replace the word "stimmy" with "stimulating". I didn't realise that it wasn't a popular thing (tho I did see similar forms on tik tok a lot of times and it's what made me think of the word stimmy) so I will change it for the sake of everyone's comfort 🫶 sorry to anyone who was uncomfortable by it ^^;

Cws: Possible spoilers for Killer Chat!

Ronin Beaufort

Ronin is not the type of person to ignore his lover when he sees that something is going on with them, so when he noticed how stopped replying but still were online it rubbed him the wrong way. You had moments like these, sure, your comfort show that was one of your special interest getting a new episode, going to cook your comfort food or just getting distracted, sometimes you just didn't reply and it's because you felt like he didn't want a reply with how his message sounded to you.

So, an obvious way to go was to: barge into your home. Would you hate it? Probably, it would destroy the peacefully made up mind set for the day or something like that. Did he care? Maybe a li'l, but he still wanted to check up what was the matter with you, usually a call would bring you back to him, disturb you from the new distraction and get you to talk about the thing he's heard many times already, but he just adores it when you talk.

"Y/n?" He called out, slowly walking through your house.

Your house was quiet, no sound inside, not even the humming of the fridge hearable, it's like everything in your house that could make any noise was unplugged.

Ronin's steps echoed through the house, loud against the wooden panelling, then quieting down on the fluffy carpets as he made his way to your room. He pushed the door open, scanned the room once he entered into the sacred space.

You were on your bed, sitting stiff and holding yourself by the chest, clutching your hand on your shirt as you tired to breathe. Your breathing was short and way too fast, you couldn't calm down.

You were over stimulated, the world was too loud, electricity, people, music, everything was way too loud. The noise was unboreable. You unplugged every single piece of equipment in your house that made any noise, then you didn't know how you got to your bed.

Ronin was quiet, he slowly made his way to your bed and sat at the edge of it, slowly making his way to you and stopping his movements when he noticed any movement from you. You looked at him, eyes wide, but you didn't stop him from coming closer. Soon he was sitting in front of you, his forehead nestling against yours.

"Hey, look at these." He whispered, gently taking your hands and letting you touch the hoops on his t-shits. "Aren't they stimulating, hm?" He chuckled softly and while your eyes were locked on the metal hoops he put his hands to your ears.

He looked at your eyes, you were calming down, hands occupied, breath calming down and noise blocked by his hands.

Maybe the devil can't stop the world from being loud, but he can protect his lover from its noise.

Valentin Viljoen

V was standing frozen in your living room, you were sitting on the couch, curled into a ball and trying to catch your breath. He never saw you in a state like this so his first reaction was surprise, but he was quick to regain his composure and get to action.

As quietly as possible, he made his way to the kitchen and prepared your favourite meal, the one that you could eat for weeks until you got tired of it and then would want to eat only that meal again, he used your comfort plate, the cutlery he knew that you felt most okay with and the glass you brought from your own house. He set it down on the coffee table in front of you and sat on the couch, leaving a little space between the two of you.

He needed to figure out what caused this panic attack for you, or at the very least help you calm down and the only way the could think of was by trying to stimulate you with the things that made you the most comfortable.

"My love, would you like to braid my hair?" He asked, tapping the back of your hand gently.

You nodded your head and watched as he moved to sit on the floor in front of you. With shaky hands you slowly started unbraiding his hair, brushing it with your fingers and focusing solely on creating some form of braids on his head again.

It was a form of stress reliever to you, just mindlessly braiding his beautiful hair and hearing his breathing. The world around you blocked away by the great focus. No noise, no work, no people, no work, just you and the strands of Valentin's hair that you so carefully put together into a semi-perfect looking braids.

"Do you want to tell me about your day?" He asked, his voice hushed down.

"No." You replied simply.

To most people your reply would sound rude, but to V it sounded perfectly normal, a simple and very direct answer.

"Then would you like to listen about my day?"

You paused in your movements. "... Yeah." Another short answer.

He smiled softly and started talking about his day, no extreme hunts that day, only a charity event for an animal shelter to gain funds.

While he spoke, you got finished with his hair. You took the plate and started eating the food, happy with the taste and texture being exactly like you like it, no new ingredients, no sudden surprises.

The stillness of your life with V was soothing for your mind, just like your wellbeing was soothing for the vigilante in between his hunts.

Maria de la Rosa

You two returned home from your date, you didn't even look at Angel you just went to the only place you would feel at peace in; the bed under your weighted blanket.

This date was so many things but comfortable, paparazzi all over the place, fleshes shooting at your eyes, microphones practically squeezing you, noise, fuck so much noise.

She was concerned, she could see how much this whole situation overwhelmed you. Angel slowly followed behind you to the bedroom, entering and taking your soundproof headphones from the desk in her room. She made her way to the bed and gently put the headphones on your head.

Silence was what you needed, silence and Angel's presence, not too close but not too far either. Maria lay down next to you, keeping some space in between the two of you. Your hands slowly peeked out from under the blanket and she watched as you moved it closer to hers. Your fingertips touching, a gentle smile to her lips.

You were stressed, overstimulated, you felt dizzy and not ready to talk or listen, but you enjoyed this small contact with Maria. She was your haven, like your comfort blanket, but instead of weighting you, she was just laying next to you not expecting you to speak or cling onto her.

You watched her, watched her chest raise and fall when she breathed, her hair falling on her face, causing you to want and move them away so they were in the right place.

Looking at your girlfriend was grounding, it was like a stimulation in its own way, just watching her as she simply shown signs of being alive. You calmed your breathing by copying her breathing pattern, slowly moving your hand further to finally hold her hand, or more so just keep your hand on hers. Touching wasn't easy, but sometimes the contact was helpful, especially if you knew that she wouldn't get disappointed if you moved your hand away.

She's like an angel, keeping your mind a heaven even if she has blood in the corners of her lips and a glint of insanity in her eye.

Misaki Katsuo

Ever since you returned home from the fan meeting you didn't say a word to Misaki, and it wouldn't worry them as much if it wasn't for them to find you in the corner of your bedroom, obviously panicked about something.

She froze, thinking about her next moves carefully. It wasn't the first time Misaki saw you in this state, they experiences your panic attacks a few times already, usually they looked really similar to the one you were going through right now.

After creating a plan in their head, Misaki walked up to you, squat in front of you and gently took your hands in theirs.

"Hey sugar honey dumpling, did you know that the wealthiest cat is named Blackie?" They asked.

You looked at them, titling your head to the side a little bit shaken by the sudden interaction. You didn't push her hands away, you were too focused on Misaki's question.

You shook your head, you didn't know that.

"Okay so! When this rich dude died he decided to fuck his family and give all his cash and everything to his cat in his will. Imagine being that cat." They chuckled.

"Oh my god! What if he's like the real life Aristocats?"

This idea intrigued you and made you a little more imaginative after Misaki mentioned one of the favourite cartoons from your childhood that you still watched.

"We should totally make a little story for Blackie, I draw him as an Aristocat and you write, hm?"

You nodded your head. "Okay... note it down for me later." You replied, your breath no longer shaky, it wasn't perfectly calm yet, but at least Misaki got your idea away form whatever you were going through well enough.

"I will!" They exclaimed. "Hey baby, do you need your real life weighed blanket?" Misaki asked, a mischievous smile on their lips.

You groaned. "No please, spare me."

"Ouch?! You said you loved me as a blanket." She pouted. "I'm kidding I'm not actually offended!" They cleared the air before you could feel like you actually hurt them.

You shook your head. "You're so stupid sometimes."

You finally intertwined your fingers with hers.

"So, do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just my fans being really loud and energetic, and I guess someone shouted into my ear to grab my attention."

"Oh, my poor baby." They wanted to hug you but stopped midway and instead just cupped their face with your hands.

Maybe their silliness can be the remedy to all your overstimulation.

Hi!!! I hope you liked it!!!

And I'm happy to hear that my writing helped you!

Have a good timezone lovelies, N <3

[beanwaterontherocks]

Night Breezes Seem to Whisper "I Love You" (V x Reader)

(Valentin Viljoen aka V)

Fandom: Killer Chat! Pairings: V x gn!reader Summary: V takes you to a charity gala, you can't believe he's actually your boyfriend! You still fluster deeply at any sweet words he says to you. Why not try your best to fluster him too? (Call your dentist because this is tooth-rotting fluff) Warnings: Jealousy, NSFW at the cutoff, Minors DNI after that point! Word count: 2564

V pushed open the room’s door and you had to stand for a second and take it all in.

The hotel suite was so big it might as well have been a luxury apartment. It was extremely spacious for two people, with a large L-shaped couch and mahogany coffee table that both looked as expensive as a month’s rent. An intricate archway led into the bedroom, which proudly displayed a king-size canopy bed with deep green velvet curtains and enough closet space to fit the stock of a small clothing store. 

“Holy shit…”, you mused under your breath, glancing over to catch V’s reflection in the bedroom mirror. He smiled softly, clearly very amused by your well justified reaction to your accommodations. You walked back into the living space and opened the door to what was likely the bathroom.

It had elegant cream-colored tiles and a large corner tub with what looked to be jacuzzi jets. “This might as well be a pool”, you said, gesturing to the pristine porcelain. V stepped closer and tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist, you leaned into the touch and enjoyed his calming scent of pine needles.

“Unfortunately, the room with the private indoor pool was already booked”, V stated as if he had actually planned to get you a private pool for your stay. Well, you knew him well enough to know that he definitely had. You leaned your head against his shoulder and laughed, not quite used to just how wealthy your boyfriend was. “The charity made the reservation for a standard room, though I thought that you would find the suite much more comfortable”, V admitted, looking down at you with fondness brimming from his forest-green eyes. 

You could actually explode right then and there, your heart feeling like an ember in your chest at his expression. V was too good at flustering you, even if he didn’t mean to make you short-circuit. You reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, moving to stand in front of him. He couldn’t be the only smooth one in the relationship, you made a living off of being good with words after all. 

“I love it, though I wouldn’t mind being in a smaller room if it meant I could be as close to you as possible”, you said, running your thumb affectionately over his cheek. V’s skin heated up and you could see his face adopt a deep, berry-red flush. You mentally high-fived yourself at your victory. V placed his hand over yours, his fingertips caressing your knuckles in a way that made a slight shiver travel up your spine. 

“Believe me, my love, I have absolutely no intention of being away from you during our time here, I hope to be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you see before you go to sleep at night”, he said, his other hand moving to rest on your waist again. 

You were pretty sure you could have died from overheating like an overwhelmed laptop.

You watched from the sofa as V finished getting ready by tying his braids into a ponytail, letting them drape across his shoulder and looking into the mirror on the wall. He adjusted the lapels on his dark green blazer that he wore over a sleek black turtleneck with his silver snake pendant.

He turned to look at you, his smile content as he offered his hand to you. Luck must have really been on your side for a man this gorgeous to have fallen for you. You took his hand and stood up. 

When V had informed you of the charity gala’s formal dress code you had admittedly stressed a little. You had searched your closet until it looked like a tornado had violently ripped through your room. Luckily, you managed to find a loose-fitting two piece suit in a color that you liked. V’s gaze lingered on you and you watched that same tenderness fill his eyes as he took in the sight of you. 

“You look wonderful, I’m beginning to wish that I could take you somewhere more private tonight” , V spoke, though he glanced down bashfully at that last confession. “Forgive me, of course your beauty must be shared with the world, I’m being selfish”, he said quietly, as though he was ashamed. You smiled and pulled him closer by his hand, pressed against his chest you tilted your head upwards to speak directly into his ear. 

“No matter how grand a hall the gala is being held in, I’ll only be looking at you tonight, there’s no reason to look at a crystal chandelier…when I can stare into two moonlit treetops”, you said, a lot less smooth than you had practiced it in the shower. 

You were successful though and V’s reaction was more than you could have ever asked for. His dark skin was flushed that deep red and you could even see it begin to creep up his neck. He momentarily took his hand out of yours to pull at the collar of his turtleneck. 

“My love, I never expected you to be the death of me, but it’s such sweet torture”. 

You held onto V’s arm as you both entered the gala, though the hotel was grand, the party itself was more subdued. It was nothing like the overly opulent charity balls in movies, elegant decorations were swapped out for banners displaying the animal conservation efforts of the organization. Even with that fact, everyone around you seemed so incredibly refined, with sparkling jewelry and obvious designer clothing.

You picked at a button on the suit you’d gotten on sale. V led you to a round table dressed with a white tablecloth and flowers, he pulled out the chair for you and sat down beside you. The other seated guests greeted him enthusiastically, he was one of the biggest supporters of charity not to mention renowned for his generosity.

The words he said were polite, yet he kept them as brief as possible. No matter what, his gaze would always find its way back to you, his eyes filled with warmth and longing, as though you were the only two people at this immense party. His hand searched for yours under the table and your fingers intertwined, digits fitting together perfectly like they were made to hold each other. Every time he reassuringly ran his thumb over yours your stress and worries would melt away, moving to heat up your heart instead. 

Despite his best efforts, V could only talk to you about the charity and his work with it for so long before he was interrupted by people who wanted a lengthier conversation. He shot you an apologetic look. You smiled at him and told him that you were to get the two of you a drink from the bar.

You walked across the floor to the polished wooden bar, standing next to an occupied barstool. 

“Two champagne cocktails please”, you said to the bartender as you leaned against the counter. The person on the stool next to you turned, it was a man in a tailored suit sipping a whiskey. He smiled at you and you didn’t miss the way his eyes slowly traveled from your hair to your feet and back up. You cringed internally and turned your head and hoped that he wouldn’t start talking to you. 

“Let me get that for you”, he said, pulling out his wallet and very deliberately flashing his shining silver credit card. How your luck had turned around. 

“I think it’s an open bar, there’s no need”, you said, mustering up a polite smile. Shouldn’t he have known that already since he had a drink. He tapped his finger against his glass, his gaudy diamond ring clinked against it. 

“Oh right, I keep forgetting they can afford that”, he said, getting up from his seat to stand next to you. You had to fight back the urge to scoff at his words. “Though their whiskey selection is seriously lacking, at my company’s party here we had-” he was cut off by the bartender placing down your drinks. You grabbed the champagne flutes and turned on your heel, preparing to leave to save your ears from this guy’s droning…really bad flirting? 

“This is a charity, a majority of their funds go to actually doing some good in the world”, you let yourself sneer and you took a step. 

You didn’t make it far before you felt a tug at the hem of your blazer, having to steady your hands to keep the drinks from spilling. 

“I’m sorry, we got off on the wrong foot, would you stay and talk?”, he said, it was phrased like a question, but his strained smile revealed that to him there wasn’t a choice. You were about to make a beeline for your table before you heard footsteps at your side and felt a familiar, gentle and comforting arm around your waist.

“Love, my apologies for making you wait”, V said gently, taking one of the drinks from you and pulling you closer to him “would you accept the rest of my night as an apology?”. You were about to say something about getting the ‘rest of his life’, before you noticed the way he glared at the man in front of you.

The look in those eyes you loved had turned cold, like the trees of the forest freezing over in winter. “If you would have us excused, my partner and I must get going now”. He didn’t let you or himself spare the man another look as he walked you back towards the table. You glanced up at him and, as soon as his eyes met yours, his gaze softened and you smiled. Your chest bloomed with joy as the two of you sat next to each other. 

“That guy sure was persistent but you were really cool back there”, you said, sipping your drink and leaning your head against his shoulder. V wrapped an arm around your shoulders, somehow the two of you got even closer.

“No one will bother you like that again, that I can assure you”, he said and you laughed before turning your head and placing a butterfly kiss on his cheek, making him exhale with a chuckle. 

For the rest of the night the two of you sat so close that you could have sat on his lap if you moved a bit. The thought of that made your face heat up. On occasion, you would see that same icy look flash in V’s gaze as he stared at something behind you. He held your hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss over your knuckles. You calmed yourself, not wanting to cause a scene by your heart combusting. 

“Bringing out the prince charming moves? I need to catch up”, you said teasingly, tilting your head up to lightly press your lips to his jaw, enjoying the color that blossomed on his face. That deep red was quickly becoming one of your favorite hues.

V glanced around, no one seemed to want to approach him. He likely had greeted most of the guests by now. V turned to you, his hand squeezing yours as he smiled, not an ounce of fatigue in his expression. Your boyfriend leaned in, his voice like lavender honey and his words even sweeter as he whispered to you: 

“Shall we return to our room early?”

(NSFW starts here! If you are a minor please leave!) 

The hotel room door had barely closed before you pulled V down and finally pressed your lips to his. You felt his hand on the small of your back as he returned your kiss with matching eagerness. His lips tasted like bubbling bright champagne and something that you had never been able to place.

Like walking in the woods on a sunny spring afternoon, the tantalizing smell of brewing coffee and a songbird’s joyful melody. So utterly him, so utterly Valentin Viljoen. The man who was so charming it made you dizzy, yet so preciously bashful at the same time. You moved your hands to slide him out of his blazer, letting it hit the floor. 

You felt the plush mattress hit your back as you had somehow made it to the bed without ever breaking apart. When you finally did (curse your lungs’ need for air), V moved to kneel between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. 

“I’m…ashamed of my behavior earlier, even after that incident I began to notice how so many others looked at you with those same eyes”, he admitted quietly. “I desperately wanted them to know that you were with me, I realize that I was being far too selfish”. You sat up, taking in his guilty expression. With a quick movement, you pulled him by his turtleneck and kissed him and ran your fingers across the nape of his neck. When you pulled away, you could see the mix of confusion and affection on his face in the dim light.

“V, you deserve to be selfish sometimes and plus, I’m already all yours”, you spoke as you played with the hem of his shirt “I want you, even more than you want me”. 

V was silent for a moment before he lowered his head to your collarbone. 

“What a bold statement, my love, are you willing to test that?” He whispered against the skin of your neck before placing a kiss to your wildly beating pulse. 

His hands were gentle and attentive, making you gasp into the night. Hands that you knew had ended so many lives with quick, precise cuts. Those same hands worked magic between your thighs, his fingertips running over you, pressing into all the right places. You sighed heavily as his touches deepend and his eyes never left your face. 

“Valentin…more”, you managed to get out betweens shaky pants and pleased hums. V’s eyes widened slightly at your use of his full name, but his expression melted into a loving smile as he obliged your pleas. He leaned down, his dark brown braids having come loose from his ponytail and framing his face. You raised your head to catch his lips in a searing, syrupy sweet kiss. The knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach, threatening to come undone at any second.

“You look so beautiful” V said breathily as his skilled fingers pressed on “I’ve been longing for you all throughout the night”. His voice brimmed with sincerity as pure as spring water. A particular curl of his digits had you seeing sparks and stars as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.

V pressed butterfly kisses to your cheeks as you bathed in the heated afterglow. You laughed and raised a hand to rest on the back of his head, how did you get so lucky? The room filled with a comfortable silence as the two of you rested in each other’s embrace. 

“Ready for your turn?” You asked after a few minutes, looking at him with a teasing smile. You sat up and gently nudged him onto his back ,swinging a leg over his hips, straddling him. V’s eyes glimmered with tenderness as the next thing he said made your blood rush like a powerful river.

“I don’t intend to be finished with you before the break of daylight”. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[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.

[tsbs-shipfessions]

me x KC

My otp if you will

A wonderful OTP indeed.

[tavernlords]

Like Old Times, Your Majesty (A King's Choice Kerwin x Neu!Reader Oneshot) || Angst/Comfort

"Your Majesty... What are you doing...? It's pitch black out here."

"Kerwin-!" In the darkness, all you can see is a silhouette of a tall man with a dim candle in the distance. It's hard to make out, but you know it's him. You could never mistake that velvety voice.

As he walks up, he plops down beside you on the grass with a soft grunt and sighs. He takes in the fresh midnight air and the gentle breeze. You stare at him as he rearranges himself into a comfy position and snuffs out his candle before putting it on the grass. While he is outstretched and enjoying the night, you are tiny with legs tucked and face squished to your knees. You wonder how he does it. How he seems to become one with the world as he lays. You wish you could do that.

He takes a deep breath. "So, what's on your mind? You don't usually stay out this late." You turn away from him, a heavy guilt in your chest for forgetting to change your demeanor. You don't want him to see you like this. You have to stay strong for him. After all, with the death of his father, he must be going through a lot. You can't burden him with the weight of the ever-growing boulder on your back. He must be sick of it as it is. "Nothing... just uhm..." But the crack in your throat gives you away. You pretend it didn't happen. "Talbot..." He knows you're lying he knows you're lying he knows you're lying. "He dropped a vase."

"Oh, yea. I heard that. It got me up, too..." He pauses for a second. "Did that startle you?" You nod, tears in your eyes threatening to let loose. He puts a hand on your back in an attempt to console you. It works a little too well, and you feel yourself sob a little without your consent; his presence is like a warm hearth to you right now. Just him being there with you makes you feel a little more protected. You hate being alone. You're afraid someone might attack you if you are. It's a heavy burden to bare, but you'd never admit that.

The thin veneer of stoicism blows away in the wind, and you hear your sobs get louder and louder. You hug your knees firmly, planting your face into the crevice between your thighs, and let go. You know if you looked at him right now, you'd instantly crumble. But it seems that you aren't doing a very good job at keeping yourself from doing so. It's simply all too much.

He quickly pushes toward you to hold you in his arms. As time goes forward and your sobbing turns into frantic gasps of air, he hugs you tighter. There was always something different about Kerwin hugs. They were like the coziness of your blanket when you first wake up every morning, the fuzzy feeling of a beer after 5 longs years of fighting a relentless war, or the laughs you had as a kid when you had no idea the world was so cruel. They made you feel innocent and light. Like you were just a commoner with no kingdom to rule and only a home to take care of.

After a good, long moment, when you can finally feel yourself breathe again, you let go and apologize. You tell him you really don't mean to burden him and that it's okay if he thinks you're a weak ruler now. You didn't mean to make him feel sorry for you. He just hugs you again. But then he light pushes you away from him, and grabs your shoulders.

"Y/N. You're not a ruler to me. You're so much more than that!" He looks down, empathy heavy in his heart. "I know it's hard for you... but you don't have to put up that act around me. We've known each other for, what, 10, 15 years now? I'll always be here for you. I never plan on leaving." Then he gently gazes into your eyes, worry coating his face like fresh waves darkening light sand. You feel your heart racing, and your eyes well up again. He takes notice, discreetly looking down and then peering up again, this time with a kinder and lighter expression. Softening his grip, he traces his hands down your arms to hold your hands. You know his skin is scarred and calloused from countless battles, but they feel soft to you. He makes sure you feel that softness.

You manage a faint smile in response and a tiny grief-stricken chuckle. He smiles a little more at this, happy to make you happy at least for a second. You stay like this for a nice minute. The air clears with time.

"It isn't just Talbot, is it?" You look away again. "No..." You murmur.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice is low and unintrusive.

You pause, breathe in, and try your hardest not to cry again.

"Its just... I'm scared." You look up at him, lips quivering. "I'm scared I'm going to..." Your body chokes on a sob, and you try to recuperate, "lose everyone. I'm scared that, in the end, it's just gonna be me in my giant castle with my guards and servants and I'll just..." Sniffling, you squeeze a tear down your cheek "...Be alone. I'm afraid I'll be walking with you down the path to a nearby kingdom and you'll just- you get stabbed or shot or anything! I couldn't-"

Kerwin clenches your hands, and fold his fingers into yours. Letting your heart settle before continuing, you utter "I couldn't live with myself if I ever let that happen, knowing it could. I don't think... I could ever live without you by my side. Or Greg. Or Talbot. Or Lance. Or-" You curl into him as you can no longer help yourself from bawling. To know he's here and alive gives you so much comfort. You never want this to end. You never want to stop feeling his unbuttoned nightgown against the side of your face or his hands cupping your back. You wish he was immortal. If somehow, by your power as a lord, you could make him invincible. But you can't.

Planting his face in your hair, Kerwin whispers something to you. "Hey... do you remember..." He's holding you entirely in his arms and supporting you with his chest. Almost like he's shrouding you in light or draping a sheet over you. "That time we were outside the city walls, in that great big field near Agatha's wheat farm?" "Hm?"

"I was 11. You were 12. The world was so big and all we wanted to do was to explore it. But then, I got lost in those huge stocks of wheat. You were calling out my name, wondering where I was. I laughed and laughed and laughed while you tried to find me." You giggle at the memory. "...Then you heard this growling from out of nowhere! You panicked and started running trying to find me while I was still laughing. And suddenly - I got bit by something hard! When you finally found me, I was wailing like a baby."

He laughs a little, a burning in his heart with fondness of the past.

"You took me back to your castle, and Allie fixed me right up! I was good as new, but you were still worried. You made me pinky promise you that wherever I go, you had to be with me no matter what."

You smile, now a little tired from all the energy you spent crying. You feel safe in his embrace. "I remember it like yesterday." You let out a tiny chuckle. You can never forget the face he made as you picked him up and forced him onto a piggyback ride. You wish it was summer as kids again. The golden spray of light that peeked behind sheaves of yellow grass. The beautiful pink glow of Kerwin's hair under the sun. The story calmed you down. Your breathing is at steady pace again.

"Well, I never forgot it... Y/N, I trust that whatever comes you'll always have my back. At the same time, I'll always have yours. Things will happen as they happen, and we can never truly prepare for the future. I'm constantly afraid I'm going to lose you. But i wake up the next morning, and you're still there. You're alive and breathing, and still that strong and beautiful lord I've always known." You snuggle in closer to his chest and feel his heartbeat. It's unusually fast, but you take comfort in it. You moan lightly, at ease, sleepy and secure. His heartbeat rises.

He pauses for a long time, and you feel his body get warmer. It's serene and cozy. Just as you're about to fall asleep, he says "Uh... Actually... Y/N... I've been meaning to tell you something for...." He laughs to take off his own tension "about millennia now..." You moan again sleepily, as a confirmation for him to go on with what he wants to tell you. "Do you think... You'd want to stay like this? I mean- Ah, what I'm trying to say is- I think I might..." He takes a breath. "Want to be with you. For ever. Or as long as possible, if that's okay?"

That wakes you up, and you gasp, bumping the top of your head on his chin and nose as you launch up in surprise. He yelps. As you feel adrenaline rush through your veins, your cup your mouth in shock for what you'd done. Kerwin covers his nose and winches in pain. "Oh, my god, Kerwin! I'm so sorry!" He laughs and smiles, "Haha, no! It's fine, really. Augh..."

With tears in his eyes, he looks up at you through strawberry hair, hovering his hands above slightly bloody nostrils. You grab his face and squish it into yours, absorbing all his pain and tasting the metal from his nosebleed. It definitely it's not the most sanctimonious kiss in the world, but goddamn it, it's yours. It's finally yours. In between gasps for air, you chuckle in relief. Finally.

Kerwin sobs for a brief second between kisses and stops, holding you forehead to forehead. Droplets hit your legs, and when you open your eyes you see him crying. "Kerwin-"

"I'm-" He takes a breath "I'm okay, Your Majesty, I just-" He sniffles "I've been waiting so long for this..." He lets out a relieved giggle.

You kiss him again.

[sematarygirls]

Okay but he’d fuck you so hard when they lose the Super Bowl after you spends an hour gloating about the eagles handing their asses to them!

i saw this request and started giggling and kicking my feet omg. anon, i owe you my first born child. you are a GENIUS! (although, fair warning, i'm not great at writing smut. i hope this is okay <3) not proofread

cw: unprotected p in v, rough sex, mean rafe, slapping, degradation

Football tended to be a touchy subject between you and Rafe. Where you were a diehard Eagles fan, he wouldn't be caught dead rooting for them. After the Chiefs narrowly beat out the Eagles in the 2023 Super Bowl, Rafe wouldn't shut up for weeks about how "trash" the Eagles were. It drove you absolutely insane.

That's why, when the Eagles absolutely kicked ass this Super Bowl in a rematch against the Chiefs, beating them out at a whopping 40-22, you thought it was your well-deserved right to rub it in Rafe's face, much to his dismay.

One thing about Rafe is that gloating is only okay when he does it—much like a lot of other things (he's a very hypocritical guy), hence his growing anger when you wouldn't stop talking about how the Chiefs absolutely threw the game with all their fumbles, making jokes the whole time about how it seemed like they weren't even playing.

Another thing about Rafe? He tended to get violent when he was angry. With other people, this meant he'd kick their asses, but with you, it meant you were in for a long night of rough fucking to make him feel better and put you in your place for your "bratty attitude."

Though, if you tried to point out the hypocrisy with him finding your actions annoying when he had done the exact same two years prior, he would only get more annoyed and very, very defensive.

You'd learned at a very early stage in your relationship that some battles were not worth fighting with Rafe, and besides, you kind of liked it when he was all rough with you, manhandling and degrading you deliciously.

"Not so mouthy now, huh?" He taunted, pounding into you from behind. Each thrust pushed you forward a little bit, your face burying further into the pillows as you moaned. A sharp slap to your ass had you gasping, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure to your core that had you practically gushing around Rafe's thick length. You didn't know how long you'd been going at this with him, but he hadn't let you cum, nor had he let up the brutal pace.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Can't even think of anything to say back to me, huh? Thought you were gonna gloat all night about how the Eagles won." His words were cruel and biting, revealing the depth of his anger, which wasn't about the football game. It was more so about being challenged, his ego hurt after talking such a big game about how the Chiefs were going to dominate.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your brain turned to mush as the only thing you could focus on were his rough hands on you and his length stretching your velvety walls. You could practically feel each ridge and vein of his cock as it slid back and forth, his tip nudging your cervix roughly with each pass.

"What happened to that smart mouth, huh?" He mocked. "Your dumb little brain's too desperate for cock, huh, bunny," he cooed, his tone patronizing as he continued to pound into you with rough strokes, making your back arch and eyes roll back.

He was so mean, but you loved it.

He was right. You couldn't respond to him anymore. You had lost your ability to form a single word, dumbed down to a mess of please sounds as he hit that sweet spot inside of you so perfectly. He took that as a victory, seeing it as proof that you knew your place. He loved it when you whimpered underneath him, completely at his mercy. "Look who's behaving now. You're lucky you're so pretty, honey," he continued, enjoying this little game of his. "Otherwise, I wouldn't put up with such a bratty mouth."

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, giving your ass another sharp smack before his hands found your hips again, his grip bordering on painful. "And this fuckin' love this pussy. Fuckin' perfect, baby."

He was getting close. You could tell by the way his pace started to falter, and his words switched from degrading to praising. One hand slipped down to your clit, rubbing firm circles. Even when he was pissed, he still tried to make you cum first.

It didn't take much more effort on his part. Your thighs were already trembling, desperate for release from the moment he'd thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off.

"You're gonna be a good girl now, huh? You're gonna stop being such a pain in the ass, aren't you?" He questioned, punctuating each question with a thrust. "No more running your mouth and riling me up, right?"

"Uh huh," you whined pathetically, needy and desperate to cum.

He knew he had you right where he wanted you, all pliant and begging. "Yeah, you gonna stop talking back, huh? You can be a good little bunny for me, can't you?" He cooed, his words sounding a little bit less harsh. He was enjoying having you like this, completely at his mercy.

All you could muster was a weak nod, your fingers gripping the sheets and mouth parted in ecstacy as you reached your peak, blinding pleasure overtaking your body as your walls clamped down around his cock.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he groaned, pumping a few more times before pushing deep inside you and releasing spurts of hot, sticky cum into your eager cunt.

[vandme12]

Blood, Guts, and a Lifetime Warranty- Ronin x Reader

WORDS : 11732

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : On the way to the wedding, Dressed in black, He really did it in his way didn't he? You really had a husband right now. He proposed.

INSPIRED FROM THE ART : @scary-brainrot I love their art! ahh! This was already in my drafts, I finished it!

The art's link (The one I got inspired from)

90 followers special

“That old man keeps asking when I’ll get married again.”

Annoying. Worse than annoying. Like a mosquito buzzing in your ear when you’re already halfway to losing your mind.

The garage smells like oil, rust, and Ronin—something metallic, something alive, something that clings. You could go home, but home is a ringing phone and voices that won’t like the answers you’d give. They love you. You love them. But they wouldn’t love him. Not the way you do.

Some distant uncle, some wrinkled remnant of family dinners and polite disappointment, would take one look at Ronin and say something sharp, something final. And Ronin? He’d roll his tongue along his teeth, slow and deliberate, like a lion deciding if a gazelle is worth the chase. He’d smile too wide, say something that’s both a joke and a promise of violence.

You’d defend him, though. Because you’re his. Because he’s yours.

A year, almost. Two sick minds spiraling around each other like dying stars, feeding off the heat, off the destruction. You learned more than you should. Became something sharper, something better, something that fit in the hollow of his ribs. And Ronin, patron saint of pretty rot, never lied about the world. He just pulled back the curtain and let you see it for what it was.

He loves you, but he doesn’t say it. He shows it in the way he exists—raw, unapologetic, a brush dipped in something obscene, painting your name in places no one else would dare.

And you?

You see it now. The way he sees things. The way they were always meant to be seen.

Face it, darlin’. You lost the second you met him.

The sound of metal on metal, the slow grind of a wrench turning bolts, the scent of oil and rust clinging to the air like an old, familiar ghost.

You’re watching him—your little devil in disguise, though he’s hardly trying to hide it. Ronin leans over the open hood of a half-dead car, sleeves shoved up, grease streaked along his forearm like war paint. He works with a lazy kind of precision, every movement drawn out, every flick of his wrist deliberate, like he knows you’re watching and wants you to keep watching.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

He glances up, catches your stare, and his grin spreads slow and sharp, teeth flashing like a wolf playing at civility. His tongue drags along his teeth before he chuckles, a low, amused thing that slithers into your bones.

"What, darlin’? Ain’t never seen a man work before?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. He doesn’t miss it—he never does. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s about to make a meal of you, like he already has.

"Careful now. Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you got a death wish."

And Ronin? He never breaks a promise.

He lets the wrench fall onto the workbench with a clatter, wiping his hands on a rag that does nothing but spread the mess further. Then he’s leaning on the car, watching you like he’s considering tearing you apart just to see how you’d put yourself back together.

"Y’know, a person like you could do better." His voice is slow, teasing, coiling around something darker. "Could find yourself a nice boy. One who doesn’t kill for fun, who calls his mama on Sundays, who wouldn’t snap your neck if you asked real sweet."

A pause. A smirk. That awful, wonderful, knowing look in his eyes.

"But you won’t. ‘Cause you like this, don’tcha?"

He takes a step closer, the space between you burning down to nothing. The heat of him, the weight of his attention, the sheer gravity of his existence—it's suffocating in the best way.

"You like watchin’ me. Like sittin’ there all sweet while I get my hands dirty." A slow grin. "Like knowin’ they’ll never be clean."

“You’re being too edgy again.”

Ronin gasps, all mock offense, pressing a grease-streaked hand to his chest like you just ran him through with a stake. "Too edgy? Darlin’, you wound me."

“You already established the bit, you don’t have to crank it up every time.” You cross your arms, leveling him with a look that should be stern, but the corners of your lips betray you.

He hums, considering. "Alright, alright. I’ll dial it back a lil’—for you."

But then you laugh. Because, let’s be real, you like this. Maybe not the whole performance, but the way he commits to it. The sheer audacity of him.

Ronin catches that little slip in your composure, and suddenly, he’s grinning again—your grin. That slow, teasing pull of lips that promises nothing good.

"See? You love it."

Before you can argue, he puckers his lips, exaggerated as hell, and throws a flying kiss your way. And then—the bastard throws it straight into the trash.

You shoot him a murder look so sharp it could split bone, but he just laughs, loud and unrepentant, striding forward without a care in the world.

And then, in the cheesiest, most dramatic display of affection possible, he plucks the imaginary kiss right back from the air, presses it to his chest like a treasured keepsake, and sighs.

"Alright, alright. I’ll keep this one." He pats his chest, eyes twinkling. "Right here. Close to my cold, dead heart. XOXO, baby."

You groan. He’s impossible.

“You’re an idiot.”

Ronin grins. "Yeah?"

"An idiot for idiots."

His grin stretches wider, teeth flashing. "Oh?"

"So idiotically idiotic it’s actually impressive."

That does it. He throws his head back and laughs, a sharp, delighted thing, full-bodied and reckless. Hands still smudged with oil, still clutching onto the ghost of that stupid, cheesy kiss, he leans in like he's about to whisper something profound. Instead—

"And you—" he drawls, slow and indulgent, like he’s savoring the words before he spits them out. "You got the energy of such a bad bitch. Or a bastard. Take your pick."

He flicks his fingers, like he’s throwing dice, like fate itself is something he can gamble with.

"Somethin’ real nasty about you, sweetheart. Somethin’ sharp. A bite to that pretty mouth. Ain’t that a treat?"

His eyes are dark with something unreadable, something between admiration and hunger, like he wants to see what you’ll do with his words. If you’ll bite back. If you’ll play along.

Because Ronin? He’s always playing. And he’s hoping—praying, even—that you’re the kind of idiot who won’t let him win too easily.

"It’s... nothing."

Ronin tuts, tilting his head, eyes gleaming like a wolf that’s caught the scent of something bleeding. "Oh, but somethin’ must be trickin’ your head, darlin’. I can hear it rattlin’ around in there." He leans in, voice dropping to something just above a purr. "C’mon now. Whisper your prayer to the Devil. What’s on your mind?"

You shoot him another murderous glare, sharp enough to cut, lethal enough to wound. He loves it.

And worse? He blushes.

It’s fleeting—a flicker of warmth, a betrayal of blood rushing to his cheeks—but it’s there. And then, just as fast, he throws his head back and laughs, wild and unrestrained, like you’ve just handed him the funniest joke in the world.

The audacity. The gall. The sheer joy in his eyes, like he’s never been happier than in the presence of someone who genuinely wants to kill him.

Because let’s be real—isn’t that his favorite thing?

Ronin wipes at his grin like he can smother it, but it lingers, curling at the edges. "Goddamn. If looks could kill, sweetheart—" he whistles low, shaking his head, "—I’d be six feet under already. You tryin’ to make me fall harder?"

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin’s already grinning like you did.

"What?!"

You don’t even give him a chance to answer before you pinch both of his cheeks, hard.

Ronin yelps, muffled by your hands squishing his stupid, grinning face. "Owww—darlin’, what the hell—?" He grabs your wrists, but not to stop you—no, just to hold on, just to feel you, because he likes it when you get your hands on him. Even when it’s to hurt him.

Especially when it’s to hurt him.

You tug his cheeks just a little harder, watching as his face scrunches up, his nose wrinkling, eyes narrowed in exaggerated pain. "That’s what you get for talking like that."

His words come out distorted, voice wobbling from the force of your grip. "Talkin’ like wha’?"

"Like you wanna die by my hands, idiot."

Ronin wheezes out a laugh, finally prying your hands away—but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he flips your grip, lacing your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s his right.

"Ain’t my fault you’re so damn beautiful when you’re thinkin’ about killin’ me." His voice is softer now, but the playfulness lingers. His thumbs ghost over your knuckles, a mockery of tenderness, a real display of it all the same.

"Y’know," he muses, leaning in, voice dropping low, "if you ever do get sick of me, darlin’... at least make it interesting, yeah?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away.

Ronin, grinning like he just won something, kisses your knuckles

You blush. Disgusting. You look away, like that’ll save you, like he won’t see it anyway. Like he won’t catch the way your fingers twitch in his grasp, like he won’t feel the heat you’re trying to will away. Like he won’t eat it up.

“You said live, not die.”

Ronin’s grin flickers. Just for a second. Just long enough for the mask to slip, the wires beneath to spark. Then—

“Oh, darlin’.” He lets out something between a laugh and a sigh, tilting his head, studying you like a painting he can’t quite decide how to ruin. “Now, that’s just cruel.”

You roll your eyes, yank your hands away, shove him for good measure. He staggers back with an exaggerated stumble, hand over his chest like you just stabbed him through the ribs. Dramatic. Always. Even when it’s real.

“Gotta admit,” he says, pressing his palms together, as if in prayer, as if he’s ever prayed to anything other than the void, “that’s a new one. You? Wantin’ me to live? Be still, my dead, black heart.”

You cross your arms, glare. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

There it is. That look. The one that’s all teeth, all sharp edges and something deeper, something raw. Something hungry. He wants you to fight him. He wants you to win.

You don’t humor him. You don’t move. You stay exactly where you are, which is somehow worse.

Ronin watches. Waits. Always patient, when it matters. Always willing to let the moment stretch, to let the silence settle, just to see what you’ll do with it.

“Go on, then.” He lifts his chin, dares you. “Say it again.”

Your stomach twists. You hate him. You hate that he knows exactly how to get under your skin, exactly how to pull words out of your throat like he’s got his fingers wrapped around your voice. You hate that you let him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He smirks, tilts his head. “For idiots.”

“So idiotically idiotic.”

His grin widens. “Say it.”

You swallow. Fine. You meet his gaze, steady. “Live.”

Something shifts.

It’s subtle. A breath held too long, a flicker behind his eyes. Like you just flipped a switch he didn’t know he had. Like you just changed something.

Then, just as fast, he laughs—loud, reckless, full-bodied. He steps forward, gets right in your space, doesn’t touch, but you feel it anyway.

“Darlin’,” he purrs, “you keep talkin’ like that, and I might just have to listen.”

Your heartbeat stutters. Unacceptable. You shove him again, harder this time. He doesn’t even pretend to stumble, just grins like you handed him a gift.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, turning away.

“You love it.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin chuckles, something quiet, something softer than it should be. You feel the heat of him at your back, a presence that lingers, that stays even when he isn’t touching you.

Then, finally, he steps away. Leaves you with the echo of his voice, the ghost of his grin.

“Live, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself. Almost.

"Guess I can try."

And damn it—you hear the smile in his voice. That soft, dangerous edge, like he’s filing it down just for you. Like you gave him something new to chew

Your phone buzzes—loud, persistent, annoying—because of course it does. You sigh, already knowing who it is. That special brand of chaos only one person in your family can bring.

Before you can grab it, Ronin’s faster. Always is. He snatches your phone like it’s his right, thumb dragging across the screen as he answers the call with a lazy, cocky swipe.

"Hello, sweetheart’s personal assistant speakin’—" He pauses, lips curling when the sound of someone shouting blasts through the speaker.

"Hey! When will we meet the boy?!" The voice is rough, familiar, and exactly as you feared. "I’m looking at some photos—"

Oh no.

"—of some nice boys. I’ll send them to you. Tell me which one you like, so the family can arrange a date. Get you two to know each other better—"

Silence.

A beat.

Then—Ronin laughs. Real loud, too—like he wants them to hear it, wants it to stick. His head tips back, neck exposed, all sharp teeth and sharper intentions.

"Well, shit," he drawls, licking his teeth, voice sweet as poison. "You’re settin’ up a date for my baby? Kinda rude, ain’t it? I mean—" His free hand slides to your waist, casual and possessive, squeezing like he owns you. "—I’m right here."

Your stomach drops. "Ronin—"

He ignores you, because of course he does.

"I get it," he continues, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "I mean, who wouldn’t wanna line up a few pretty boys? But—" He sighs, dramatic as ever. "—gotta break it to ya, pops. They’re already taken."

The line goes silent—for a second. Maybe two. Then—

"Who the hell are you?!"

Ronin’s grin stretches, and oh, he’s enjoying this. Loves the fire. Loves the fight. He leans closer to the speaker, like he’s sharing a secret. "The Devil, baby. Didn’t they warn you?"

You slap his arm, hard, but it only makes him laugh more—warm and bright, like setting a match to gasoline.

"You—!" The old man sputters, full of righteous indignation. "You think this is funny?!"

"A little," Ronin purrs. "Kinda cute, actually. Y’care about ‘em so much you’re hand-pickin’ their future? Adorable." His fingers curl against your hip, deliberate. "But—" he hums, voice sinking into something darker, rougher, "—no one’s takin’ ‘em away from me, old man."

He means it. You feel it in the weight of his touch, the way his thumb circles your skin.

"Ronin—" you hiss again, trying to take your phone back, but he’s not done. Not even close.

"Look," he says, casual as hell, like this is a friendly chat. "I’m a real thoughtful guy. I’d love to meet the fam. Hell—" he chuckles, "—maybe I’ll even bring a gift. Y’know, to show my appreciation."

You don’t like the way he says "gift." Not one bit.

"You’re out of your damn mind," the old man snaps.

Ronin’s smile turns razor-sharp. "Yeah, well—" he tilts his head, brushing his lips against your ear, voice dropping to a whisper only for you. "—I’m your kinda problem now, aren’t I?"

Your heart pounds—too fast, too much—and you’re torn between wanting to strangle him and... something worse.

The phone crackles—your family’s favorite brand of righteous fury practically vibrating through the speaker.

"You arrogant little—what kind of punk thinks he can talk to me like that?!" the old man barks, voice sharp enough to cut. "You think you’re funny?!"

Ronin, being Ronin, grins wider—which should be illegal, really, because no one man should look that pleased while actively causing problems on purpose. His eyes gleam, wicked and bright, as he leans against the workbench like this is his personal entertainment.

"Funny?" He clicks his tongue. "Nah, old-timer, I’m hilarious."

Your head drops into your hands. Of course. Of course he’s not backing down. Not when there’s someone willing to bite back.

"Ronin—" you try, voice tight, but he holds up a hand—shh, baby—without even looking at you.

"So," he drawls, like he’s savoring every second of this. "How many poor suckers you got lined up for ‘em? Five? Ten? You hopin’ one of ‘em’s got a personality, or just flippin’ through the catalogue ‘til you find a pretty face?"

The line crackles again. Then—"You listen here, you little shit—"

"Nah, you listen." Ronin’s voice drops—still playful, but there’s an edge under it now, jagged and dangerous. His smile never wavers, but the temperature in the room feels ten degrees colder. "They’re not goin’ on any dates. Not with your pretty little lineup, not with anyone." His head tilts, lazy, like he’s considering how much trouble he feels like starting. "Y’see, they’re already busy—with me."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between wanting to melt into the floor and… God help you, wanting to drag him down by his stupid leather jacket and kiss the smirk off his face.

"What the hell kind of guy are you?!" the old man demands, voice still boiling.

And that’s it—that’s the line Ronin’s been waiting for. He lifts his hand, fingers splaying across his chest like he’s been personally offended, but there’s a gleam in his eye. Something feral. Something viciously proud.

"Oh, darlin’ didn’t tell you?" His smile turns razor-sharp, voice syrup-sweet. "I’m their worst decision. And their best one."

"YOU—"

"Careful now," Ronin warns, mock-gentle. "Wouldn’t wanna get your blood pressure up. Though, hey—if you keel over, I’ll send flowers. Maybe."

Your mouth falls open. "Ronin!"

He shrugs, but his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you against him like he’s staking a claim. "What?" he says, all innocence. "M’bein’ polite."

Polite.

The old man, meanwhile, sounds seconds away from an aneurysm. "You punk! What the hell do you even bring to the table?! Huh?!"

Ronin hums, pretending to think—tapping his chin like this is a serious question. "Well," he finally says, drawing out the word like it’s a punchline, "I’m real good with my hands."

You choke.

He winks.

And that’s when you’ve had enough. With a furious swipe, you rip the phone out of his hand and hang up before anyone can make things worse. For a second, there’s silence—just the hum of the garage and your heart pounding in your ears.

Then, of course—Ronin laughs.

Deep and delighted, like you just handed him the best gift he’s ever gotten.

You whirl on him, shoving at his chest. "Are you INSANE?!"

He doesn’t budge. Just catches your wrists, lazy and loose, still chuckling like he’s having the time of his life. "A little," he admits, dragging your hands up to his lips. He presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles, saccharine and smug. "But you love it, don’t ya?"

Ronin’s eyes narrow the second the old man’s voice blares back through the phone—louder, angrier, like he’s just realizing exactly who he’s dealing with.

“AH, FUCK—IT’S YOU! PUNK, EMO ASS, KID—”

Your head drops back with a groan. Oh, great.

The rant barrels on, unstoppable. “Look, kid. They told us ‘bout you—yeah, yeah, we didn’t even mind your ass. But then we heard you don’t like marriage. Christian-type stuff.”

Ronin snorts under his breath, lips twitching. "Oh, no. Anything but the sanctity of holy matrimony," he mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you felt shitty—because, of course, he’s not taking this seriously.

The old man is not amused. “Look, respectfully—I get it. Some people don’t like the religion shit, fine.” A breath hisses through the receiver. “But this is an event. My lil’ baby is either gettin’ married—or gonna.”

You don’t miss the way Ronin’s jaw flexes at the word "baby."

“So, please—stay outta their way.”

Before you can respond—before Ronin can sharpen his tongue into something lethal—your patience snaps. You snatch the phone from his hand and, with zero hesitation, hurl it across the garage. It hits the wall with a satisfying crack, falling in two pitiful pieces.

The silence that follows is deafening.

For once—he doesn’t laugh.

Ronin watches you—sharp, calculating—like he’s peeling back your skin with his eyes, memorizing every new layer you reveal. His head tilts just a little. Something about that look makes your chest feel tight—too much, too fast.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, like it’ll somehow smooth out the mess in your head. But when you glance back at him—he’s still looking. Still waiting.

And his voice—God, his voice—comes out too soft. “Somethin’ on your mind, darlin’?”

You look away.

His grin creeps back in, a little too sharp. “Y’know I love it when you get shy,” he teases, but the edge in his voice gives him away. He wants the truth.

Your heart stumbles. You press your lips together, fighting the way your thoughts swirl—loud, messy, too much. But the words—the real words—don’t come easy. Not when it’s this.

Still—you reach for him. Slip your fingers into his, warm and solid and steady. It’s too intimate for how casual you’re pretending to be, but he lets you.

You swallow hard. “…You don’t like these things because of—”

But you can’t finish. Your voice trips over itself, and rather than push through, you stop. Let it hang. Force yourself to smile. “It’s fine.”

Ronin doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stays locked on you.

You squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I’m happy. With you.”

It’s too honest. Too raw. And his grip tightens—like he’s daring you to take it back.

For a beat—he says nothing. But something shifts behind his eyes, and you know—you just know—that those words are going to stick. He’ll hold onto them like a blade tucked under his skin.

You lean up, quick and light, and kiss his cheek—lingering just long enough to feel the heat rising under your lips.

“I’m gonna go home,” you murmur. “Sleep well, Ronin.”

His fingers twitch in yours—tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

But then—he does. And the smile he gives you as you pull away is dangerous—a promise.

“G’night, Darlin.”

The walk home is quiet. Too quiet. The kind that sticks to your skin and makes your head buzz. You told yourself it was fine—you’re fine—but the weight in your chest doesn’t quite lift, no matter how many deep breaths you take.

When you finally get home, the house is dark. Silent, except for the faint hum of that damned telephone still on the hook. You don’t touch it. Not tonight.

You kick off your shoes, peel off the day, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cold—too cold—without him. But you don’t think about that.

Not yet.

You’re too tired to fight your thoughts, so you let them fade. Let sleep pull you under.

Ronin doesn’t sleep.

Not well, anyway—not when you’re gone.

He stays in the garage long after you leave, leaning against the workbench with a half-finished cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curls through the air—thick, acrid—something to keep his hands busy while his mind spins.

That old bastard’s voice still rings in his ears. “Stay outta their way.” Like he’s some stray mutt sniffing around where he doesn’t belong. Like you’d ever let anyone pull that leash.

A dry chuckle slips past his lips. As if.

You told him to live. And you said it like you meant it. Like you wanted him to stick around. For you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because Ronin’s been circling the drain for years—grinning all the way down—and then you came along. Got your hooks in him. Made it hard to fall when you’re the one holding on.

And he likes it. That’s the worst part. He likes the way you look at him—like he’s more than just teeth and blood and bad habits stitched together. Likes the way you call him an idiot and still hold his hands like you’re afraid to let go.

It’s addictive. You’re addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s not ready to lose that yet.

The cigarette burns down to the filter before he flicks it aside, crushing it under his boot. His fingers twitch against his palm, and for a split second—he thinks about calling you. Just to hear your voice. Just to prove you’re still there.

But he won’t. He doesn’t want to spook you. Not when you’ve already given him so much.

Still—he’s not gonna sit here all night stewing like a lovesick idiot.

So, he grabs his keys, swings his jacket over his shoulders, and slips out of the garage with a devil-may-care grin.

If he’s not gonna sleep, he might as well have some fun.

You don’t hear the sound of his bike pulling up outside your house around 3 AM. (Just kidding)

You don’t hear the quiet creak of the gate as he slips through, or the soft thud of his boots against the porch.

The lock clicks. A sound too soft for anyone else to notice—but you do. Always.

You move without thinking, bare feet against cold floors, fingers brushing the knob before you twist it open. And there he is.

Ronin.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns it, like he’s got all the time in the world, but there’s something heavy in his stance. Something coiled too tight. His knuckles twitch at his sides. The silver glint of rings, catching low light.

You don’t ask why he’s here. You don’t need to.

Your hand curls around the front of his jacket—warm leather, worn soft—and you pull. He doesn’t resist. Never does, not when it’s you. He’s already moving before the door even clicks shut behind him.

The house is still. Silent, save for the muffled hum of appliances, the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall. But his breathing—his—is loud in your ears.

He smells like smoke and metal and something else—something darker, sharper, like midnight and mistakes. It clings to your skin as he steps closer.

You don’t bother turning on the lights.

His hands find you first. Of course they do—always greedy, always starving—palms dragging against your waist, thumbs pressing against your ribs. Heavy. Like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

Your breath hitches when he curls his fingers into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles brushing bare skin. He feels it. You know he does, because his mouth curls—barely—and he lets out a low, breathy exhale, like this? This is exactly what he came for.

You tug him through the dark, back to your room, back to your bed—his bed, when it suits him—and he follows without a word.

The door shuts behind you both. Quiet. Like a secret.

He shrugs off his jacket as you sink onto the mattress. The leather hits the floor in a careless heap, rings glinting as his hands hover—hesitate—before he touches you again.

Always touching. Always taking.

You make room for him without thinking, shifting under the sheets as he crawls in beside you. He’s warm—too warm—like he’s been carrying heat under his skin for hours.

You should shove him. Call him an idiot for coming here in the middle of the night. But you don’t.

Instead, you curl against him, and he… melts.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you close—closer—until there’s nothing left between you but breath and heartbeat and something too raw to name. His nose brushes against the curve of your neck, and his fingers twitch where they rest against your back.

He holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

And maybe that’s the point.

His face presses into your shoulder, too much teeth against soft skin, but it’s not rough. Not really. Not when you know how much he wants this—needs this—even when he won’t say it.

Especially when he won’t say it.

He’s touch-starved in the way only someone like him can be. Starved for you, specifically. Like it isn’t enough to watch from the edges. Like he needs to feel you—to sink in and never leave.

You trace your fingers up the back of his neck, nails dragging gently against skin. He shudders. His breath stutters against your throat.

His grip tightens.

He won’t ask you to stay like this. He won’t ask for anything. But you know he’d take it if you let him.

And tonight?

You do.

You let him tuck his face against your collarbone. Let him wrap himself around you like he’s trying to crawl under your skin. His hair tickles your cheek—soft, messy, human—and for all his edges, all his sharpness, he’s warm. Solid. Yours.

His heartbeat slows against your ribs.

You stay like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever.

And when his hand slides under your shirt—fingers curling against your spine, not asking, just holding—you don’t stop him.

He’s quiet, after that. Quieter than usual. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally gotten what he wanted.

Morning comes slow. Too slow, and somehow too fast.

The bed’s cold.

His warmth—his weight—is gone, and you feel it before your eyes even open. There’s no leather-jacketed mess tangled in the sheets, no sharp grin waiting to bite at you the second you stir. Just empty space where he was, where he always is, until he isn’t.

You sigh. Of course.

He never stays. Not all the way.

The sun bleeds through the curtains, golden and soft, but it does nothing to fill the ache curling behind your ribs. You push yourself up, stretch the stiffness from your limbs, and try—fail—not to think about the way he clung to you last night. The way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even when he had you pinned close.

You don’t know why you keep doing this. Letting him crawl under your skin. Letting him take whatever he wants, however he wants. But you do. Again and again and again.

Your throat feels tight. You swallow it down.

The floor is cold against your feet as you slip out of bed. You move through the motions—shower, brush your teeth, dress yourself like you’re preparing for war. Your usual uniform. The world doesn’t stop turning just because Ronin decided to ghost you.

Not that it’s a surprise. It’s what he does.

Still—you check your phone. Just once.

Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No smart-ass messages left for you to find.

Figures.

You yank open the closet door, grab your work bag, and sling it over your shoulder. The weight is familiar. Easy. You focus on that—the rhythm of routine, the comfort of habit—because if you don’t, you’ll think about the way he felt in your arms. The way he held you like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

You don’t have time for that.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. You snatch them off the counter and head to the door, locking up behind you with the kind of practiced ease that doesn’t need thought.

Outside, the air is crisp—too bright, too sharp for a morning that feels this heavy—but you square your shoulders, lift your chin, and walk.

A job’s a job. And yours won’t wait.

By the time you make it to the office, your face is carefully neutral—expression smooth, words sharper than you mean them to be. No one notices. No one ever notices. You bury yourself in your work, losing hours to reports and phone calls and emails, because it’s easier than letting your mind wander.

But it does,

Slaughterhouse: Losers Very Good—a bloodstained corner of the internet where psychos, freaks, and murder hobbyists hang out like it’s a dive bar no one sane would step into. Coded from scratch, like everything Ronin does. Meticulous. Untraceable. Home sweet home.

And you?

Offline.

He hates that.

You’re too good to him. You let him touch you—hold you—and somehow, you’re still here. Soft edges in a world full of jagged glass. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t deserve it. And yet.

Ronin leans back in his shitty leather chair, boots kicked up on the desk. The glow from his monitors bathes the room in electric blue, half-lit shadows stretching across the mess of papers, knives, and half-finished projects. One screen blinks with a list of names. His little collection of degenerates.

If he’s gonna do something for you, it’s gotta be good.

He cracks his knuckles, spins a blade between his fingers, and pulls up the first chat.

🐺 K9 (V):

Ronin: sup, robo-cop.

K9: Don’t.

Ronin: aw, missed u too, sweetheart. anyway, i got a question. hypothetical. romantic. u know what that is, or does ur metal heart not compute?

K9: I’m blocking you.

Ronin: no u aren’t. u love me. listen, if you were, hypothetically, in love with someone—(gross, i know)—what would you get ‘em?

K9: …You? In love?

Ronin: hypothetical. duh.

K9: A knife. Through the heart.

Ronin: aw. that’s practically a marriage proposal, k9. but srsly. i want ideas. gimme somethin’.

K9: Why do you care?

Ronin: because, steel-toes, for once in my godforsaken life, i want to be nice. write that down.

K9: …Whatever the hell you are, I do respect you for wanting to do something. Get them something meaningful. Personal. Something no one else could give.

Ronin: ur such a sap under all that righteous fury. thanks, babe. xo.

Ronin grins to himself. Meaningful. Personal. Easy words when you’re not the one tangled in it. Still, not useless. And if nothing else, bothering V is a highlight of his day.

Next.

💀 LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

Ronin: sup, sunshine.

Luca: YO DUDE. YO. YO. THE DEVIL IS IN MY DMS WHAT’S GOOD

Ronin: don’t wet ur boardshorts, prettyboy. i need ur expert advice.

Luca: BRO ASK AWAY. I AM AN OPEN BOOK OF RAD WISDOM.

Ronin: so, imagine someone who’s not me (obvs) wants to do something nice for their, uh, partner. ideas?

Luca: BROOOOOOO BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ARE YOU IN LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE DEVILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Ronin: chill. ur embarrassing urself.

Luca: NAAAAH THIS IS EPIC. OK OK OK OK. GET THEM SOMETHING FUN, MAN. SOMETHING THAT MAKES ‘EM LAUGH. OR LIKE. A DATE NIGHT. EVERYONE LOVES A DATE NIGHT.

Ronin: yea? what do u get feli? a golden shrine?

Luca: BRO. SHE DESERVES IT. LOVE OF MY LIFE. 10/10 WOULD MURDER FOR HER.

Ronin: u r so cringe it makes my teeth hurt.

Luca: NAH, MAN. THIS IS PEAK RELATIONSHIP. EMBRACE IT. TREAT ‘EM RIGHT.

He closes the chat before Luca can start writing you two’s wedding vows.

🎀 Angel (Angelic):

Ronin: hey, sweetheart.

Angel: Shouldn’t you be doing crimes?

Ronin: multitasking. i need a gift idea. something hot. spicy. devilishly irresistible. like me.

Angel: LMAO. You? Being romantic? Is this the apocalypse?

Ronin: c’mon, sugar. help a devil out.

Angel: Fine. Jewelry’s always a classic. But not basic. Custom. Something only you could give. Bonus points if it’s dangerous.

Ronin: deadly and pretty. like you. i’ll keep that in mind.

Angel: You’re welcome, loser.

Alright. Custom. Unique. That he can work with.

One last stop.

📚 Felicite:

Ronin: Hey Feli

Felicite: What do you want, Ronin? I hope you're doing fine!

Ronin: thought you academics liked answering questions. gimme ur best gift idea.

Felicite: For who?

Ronin: nosy. for my business.

Felicite: Books are an easy choice. But if you actually care, do something personal. An experience. Something only you could give.

Ronin: huh.

Felicite: For the record, Luca’s losing his mind. I think you broke him.

Ronin: lol. love that.

He leans back, phone tossed onto the desk. Mind buzzing.

Something personal. Something only he could give.

He taps his fingers against his thigh, a slow rhythm building. Yeah. Yeah, he’s got ideas.

hitmeuppp

goreboy: oi, sunshine. u busy killin’ or can i bother u for a sec?

hitmeupp: ✨ goreboy in my inbox?? is it my birthday?? ✨

goreboy: i’m the gift that keeps on givin’, baby. don’t forget it.

hitmeupp mm, flirty today. what’s on your wicked little mind, devil boy?

Ronin: hypothetically… let’s say i wanna do somethin’ nice for someone. y’know. romantic. cute. sweet. whatever. ideas?

hitmeupp: 👀👀👀 waitwaitwait—you?? doing something sweet?? for a special someone?? ohhh i am LIVING for this.

Ronin: don’t make it weird.

hitmeupp: too late, babe. so, what’s the vibe? like, do you wanna melt their heart? make ‘em blush? get ‘em to kiss you senseless? give me the deets.

Ronin: …all of the above, probs.

hitmeupp: aww, you’re adorable when you’re down bad. okay, listen up:

Custom gift—something only you could give. Unique. Dangerous, if you’re feelin’ spicy.

Surprise date—not boring, tho. They like you, so they probably have a taste for the unusual.

Handwritten note—bonus points if it’s a little unhinged. People LOVE that stuff.

Ronin: a note? what, like “roses are red, violets are blue, i’d kill for u, baby, it’s true”?

hitmeupp: LMAO okay, poet, calm down. but yeah—personal. even psychos like a little sentiment. and you’ve got that whole devilish charm thing, use it.

Ronin: u sayin’ i’m charming?

Misaki: 😏 darling, if i didn’t have standards, Stil no

Ronin: Ouch

hitmeupp mmm, promises, promises. now, get outta my inbox before i start liking you.

Ronin: too late, sunshine.

hitmeupp ugh, you’re impossible. good luck wooing your lover~ 💕

[Slaughterhouse Server – Main Chat]

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AYO. EVERYONE SHUT UP. BIG NEWS.

Angelic: ??

hitmeuppp: what, did u finally find a brain cell?

Angelic: Doubt it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NO. BIGGER. Y’ALL. RONIN DMed ME ABOUT GIFTS.

K9: …The hell?

Angelic: wait. hold on. pause.

hitmeuppp: ✨ omg no way ✨

Goreboy: Liar.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRO, I SWEAR. HE ASKED ME FOR GIFT IDEAS. LIKE—SOMETHING ROMANTIC. I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING.

Felicite: …what's wrong about it luca?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: HE’S SIMPIN’.

Angelic: That's fine?

K9: This is stupid. Who cares.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: LMAOOOO LOOK AT THIS HATER. HE MAD ‘CAUSE NO ONE’S SENDING HIM LOVE LETTERS.

goreboy: you’re gonna lose a limb, surfer boy.

hitmeuppp: awwww the devil’s BLUSHING~

Angelic: no because why is this actually the most interesting thing to happen all week

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: I’M NOT EVEN DONE. Y’ALL. HE DIDN’T JUST DM ME. HE DMed EVERYONE.

K9: ......

Angelic: Hold the fuck on—

hitmeuppp: 💀💀💀 GOREBOY OUT HERE TAKING A SERVER-WIDE SURVEY ON HOW TO WOO HIS BOO??

Felicite: Oh my god.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH BECAUSE THIS IS TOO GOOD. IMMA SAY IT. HE’S SIMPIN’ FOR Y/N.

Ronin stares at the screen.

The nerve. The audacity.

These punks. Absolute ingrates. He gives them a space to thrive, to indulge their weird little murder hobbies, and this is the thanks he gets?

He’s cool. Ice-cold. Too smooth to care. …And yet—

The corner of his mouth twitches. A little.

They’re all still going.

hitmeuppp: if it’s NOT y/n i’m actually gonna riot.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRUH WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE??

K9: I hate all of you.

hitmeupp: WAIT. HOLD UP. What if Y/N SEES THIS???

Ronin’s heart skips.

Yeah. What if?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: OMG OMG OMG I’M GONNA PING ‘EM.

goreboy: don’t you dare.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: @Y/N @Y/N @Y/N HEY, BESTIEEEE~

Ronin grips his phone a little too tight. He should stop this.

He won’t.

Because somewhere—deep down—he kind of likes it.

Angelic: luca omg ur gonna get us all murdered.

hitmeuppp: worth it.

K9: Idiots.

Felicite: …This is sort of cute.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH THIS IS LORE. I HOPE Y/N SEES THIS.

Angelic: fr. like imagine logging in and seeing the whole server clowning on ronin for being a lovesick freak.

goreboy: y’all must have a death wish.

Ronin exhales sharply through his nose.

[PRIVATE GROUP CHAT – “Ronin Babysitting Squad”] (Created by Angelicc)

Members: Angelic, Eviscerator1990, Ai Hua, Goreboy

Angelic: this feels like a weird intervention

goreboy: this feels like a weird mistake

Eviscerator1990: Shut up, kid. We’re here to help.

Ai Hua: 🙂 what’s wrong?

Ronin blinks at his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is humiliating. Why did he think letting Vince of all people into this would be a good idea? The guy still thinks dial-up internet is modern technology.

And Ai Hua? Pure terror in the form of a woman. Always smiling. Always watching. Respect

He should leave.

He doesn’t.

Eviscerator1990: So. What happened.

goreboy: nothing happened, grandpa.

Angelic: that’s not what the ENTIRE SERVER says~

Ai Hua: 🤔

Eviscerator1990: Be honest. You wouldn’t DM all these punks unless it was serious.

Ronin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Why the hell is it these three? Of all people.

His thumbs hover—then, finally, he types.

goreboy: hypothetically. if i wanted to do… something. for someone. what’s a good gift?

Silence. Too much silence.

His stomach twists. Mistake. Huge mistake.

Ai Hua: ❤️

Eviscerator1990: …Is it Y/N?

goreboy: who else?

Vince sends three dots. The dreaded “typing…” lingers for a long, long time.

Ronin’s jaw tightens. Here it comes.

Eviscerator1990: Son. You got it bad.

Ronin groans. He should burn the server down. All of it. Reduce it to digital ash.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good.

goreboy: good??

Angelic: she’s right tho.

Eviscerator1990: So. What kind of thing are you thinking? Big? Small?

Ronin exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. Big? Small? Hell if he knows.

You’re good to him. Too good. And all his sharp little edges don’t feel quite so sharp around you. It’s annoying. It’s addictive. It’s yours.

goreboy: …something they’ll remember.

A long pause. Ai Hua is still smiling. Vince sends an emoji that looks suspiciously like a knife. Angelic? Predictably losing her shit.

Angelic: oh my god. oh my GOD.

goreboy: do not.

Angelic: no because this is so cute i’m gonna DIE.

Vince, at least, is playing it straight. Mostly.

Eviscerator1990: Personal. That’s what you want. Something that means something.

Ai Hua: 💌

A love letter. Of course Ai Hua would suggest something that sappy.

Ronin scoffs—but he doesn’t immediately shoot it down. Weird.

Eviscerator1990: Back in the day, I’d leave my girl notes on the bodies. You know—real romantic.

Ai Hua: ❤️ he did. very sweet.

goreboy: romantic is one word for it.

Angelic: okay okay but what does y/n like?

He knows. Of course he knows. Your coffee order. The way you hum under your breath when you’re lost in thought. How you scrunch your nose when you’re about to call him an idiot.

You like him. Which is the real problem.

goreboy: they like me.

Angelic: ugh barf

Eviscerator1990: Okay. Make it about you, then. Something only you could give.

Ronin blinks. Something only he could give.

The thought sticks—hooks deep. A dangerous idea, curling slow and warm in his chest.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you’ll figure it out.

He hates how much that simple, sweet little emoji makes him feel seen.

Eviscerator1990: Don’t mess it up, kid.

Eviscerator1990: Listen, kid—when you’ve been married as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.

Ronin immediately regrets his life choices.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. He considers leaving. Deleting the server. Moving to a cave and never speaking again.

goreboy: oh god here we go

Angelic: oh god here we go

Ai Hua: 🙂

Vince, undeterred, continues typing like he’s delivering the gospel.

Eviscerator1990: Our wedding? Best thing I ever did. No question.

goreboy: what, was it a bloodbath?

For a second, nothing. Then—

Eviscerator1990: Nah. Garden wedding. Real classy.

Ronin nearly drops his phone.

goreboy: you. YOU. Garden wedding??

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. Had flowers and everything. I wore a tux. Looked sharp as hell.

Ai Hua: ❤️ you did.

He can feel Angelic vibrating through the screen.

goreboy: no.

Ronin scrubs a hand over his face. This cannot be real life.

Eviscerator1990: Point is— That was my gift to her.

That hooks him. Annoying, sentimental, and probably too much sugar in his bloodstream—but it sticks.

goreboy: you’re telling me the best thing you ever gave her was a wedding?

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. ’Cause it meant forever. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She still scares the hell outta me.

Ai Hua: 👍

Eviscerator1990: But that’s how you know it’s real.

There’s a long pause. Ronin swears he can hear Angelic trying to choke down her squeals.

Ai Hua: 🙂 do you like them enough to marry?

His heart lurches.

The words hang there—quiet, patient.

Ai Hua doesn’t push. She never does. It’s not her way. She just lays it out, all soft-spoken and warm, like a mother easing her child into something bigger than they understand.

And for once, he doesn’t know.

goreboy: …kinda?

Angelic: KIND OF??

Eviscerator1990: What kinda answer is “kinda?” Either you want it, or you don’t.

Ronin huffs. He leans back on the couch, biting the inside of his cheek. Want. What a word.

goreboy: i want them. i want them to stay.

Ai Hua sends a heart. Just one.

Ai Hua: 🙂 then maybe… Do it your way.

His way.

His mouth curves. Dangerous. Wicked. Oh, he can do that.

Ai Hua: I’m sure Y/N likes you enough.

Something in his chest twists.

Likes him enough to deal with his bullshit. Likes him enough to stay, even when he’s all sharp corners and messy feelings. Likes him enough to keep his name on their tongue, even when it’d be easier not to.

Ai Hua: Whatever you give them that lasts longer— They’ll love it.

He blinks. The words sit heavy.

Ai Hua: Because it’s you. That’s how I feel about my husband.

Quiet. It’s too quiet. Even Angelic—who lives to make everything her business—doesn’t send a single obnoxious emoji.

And Ronin?

He stares at the screen, stomach flipping, heart hammering out some rhythm he refuses to name.

He doesn’t do forever. Doesn’t play nice, doesn’t stick around, doesn’t—

But for you?

Yeah. Maybe he does.

goreboy: Thanks

Eviscerator1990: You’re welcome.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good luck.

Angelic: this is the CUTEST thing that’s ever happened in this cursed server...

Ai Hua: 🙂 one more thing.

His thumb hovers over the exit button. Something about Ai Hua, though—you don’t ignore her when she asks.

goreboy: what.

Ai Hua: It’s fine.

He frowns.

goreboy: what is.

Ai Hua: The way you love them. It doesn’t have to be a wedding. It just has to be you.

He freezes.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Something sharp scrapes under his ribs.

You.

He’s not soft. Not simple. Not the kind of guy who shows up with roses and a ring and a stupid, starry-eyed smile. But you don’t want that. Never have.

You want him. Exactly as he is—rough edges, black heart, wicked mouth.

And maybe—maybe—that’s enough.

Ai Hua: They love your style. Show them it, my son.

His mouth twitches.

goreboy: did you just call me your son?

Eviscerator1990: We kinda adopted you, kid. Sorry. No returns.

Ai Hua: 🙂

A beat of silence. Then—

goreboy: tch. whatever. not like i needed another family.

Ai Hua: ❤️ but you have one.

His chest aches. Stupid. Sentimental. Unbearable.

Eviscerator1990: And hey— Our kids keep asking when they’re gonna see Uncle Ronin again.

His laugh slips out before he can stop it—low, breathy. Of course they do. Little gremlins.

goreboy: tell ‘em i said to stay in school.

Ai Hua: 🙂 they want to be like you.

Oh, hell no.

goreboy: no they don’t.

Eviscerator1990: One of ‘em tried to make a fake server last week. Called it “Slaughterhouse Jr.”

goreboy: i am not responsible for that.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you inspire them.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. This is a nightmare.

goreboy: y’all are gonna give me grey hair.

Eviscerator1990: You’d still be pretty.

Angelic: oh my god.

Ai Hua: 🙂 will you be okay?

For a long time, he doesn’t answer.

Will he be okay? With this? With you—taking up space in his chest, clawing your way under his skin?

He already knows the answer.

goreboy: yeah.

And for once—just once—he means it.

goreboy: thanks. or whatever.

Ai Hua: 🙂 anytime.

Now onto, you and him

goreboy: Hey, darlin’.

A simple text. Too simple. He never starts like that without a plan. Trouble in four letters.

You barely get through your day before your phone buzzes again. And again. And—

goreboy: what, too busy for lil’ old me? tragic.

goreboy: bet you’re sittin’ there missin’ me, huh?

goreboy: wait—don’t tell me. you’re makin’ heart eyes at your desk or somethin’.

goreboy: don’t blame you. i’m a lot to miss.

He’s annoying. Even through a screen. Even when you know he’s probably lounging somewhere, all long legs and lazy smirk—half-bored, half-plotting his next move.

Still. Your heart gives that stupid flutter. You glance at your phone, biting back a smile as you finally reply.

You: you left without saying anything :(

A beat. Then—

goreboy: oh, baby. don’t tell me you’re poutin’.

You roll your eyes.

You: maybe.

He’s quick—too quick.

goreboy: fuck. now i really wanna see it.

Your cheeks warm. He’s unbearable. Always poking, always pushing. And yet—

You: you didn’t have to leave so fast.

His next text comes slower. As if he’s thinking. You imagine him slumped in that busted leather chair in his garage—legs spread, boots kicked up, twirling a screwdriver or some other sharp thing between his fingers.

goreboy: duty called, sugar. had to open up the garage. wouldn’t want my precious toys collectin’ dust.

You: you’re ridiculous.

goreboy: and yet, here you are, talkin’ to me anyway.

You: i’m soft for you, obviously.

A whole minute passes. When he finally replies, it’s slower. Something tugs beneath the teasing. Something heavier.

goreboy: hey.

goreboy: you’d like… whatever i did for you, yeah?

You blink. Where is this coming from?

You: of course.

goreboy: nah, i mean— like. if i did somethin’ stupid. you’d still like it, right?

Your lips curl. So that’s it. The devil himself, circling the point like a shark.

You: depends. how stupid are we talkin’?

He sends a dramatic sigh emoji.

goreboy: unbelievable. here i am, barin’ my heart and soul—

You: pfft. heart and soul, my ass.

Still, you soften. Because under all the bravado, you can hear it—the little twist of hesitation. And that? That gets you every time.

You: whatever you’re scheming, yeah. i’ll like it. because it’s you.

You hit send before you can overthink it. Let him sit with that.

And oh, does he. For a second too long. When his next message comes, it’s something softer—something unguarded.

goreboy: dangerous thing to say, sweetheart. you know i’ll hold you to it.

You bite your lip, warmth curling in your chest.

You: i’m counting on it.

He doesn’t answer immediately. You imagine him leaning back, teeth sinking into his lower lip, mind working a mile a minute. Because that’s the thing with him—he never stops thinking. Never stops wanting.

And you—you’re the worst of it.

His brain tells him he shouldn’t care so much. But his heart? His heart’s already tangled up in you.

goreboy: s’pose i’ll have to cook up somethin’ real special then. can’t have my darlin thinkin’ i don’t care.

It makes your stomach flip.

You: i never think that.

Another pause. You swear you can feel his smile through the screen—soft, a little crooked. The kind he only ever lets you see.

goreboy: I....see...

Uptown has an alley they call Purgatory.

It isn’t pretty. Never was. A place where sunlight doesn’t dare creep, where the air tastes like rust and regret. Blood dries black against the brickwork—his blood, most days. Or someone else’s, when he’s feeling generous. It smells like piss, garbage, and death.

A shithole. Perfect.

This—this—is where Ronin Beaufort decides to propose.

Because where else? Where better? It’s where you kissed him for the first time, after all—the devil himself, knuckles raw from the man he’d left twitching at your feet, teeth red and grin wide. You’d kissed him anyway. Kissed him like you meant it. Like he was something worth keeping.

And Ronin? He’s not one to let things go.

So, he makes a plan. A fucked-up, perfect plan.

The first body is easy.

An uptight corporate asshole. Buttoned-up, boring, all crisp lines and no soul. Ronin cracks his skull open like a candy shell. Blood spatters wide, painting the concrete. Nice start. But not enough. Not for you.

The second one’s better. Messier. He takes his time—drags it out. A real piece of work, some wannabe kingpin, all bark and no bite. Ronin guts him slow, pulls pretty red ribbons from his stomach. He uses the crowbar for the heart—your heart, darling—and carves it deep into the brick. Wide, jagged, dripping. Personal.

When it’s done, he steps back, tilts his head.

Huh. Cute.

He’s still admiring his work when his phone buzzes.

Angelic: yo, goreboy, you rang?

Of course, she picks up. She always does—his favorite little devil with a halo, sharp-tongued and twice as nosy. And yeah, he could’ve asked anyone, but Angel? Angel gets it.

goreboy: need a favor.

Angelic: what’s in it for me?

goreboy: the eternal satisfaction of servin’ the devil?

Angelic: pfft.

He snorts, tongue running over his teeth. Predictable.

goreboy: fine. order me somethin’. rings.

Angelic: wait. back up. goreboy’s proposing?

He glares at his phone like it personally offended him.

goreboy: shut up.

Angelic: aw, you’re getting soft. what kind? black diamonds? skulls? molten lava straight from hell?

“Funny,” he mutters under his breath. But she’s not wrong. Your ring—your ring has to be perfect.

goreboy: black. gothic. whatever screams “marry me"

The typing bubble appears. Pauses. Then—

Angelic: lucky you, i got a guy.

Of course, she does.

goreboy: knew there was a reason i kept you around.

Angelic: anything for the devil. even if i gotta play cupid for my ex.

He rolls his eyes. “Christ.”

goreboy: Thanks Angel, Won't give up my child for a week.

Angelic: I'll just kill it again

Yeah. Yeah, he would. Not that he’d admit it.

goreboy: whatever. send me the bill.

Her last message comes fast—too fast. He can hear the smile.

Angelic: oh, darling. it’s on the house.

goreboy: Send it, you know- I don't do these Angel.

Angelic: You're cute, No. Just take the rings

He huffs a laugh, shoves his phone back in his pocket. One thing down.

By the time the sun starts to dip, Purgatory looks like an art installation straight from hell. Bodies like broken marionettes. Blood like paint, dripping in slow, thick rivulets. And at the center of it all—the heart.

Your heart.

His.

If he had one.

And if he didn’t? Well. You stole it anyway.

Ronin leans against the wall, crowbar still sticky in his grip.

What the hell is he doing?

Proposing.

Fucking proposing.

He should be laughing at himself. Should be smirking, at least. But his jaw ticks, his fingers flex, and there’s something ugly crawling under his skin—a feeling he doesn’t like.

It’s not the blood. Not the mess. That’s easy.

It’s you. It’s always you.

And the worst part? The sick, stupid, beautiful part?

He wants this.

Wants you.

He wants to keep you—ruin you—for as long as you’ll let him.

His phone buzzes again. Another message from Angel—this time with a picture.

The rings.

Sleek. Sharp. One for you, one for him. Bound in black, wrapped in silver. Yours is thinner, more delicate—but not by much. No diamonds. No fluff. Just you and him, the way it’s always been.

Perfect.

He huffs a breath, tongue clicking against his teeth.

Yeah. Yeah, this’ll do.

It’s almost cute, really.

If you ignore the bodies.

And the blood.

And the fact that he’s doing this the only way he knows how—messy and wrong and completely, utterly him.

He swipes the sweat from his brow, steps back, and admires his work.

A heart, jagged and dripping. A graveyard of the unworthy. Rings on the way.

And for you? Anything.

Even this. Especially this.

Because when the time comes—when he kneels, all cocky smirk and bloodstained hands—you’ll say yes.

You have to.

(And if you don’t? Well. He’s never been good at taking no for an answer.)

Ronin lights a cigarette, lets the smoke curl in his throat.

The devil himself, on one knee.

Christ.

What the hell has he become?

Yours.

And God help anyone who tries to take that away.

goreboy: hey darlin’~

Your phone buzzes against the desk, and you barely glance down before his name flashes across the screen. Of course, it’s him.

you: hey yourself. what’s up?

goreboy: what’s up? tsk. rude—can’t a guy check on his favorite little writer?

You smile, shaking your head. Always like this.

you: oh? i’m your favorite now?

goreboy: pfft. babe, you’ve been my favorite. since day one. don’t let it get to your head, though. my heart’s fragile, y’know.

you: lmao, fragile?? you??

goreboy: i’m delicate. like a flower. 🌹

You roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. Ridiculous.

you: what do you want, ronin?

goreboy: what, a man can’t just miss you? ‘sides… i’m bored.

Of course, he is. The devil himself, restless as ever.

you: poor baby. what am i supposed to do about that?

goreboy: come see me.

You blink at the screen, heart skipping. Oh.

you: …right now?

goreboy: yeah.

you: where?

goreboy: purgatory.

Your brows furrow. He’s teasing. He has to be.

you: lmao. you’re joking, right?

goreboy: when do i ever joke, darlin’?

A pause. Then—

goreboy: seriously. come by. just for me.

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest. This—this—is why you’re in too deep.

you: fine. what’s the occasion?

goreboy: pfft. gotta have a reason? but if you must know…

Another buzz—

goreboy: maybe i got somethin’ for you.

Your heart stutters.

you: something? what kind of “something”?

goreboy: you’ll see, babe. gotta keep a little mystery alive, yeah?

You roll your eyes—fondly, though. Always like this.

you: okay, fine. any special requests?

goreboy: oh, now we’re talkin’. dress in black for me, sweetheart. if you wanna, anyway.

You tilt your head, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s playing, but there’s something beneath it—something serious.

you: you like gothic, huh?

goreboy: on you? hell yeah.

you: good. ‘cause so do i.

goreboy: ...perfect.

Is it your imagination, or did he just… stammer?

you: did you just freeze up?

goreboy: shut up.

The alleyway known as Purgatory is as familiar as it is haunting—a place you want to hate but can’t. Your heels click softly against the cracked pavement, the air thick with the scent of blood, metal, and something distinctly him. It’s always him. Even when he’s nowhere to be seen, his shadow lingers like an inescapable ghost.

Tonight, though, there’s something different.

Your black dress clings to you like a second skin, just the way he likes it. You don’t want to think about why your heart’s racing, or why you dressed up like you were meeting someone important. But it’s him—you know it’s always him.

And when you turn the corner, your breath catches in your throat.

A heart.

Not just any heart—A jagged, messy thing carved into the wall in dripping red. Blood, fresh and dark, soaks the concrete like an offering. The heart is wide and chaotic, edges splattered like he couldn’t help but make a mess. But in the center, etched with the brutal precision only he could manage, is your name.

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. And yet—your pulse flutters. Your stomach twists in that awful, dizzying way it only does with him.

A soft metallic scrape echoes behind you—the unmistakable sound of a crowbar dragging across the pavement. Your skin prickles, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Damn,” his voice purrs, smooth and sinful. “Look at you, sweetheart.”

When you do turn, he’s leaning against the brick wall like the devil himself, framed in the neon glow. Ronin.

Black beanie pulled low over his burgundy hair, the devil horns stitched into the sides making him look every inch the trouble he is. His leather jacket gleams under the dim light—studded, spiked, with a pair of rusty scissors sticking haphazardly through the shoulder. A red ‘X’ pin glints beside it, careless and dangerous. Beneath, his black t-shirt clings to him—faded skull design stretched across his chest like it belongs there. His maroon pants hang low on his hips, ripped just enough to tease, and the chains hooked along his belt jingle softly with every move.

And—God—the piercings. Silver glints along his ears, across his tongue when he grins, and the delicate sword pendant resting against his throat? Unfair.

He’s looking at you like he’s starving. Like you’re already his, and tonight, he’s reminding you of it.

“You came,” he murmurs, dragging the crowbar behind him as he approaches. “Knew you couldn’t resist me, darlin’.”

Your throat tightens as he stops in front of you—towering, all six-foot-one inches of bloodstained disaster. There’s that wild glint in his blackened eyes, something feverish and yours. The air crackles between you, electric and dizzying.

His gloved hand reaches out, and before you can react, his fingers lace with yours—gentle, almost. His touch is rough, warm, and when he lifts your hand toward his mouth, your heart stutters.

“A devil’s gotta mark his territory, huh?” he hums, lips brushing against your knuckles.

And then—he kisses your ring finger. Soft, deliberate—like it means something. Like it means everything.

Your face burns, and you try to pull your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb traces slow circles over your skin, almost absentmindedly—like he’s savoring the feel of you. Always touching. Always wanting.

“What—” your voice catches, breathless. “What is this, Ronin?”

He grins, sharp and wicked. “You like it?” he asks, tipping his head toward the bloodied heart. “Told ya I had something for you, babe. Can’t say I’m not romantic.”

Romantic.

The mess—the blood—the sheer violence of it—this is how he shows it. Twisted, wrong, and so perfectly him. And the worst part? You love it. You love how much he’s willing to ruin things for you.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, but your fingers curl against his palm like you don’t mean it.

“And yet,” he drawls, dipping closer—his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear, “here you are.”

You shiver.

He steps back just enough to meet your gaze, head tilted, that cocky tilt to his lips—but something softer lingers underneath. Something unsure.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” his voice drops, smooth and low. “Whatever I do… you still gonna want me?”

The words shouldn’t hit you as hard as they do. Because underneath all the bravado—beneath the teasing and the devil-may-care attitude—he’s asking if you’ll stay. If you’ll keep coming back to him.

If you’re his.

And you should be scared. You should. But instead, you brush your fingers against his jaw—soft, almost too soft.

“Of course I do, idiot,” you murmur, and his breath hitches—just barely. “I always want you.”

For once, he doesn’t have a comeback. Just stares at you like he can’t quite believe it. Like you’re something precious.

And when he kisses you—slow and bruising, like a promise..

His arms curl around your waist—possessive, like he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Dressed in black and soaked in sin, he pulls you against him, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

“Sorry, lover,” he drawls, smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut, “you can’t look back now.”

The neon red light hums around you both, staining everything it touches—casting the blood-slick walls in a glow that shouldn’t be beautiful, but it is. Because it’s him. Because it’s you. The blood, the guts—it all looks like a twisted love letter only he could write.

And the heart—still dripping on the wall with your name carved into its center—feels like a vow.

A promise he’s daring you to accept.

He leans back just enough to drink you in, eyes black as the void and twice as deep. The silver glint of his piercings catches the light, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your heart twist. Something dark. Something dangerous. And God, something that’s only for you.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” he muses, like the whole bloodstained mess is just a casual art project. But there’s something else in his tone—something softer when he adds, “Made it special, darlin’… just for you.”

You should say something—maybe call him out for how utterly insane this is—but your tongue feels too heavy, trapped between your teeth as you try to process everything.

It’s a lot. He’s a lot.

And yet, your body betrays you—pressing closer, heart fluttering against his chest like a trapped bird. You hate how easily he pulls you under, how effortlessly he spins you into his gravity—but there’s no escaping it now.

He tilts your chin up with one gloved finger, lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teases, “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too busy fallin’ for me?”

You try to roll your eyes. Try. But his touch burns, and when he lifts your hand to his mouth—again—you forget how to breathe.

His lips brush against your knuckles—slow, deliberate—before they linger on your ring finger. It’s so soft you barely feel it at first. Just the faintest pressure. Something warm. Something cold.

And when he pulls back, there’s a glint of silver wrapped around your finger.

Your breath stutters. Your heart stops.

A ring.

Not dainty. Not soft. It’s him—jagged edges, blackened silver with the faintest blood-red inlay spiraling like a twisted promise. It’s heavy against your skin, unapologetic in its meaning.

And you didn’t even notice him slipping it on.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, but he’s already watching you—waiting.

“Ronin—” your voice catches, and you don’t even know what you’re about to ask. What this means.

His grin widens, devilish and sharp. “What’s the matter, babe?” he coos, as if he didn’t just slide a ring on your finger like it was nothing. “Thought you liked surprises.”

You blink—once, twice—your thoughts spiraling, and he takes advantage of the silence. His hand slides along the small of your back, pulling you flush against him while his other hand traces absent circles over the ring.

“Fits perfect,” he hums, pleased with himself. “Guess that means you’re mine, huh?”

Your heart does something awful and traitorous in your chest.

He’s too much. Too close. And you—you’re letting him do this.

Still, your fingers twitch beneath his—testing the weight of the ring, the feel of it like a brand. Permanent.

“You—” Your voice trembles despite yourself. “You didn’t even ask.”

His laughter spills out, low and rough. “Baby, if I asked, would you really’ve said no?”

You hate how easily he’s right.

The gloved hand on your back slides up—tracing the delicate curve of your spine—until it rests against your neck. He tilts your head back, just enough to force you to meet his eyes. Dark. Intense. Yours.

“You’re not mad, are ya?” he murmurs, voice softer now, like there’s actually a part of him that cares. “’Cause I can take it back if you don’t want it. If you don’t want… me.”

His mask slips—just a little—and your stomach twists at the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.

But you don’t let him pull away. Not this time.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the leather of his jacket, grounding yourself in the heat of him. Your thumb brushes over the ring—cool against your skin—and it should feel too much. Too fast. Too everything.

But all it feels is right.

“Idiot,” you murmur, and his grip tightens like he’s terrified you’ll slip away. “I’d never take it off.”

The relief in his expression is palpable—masked by a cocky smirk, ]

His lips barely part from yours when he whispers it—low, rough, like a vow dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Promise you," he murmurs, the words brushing warm against your mouth, "this is forever… or ‘til one of us dies."

And just like that, your brain short-circuits.

Your breath hitches. Your body freezes. You’re too stunned to speak—because, what the hell?

Forever. Forever with him—the blood-streaked, chaos-wrapped mess of a man currently holding you like he never plans on letting go. His hands are still warm against you, firm, and there’s no teasing lilt to his voice. No wicked little joke behind his words.

He means it. Ronin means it.

And for a heartbeat—just one—you can’t process it. Can’t wrap your head around the weight of what he’s just given you.

The silence stretches. Grows heavy between you. And for once, he’s the quiet one.

When you lift your gaze to his, wide and unguarded, his expression is almost… shy.

Ronin Beaufort—The Butcher, the devil himself—looks like a goddamn kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but can’t quite manage it. His hands fidget slightly on your waist—restless energy bottled under his skin. And his eyes? Pitch-black and wide open, like he’s waiting for you to either run or ruin him.

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, shoulders hunching the tiniest bit like a kid who just handed over a crayon drawing and is desperately hoping you’ll stick it to the fridge.

"Uh—" His voice cracks just a little—a little—and you swear you catch the faintest flush creeping up his neck. "You’re… gonna say somethin’, right?"

You blink at him. Still speechless.

He fumbles. Actually fumbles—one hand pulling back to rub at the back of his neck as he huffs, "I mean—c’mon, babe, this is kinda the part where you either kiss me back or tell me to go to hell."

The confidence—the usual devil-may-care arrogance—is still there, but it’s softer around the edges. Fragile in a way he never lets anyone see.

And you—oh, you’re doomed.

Your heart does a weird little flip in your chest as you stare at him, still clutching onto your waist like you’ll vanish if he lets go. He’s so much—too much—but under all that swagger and bloodlust, he’s just… Ronin.

Your Ronin.

The idiot who drags you into alleys for romantic blood-and-guts displays. The devil who slid a ring on your finger like it was nothing. The man who—no matter how sharp his tongue is—would burn the world down for you.

“Wait,” you finally manage to choke out, the word soft and breathless. “Did you… are you actually serious?”

His face scrunches up like you just personally insulted his entire aesthetic. “Babe. Did I stutter?” He lifts your hand again, thumb brushing against the cool metal band still snug on your finger. “Or do I gotta get on one knee to spell it out?”

And oh, he’s pouting.

The Butcher—slaughterhouse king, nightmare in leather and spikes—is full-on pouting.

You bite down on your lip, hard, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest. He notices—of course, he does—and immediately narrows his eyes.

“Don’t you dare.” His grip on your waist tightens in warning, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I just poured my goddamn heart out, and you’re laughin’ at me?”

And suddenly—you can’t hold it back.

The laugh escapes—light, breathless, overwhelmed—because what else are you supposed to do when your psychotic, bloodstained boyfriend is acting like a needy kid who just gave you the world’s most chaotic proposal?

His brows knit together in mock offense. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, though his tone is softer—fond—as he watches you melt into laughter. “I give you my heart on a bloodied silver platter, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m not laughing at you—” you try to protest, still breathless. “It’s just… you’re… cute.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, his whole body jerks.

“Cute?!” He repeats it like you’ve committed a personal crime. “I just did the most metal, romantic shit on the planet, and you call me—” He drops his head against your shoulder, groaning. “—cute. Jesus Christ, I’m losin’ my edge.”

You wrap your arms around him without even thinking—pulling him closer, fingers curling into the back of his leather jacket. He smells like smoke, leather, and something distinctly him—something you could drown in if you’re not careful.

And in the middle of the bloodstained alley, wrapped in his arms, you realize there’s no escape. Not from this—not from him.

And, God help you, you don’t want one.

“Hey, Ronin?” you whisper softly against his neck.

“Hmm?” His voice is quieter now—hopeful, like he’s trying not to get ahead of himself.

You tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss beneath his jaw, feeling the slight hitch in his breath. “I’m not taking it off,” you promise. “Ever.”

For a split second, he’s still. Frozen. Like he doesn’t quite believe it.

And then—he’s kissing you again.

The world could burn, and you wouldn’t care—not when he’s in front of you like this. Eyes blacker than sin, lips swollen from kissing you like he’s starving, and hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

But right now, he’s the fragile one.

Your devil—loud, reckless, always too much—is holding his breath. Waiting. Like your next words could either save him or shatter him.

And God, you love him.

Your fingers brush against the ring on your hand—cool metal, heavy with meaning—before you slowly reach for his. His hands—rough, calloused, stained in ways that can’t be washed clean—tremble just a little as you lift his left hand in yours.

"You gave me one," you murmur, soft and steady, as you slide the matching ring onto his finger. "It’s only fair I make you mine, too."

His breath catches. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t even twitch—just watches you with this raw, unfiltered intensity that makes your pulse race.

When you finish, you lace your fingers together, feeling the cool press of metal against your skin. He’s yours now. Yours in the same way you’ve always been his.

And when you speak again—voice barely above a whisper—it’s not for show. Not a tease. Just the truth, laid bare between you.

“I’ll love you forever, Ronin Beaufort.”

Something cracks in his expression—something wild and vulnerable and so, so real.

And you’re not done.

“I’m happy,” you admit, voice trembling just a little. “Happy I met you. Happy I get this—us.” You pause, and there’s this ache in your chest when you smile, soft and almost shy. “Maybe it’ll be destructive. Maybe it’ll last forever. I don’t care how it ends, Ronin… I just want it with you.”

His grip on your waist tightens—desperate—like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

And you don’t. You just lean closer, until your lips barely brush against his, and whisper the words that have been burning on your tongue since the day he dragged you into his twisted little world:

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

For one breathless moment, he doesn’t react.

And then—he moves.

He crashes into you, mouth slanting over yours with bruising intensity, like he’s trying to brand those words into your skin—into your bones. Like he wants to crawl inside your heart and never leave.

It’s messy, overwhelming, and so perfectly him—and you give yourself to it completely.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as he devours you—sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip, a low growl curling from the back of his throat like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out.

When he finally pulls back—just enough to breathe—his lips hover over yours, and his voice is wrecked.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

The words are rough, but his hands tremble where they hold you. “Why would you love someone like me?”

Your heart squeezes, and you don’t even hesitate.

“Because you’re you.”

And, for once, he’s speechless.

No snark. No teasing. Just the weight of your confession sinking into his bones—binding you together in a way no bloodstained vow ever could.

He drops his forehead against yours, breathing hard, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You better be sure, sweetheart. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me now.”

Your fingers tangle in the chains hanging from his jacket as you grin. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

His lips barely ghost over yours, teasing, waiting, giving you a chance to breathe—but you don’t take it. You can’t. Because then he kisses you.

And God, he kisses you like he means it.

Like he’s sealing the promise in blood and breath, branding it into your bones with the press of his lips. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Like he needs to hold on just to make sure you’re still real.

It’s slow and deep—no rush, no hesitation—just pure possession.

Your heart pounds. Your fingers tangle in the chains on his jacket, desperate to keep your balance because he’s overwhelming. He always is.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless—dazed—barely clinging to reality as he huffs out a quiet, wicked laugh.

Then—he grins. Sharp and smug, eyes flashing with something wild.

"Oh, that old man won’t shut up about how we’re not married, huh?" He snickers, tapping a gloved finger against the ring on your hand. "Guess you better show it off, sweetheart. Be loud ‘n proud about it—rub it in his face."

You don’t answer.

Because you’re still dizzy from his kiss...

It's gonna be a long night

[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

[lav-is-writing]

Hii!! Could you please write Ronin x really really clingy and touch starved reader? Like they're constantly clinging onto him, kissing him, cuddling n hugging him, and when they can't do that theyre just messaging him like every 5 minutes? <33

Ronin with a Clingy!Reader (Headcanon edition)

warnings: none

pairing: Ronin x Reader

wc: 267

a/n: struggled with this one a bit, I think I may have another one? Sorry T-T

Ronin wouldn't really mind, at first. He loved being able to hold you, and it was something that he was set on doing regardless of if you wanted to hold him back. So when the two of you first met, he was pleasantly surprised to have you clinging onto him the entire time.

Sleeping alone was a big no. Even though you clung onto him during the day, it seemed like you weren't ever done. If Ronin even tried to move, you shot up in the bed, tears welling in your eyes. Although he knew you were being overdramatic, he couldn't decline you your midnight hugs.

And when the time came for him to return home? Constant messages. Even when he put on "Do Not Disturb", the second he turned it off, he was spammed with "How are you?", "Are you okay?", and "I'm worried" texts. At one point, he was terrified by the fact that you could send so many.

It became humiliating to murder while what remained of your kisses stained his face. But Ronin knew that if he wiped them off, you'd just place more when he got home. When the news heard of the famous Butcher murdering with love marks? Oh, they were ecstatic.

Many tried to claim the title, but they were typically greeted with the opportunity to see his crowbar up close, each one hunted down- sorry- found in a totally legal way.

Ronin's used to it at this point. The constant hugs and cuddles were now something he looked forward to, and he would always give his own in return.

[spiderlilywritings]

Ronin Beaufort Boyfriend Headcanons

Trigger Warnings: mentions of blood, murder, gore

Well. You're in for a wild ride with Ronin Beaufort as your lover. He's not a green flag by any means, but he cares and genuinely loves you, even if he shows it in twisted ways sometimes. (Hearts drawn in blood, maybe giving you an aorta, sending pictures of his gruesome murders in #killer_shit with the caption "this for You, baby" and oh would you look at that, it's the guy that's been harassing you yesterday—)

Never runs out of nicknames for you. Will probably come up with the cheesiest/sappiest nickname just to see your reaction. It cracks him up. ("Baby. Sweetheart. Darling. Pookie. Sweet apple crumble pop with strawberries—")

If you own a vehicle like a car or a motorcycle, he's your go-to mechanic. He'll take your money and maybe a little bit extra later. ("Aww, don't give me that look, darlin'. I just wanted a kiss 's all. Hahaha!") Shows off a little bit of that muscle if you hang around while he's working. His sweetheart's there, gotta impress them right? (And if you're the type to get embarassed easily, it's more fun for him.)

Speaking of vehicles, I'm not sure if Ronin owns one, but if you do, why not take your little Devil for a late night drive? I think he'll enjoy them. Just you and him, enjoying the night air, letting the scenery pass by.

We've already seen it in the games; he's perceptive and if there's something troubling you, he'll know. He's all ears if you wanna talk about it. Or if you don't, he might think of a way to get you to open up. It's not healthy to bottle everything up after all. He's had to deal with his own issues and being stuck in your own head can be... a lot.

Sometimes, you may have impromptu late night talks with Ronin. Trading secrets and all that. Sorting out some feelings and traumas of the past. Those talks can get heavy but things always feel a bit lighter at the end. That's good, isn't it?

He's supportive. He lets you do your own thing, lets you enjoy yourself and indulge in what you love. As long as you take care of yourself too. He might even join you. ("Aren't you a cutie with that smile on your face. Come onnnnnn, show me more, baby.")

I think he'd like those silly couple shirts. The ones with lines like one shirt has "If lost, return to the bastard" and the other is "The bastard" Or just matching things in general. Maybe you want matching plushies, or jewelry, etc. He's down for it.

Learning first aid is recommended if you haven't already. At least, you'd know what to do when Ronin comes to you injured. Victims don't just lay down and wait for their fate. Of course they want to live and some will literally fight for their lives. Ronin keeps himself in shape, but some injuries are just unavoidable. He doesn't like seeing your worried face, so he's quick to ease your worries with his usual bravado.

Horror movie nights are a given. And if you're the type to scare easily (ironic since you're with a serial killer), prepare for some light teasing. Here's a not-so-secret though: Ronin loves it when you cling to him. He likes being able to feel you. Whether it's small instances like your hands brushing against his to you outright hanging onto him like a koala bear. Make him feel your warmth, that you're there. That you'll always be there. (Not. Not like— well, technically they're still— but not there. Not here. Not anymore. Just a memory now that will always haunt him. They left his heart bleeding. And then, an  "Angel" patched it up. He still bleeds a little. But it's bearable. And now. Now, you—)

Tick... tick... tick...

The sheets rustle. The clock continues to tick. Ronin hears your sleepy little murmurs as you frolicked in dreamland.

He chuckles, one of his hands moving to play with a lock of your hair. The sight of you curled up on his bed, in his damn shirt, "Darlin', if this is your way of killin' me slowly, it's working. Juuust a little."

In response, you unconsciously snuggle into his chest. Really now.

Sleeping so peacefully with a serial killer? Maybe he got rid of your sense of self preservation; maybe got some screws loose in that pretty little head of yours.

Ronin pulls you closer.

This was nice. Makes him remember those times when it was easier. As easy as it can get back in Angelwood anyway.

He left that place behind, danced in hell's flames like the Devil he is, letting rot and decay follow him. He didn't mind. Let 'em haunt him till the day he croaks.

When he closes his own eyes, he sees Ther; a reminder of what he had. Of what he lost. Feels like they'll always haunt him too. There, but not there. A spirit? An illusion? No. Maybe just that lingering love he's always going to feel for his childhood best friend.

Ther's gone.

After Ther, came Maria. Maria. Sweet, sweet Saint Maria helped him heal and move on.

And now he's got another angel in his arms. Ronin thinks that's hysterical. The Devil attracts angels it seems like. Wings and all. Letting them decay till those feathers fall and the wings are nothing but bone. It's like giving the middle finger to the good ol' god those old fashioned folks at Angelwood worshipped.

How's that for blasphemy?

[lilygoofywritingcave]

Proposing to the KC! LIs

Finally, after a few months with the serial killers, it seems you have found true love with one of them! Are you brave enough to propose and bare the "consequences", or just curious how would they react?

Misaki Katsuo, the Silly and Chaotic Reaper

Misaki is an absolute gremlin, if you ever think that proposing to them will be romantic and graceful, you're dead wrong.

Places: A rooftop overlooking the city night. We all know Misaki loves the thrill of being high up, and with the city lights below, it feels like a moment stolen from a dream. You propose while they were laughing at some dumb joke, completely catching them off guard.

Reaction: The second you reveal the ring, Misaki completely freezes. Their chaotic, silly expression fades as their hands tremble, maybe even skipped a bit of heart. Of course, her entire life has been about survival, constantly running and killing for money. No one has ever asked her to stay before.

Putting on the ring: She would try to make jokes to calm herself down: "Damn, Y/N, you're really tryna wife up an assassin? Bold." But her voice cracks as you slipped on the ring and she’s crying before even realizing it. Misaki would insist they don't need a ring that fancy and will try to sell it. But if you got them a ring from a gacha machine? They would wear it everywhere, dead serious, just like the menace she is.

Answer: "You're a dumbass. But you're my dumbass now. So yeah… let's do it." (She definitely isn't hugging the air out of you while sobbing)

Sillies: + First text to SlaughterHouse? "LOOKS WHO'S JUST GOT CUFFED!!!" + "Babe, we gotta get a weapon matching this. A wedding-themed knife set?" + Expect a hyperactive Misaki for the next few days because if they stop they will cry again, oh and let's also mention the millions of marriage memes coming up

Angel/Maria de la Rosa, the Maneating Perfectionist

Angel is elegance, charm, and perfection wrapped in a gorgeous, deadly package. If you think you can propose without making it an unforgettable moment, think again.

Places: A special day, maybe she got promoted, you two went out for a fancy restaurant. You surprise her by slipping the ring into her champagne glass. She was probably thinking about her own proposal plans: “I’ll do it in Paris, or maybe under the northern lights…” when she noticed the ring, time just stopped.

Reaction: Every step of Angel's life has been carefully planned, dedicated to perfection and control. But this? This was never part of the script. She tries to speak, but for once, words failed her. She would try to stare at your face, searching for some signs of a cruel joke. But there's no deception, just you, offering her something she never dared to dream of, something real.

Putting on the ring: Angel trembles as she admires the ring, not for its value, but because you chose it, just for her. The moment it's slid onto her finger, a soft, breathless laugh escapes, like she can’t believe it’s real. She’ll insist she isn’t crying, but her ruined makeup says otherwise. And if the ring was custom-made? She’ll never take it off—because nothing has ever felt more right.

Answer: "Heaven exists, and it’s right here, in your arms. You’re the only person I’d ever consider going fully vegetarian for. So yes, mi amour, let’s give them something unforgettable" (She’s already planning the wedding down to the last detail.)

Sillies: + First text to SlaughterHouse: "Breaking news: I SAID YES! (And no, I will not be commenting on allegations of Y/N stealing my heart.)" + "I swear, if I ever miss a shot again, I'm blaming it on this ring. Too beautiful to not look at." + Casually flexes her ring in every situation, taking a sip of coffee? Ring in full view. Kissing you? Oh, she definitely tilts her hand just right for the perfect shot.

Ronin Beaufort, the Devil’s Poet of Purgatory

Ronin is a devil dressed in charm, a poet who spills verses like blood. A proposal to him isn’t just about love, it’s about defying god and fate themselves.

Places: "The Purgatory" of course, maybe after a gory kill and he's drenched, pumping with adrenaline. The place where his past sins linger, where the devil in him reigns. And yet, here you are, turning it into something sacred.

Reaction: For once, Ronin is speechless, trying to process if this is real or some prank. He’s spent his whole life running from ghosts of his past, his sins, the shadows of who he’s become. But you? You’re standing there, unwavering, refusing to run. He would definitely get tensed, as if he’s afraid he might lose this moment, lose you: “Darlin’, I ain’t even dead yet, and you already tryna claim my last name?”

Putting on the ring: When you slide it on, Ronin would definitely smirsk: "A wedding ring, huh? Guess that means I’m officially off the market." If you got him a ring with a hidden blade or devil engraving? He’s obsessed but acts like it’s no big deal. He might wear it around his neck at first but when it's on, it's ON.

Answer: "Tsck… You really just tied yourself to the devil, darlin’. If this is a sin, baby, then let me burn for you. Hope you’re ready for a lifetime of crime and bad poetry, ‘cause I ain’t letting you go." (Then he yanks you into a kiss, rough and desperate.)

Sillies: + "Babe, hear me out, matching crowbars engraved with our anniversary date. Just think about it." + Will 100% lean against a wall, flash his ring, and smirk at strangers like: "Single? Couldn’t be me." + First text to SlaughterHouse: "It seems a certatin someone actually looked at me and said, ‘Yeah, I wanna deal with that forever.’ Wild. Also, taking bets on how long it takes before Y/N realizes they made a mistake. Place your wagers wisely."

Valentin Viljoen, the Vigilante with Ice cold Heart

Valentin is a man of structure, morality, and control. But love? Love is unpredictable. Love is terrifying. And yet, here you are, asking him to embrace it.

Places: A short walk near the forest together. Soft golden light shines through the leaves and the scent of flowers linger in the air, truly a part of the Garden of Eden brought alive, where love can bloom freely.

Reaction: Valentin freezes. His mind races, but for once, there is no logical path forward, no neatly laid-out plan. He doesn't react immediately. No sharp breath, no wide-eyed shock, just silence. His whole life has been spent carrying the weight of a protector, the unwavering force of justice. And yet, here you are, asking him to be something else. To be selfish. To be yours.

Putting on the ring: His hands have always been steady in battle and in every aspect of his life, except for now. They tremble as you take his hand, slipping the ring onto his finger. His breath goes unsteady as he turns his hand over, inspecting the way it fits: perfect, inevitable, like it was always meant to be there.

Answer: "Marriage isn’t just a promise. It’s a contract. A duty. A vow I will never break. And I would be honored to spend my life upholding it with you." (He has already acquired a legal marriage paper by now)

Sillies: + “Y/N, does this mean I have to plan the wedding? Because if so, I have prepared a highly efficient multi-tab spreadsheet.” + The first thing he sends: a picture of the marriage certificate, of course... + Has to resist the urge to immediately update his legal documents. ("Should I change my emergency contact to you? Do I list you as my primary benefactor? Actually, give me a moment...")

P/S: I hope everyone had a nice time proposing <3

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine Zayne surprising you on your birthday

— Birthday Present for @cantstoptheimagines —

You let out a groan as you walked up the steps of your apartment building, carefully rotating your shoulder as you attempted to soothe the soreness you felt. It was bad enough that Wanders couldn't give you a break for your birthday - couldn't those Dark Mysts wait until tomorrow to wreak havoc in the No.98 No-Hunt Zone - but with how long the mission took complete, it was way too late to spend time with Zayne. A quick glance at your watch confirmed that thought as the screen flashed 11:11 pm.

Zayne would have just finished his shift at Akso Hospital with the long hours he usually worked. You knew that if you messaged him, he would quickly respond to your text and turn his car around to head over to your apartment. But he already slept so little that you would rather he go to bed and hang out with you the next time he was available.

But as you pulled out your phone to pull up your text thread with Zayne, it would be a lie to say that you didn't feel a bit sad that you couldn't see him on your birthday. He had already sent a sweet happy birthday message and had promised that he would give you your present when you two met up but if you were honest, you would have rather just see him.

Reaching the front door of your place, you quickly entered the key code, ready to shed off your Hunter uniform and pass out of your bed. Pushing open the door, you step inside the dark living room, closing it behind you as your hand moves to the light switch and flick it up. Eyes sweeping the room, you let out a loud gasp and jump up slightly when you spot a familiar bespectacled man in your dining room, platters of pastries and sweets litter your table, and right in the middle of it is a beautifully decorated cake.

"Zayne, you're here!" Taking large strides, you quickly reach him and wrap your arms around him to hug him. He reciprocates just as fast, holding you flush against him as the both of you take the other in. Tilting your head up, you give him a bright smile, all the exhaustion in your body instantly vanishing with him here. "I thought you would go home to sleep after your shift. You must be so tired."

He shakes his head at your words, tilting his head down to look at you, eyes softening as he stares at you, a gentle smile on his face while one of his hands runs down your hair. "I know we made plans to celebrate your birthday another day because of your mission but I still wanted to see you today. After all, how could I miss my love's birthday?"

Despite how often Zayne called you sweet names like that, each one made you blush and caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach. Burying your face in his chest, you only grow more flustered as Zayne chuckles at your reaction, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

Feeling him shift underneath you, you feel him press a kiss to your head before speaking again. "Come blow out the candles and eat some macarons. I ordered your favorite."

[triasticalwarlock]

Which one would you fuck, marry, and kill?

[mariposa-writes]

The Rumor Mill

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Overview: The truth hurts more than the rumors.

CW: infidelity, betrayal, emotional distress, and relationship complications.

As the rumors continued to spread, you couldn't help but feel a jumbled mix of frustration and hurt. Every other day seemed to bring about a new headline or TikTok video speculating on Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift's supposed relationship. You knew that it shouldn't matter. After all, you and Travis were nothing more than friends with benefits. Despite all this, it didn't make the rumors sting any less.

You wouldn't have agreed to being fuck buddies if you'd known what laid ahead. In the beginning, it sounded like a great idea; both of your jobs were too time consuming for any kind of committed relationship. Yet after some time, you started to develop feelings for the six-foot-five tight end, and you couldn't help the ball of anxiety that continued to grow in your stomach, knowing that you'd be the one walking away with a broken heart.

It was Travis's fault, really, for being so infuriatingly perfect. He went above and beyond to make sure you felt cherished, both inside and outside the bedroom. From ordering takeout on your busiest nights to ensuring that your pleasure surpassed his in every encounter, he always left you feeling valued.

He texted you this evening, asking what you were up to. You knew this was his way of inviting himself over for sex. Typically, you'd be all for it, but with all the rumors going around, you decided against it. Sorry, not feeling too good. Started my period. That was the response you gave him. It wasn't completely false - your period had indeed started and you weren't exactly feeling your best either. However, Travis usually didn't mind when you were on your period and the amazing orgasms he gifted tended to ease away any cramps.

You didn't bother waiting for his reply, instead tossing your phone on the white fluffy rug and heading for your kitchen. All you wanted to do was curl up on your couch with a tub of ice cream and watch reruns of love island, to make yourself feel a little better about your life.

You grabbed the rocky road from the fridge, doing just that as you snuggled into your comfy couch. You only made it through one and a half episodes, before your door bell was ringing. You groaned, throwing the blanket off of you and heading for the front door.

It was probably your stupid neighbor lady, wanting to complain about how you didn't hid your trashcans well enough. You yanked open the door, ready to go off on the poor soul standing on the other size, but to your surprise Travis was there with flowers and a grocery bag in his hand, a Walgreens bag specifically.

"Brought you some things to help you feel better," he announced, his tone gentle and caring, making your stomach flutter. Without a word, you stepped aside, inviting him into your space.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he placed the bag and flowers on your spotless kitchen counter. The vibrant bouquet added a touch of color to the room, and you couldn't help but appreciate the gesture even though a knot of mixed emotions still clung to your heart.

"Thanks but you didn't have to do that," you said, your voice laced with genuine gratitude and a hint of reluctance. You wanted to convey your appreciation, but the complicated nature of your relationship with Travis made accepting such kindness a double-edged sword.

A scoff escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you turned away from him. If you truly held a place of significance in his life, why did he talk so casually about his potential involvement with Taylor Swift on his podcast? That single conversation had been the catalyst for all the rumors, and deep down, you couldn't completely dismiss the possibility that they might be true. After all, the two of you rarely shared the intricate details of your day-to-day lives.

His brows furrowed, his concern evident in his furrowed brow. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

He persisted, a determined note creeping into his voice. "It was clearly something."

You hesitated, the words lingering on the tip of your tongue. The turmoil of emotions within you was too tangled to unravel in this moment, but Travis deserved to know your thoughts, even if they were filled with uncertainty.

Sighing, you finally spoke, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "It doesn't matter right now."

He rounded the kitchen island, his steps purposeful as he positioned himself squarely in front of you. In a decisive move, he gently but firmly grasped your wrists, his touch demanding your full attention. "You can tell me if something's wrong," he persisted, his eyes locked onto yours, his determination unwavering.

You drew in a deep breath, your mind racing with the weight of the question that had been gnawing at you. Maybe it was best to confront it head-on, to rip off the bandage, even if it meant facing an uncomfortable truth.

"Are the rumors about you and Taylor Swift true?" The words slipped from your lips, laced with a mixture of anxiety and longing. You held your gaze steady, searching for any hint of honesty in his eyes. "Are you two talking, or dating, or anything like that?" The silence that followed your question stretched, urging you to speak again.

He sighed, releasing your wrists and rubbing his chin, his actions speaking louder than words. The lack of an immediate response told you more than you needed to know, and a wellspring of emotions surged within you.

"Seriously?" you questioned, taking a step back from him, anger seeping into your voice. "I thought you had enough respect to at least end things with me before pursuing an international superstar." You were furious, and the betrayal you felt was palpable.

When you and Travis had embarked on this arrangement, you had agreed on one fundamental rule – exclusivity. Despite the lack of a formal commitment, there was an unspoken understanding that you wouldn't be sleeping with other people, even if your connection wasn't officially labeled as a relationship.

He knew about your past, about your parents and your father's infidelity that had marred your childhood. He knew that infidelity was the one thing you despised above all else. He knew it was the reason you had been hesitant to pursue conventional relationships or believe in the concept of love.

You took a deep, steadying breath, your efforts aimed at quelling the storm of emotions inside you. "You need to go," you said, your voice firm and resolute. When he remained rooted in place, you added with an urgency, "Now."

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice laced with remorse as he retrieved his keys from the kitchen island, his footsteps carrying him toward the front door.

Your silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken disappointment, as you waited for the telltale sound of the door closing behind him. When it finally did, it was as if a dam had burst within you, and the tears flowed freely. Each tear felt like a piece of your heart breaking, and the pain was almost unbearable. You had believed Travis to be a good guy, someone different from the men you had known before. Yet, in this moment, it seemed he had let you down, just like so many others had in the past.

[87kelce]

—tell me, daddy, it's yours

summary: travis returns home from an away game and you just can't wait to get him back into bed with you.

warnings: smut (18+ only, no minors), slight possessiveness, use of daddy kink, size kink, slow sex, semi-rough sex, doggystyle, thigh riding, praise kink, fingering, pussy eating, finger sucking, multiple orgasms, aftercare

word count: 2119

notes: title taken from the song gorilla by bruno mars. this is basically pwp what can i say. again likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 🫶

Nothing felt right when Travis was away. He was home more often than not, but the few days he went to another state for a game, always felt like torture. You promised him you would be fine at home by yourself, but then you always missed him too much and just wished his was home already.

Every time he had an away game, you usually spend most of your time between the couch and the bed, wearing his jersey and wanting nothing more than to be back in his arms. Thankfully today was the day he was travelling back home and you were laying in bed when you heard the front door open and close. It was late and you really should be asleep but you just couldn't, not when you knew he was coming home so soon. The flight wasn't long and you had called him before he left, him letting you know how long he would be. He told you not to wait up for him and just to get some rest, but you heard him dump his bag by the couch before the bedroom door slowly opened.

"Hey baby.. you awake?"

"Mmhm.."

"I'm going for a shower.. I'll be back in 15 minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

He left the door slightly open, walking down the hall to the bathroom. The fifteen minutes he was in the shower for, felt like hours. You just wanted him back in bed, his arms wrapped around you while he kissed all over your face until you were giggling and pushing him away from you. He's always over affectionate when he gets back from an away game, like he's just letting go after a stressful time away, playing in a stadium that's not home.

You were still wearing his jersey, and even after months of wearing it, it still smells of him. It became a comfort item for you whenever he was away, just slipping it on and instantly feeling warm and safe.

Eventually the bedroom door opens again and you don't look at him until you feel the bed dip beside you. Opening your eyes, you see him staring at you, eyes crinkled and a massive grin on his face.

"Hi baby.."

"Hi.."

You scooted across the bed, snuggling into his arms as he kissed your forehead. You buried your head in his neck, and shifted slightly to straddle his thigh. One of his hands found your waist, and rubbed your skin with his thumb, his face turning inwards to kiss your cheek. His beard stubble slightly scratched against your skin and you swore you could almost cry from how much you missed it.

"You miss me or somethin'?"

"Lil' bit.."

He just chuckled, squeezing at your hip. He dipped his head slightly, lips pressing to your neck for a brief kiss. You adored his affectionate side, the side he saved just for you when you were at home together. He was still affectionate to you if you were ever out in public together, but he didn't go overboard with it, saving the best part for when he had you alone. You knew his love language was physical touch and he showed that every time you were in bed, or cooking dinner while he had his hands on your waist, swaying with you while you stirred something in a pan.

"Missed you too.."

He mumbled against your skin, hand squeezing at your waist again. You tried not to make any noise but he heard you softly whine against his skin, his hand now sliding across your lower back to hold your other hip.

"How badly did you miss me, hm?"

"Couldn't help myself while you were away.. but it's not the same without you.."

He tightened the grip he had on your waist, slowly pushing you to grind up and down his thigh, the hem of his shorts bunching up to give you more friction than you were expecting. Your hands moved to fist his t-shirt, gripping onto him as you felt yourself already close to an orgasm. Travis moved his hand that wasn't on your waist, down to the drawstrings on your shorts that were tied in a knot around your waist. He made quick use of his fingers, undoing the knot and pulling your shorts loose, before his hand delved under the waistband. One of your hands immediately went to his wrist, grabbing on as you felt his fingers run through your folds, causing you to almost go limp against him, whimpering into his neck.

"I got you, baby.. I got you.."

He started rubbing circles against your nub, your hand gripping tighter around his wrist. He stopped briefly for a second, then you felt his pinky and index finger spread you open, allowing him to slowly plunge his two middle fingers knuckle deep inside you. All the while he was leaving soft kisses over your neck, listening to your little whines and whimpers against his skin.

"Doing so good for me, baby.."

You moved your hand that was gripping at his wrist, to tug at the waistband of your shorts, trying to rid yourself of them. He got the hint, pulling his hand from around your waist, helping you tug them off, while he still had two fingers inside you, slowly sliding them in and out of you every so often. You were almost already completely spent, feeling your legs tremble against him as his fingers pushed you to your first orgasm of the night—you knew he wouldn't let up after an away game and you had to prepare yourself for more than one tonight, maybe even more than two.

He slid his fingers out of you and just as he was about to wipe them down on an old t-shirt discarded on the bed, you grabbed his wrist, taking his fingers into your mouth and licking them clean.

"Shit.."

He locked eyes with you as you took his hand from your mouth, his mouth hanging open slightly. Once you had let go of his hand, he wasted no time in sitting up slightly, hand grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss, almost bruising your lips from how hard he kissed you.

You pulled away first, catching your breath, but only for a second before he lifted you off his thigh, letting you kneel down on the bed beside him. You tried to turn to watch him get up but he faced your head back with his hand, moving to kneel up behind you. His hand moved to your back and gently pressed you down, face squashed into the pillow as you moved your hands up to grab onto it.

"You tell me to stop and I'll stop, okay?"

"Okay.."

"Okay?"

"Okay.. Daddy.."

You turned your head to breathe for a second, mumbling out a response to him and out the corner of your eye, you saw him smile and nod, acknowledging that he understood you. Then you felt the head of his cock run through your folds and your whole body went limp again, moans muffled into the pillow. You heard him grunt through his teeth as he pushed himself inside you, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as he seated himself fully inside you. He moved his hands to your hips, squeezing gently before hearing a soft exhale leave your lips, a satisfying sound that gave him the green light to keep going.

He was going slow, making sure you felt everything he was giving you, thriving off the squeaks and whimpers you were eliciting from your slightly swollen out lips.

"Y'aint satisfied until you're all filled up, huh?"

He only heard you whine into the pillow and decided that wasn't enough for him. His hand was then in your hair, pulling you up off the mattress slightly.

"I said.. y'aint satisfied until you're all filled up, huh?"

"No.."

"'Atta girl.. who's pussy is this, baby?"

"Yours.."

"Hm? Who's?"

"Yours, Daddy.."

"Good girl.."

He pulled out of you and thrusted back in, slamming his hips against you as you spoke. He was purposefully tiring you out even more, making sure you were absolutely spent and satisfied when he was done with you. He moved his hands over your hips every time he slammed his hips against you, his thumbs rubbing into your skin. One of your legs gave way and started to shake, but Travis caught it and put it back in its place, holding onto the back of your thigh. You leaned more into the pillow, pushing your body forward and trying to pull yourself off of him, trembling as the wave crashed over you. But he pulled you right back, hand wrapping around your stomach.

"Hey, hey.. I got you.."

You whine out, hips jerking back against him until you heard him hiss through his teeth.

"Keep doing that, fuck.."

Your movements were sloppy but you tried to almost fuck yourself back on him and his grunts and deep groans were his way of telling you it felt good.

"You feel so good, baby.. I got it from here, it's ok."

You sighed out, holding onto the pillow again as he slammed his hips forward, skin slapping on skin. You knew he wouldn't let up after two and was clearly trying to coax another orgasm out of you—and he's still got his own release coming as well. But you could tell he was close, some of his thrusts becoming sloppy. Then he started to slow down again, pulling out to the tip before pushing back inside, his hips grinding against you as he's full to the hilt inside you. He just stops for a moment, letting you feel all of him inside you, feel just how big he is inside you and finally letting you try to adjust to his size. It was almost putting you to sleep, and you'd let him if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you right to sleep. You were already tired before but he's making you completely worn out and exhausted, his cock driving into you at just the right angle.

He kept going at a slow pace, his movements gentle and soft now, while his hand brushed the hair out of your face and turned your head so your cheek was on the pillow.

"Hey baby, you got one more for me?"

"Mmhm.."

He brushed his thumb over your cheek, before returning his focus on his thrusts, slow and steady, until he felt you tremble against him. He cooed at you, encouraging you to let go and relax into it. You had to turn your head back into the pillow, grinding back against him and trying to work your way through your third orgasm of the night. His hands massaged over your hips, working you through it until he heard you sigh and watched your body go limp. He pushed into you one more time, groaning before pulling out, spilling himself over your back. He huffed out a shaky breath, before standing up and walking to the bathroom, adjusting his shorts on the way there.

He returned with a cool towel, wiping you down and cleaning you up. As he did so, his hands occasionally squeezed at your hips, or massaged up your back, trying to push all the knots out your body. He tapped your hips twice, indicating for you to turn over, which you did. He tugged your shorts back up your legs, before tying the drawstring back into a knot. His hands then moved up and down your legs, watching you smile and close your eyes, settling into his movements.

"You okay?"

"Yeah.. I'm all good.."

"Wasn't too much?"

"Never.."

He grabbed the towel, throwing it in the laundry basket before he got back into bed, laying down on his back. He pulled you back over his chest, hand scratching at your scalp through your hair. You were already half asleep, but he knew every little thing to get you to fall asleep completely.

"Thank you.."

Travis looked down at you and smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly.

"You're welcome, baby.. now go to sleep, okay?"

"Mmhm.."

You pulled off him to turn around, letting him move behind you, arm wrapping around your stomach to pull you in against him. You felt his lips across the back and sides of your neck, gently kissing across your skin. There was no sexual undertones in his kisses, just pure adoration—it was his way of getting you to fall asleep. Soon, your eyes fluttered closed and Travis felt you drift into sleep, smiling before he dropped his head to the pillow, slowly falling asleep himself.