#kc x reader

[elysiaheaven2]

𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧!-𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥-(Part 1)

Words:7000

Genre: Dark Horror, Psychological Thriller, Gore, Obsession & Obsessive Love, Psychological Abuse, Crime & Thriller

(Reader is G.N) (A cannibal Reader, I don't support these! Just writing them!)

Summary :

Follows a twisted, sadistic you who presents themselves as a sweet baker but harbors a gruesome obsession with murder and cannibalism. Your appearance is grotesque, with stitches all over their body, and their bakery serves as a cover for a far darker purpose—using human flesh in your pastries. You met Angel who became your dear person. You get invited to the server,

The story is filled with graphic violence, disturbing themes of control, obsession.

Trigger Warnings and Content Warnings:

Violence and Gore: The content features explicit descriptions of violent actions, including graphic depictions of murder, dismemberment, and physical injury. The themes of torture and the pleasure derived from violence are present throughout.

Mental Health and Obsessive Behavior: There are elements of unhealthy obsession, possessiveness, and manipulation, particularly in the relationships between the characters. Themes of emotional trauma, self-doubt, and psychological instability are explored.

Cannibalism: References to cannibalism are present, with detailed discussions of cutting, eating, and dissection of bodies.

Sexual Themes: There are implied themes of dark and twisted romantic relationships, including non-consensual dynamics, manipulation, and obsession. This includes sexualized violence and threats.

Self-Harm: References to physical injury, mutilation, and self-inflicted harm, including the imagery of stitches coming undone and body parts falling off, are depicted.

Dark Romanticization: The portrayal of relationships is toxic, with power imbalances, manipulation, and destructive behavior.

Death and Murder: Graphic depictions of death, including the murder of both fictional and real people, are central to the narrative. The thrill and pleasure derived from killing are explored.

Emotional Abuse: Themes of manipulation, psychological control, and emotional manipulation are present in the interactions between the characters.

Disturbing Imagery and Themes: Content involving body horror, the macabre, and disturbing imagery related to the human form is featured.

Please proceed with caution if these triggers could cause distress. If you experience any discomfort during our exchange, feel free to pause or end the roleplay at your discretion.

EXTRA: Made a playlist!

I stitch myself every time

You re-name me...

This is my world, now- I wouldn't let you control me.

Their fate is my hands

If it's ronin, You're in for treat <3

Known as "Stitched Delights," it was a cozy haven filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods and the comforting hum of quiet chatter. Its owner, you, were as much a mystery as you were a beloved figure. Your body bore countless stitches, crisscrossing like a delicate patchwork quilt—a detail no one dared ask about, for your warm demeanor and unparalleled pastries charmed away any curiosity.

Children adored your cookies, adults craved your pies, and the elderly swore by your cakes. The love you poured into each creation was palpable, as sweet as the frosting that adorned them.

The warm scent of vanilla, caramel, and freshly baked bread wafted through the little bakery on the corner of a quiet street. The walls were painted a cheery pastel yellow, decorated with whimsical illustrations of pastries and cakes. Shelves lined with cookies, tarts, and cakes gleamed under the soft glow of the lights.

Behind the counter, you stood, the picture of sweetness. Your smile stretched wide—perhaps too wide—beneath your bright eyes. The soft apron tied around your waist was dotted with flour and sugar, a testament to your hard work. But the most striking thing about you wasn’t the aroma of your baked goods or your delicate manners. It was the network of stitches crisscrossing your skin.

Lines of rough black thread connected patches of flesh, like a macabre patchwork doll. Some were tiny and neat, while others were thick and jagged, looking as though they were holding together pieces that shouldn’t fit. Despite this grotesque appearance, you were beloved. Customers whispered about how charming you were, how your treats always seemed to hit the perfect note of sweetness. No one asked about the stitches. No one dared.

Tonight, the shop had been busy, as always. The glass display cases were nearly empty, save for a few stray crumbs. The last of the customers had trickled out, bell jingling cheerfully as they left. All but one.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:05 PM. The sign on the door clearly read “CLOSED,” but the man sitting at one of the corner tables didn’t seem to care. He was loud, vulgar, and obnoxiously drunk.

"Hey, you," he slurred, slamming his fist on the table. "Get over here and bring me something good. None of that cheap crap you serve everyone else."

You turned toward him, smile unwavering. "I'm sorry, sir, but the shop is closed. Perhaps you could return tomorrow?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he sneered, his voice cutting through the cozy ambiance like a rusty blade. "I said bring me something to eat!"

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to grow wider, though your eyes remained calm, almost serene.

"Of course, sir," you said sweetly. "Please, wait right here."

You disappeared into the kitchen, humming a soft, haunting tune under your breath. The light from the oven cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, illuminating jars of mysterious ingredients. A sharp knife gleamed on the counter. Your hands—stitched together at the knuckles—moved deftly as you prepared something special. Something just for him.

When you returned, a steaming plate rested in your hands. The man didn’t even look at you, just grabbed the fork and shoved the food into his mouth with a grunt.

"Took you long enough," he muttered around a mouthful of cake. "Tastes like crap."

"Is that so?" you asked, tilting your head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps you would like to stay a little longer? It's so late, after all."

The smile never faltered. Instead, it grew wider, the stitches on your lips pulling slightly apart at the seams. A faint trace of something red—darker than strawberry jam—beaded along one of them. “I do apologize. Let me prepare something special just for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it fast,” he grumbled, flopping into a chair near the window and pulling out his phone. His voice grated on you, sharp and dismissive, as he muttered curses under his breath.

The kitchen was your domain, and tonight, it hummed with a peculiar energy. Metal utensils gleamed under the dim light, and the cleaver on the counter caught your reflection in its blade. Your hands, adorned with gloves to hide the seams crisscrossing your palms, moved with practiced grace.

A splash of something thick and red stained the cutting board, the scent of copper faint beneath the sugar and spice. You hummed a soft tune, one you couldn’t quite remember learning, as you worked.

When you returned, a plate in hand, the man barely looked up. “About time. What is this?”

“Just a little something I made just for you,” you said sweetly, placing the plate before him. The dessert—a small tart with a golden crust and a glistening ruby center—was flawless.

He didn’t thank you. He dug in immediately, barely tasting the delicate layers. “Not bad,” he muttered around a mouthful, crumbs spilling onto the table.

You stood by, hands clasped neatly in front of you, watching. Your stitched fingers flexed slightly, the faintest tear threatening along one seam.

When he finished, he pushed the plate aside and stood. “Guess that’s the only decent thing about this place. Whatever. I’m outta here.”

You tilted your head, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “Oh, but sir… it’s closing time.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You stepped closer, blocking the door. “It’s quite late. You really shouldn’t be wandering out alone at this hour.”

He frowned, his bravado faltering as he noticed the subtle glint in your eyes, the way your body seemed to loom closer than it should. “The hell are you talking about? Move, freak.”

Your gloved hands shot out faster than he could react, gripping his wrist in a vice-like hold. The stitches along your arms strained as you dragged him back, his shouts muffled by the sudden press of something soft and chemical-smelling against his mouth.

“Shh,” you cooed as his struggles weakened, his body slumping against you. “It’s too dangerous outside. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

The man lay on the table now, his arms and legs bound with thick ropes. His head lolled to the side as he groaned, the last effects of the sedative wearing off.

“Wha—what the fuck?” His voice was hoarse, panic flooding his tone as he struggled against his restraints.

You stood over him, the ever-present smile on your face illuminated by the flickering bulb above. You’d removed your gloves, and the full extent of your stitching was on display. Patches of skin of varying tones and textures were held together with thick black thread, forming a grotesque mosaic. Some seams oozed faintly, the strain of movement reopening old wounds.

“I told you,” you said softly, running a stitched finger down the side of his face. He flinched. “It’s closing time. You should stay here.”

“You’re insane!” he spat, his voice breaking. “Let me go!”

Your smile faltered for the first time, the edges of your mouth twitching. “That’s not very polite,” you murmured, your voice tinged with something darker. “I worked very hard to make something nice for you, and you were so ungrateful. Do you know how much effort it takes to make something perfect?”

You turned away, reaching for a tray of tools. The man’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the gleaming instruments—knives, saws, and needles of varying sizes.

“Please,” he whimpered, his bravado crumbling. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I won’t tell anyone—”

“You’ve already seen too much,” you interrupted, your smile returning, more unhinged than ever. “But don’t worry. I’ll make good use of you. Waste not, want not, as they say.”

The first cut was precise, your hands steady despite the trembling of your latest canvas. Blood flowed freely, staining the table and dripping to the floor in rhythmic splatters. You hummed as you worked, your stitches straining and tearing in places as you bent over him.

The room filled with the metallic scent of blood and the man’s muffled screams. You worked methodically, carefully preserving the best parts. His cries grew weaker with each passing moment until, finally, there was silence.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood filled the kitchen, thick and heady as it mingled with the faint sweetness of leftover batter and vanilla. The man’s body lay limp on the steel table, limbs dangling like the slack strings of a marionette. Your needle worked methodically, threading sinew through torn skin with a precision born of practice. Every tug of the thread made a faint squelching sound, the tension in the stitches pulling his flesh taut, creating a masterpiece of grotesque artistry.

Humming a soft, eerie tune, you reached for your cleaver, its blade gleaming under the fluorescent light. With a practiced swing, you brought it down on his arm. The bone cracked beneath the weight, splitting apart with a sound like a thick branch snapping in two. Blood sprayed across your apron and face, warm and sticky. You giggled, the sound high-pitched and giddy, as if you’d just unwrapped a delightful surprise.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, patting the man’s severed hand like it was a cherished pet. “You’re going to be so useful. Much more than you were alive.”

You continued to dismember him, your movements efficient, almost clinical. The cleaver sliced through flesh and cartilage, separating the legs from the torso, the head from the neck. Each piece was meticulously prepared, the jagged edges smoothed with a smaller knife. His face, frozen in an eternal scream, stared up at you. You couldn’t help but grin back, wide and manic.

One by one, you hung the pieces on meat hooks that dangled from the ceiling. The other bodies swayed gently in the cold air, their forms reduced to pale, butchered remnants of humanity. Some were fresher than others; their blood still dripped onto the tiled floor in soft, rhythmic plinks. Others had begun to dry out, their skin leathery and taut, their eyes hollow sockets staring into the void.

The room was your gallery, a place where flesh became art. The hanging bodies swayed in the dim light, their shadows casting long, distorted shapes on the walls. It was beautiful in its own grotesque way, a testament to your dedication and craftsmanship.

Once the man’s body was fully integrated into your macabre display, you took a step back, wiping your bloodied hands on your apron. You gazed at your work, your stitched smile stretching impossibly wide. The threads across your face tugged, pulling your cheeks into an unnatural grin, but you didn’t mind. Pain was a friend you had long since grown to cherish.

With a sigh of satisfaction, you walked to the center of the room and sat down on a small stool. Your gaze swept over the hanging bodies, each one a story, a memory. Some had been rude, like tonight’s guest. Others were simply unlucky, wandering into your shop at the wrong time. But all of them had served a purpose. They had become part of you, quite literally.

The faint creak of the meat hooks was the only sound in the room, a soft, haunting rhythm that matched the beat of your heart. You tilted your head, watching the bodies sway like macabre wind chimes. Your stitched hands rested in your lap, fingers interlocked. A sense of calm washed over you, a moment of peace amid the chaos of your work.

“Ah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “So beautiful.”

You reached out, your fingers grazing the closest body. The skin was cold, the texture rough under your fingertips. A small giggle bubbled up from your throat, growing louder until it echoed through the room. It was a sound of pure delight, unrestrained and wild.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” you cackled, throwing your head back. The stitches on your neck pulled tight, some of them oozing faint beads of blood. “Look at all of you! So perfect, so helpful! You’ll keep me together, won’t you?”

The bodies didn’t answer, of course, but you didn’t need them to. Their silence was its own kind of companionship. They were yours, every piece of them stitched into your being, a patchwork quilt of flesh and bone.

Hours passed as you sat there, basking in the glow of your creation. The blood on your hands dried, cracking against your skin like old paint. The smell of death was overwhelming, but to you, it was comforting. It was home.

Eventually, you stood, stretching your arms above your head. The stitches across your joints pulled taut, some of them threatening to snap. You made a mental note to reinforce them later. For now, there was work to be done. The bakery would open again in a few hours, and the display cases needed to be restocked.

Humming once more, you began to clean the room. The floor was scrubbed until it gleamed, the tools were washed and placed back in their proper spots. The man’s face—his terrified expression frozen forever—was carefully peeled and set aside. Perhaps it would make a nice decoration for the shop’s back room.

. You stood in the center of your gallery, a rusted bucket in one hand, the other tapping your chin thoughtfully.

The bodies hung like grotesque chandeliers, swaying gently in the chilled air. Your eyes roamed over them, taking in the patchwork of flesh, the twisted limbs, the faces frozen in their final moments of terror. One, in particular, caught your attention—the newest addition. His bulkier frame seemed promising, the meat fresh and unmarred by time.

"Hmm," you murmured, tilting your head. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Setting the bucket down, you grabbed his torso, your stitched fingers digging into the still-warm flesh. With a grunt, you dragged it toward the butcher’s table. The sound of wet, sticky meat sliding across the tiles was music to your ears. His head lolled to the side, eyes wide open in a stare that saw nothing.

You hummed softly as you reached for your cleaver, running your thumb along its edge to check its sharpness. Satisfied, you brought it down on the man’s wrist with a satisfying crunch. Bone splintered, blood oozed from the severed stump, pooling around the table legs. One by one, you dismembered the body, severing fingers, hands, arms, and legs with methodical precision. Each piece was tossed into the bucket with a wet thud.

Once the body was reduced to manageable chunks, you reached for your bone saw. The teeth glinted in the overhead light, promising efficiency. You began cutting through the larger pieces, separating bone from meat. The saw’s rhythmic scraping filled the room, blending with the faint sound of your humming.

"Perfect," you whispered, holding up a cleanly severed thigh. The meat was vibrant, unmarred by fat or imperfections. “You’ll make such delicious treats.”

The pile of meat grew, you turned your attention to your baking station. A large bowl sat waiting, already filled with flour, sugar, and other ingredients for your special batter. You cracked eggs into the mix, their golden yolks oozing lazily down the sides. But this time, there was a special addition.

From the bucket, you grabbed a handful of freshly cut flesh and fed it into the grinder. The machine whirred to life, the blades tearing through muscle and fat, reducing it to a fine, pink paste. The scent of raw meat mingled with the sweetness of vanilla extract, creating a heady, nauseating combination.

You scraped the meat paste into the batter, stirring it until it was fully incorporated. The mixture turned a faint pinkish hue, small flecks of red dotting its surface like confetti.

“Beautiful,” you cooed, your stitched smile pulling tight as you spooned the batter into cupcake molds. Each tin was filled with care, the batter smooth and even. You placed the tray into the oven, setting the timer before stepping back.

The heat from the oven warmed the room, the glass door glowing softly as the cupcakes began to bake. You crouched down in front of it, resting your chin on your hands, your wide eyes fixed on the tray inside. The batter puffed up, golden edges forming around the tops.

The scent of the baking cupcakes filled the air, masking the lingering metallic tang of blood. You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound childlike and sweet, completely at odds with the macabre scene behind you.

“Ah,” you sighed, tilting your head as you watched the cupcakes rise.

Time ticked by, the minutes stretching into eternity as you stared at the oven. The warmth of the glass seeped into your skin, but you didn’t move, transfixed by the transformation taking place. The meat, the batter, the sugar—it was all coming together, melding into something beautiful.

When the timer dinged, you practically skipped to the oven, pulling on a pair of mitts before retrieving the tray. The cupcakes were perfect, their tops golden brown, little flecks of pink meat visible if you looked closely enough. You placed them on the counter to cool, your smile never faltering.

One cupcake caught your eye, its surface cracked slightly, revealing a glint of meat within. You picked it up, turning it in your hands. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapper, and you felt a giddy thrill run through you.

Lifting the cupcake to your mouth, you took a bite. The sweetness of the sugar and vanilla mingled with the savory, iron-rich taste of the meat. It was divine, the flavors dancing on your tongue in perfect harmony.

You swallowed, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

“Delicious,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The sun had fully risen now, its light filtering through the bakery’s windows and illuminating the pristine display cases. The bell over the door jingled as the first customer of the day walked in.

“Good morning!” you chirped, spinning around to face them. The blood on your apron was hidden beneath a fresh layer of flour, the stitches on your face pulling into a welcoming smile.

“What’s the special today?” the customer asked, their eyes scanning the display case.

“Cupcakes,” you said sweetly, gesturing to the tray behind you. “Freshly made. They’re… one of a kind.”

The customer grinned. “I’ll take a dozen.”

“Coming right up!”

You boxed the cupcakes, your mind wandered back to the bodies hanging in the back room. There was still so much to do, so many recipes to try. But for now, you were content.

After all, the sweetest things always came from the heart.

The streets were quiet, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The black garbage bags slung over your shoulder dripped faintly, leaving a dark trail behind you. The scent of iron clung to the air, but the world around you remained oblivious. It was just another walk in the early hours of the morning.

You turned the corner, a figure caught your eye. A girl with blonde hair, peeking out from under a poorly fitted wig, stood hesitantly by the edge of the street. She glanced around nervously, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her oversized jacket. You stopped mid-step, your stitched smile growing wider as recognition dawned.

“How do I meet the strangest men, They always seem to find me…”

Her face was familiar, unmistakably so. You’d seen her on YouTube, her bright personality a stark contrast to her current, jittery demeanor. She had a large following—too large to be here unnoticed, yet here she was, poorly disguised and alone. What a treat.

You adjusted your grip on the garbage bags, the movement making a faint squelching sound that caught her attention. Her eyes met yours, wide and wary. She took a small step back, but it was too late. You’d seen her hesitation, her discomfort. It was delicious.

“Good evening,” you greeted cheerfully, tilting your head. “Out for a walk, are we?”

She stiffened, her hand brushing the edge of her wig as if to ensure it was still in place. “Just passing through,” she mumbled, her voice soft but edged with unease.

You took a step closer, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I recognize you,” you said, voice dripping with sweetness. “Don’t I? From online?”

Her breath hitched, and she glanced around, her movements sharp and anxious.

“Remember that time way back when I, Kissed a guy who ate his women friends…”

You couldn’t suppress the giggle that bubbled up, high-pitched and unhinged. “Funny, isn’t it? Running into someone so familiar on such a quiet night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. She turned as if to leave, but her hesitance betrayed her. She wasn’t sure whether to flee or stay and feign normalcy.

Your stitched fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and grab her almost overwhelming. But you held back, savoring the moment. “It’s a small world,” you mused, shifting the garbage bags onto the ground with a dull thud. “Even smaller when you have… particular hobbies.”

Her eyes flicked to the bags, her nose crinkling as the faint scent of decay wafted toward her. “What’s in those?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her attempt to sound indifferent.

“Oh, just waste,” you replied nonchalantly. “Leftovers from the bakery. I run a shop, you see. Very popular on certain… platforms.”

Her face paled, and you knew she understood. Of course, she would—her disguise wasn’t perfect, but her reasons for wearing it were written all over her nervous posture. Perhaps she’d seen your little storefront on the dark web, the infamous “human cakes” with their chillingly cheerful descriptions.

“Now only dogs will follow me, (Is he following?)”

You took a deliberate step closer, your grin widening until the stitches across your face pulled painfully. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How people find themselves drawn to the darkest corners, even when they know better.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Don’t you?” you asked softly, leaning in until your stitched fingers brushed her sleeve. “After all, you’re here, aren’t you? And not by chance, I’d wager.”

She flinched at your touch, her wide eyes darting between you and the bags at your feet. “I should go,” she stammered, stepping back. “I… I have somewhere to be.”

“But we’re just getting to know each other,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with something darker. You crouched down, opening one of the bags slightly. The glint of bone and a hint of flesh peeked out, the air around it heavy with the scent of rot.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her lips. “Oh my God—”

You straightened, your stitched smile now impossibly wide. “Don’t worry,” you said softly, almost soothingly. “You won’t end up like them. Not yet, anyway.”

Despite her earlier hesitation, the blonde girl found herself seated at a small, intimate table by the counter. Her poorly fitted wig was slightly askew, and her nervous energy buzzed under her skin, but she kept her smile plastered on, mirroring your own stitched grin.

“Sit, sit,” you said cheerfully, your voice sugary sweet. “I’ll bake something special for you.”

Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her jacket as she glanced around, the faint scent of vanilla and something darker lingering in the air. The tray of cupcakes you’d set aside earlier sat prominently on the counter, their golden tops glistening faintly under the light.

“I bite at the hand that feeds me, I slap at the face that eats me…”

You hummed softly as you worked, your hands deftly mixing a new batch of batter. The flour puffed up in small clouds, mingling with the sheen of meat paste you spooned into the mix. You turned to glance at her, your stitched smile never faltering.

“I think you’ll really like this one,” you said, your tone dripping with enthusiasm. “It’s… unique.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity and fear warring in her gaze. “What’s in it?” she asked, her voice attempting to sound casual.

You giggled, a high-pitched, lilting sound. “Oh, just the usual. Sugar, spice, everything… nice.”

The oven clicked as it preheated, and you poured the batter into molds with meticulous care. As the cupcakes baked, the scent grew richer, sweeter, and yet faintly metallic. She watched you closely, her hands still trembling faintly.

When the timer dinged, you carefully removed the tray, the cupcakes steaming and golden brown. You placed one on a delicate plate, garnishing it with a dollop of frosting and a single cherry. With a flourish, you set it in front of her.

“Here you go,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Freshly made, just for you.”

She hesitated, staring at the cupcake like it was a loaded gun. But then, with a nervous smile, she picked it up. Her hands were unsteady, but she took a bite, her teeth sinking into the soft, warm cake.

For a moment, she chewed in silence, her expression unreadable. But then, as she swallowed, her eyes widened. A small sound escaped her lips—a mix of surprise and something darker. She took another bite, and as she did, a small, round object tumbled from the cupcake, landing on the table with a soft plop.

An eyeball.

“Some kind of animal cannibal, Made impressions on me…”

Her breath hitched, her gaze darting from the eyeball to you. You didn’t flinch. Instead, your tongue flicked out, running along your lips as your stitched smile widened.

“Well?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. “Do you like it?”

She stared at you for a long moment, her lips trembling. Then, to your delight, she began to laugh. It started as a soft giggle but quickly grew into a wild, unrestrained cackle. Her head tipped back, her eyes shining with something feral.

“Have we met before? (Possibly in Michigan) In some strange department store, (We won’t see him anymore)”

“I see you have a taste for the finer things,” you said, licking your lips as you picked up the eyeball. You held it delicately, inspecting it like a jeweler admiring a precious stone, before slipping it into your mouth with a grin.

She leaned forward, her disguise slipping further. “So, you know,” she said, her voice low and almost giddy.

“I do,” you replied, your stitched face splitting into a grin that felt too wide for your skin. “You’re my kind, aren’t you? A fellow… connoisseur.”

She nodded, her eyes glinting with a dark light. “I’ve tried to hide it, but it’s always there..."

You leaned in closer, resting your chin on your hands. “No need to hide here,” you said softly. “Here, you can be yourself. Fully. Freely.”

Her gaze lingered on the empty cupcake wrapper before meeting yours. “What’s next?” she asked, her tone dripping with anticipation.

You clapped your hands together, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “I knew it!” you exclaimed. “I knew you were my kind!”

After, that..

It took a while.

She grew on you.

You always sold your gifts to the world and your website in dark web. You can say. In a way, you're a serial killer.

For some reason, Angel invited you to a server she called it.

Why??

The First Day on the Server

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, the warm glow of the screen bathing your stitched face in pale light. The server pinged incessantly as the messages rolled in, welcoming you to the digital den of chaos. Angel had extended the invitation—a rare kindness from someone who saw through the sweet façade to the horrors beneath.

The welcome was... overwhelming.

<goreboy> Welcome to the Newly Christened @Y/n!

The chat erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> WELCOME! WELCOME!

<Angelic> Y/n! You actually joined!

<goreboy> Oh? Angel invited you?

<K9> Wait, Angel invited them? Did you not know?

<goreboy> Oh, I knew. V, meet Mx Baker Killer. Could call them the rebirth of Pinkie Pie—but y'know, darker.

<K9> …Pinkie Pie? What the hell, Ronin?

<goreboy> Wait, wait. That cannibal shop everyone’s been whispering about on the deep web? That’s you, right, darling?

You let the pause linger, fingers lightly pressing the keys. You typed without hesitation:

<Cupcake-slasher> Yes.

The server’s collective silence stretched out for a few moments too long before the chat ignited again.

<goreboy> Not good? How about this, then?

<Zombie> What?

<goreboy> Angel mentioned your stitched skin—reminds me of a zombie. Fitting, no? I'm changing your username!

<Zombie> Thanks.

More pings.

<hitmeuppp> Wait, stitched skin??? That sounds kinda... sad and cool?

<Zombie> Yeah, I was dead as a baby. Someone contacted a demon, and voila—here I am. Just recycled parts stitched back together.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> HOLY SHIT. THAT’S SUCH A GOOD JOKE. WELCOME, WELCOME! I’M LUCA!

<Y/n> Sure.

Your username flickered—an automatic change. A twisted sort of christening.

<goreboy> Angel saved you. What an angel.

<Angelic> Ronin, you’re unbearable. Y/n, I’m so sorry. I stepped away for one minute, and he’s already—

<Strawberryguts> It’s fine.

Another ping.

<goreboy> C’mon. Your motives are unhinged; mine are simple. Just trying to give you a good username.

You stared at the screen.

Rebirth of Pinkie Pie, huh?

The stitched flesh of your hand ghosted over the scars across your neck, the faint scent of vanilla and iron still clinging to you. Maybe Ronin had a point.

Your new username, Zombie, sat mockingly beside your messages, and while you didn’t mind, it seemed to spark something mischievous in Ronin.

<goreboy> Actually, hold up. Zombie is fine, but we can do better. Something... spicier.

<Angelic> Ronin, don’t start.

<goreboy> What about... hmm... Sewn-Sweetie? Or maybe Meat-Master?

<K9> goreboy, I swear to God.

<HITMEUPPP> Wait, I got it—CupcakeCadaver! Perfect, right? Y/n, it’s like you, but with ✨flair✨.

Your lips twitched in amusement as Angel’s reply came in almost immediately.

<Angelic> Stop.

<goreboy> Oh? You don’t like it, Angel? How about SweetFleshStitcher? C’mon, it’s a masterpiece.

<Angelic> Ronin.

Your username suddenly changed again, this time to CorpseConfectioner.

<goreboy> SEE? I’m on a roll.

<Angelic> You are not.

Your name flickered as Angel swiftly intervened, changing it back to Y/N

<goreboy> NOOO! Angel, what are you doing? You’re killing my creativity!

<Angelic> I’m saving Y/n from being a walking horror-themed dad joke, that’s what.

<goreboy> Oh, come on. y/N's boring! It’s so… uninspired.

<Angelic> It’s better than the nonsense you keep spouting.

<goreboy> You wound me, Angel. Fine. What about Bake-and-Take? Huh? Huh? Y/n gets to bake and take lives. It’s poetic!

<Angelic> Ronin.

<goreboy> Angel-Hater69. No? Too much?

Your username flickered again—Angel’sProblem.

<Angelic> RONIN!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> LMAOOOOOOOO THIS IS SO FUNNY KEEP GOING RONIN YOU’RE A LEGEND

<goreboy> Listen, if you hate fun, just say that. But I’m fighting for Y/n’s branding.

<Angelic> Branding is not your job.

<goreboy> Tell that to Angel’sProblem.

Your username changed back to Y/n, and Angel added a lock icon next to it.

<goreboy> Haha, Funny angel.

<Angelic> I win.

<goreboy> You’re no fun.

<Angelic> And you’re relentless.

<goreboy> Fine. Zombie it is. For now.

It changed again

You finally typed, your message cutting through the chaos.

<Zombie> Zombie is fine.

The server practically erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YESSS OMG THIS IS EVERY DAY WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS

<Felicite> It’s their love language.

<goreboy> Don’t drag me into Angel’s drama.

<Angelic> MY drama? You’re insufferable.

<Zombie> You’re both terrible at this, but it’s entertaining.

Angel’s private DM appeared moments later:

<Angelic> Ignore Ronin. He’s a menace, but he means well... sort of.

<Zombie> Noted. But don’t worry—I’ve seen worse.

<Angelic> Somehow, I believe you.

Back in the main chat.

The server chat was unusually lively today, and you couldn’t resist jumping in, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of your stitched mouth. You typed, the rhythmic creak of your office chair echoed in your quiet shop, a perfect contrast to the chaos of the chat.

<Zombie> So, I’ve been thinking. If everyone here were... ingredients, what would you all be?

The chat immediately lit up with reactions.

<goreboy> Oh, this is gonna be good. Go on, darlin’, I gotta know what kind of gourmet masterpiece I am.

<K9> This is gonna be disturbing, isn’t it?

<Angelic> Y/n, don’t encourage him.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT, ME TOO, ME TOO!!

You let your fingers hover over the keyboard, a wicked gleam in your eye as you started typing.

<Zombie> Alright. Let’s start with Misaki.

<hitmeuppp> YESSSSS OMG OKAY OKAY GIMME

<Zombie> Misaki is like a... sugar rush. Chaotic sweetness that leaves you dizzy if you have too much. Like that one cupcake in the batch that’s been overfilled with sprinkles, frosting, and edible glitter. Pretty, but if you don’t pace yourself, you’ll regret it.

<hitmeuppp> 😭 THAT’S SO CUTE BUT ALSO RUDE

<Angelic> That’s disturbingly accurate.

<K9> Yeah, I can’t even argue.

<Zombie> You’re also like pop rocks in a macaron. Unpredictable, bubbly, but with a hidden intensity.

<hitmeuppp> Pop rocks?? AAAAA I’LL TAKE IT 🥰

You couldn’t help but smirk. Misaki’s energy always amused you, even through the screen. You glanced at Ronin’s username next, your smile sharpening.

<Zombie> V (K9): Ground peppercorns. Sharp, earthy, and with just the right amount of bite. Subtle, but you notice when it’s missing. A good base to balance out stronger flavors.

<K9> Pepper? Really? I thought you’d go for something weird like… I don’t know… blood oranges.

<Zombie> Hmm, I considered it, but you’re too steady for that. Peppercorn fits.

<goreboy> Boring. What about me?

<Zombie> Patience, Ronin. I’m saving the best for last.

<goreboy> Oho, flattered.

Okay, Zombie, now spill. What ingredient would you be?

You paused for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a grin tugging at your stitched lips, you typed:

<Zombie> Oh, I’m the whole dish.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> ICONIC OMGGG

<goreboy> Okay, that’s a power move. Respect.

Your fingers danced across the keyboard, the text pouring out as if possessed by your fascination.

<Zombie> You know… Ronin’s the most interesting ingredient of all.

The response was instant.

<goreboy> Oh? Do go on, darling. Enlighten me.

You leaned closer to the screen, your stitched lips curling into a grin as your thoughts spiraled, erratic and almost feverish.

<Zombie> You’re like... the rotting core of a fruit. At first glance, you look appealing—bright, ripe, even a little seductive—but the closer you get, the more you realize you’re rotten. Spoiled. Putrid. But oh, the flavor you bring... it’s unforgettable.

<K9> ...I don’t know whether that’s an insult or a compliment.

<goreboy> Shh, V. Let the artist work.

<Zombie> It’s the decay that makes you potent. You’re sharp, acidic, and dangerous in all the best ways. The kind of ingredient that doesn’t just sit in the dish—it dominates it. You make everything about you. Every bite is a risk. Every taste burns, but you keep coming back because there’s something so addictive about it.

Ronin typed almost immediately.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you’re makin’ me blush. Keep going.

You kept typing, the words pouring out in a chaotic frenzy.

<Zombie> But you’re also… versatile. You could be a poison, a cure, or even just the spice that turns a dish unforgettable. You’re the ingredient that could ruin the meal, but if you’re handled just right, you could make it a masterpiece.

<Zombie> ...But who could ever handle you perfectly? No one. Because you don’t want to be handled, do you? You want to unravel, to rot, to consume. You want to break apart and spread, infecting every single thing around you with your essence.

<Zombie> You’re chaos, Ronin. The kind that tastes like a nightmare you can’t stop dreaming about.

The server went silent for a moment, the eerie kind of quiet that only happened when people didn’t know how to respond. Then:

<goreboy> I could cry. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

<hitmeuppp> YOU’RE SO WEIRD OMG THIS IS AMAZING

<K9> Yeah, that’s not unsettling at all. Totally normal.

<Angelic> ...Well. That’s certainly a description.

Ronin wasn’t done, of course.

<goreboy> You’re not wrong, though. I am addictive, aren’t I? I mean, you’re the one typing out an essay about me. You sure I’m not already in your bloodstream, Zombie?

<Zombie> Maybe.

The server erupted in laughter and chaos, but Ronin’s message came in shortly after, quieter than the others:

<goreboy> You see everything, don’t you?

<Zombie> Everything that matters.

There was a long pause, the server buzzing with its usual noise, but Ronin stayed quiet for once. When he finally replied, it was almost… amused.

<goreboy> You’re gonna be fun.

You grinned at the chaos you'd caused, fingers hovering over the keyboard like a maestro about to conduct the next movement of this darkly delightful symphony.

<Zombie> You know, Ronin, for all your charm, I wouldn’t use you in a dish.

The response was immediate, almost predictable.

<goreboy> Excuse me? That’s rude.

<hitmeuppp> OMG WHY NOT?? HE’S LIKE, PRIME MATERIAL FOR YOUR “WEIRD INGREDIENT” THING.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki, he’s too rotten. Spoiled goods. Completely useless as an ingredient. He’d overpower everything, turn it sour and bitter. You couldn’t make anything worthwhile out of him even if you tried.

<goreboy> Oh, so now I’m useless, huh?

<Zombie> Yes.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you wound me.

Misaki didn’t let up, her curiosity dragging the conversation in another direction.

<hitmeuppp> Okay, but what about Angel? Is she an ingredient?

You paused, the grin on your face growing wider as you typed, your words curling with twisted affection.

<Zombie> Angel? Oh, no. Angel could never be an ingredient.

The server went quiet for a moment. Then:

<hitmeuppp> Why not?? She’s like… perfect.

<Zombie> Because Angel is too much. She’s too precious, too complex. You wouldn’t eat a diamond, would you? You’d admire it, covet it, keep it safe. She’s the kind of thing that would ruin you to consume because she could never truly fulfill the craving.

<goreboy> That’s the creepiest compliment I’ve ever heard. Congrats.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT SO YOU LIKE ANGEL?

<Zombie> I admire her. She’s untouchable. Not because she’s fragile—oh no, Angel isn’t fragile—but because it would be a crime to use her for something as fleeting as a dish. She deserves better.

Angel’s reply came after a moment, her tone carefully measured.

<Angelic> I… think that was nice?

<Zombie> It was.

<hitmeuppp> You’re so weird about Angel, omg. What’s even the point of this if you can’t use her??

Your tone twisted, playful yet sharp, the words tumbling out like they were meant to unsettle.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki. Some ingredients aren’t meant to be consumed. They’re meant to be admired, adored, even feared.

<Zombie> Ronin, on the other hand, is just… waste. A fascinating waste, but waste nonetheless. He’s the kind of thing you’d throw out before it infects the rest of the kitchen.

<goreboy> Keep talking, sweetheart. I love hearing how much you think about me.

The server laughed, the tension lifting slightly, but you weren’t quite finished.

<Zombie> You know, cannibal cuisine is all about balance. The cuts of meat have to be clean, precise. The flavor has to shine, but not overpower the rest of the dish. Angel would be impossible to balance. Too much of her would ruin everything. And Ronin? He’d never fit. He’s too… unruly.

<K9> This is so messed up.

<Zombie> Of course it is. But isn’t it fascinating?

The server erupted in responses, a mix of laughter, discomfort, and Ronin’s ever-present flirting. But Angel’s quiet reply, tucked in amidst the chaos, caught your eye.

<Angelic> ...I think you’re fascinating too.

<K9> Okay, Zombie, real talk. What are your motives? Like, why do you do what you do?

You tilted your head, your stitched skin tugging as you grinned. Your fingers tapped out a response, unbothered by the directness.

<Zombie> Motives? I don’t think it’s that complicated, V. I kill because I want to. Because I can.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> WHAT??? OMG THAT’S SO WACKY

<goreboy> Darlin’, I’m startin’ to like you even more.

<K9> That’s not just messed up. That’s so messed up.

You leaned back for a moment, letting the replies pile up before leaning forward to add more, your words sharp and deliberate.

<Zombie> At least I don’t lie to myself about it, V. I don’t wrap it up in a bow and call it “justice.” That’s what you do, isn’t it?

V’s reply was quick, defensive.

<K9> Excuse me?

<Zombie> You heard me. You play the vigilante, but killing someone and pretending it’s righteous doesn’t change what it is. It’s killing. It’s messy. It’s human. The only difference between us is that I don’t need a moral excuse to justify it.

<hitmeuppp> THAT’S SO WACKY OMG. Do you, like, get messy? Like really messy??

You laughed softly to yourself as you typed your response.

<Zombie> Of course. It’s part of the process. The blood, the guts, the gore—it’s all a part of the art.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THAT’S SO ME FR!!!

Ronin chimed in, clearly reveling in the conversation.

<goreboy> I saw some of your handiwork on the news, darlin’. Real nasty stuff. Truly a person after my own heart.

You didn’t bother responding to him directly, but your eyes flicked to Angel’s message when it popped up.

<Angelic> I think it’s… cool.

For the first time, your reply was immediate, simple, and strangely devoid of your usual edge.

<Zombie> Thanks.

The others noticed.

<hitmeuppp> WTF YOU’RE LIKE NORMAL TO ANGEL???

<K9> Yeah, what’s that about? To everyone else, you’re like... super weird.

Your reply was sharp but carried an undercurrent of genuine emotion.

<Zombie> Because Angel’s the only one who deserves it. The rest of you? You’re just noise.

Ronin, never one to miss an opportunity, cut in with his usual flair.

<goreboy> Now, now, darlin’. That’s no way to treat the rest of us. But I’ll admit, you’re startin’ to grow on me.

You didn’t reply to him, your focus staying on Angel’s quiet presence.

<Angelic> Okay, everyone! y/n! #killer-shit. Post about your, well… y’know, “work” here.

The reaction was instant.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN!!!

<goreboy> This is a place to spill guts. Literally. Y/n, think you can handle it?

You smirked, already knowing how your reply would land.

<Zombie> Oh, Ronin, I’ve been spilling guts since before you crawled out of your first sinner’s ribcage. Sometimes, though, it’s my own.

That caught everyone’s attention.

<K9> What the hell does that mean?

<Zombie> I mean my stitches. They’re… temperamental. If I move too fast, too hard, or smile too wide, they come undone.

You paused for dramatic effect, then added the next part, your words dripping with grotesque detail.

<Zombie> Once, I laughed too hard, and the stitches on my abdomen split wide open. I tried to hold it in, but my insides slipped out like a burst bag of viscera. I had to sew myself back together while everything steamed on the cold floor.

Misaki was the first to react.

<hitmeuppp> WTF THAT’S SO GROSS I LOVE IT OMG

You weren’t finished, though. Your next words came slowly, deliberately, designed to make them squirm.

<Zombie> It’s worse when I smile too hard. The stitches on my lips can’t hold, and they snap one by one. My mouth opens too wide, my teeth fall out like broken porcelain, clinking onto the floor. And sometimes... sometimes my left eye pops out. It dangles there, swaying, until I shove it back in.

The silence was palpable, broken only by Misaki’s nervous laughter.

<hitmeuppp> OKAY THAT ONE MADE ME FEEL SICK OMG

<K9> What the actual hell, Zombie.

But Angel’s reply cut through the noise, soft and filled with something close to pity.

<Angelic> That’s… awful. I’m so sorry.

You tilted your head at the screen, a strange warmth stirring in your chest at her words. Before you could respond, Ronin decided to chime in.

<goreboy> Aw, come on. Don’t feel bad for them, Angel. They’re practically a walking horror movie. That’s the dream, right?

You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to keep going.

<goreboy> I mean, if you’re falling apart that much, maybe you should just... stay down next time? You’re like a bad patch job that refuses to quit.

Typical Ronin. Sharp, biting, and almost offensive—until his tone shifted slightly, his words taking on an edge of something… else.

<goreboy> But hey, I get it. Takes a lotta guts to keep putting yourself back together. Literally. Guess I can respect that. Sorta.

<goreboy> You’re tougher than you look, Zombie. And I kinda dig that.

The unexpected turn made you pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you could type anything, Angel spoke again.

<Angelic> I still feel bad. You shouldn’t have to go through that.

Your next reply was quick, your usual edge softening just slightly.

<Zombie> Thanks, Angel.

The others immediately latched onto your uncharacteristic tone.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT YOU’RE BEING NORMAL AGAIN WTF

<K9> Yeah, this is getting weird.

Ronin, of course, couldn’t let it go.

<goreboy> Careful, Zombie. You keep acting all soft with Angel, and people might start thinking you’ve got a heart in there somewhere.

Suddenly, a call....

You barely had time to process the abrupt call request when Ronin's face filled your screen, his devil-may-care grin almost daring you to hang up. Instead, you leaned back and stared, taking him in.

Burgundy wine hair, messy and effortless, poked out from beneath a beanie tailored with two stitched-on horns—an obvious nod to the Devil he so gleefully tried to embody. His neck sported a spiked dog collar that looked sharp enough to draw blood, resting against the dark fabric of his jacket. Rings and piercings glittered in his ears and tongue, every piece calculated to scream rebellion.

His shirt featured a decayed skull graphic, paired with black-painted nails that clicked rhythmically on his keyboard. He oozed edginess, a walking contradiction of emo with a holy necklace—a simple Christian cross dangling around his neck, daring anyone to comment on the irony.

“You done ogling, or should I give you a spin?” Ronin broke the silence, his voice dripping with mockery as he tilted his head, one dark eye catching the faint glow of his monitor.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?” He leaned closer, his grin widening, as if he could crawl through the screen to demand an answer.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, letting your eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice cutting through his theatrics. “What’s outside isn’t important. It’s what’s inside that counts.”

The faintest flicker of offense flashed across his face, quickly masked by a teasing pout. “Ouch,” he said, his voice dripping with faux hurt. “You wound me, Pinkie. You don’t like what you see?”

“It’s not about like or dislike,” you replied, your voice steady. “If what’s inside is rotten, it’s waste. No matter how pretty the packaging.”

The grin froze on his face for a moment, his head tilting as if to process your words. Then, slowly, it crept back, sharper, hungrier. “Damn. You really know how to twist the knife, don’t ya?” His laugh was low and rough, but his eyes betrayed something more—a flicker of challenge, intrigue.

“You’re a real piece of work, Zombie,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you staring. Could’ve sworn you liked what you saw for a second there.”

“I observe,” you corrected, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His laughter filled the call, rich and full of wicked delight. “Too late for that, sweetheart. I was born to flatter myself.”

It was hard to ignore the way your aesthetic clashed with his. You, in your sugary pink hues, with pastel highlights that seemed to light up the screen. Him, drenched in dark tones, every inch of him screaming chaos and rebellion.

“By the way,” you added, motioning toward his necklace, “what’s with the cross? Playing both sides, are we?”

His grin stretched impossibly wider, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, this?” He fingered the cross lazily, his rings catching the light. “Just a little reminder. Gotta keep things balanced."

“Rot and decay,” you added pointedly.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning closer again, the edges of his voice dipping into something darker. “You get me.”

The video feed was grainy but clear enough to catch Ronin's cocky smirk as he leaned back in his chair, the screen lighting his sharp features. The beanie still sat crooked on his head, and his dark eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

"So, what’s the deal with you and Angel?" you asked, voice light but probing. It was the natural question, the obvious one, considering the way he’d been snapping back and forth in her defense all night.

Ronin tilted his head, the smirk softening slightly but never quite leaving. “You noticed, huh? Angel and I...we’ve got history.” His voice dipped, casual but carrying an undertone of weight, like he was telling a joke he didn’t expect anyone to laugh at.

“She’s... important. We were a thing once, way back when. Thought it was love. Turns out it wasn’t—at least not the kind of love that lasts. More like we were thrilled to find someone just as twisted as we were, and we mistook that for romance.”

He shrugged, but his expression betrayed the complexity behind the words. “It was fun until it wasn’t. I made her worse; she made me realize...some shit about myself. Then we split, stayed friends. Better this way.”

The pause hung heavy, and he leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “She’s been spamming my DMs, though. About you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said, grin twitching back to life. “Apparently, I’ve been mean. She thinks I’m scaring you or some crap. Says I need to ease up. Real concerned, you know? Angel always cares a little too much.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, raising a brow as if the question was absurd. “Because that’s Angel. She’s like that. Her manager put her through hell; I guess she’s got a soft spot for anyone she thinks needs saving. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve got a job for you.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “A job?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer, his face filling the screen. “Keep an eye on Angel. Make sure she’s okay. And I mean actually okay. She’s got this martyr complex, always trying to save everyone else while letting herself get crushed under the weight of it. I’m not about to let her drown herself, you get me?”

You blinked at him, processing the odd sincerity in his voice. “Why me?”

His grin sharpened. “Because you’re crazy enough to care about people the way she does. And because I know what you’ve been up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” He laughed, low and wicked. “You’ve been trying to hack into the server, haven’t you? Looking for addresses, names...Am I warm? You just joined!”

Your stomach flipped, but you held your composure. “How did you—”

“I know everything,” he interrupted, eyes glinting dangerously. “And let me tell you something: if anyone—anyone—gets hurt because of you? I’ll be abusing a crowbar on that pretty little head of yours, darling. Don’t test me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, his threat hanging in the air like the faint smell of copper. Then, unexpectedly, you giggled.

your eyes sharp and unblinking, cutting into him like knives. His smirk wavered slightly under your intense gaze.

“You’re not completely rotten,” you said suddenly, your voice low and deliberate.

His grin twitched back into place. “You keep saying that, sweetheart, but I’m telling ya, I’m as bad as they come.”

“No,” you countered, tilting your head, the movement slow, almost mechanical. “You care about Angel. I’ve noticed it. The way you check on her, the way you talk about her. You don’t want her to drown in her own martyrdom. You notice everything about her. You want to protect her, even from herself.”

Ronin’s smirk softened into something almost unsure. “What can I say? She’s my favorite Angel. Someone’s gotta keep her wings clean.”

“You pretend you’re only chaos,” you continued, ignoring his quip, your tone growing more deliberate, more intense. “But you’re not. You’ve got something in there. A little sliver of...something. A little less rotten.”

You tilted your head the other way, a smile spreading across your lips—too sweet, too wide, too unsettling. “I want that kind of care. Someone who sees me like you see her. But...” Your smile faltered, and your eyes seemed to gleam with something darker. “I can’t get it, can I?”

Ronin let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. Really are.”

“Guess that’s a deal then,” you said, your smile returning with a sharp edge. “But in return...” You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to see more of you.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “More of me, huh? What, you want me to start livestreaming my kills for ya?”

“No.” You shook your head slowly, your grin widening. “You’re such a unique ingredient.” Your voice carried an eerie sing-song lilt as your eyes lit up, almost sparkling with manic glee. “A fascinating one. I’d love to see how you’re put together.”

“Holy shit,” Ronin said, laughing as he leaned back again, the sound loud and sharp. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

You didn’t flinch, your gaze still locked onto his. “I want to see your insides.”

Ronin froze mid-laugh, his grin faltering just enough to catch. “Come again?”

“I want to see your heart,” you said, your voice unnervingly calm. “I want to know how rotten it is. I want to cut you open. I want to carve you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the truth inside you. I want to see if you’re really as rotten as you pretend to be.”

The air between you felt thick as Ronin blinked, watching you with something caught between amusement and genuine disbelief. Then, to your surprise, his face flushed—just the faintest hint of red across his cheeks.

“Darlin’, you’ve got some ideas,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with amusement.

You leaned forward, your grin widening even further. “You like it, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You like people who want to murder you,” you said bluntly, your head tilting in that same slow, unnerving way.

Ronin’s laughter burst out again, sharp and unrestrained. “You’re insane. Completely unhinged.” He wiped at his face, shaking his head. “But I can’t lie, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your voice dropped into a whisper, dripping with a dark, almost intimate intensity. “I’ll cut you open, Ronin. I’ll cut and cut and cut. I’ll carve you down to nothing.”

His grin grew, sharp and full of teeth, as if he were watching a show just for him. “And what would you find, huh? What’s left of me once you’re done?”

“I’ll find you,"

"You're a diseases." He looked at you grinning.

"I do have a disease, . THAT DISEASE ONLY TOOK AWAY MY SENSITIVITY. BUT I CAN STILL SMELL THINGS. LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SMELL..."

"Flowers, because you're pink?"

"BLOOD."

"I'll admit that smell is pretty cool...I feel bad for you tho. What kind of shitty person has this society turned you into?" Ronin asked ever so...

"Ah...H....."

"You're smiling too much now Mx Baker."

"I'M JUST AMUSED BY YOUR COMPASSION FOR ME. I'M LITERALLY GOING TO KILL AND EAT YOU AND YOU KNOW IT PERFECTLY WELL. AH, POOR ME! YOUR BLOOD, STUPID. I WANT TO EAT YOU, I WANT TO TASTE EVERY BITE AND CHEW IT WITH YOUR SWEET BLOOD. GOD, THE THOUGHT OF IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

you said, deadly serious, your gaze unwavering.

He stared at you, his grin fading for a split second before returning, softer this time. “You’re a real freak, sweetheart.”

“And you like it,” you replied, your voice dripping with certainty.

“We’ll see,” he said, his grin sharp as he reached for the call button. “Don’t go fallin’ too hard, Zombie.”

With that, the call ended, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your smile unwavering.

Character Introduction: Y/N (The Cannibal Baker)- Character notes on them if you wanna read!

Alias: Zombie (By ronin), Honey (Angel), Freakshow (Misaki) Y/n (V)

Appearance: A twisted vision of stitched perfection, Y/N is a haunting figure of pale pink and soft pastels juxtaposed with grotesque details. Their stitched skin is meticulously patched, a macabre quilt of recycled life. Their wide, eerie smile is framed by scars, and the occasional tooth slips loose, revealing the horrors underneath. Eyes that sparkle with unnerving glee belie their darker nature.

Personality: A duality of sweetness and sinister intent, Y/N is as charming as they are horrifying. They speak with a syrupy kindness that feels just a little too sticky, a little too wrong. Their obsession with "ingredients" extends to everyone they meet, dissecting people in their mind, categorizing their potential usefulness in a culinary metaphor.Y/N has a sharp wit, a playful edge to their cruelty, and an unnerving calmness when speaking of the unspeakable. Their fascination with gore and murder is matched only by their twisted sense of care—caring deeply about the people they’ve deemed important, even if their ways of expressing it are unsettling.

Motivations: Y/N kills for pleasure and perfection, seeing it as an art form. They’ve convinced themselves it’s about crafting the perfect “dish,” but deep down, it’s their way of maintaining control and finding meaning in a chaotic existence.

Character Relationship Thoughts

Ronin (The Devil’s Butcher):

Y/N’s thoughts on Ronin: "He’s like a rotting masterpiece—so vibrant and decayed, I can’t look away. Every joke he cracks is a layer peeling back, every threat a promise I’d love to see fulfilled. He’s not completely rotten, though. He pretends to be, but I see it. The way he cares for Angel—it’s fascinating. It’s beautiful. I want to cut him open and see what makes him tick. I want to carve out the truth of him with my own two hands. He’s a unique ingredient, one I’d never waste on a single dish. He’s the kind of flavor that lingers, haunts you long after the meal is done."

Ronin’s thoughts on Y/N: "Sweetheart’s a goddamn freak, and I mean that in the best way possible. They’ve got that look in their eyes, like they’d gut me and giggle while doing it—and hell, that’s kinda thrilling. They’re dangerous, no doubt, but not just in a kill-you kind of way. They notice things, things they shouldn’t. Makes me feel...seen, in a way I don’t know if I like yet. They’re crazy as shit, but damn if they aren’t my kind of crazy. I’d love to see them try to crack me open. Let’s see who breaks first."

Angel (Heartsick Angel):

Y/N’s thoughts on Angel: "She’s too good to be eaten. Too precious, too sweet, too much. I could never ruin her by turning her into a meal. No dish would do her justice; she’s a perfection I’d never desecrate. But oh, the way she cares, the way she looks at people with that soft gaze—it’s maddening. She makes me feel...small, like I could be something other than this. And that’s terrifying."

Angel’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re broken, but not beyond saving. I see them the way I wish someone had seen me before I became this. They’re terrifying, sure, but there’s something sad about them, too. They talk about people like ingredients, but there’s a care in the way they don’t talk about me that tells me they’re not as gone as they think. I just hope they don’t drown in the darkness they keep running towards."

V (Vigilante):

Y/N’s thoughts on V: "He’s so self-righteous, so blind to the truth of what he is. He kills and calls it justice; I kill and call it art. At least I’m honest. He’s like a bitter spice, overpowering and trying too hard. He’s useful, though—ingredients like him bring out the best in a dish when balanced correctly."

V’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re messed up. Totally deranged. But the worst part? They don’t lie about it. They look you in the eye and tell you exactly what they are, and it’s terrifying. There’s a darkness in them that even Ronin doesn’t have—it’s colder, more calculated. I don’t trust them, but I can’t stop watching."

Misaki (HitMeUpp):

Y/N’s thoughts on Misaki: "So excitable, so easily impressed. She’s like sugar—sweet, but too much of her would rot your teeth. Still, she’s fun, in a bubblegum kind of way. Not my usual flavor, but every dish needs a little contrast."

Misaki’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re so wacky! Like, scary wacky, but also fascinating. The way they talk about killing like it’s an art form—it’s freaky, but you can’t help but listen. I mean, they’re a little too creepy sometimes, but I think they’re cool in a way I don’t wanna admit out loud."

The Messed-Up Love Between Y/N, Ronin, and Angel:

Y/N & Ronin:

Dear ME Their bond is a twisted dance of obsession and control, where love doesn’t exist in the traditional sense. It’s a game, a performance where each step is an act of domination and submission. Y/N is entranced by Ronin’s chaotic nature, drawn to the dark, twisted energy he radiates. They see him as a puzzle they want to solve, a broken, rotting thing that’s too beautiful in its disintegration to ignore. It’s not love, but something darker—an addiction to the thrill of their interactions, the danger they present to each other.Y/N's idea of love is warped by their need to "break" the things they care about. In their mind, to truly love someone is to carve them open, understand them piece by piece, and turn them into something they can possess—control. With Ronin, they find a kindred spirit in destruction, but Ronin doesn’t allow himself to be completely consumed. The tension between them is electric, but neither of them will allow the other to dominate entirely. There’s a mutual respect in their brokenness, but there’s also a game of manipulation—one trying to outsmart the other.Y/N wants Ronin to crack, to let them in, to show them that there's something more under the devilish exterior. Ronin, on the other hand, plays the role of the untouchable figure, the force of nature, the devil who refuses to bow to anyone, including Y/N. Their relationship is marked by moments of twisted affection, sharp words, and even sharper smiles. It’s not love in the purest sense—it’s ownership, obsession, and a constant struggle for dominance.

Ronin’s Perspective: “You think you know me, sweetheart? You're just another fucking weirdo who's trying to find the truth in a world that doesn't have it. But you’re also... fun. Maybe a little too fun. I can’t decide if I want to kill you or keep you. Hell, maybe I’ll do both. What do you think of that? Huh?”

Y/N’s Perspective: “You’re a rotting masterpiece, Ronin. I want to carve into you, see what makes you tick. You think you’re untouchable, but we both know—there’s something in you that wants to break. And when you break, you’ll be mine.”

Y/N & Angel:

TWISTED With Angel, it’s a different kind of twisted affection. There’s a genuine care in Y/N’s desire to protect her, but it’s muddled by their own fractured psyche. Y/N sees Angel as something pure, untouchable, a perfect contradiction to their own broken soul. But that purity is something Y/N feels compelled to defile, not out of hatred, but out of a need to possess everything they find beautiful and unattainable.Y/N’s love for Angel is possessive and suffocating. It’s not that they want to hurt Angel, but they want to understand her, to know every secret she hides, to rip through her facades and uncover the raw, human parts that Angel doesn’t want anyone to see. They know how much Angel means to Ronin, and that fuels their need to control and shape her into something they can possess.Y/N wants to save her, but not in a way that would make her whole. They want to keep her fractured, like them—because only then would they feel truly connected. They want to be the one who heals her, but in doing so, they’d break her a little more.

Angel’s Perspective on Y/N: “You’re twisted. You say you want to protect me, but you’ve got this way of making everything feel like a game—like I’m just another one of your little experiments. But I can’t say I don’t care. There’s something in the way you look at me, something that feels like you really want to be... with me."

Y/N’s Perspective on Angel: “You’re too pure, Angel. Too soft. You make me want to ruin that purity, to twist it, because I can’t have you thinking you’re better than me. But I’ll never hurt you the way I’d hurt someone else. You’re special... in a way that makes me want to hold you close and crush everything good about you just to see how it fits inside me.”

Lemme know if I should do part 2!!!

[elysiaheaven]

Ronin X devil reader? Like we're an actual devil

Even the devils are tired of you Ronin! Ronin x G.N Reader!

Character: Ronin x Devil Reader!

Game: Killer Chat! (Stopping requests for now to focus on the ones in my inbox!)

Hell has always been cast as the ultimate punishment, the endless abyss reserved for those who defy heaven’s grace. But what most mortals don’t understand is that Hell isn’t chaos incarnate. It’s order—dark, necessary, and strangely beautiful. Every corner is tailored with purpose, a place where sinners face justice. Heaven takes its saints, and Hell, well… we handle the rest.

You were lounging in your quarters, eyes half-lidded as you reveled in the sweet symphony of suffering echoing through the lower realms. For you, this wasn’t horror—it was righteous order. The sinners who came here were executed in more ways than any earthly punishment could manage, each deserving soul bound to their perfect sentence.

But today, Satan himself had summoned you.

The air in the dark, obsidian throne room crackled with a cold, intoxicating energy as the Lord of Hell emerged from shadows that seemed to wrap him like silk. His presence was breathtaking, the power radiating from him tempered by a charisma that only an ancient devil could carry.

“You wanted to see me?” You huffed, feigning boredom, though the corners of your mouth betrayed a smirk. Meetings with Satan himself were rare—this had to be good.

“Yes,” Satan’s voice was smooth as velvet, his scarlet gaze intense. “There’s a human I want you to take care of.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. A human? You were royalty here, born to rule realms and break egos. Any human who saw you would either cower or scream. "If he saw the devil, I’m sure he’d bolt.” You tilted your head with a half-amused grin. “What could possibly make a human worth my time?”

Satan’s eyes glimmered with something wicked. “He’s... special. A rarity. This human is doing my work. He delivers more sinners to us than any plague or war.”

Intrigued now, you raised an eyebrow. "So he kills them. Does it mean he’s your… apostle? Or just another twisted soul doing his own thing?”

“He’s... both.” Satan’s voice was rich with satisfaction. “He knows exactly the kind of people he’s sending down here. Abusers, corrupt men hiding behind religious devotion, tormentors of the innocent. Each soul he damns enriches Hell, while Heaven sighs in relief at the balance. He needs protection to continue.”

“Oh, really?” You hummed, sitting forward in interest. “What’s his name?”

“Ronin,” Satan said, watching your reaction carefully. “And he’s every bit as bloody as his name.”

“Ronin,” you echoed, savoring the name. “And why should I keep this… human safe? Seems more than a little ironic, no?”

A shadow of a smile crossed Satan’s face, a rare sight that intrigued you further. “Because Hell will thrive. Heaven is pleased that those who prey on the weak are delivered their justice. And you know how Hell benefits from order, from new projects, new sinners to receive what they deserve. Our purpose will evolve.”

You took a moment to digest that. Hell would grow, and you would have the task of guiding this Ronin—a mortal as vicious as any soul here. You'd never had such a responsibility before. The prospect of protecting a human who practically had Satan’s blessing was almost amusing.

"Fine," you replied, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “I'll keep him safe. Just so you know, I expect him to hold his own, or I won’t bother."

Satan’s face softened, looking almost… endearing in his satisfaction. You blinked, surprised. Cute, you muttered under your breath, earning a glint of amusement in Satan’s eyes.

So, Ronin—the butcher of sinners, as Satan described him—was your charge now. This mortal with a knack for dragging Hell’s future residents to their doom was now under your protection. You straightened, taking in the weight of it with a surge of smug satisfaction. A little human, blessed by Satan and doing Hell's work—who would’ve thought?

You’d find this Ronin, wielding his crowbar. A human who could see Hell’s purpose as clearly as you did? Oh, you’d make sure no one laid a finger on him.

After all, he was yours to protect now.

Ronin was in his old haunt—an alley so stained with his handiwork it might as well be called his personal purgatory. A rat skittered across the damp pavement, dodging the sticky pools of blood splattered from his latest kill. This one was a lowlife, a fraud hiding behind faith, the kind that preached virtue while committing sin with abandon. Ronin couldn't hold back a bitter laugh as he plunged the crowbar into the man’s ribs, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath.

The alley was dark, wet, and stinking of decay—just the way Ronin liked it. This place, his little purgatory, was his own slice of sin where he could carve out his justice without judgment. The man cowering before him was just another worthless sinner—a pathetic creature who’d hidden his filth under a mask of piety.

Ronin chuckled as he raised his crowbar, loving the gleam of terror in the man’s eyes. "You think heaven’s got a place for you, huh?" he taunted. "Maybe if you like the view of Hell better."

The man twisted free at the last second, slipping out of Ronin's grip and stumbling to his feet. For a moment, Ronin's face twisted in disbelief before his expression turned manic. The game was on.

“You think you get to preach,” Ronin sneered, twisting the crowbar. “No gods left for you now. Just me.”

But the man, wild-eyed with terror, managed a last-ditch scramble, breaking free from Ronin’s grip. He sprinted, tripping through the alley's maze, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Ronin laughed again, his tone almost amused as he prowled after his prey. Just as he was about to corner him, a shadow fell over the alley, and a voice—smooth, poetic, and eerily commanding—rang out, halting him in his tracks.

“Why struggle against fate when justice waits? Perhaps the darkness needs an introduction.”

Ronin turned, his eyes narrowing. Before him stood a figure that seemed out of place, yet perfectly suited to the hellish backdrop of his alley. The figure’s dark, graceful form stepped forward, the presence so intense it made the two men stop dead, each one feeling the weight of the stranger’s gaze.

You smiled, an expression filled with cryptic knowledge. "Is it not strange, mortal? To kill in the name of justice without knowing the true face of sin?" Your words curled around him like smoke, dark and melodic. You made eye contact with the other man and muttered a single, arcane word under your breath. In an instant, the man’s face twisted with rage, and he lunged at Ronin, screaming like a possessed animal.

Ronin, still gripping his crowbar, raised an eyebrow, his face caught somewhere between amusement and frustration as the two men grappled, exchanging blows. When it was over, he turned his gaze on you, eyes cold and suspicious.

“Ronin, butcher of the damned, You have earned my gaze on you.”

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, wiping blood from his face. “And what kind of shitty Christ joke is this? You the angel of death or something?” he scoffed, though there was an edge of something else in his tone—almost intrigue. ”

Your smile faltered, your pride pricked. “Hardly,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with barely restrained malice. “But you ought to show some respect. You’ve attracted the attention of Hell itself, little butcher, and that… is no small feat.”

At that, you smirked, crossing your arms. "And a ‘Christ joke’?” You feigned offense, eyes narrowing. “I am far beyond your simple mortal concepts. I am royalty here, a devil charged with guiding those who think they understand sin. My name… well, I suspect you’re clever enough to learn it in time."

Ronin let out a dry laugh, voice thick with sarcasm. “Royalty in Hell? Cute. And here I thought I was the only one play-acting god around here.”

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a calculating glint. His usual bravado was there, but there was a new curiosity mingling with it. He didn’t back down. Instead, he met your gaze with a slow, almost predatory grin.

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s Hell need me for? Last I checked, I’m doing just fine without you supernatural types meddling in my affairs.”

“Oh, you’re certainly godlike to your victims,” you murmured, tone like dark velvet. “A god of punishment, an arbiter of justice for those who fail to hide their sins.”

He fell silent, unsettled as you seemed to pull thoughts directly from his mind, each word of yours landing with the weight of truth. For the first time, he couldn’t laugh off the presence before him; he could only stand there, fists clenched as you held his gaze with a darkly intense stare.

“You think you understand the game of sin, Ronin?” Your voice softened, almost hypnotic. “Oh, darling, I am sin. Every dark thought you’ve ever indulged, every twisted urge you’ve satisfied, I am the essence of it all. And you? A pawn I’ve come to protect.”

The words sunk in, but they didn’t fully make sense—not yet. “A pawn?” He laughed, but there was tension in his voice, an edge he couldn’t quite control. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking like that?”

“Not hell. Of Hell,” you replied, leaning closer, your eyes piercing his. "I am not some petty human—I am the devil’s own emissary. And you have been blessed by him, Ronin.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to fight back the chill creeping over him. “Yeah, well, don’t think for a second I’m some errand boy for the Devil.”

“Oh, you’re far more than that.” You leaned in, voice barely a whisper, your words brushing against the edges of his mind, seeping into his thoughts. He felt his vision haze, the faintest compulsion to obey sparking at the edge of his awareness. “I’m here to ensure your work continues, that you’re unchallenged and safe in your mission. But that means you answer to me.”

Ronin’s expression twisted, torn between fury and confusion, but he didn’t move, barely able to keep his head straight as your influence took hold. Your voice grew softer, hypnotic, threading through his consciousness like the faint pull of a dream.

Just as his resistance faded, you stepped back, releasing him from the web of compulsion. He blinked, slowly regaining his senses, but the feeling of your control lingered like a whisper in his mind.

You chuckled, watching him struggle to compose himself. “Get some rest, Ronin. Even sin gods like you need sleep.”

You turned to leave, he scoffed, forcing a smirk onto his face. “Get lost, human.”

You looked back over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Oh, sweet mortal, you still don’t understand. I’m far from human.”

Ronin’s eyes blinked open, groggy and disoriented, his gaze meeting the warm, flickering light of old oil lamps casting long shadows on ancient, splintered wood. The air was thick with the faint smell of alcohol and wine, tinged with a darker, headier note he couldn’t place. He squinted, taking in the wooden beams overhead and walls lined with objects that had no place in any church he’d ever seen—sigils, ancient weapons, twisted statues that looked like mocking parodies of holy figures.

“Nah…” he muttered, a dawning realization creeping in. This wasn’t Earth. This was Hell.

He shifted, or tried to, only to find himself held tight, his wrists and legs bound by something strong yet oddly warm, something that pulsed like a living thing. He craned his neck down, catching sight of a long, sleek, pointed tail coiled around his limbs. A devil’s tail.

A low, amused chuckle echoed through the room, dark and playful, and he tilted his head up to see you floating just above him. You looked every bit the devil you claimed to be, with razor-sharp horns curling back from your head, a smile that was far too wide and full of unnervingly perfect teeth. You looked down at him as if he were some adorable pet, something amusing and innocent—certainly not a man who spent his nights taking lives with a crowbar.

Before he could spit out some snarky retort, you reached down, gripping his face and tilting it up, your fingers cold and unnaturally steady.

"How fucked up,” you murmured, voice dripping with fascination, “can someone’s mind be to take such pleasure in killing? Tell me, Ronin—do you ever find satisfaction? Does it ever make you feel whole?”

Ronin stared back at you, jaw clenched. For once, he didn’t have a smart comeback, caught off guard by your sheer presence. He glared, trying to ignore the way your grip held him firm, your thumb brushing against his cheek like you were examining a rare, broken toy. Silence hung between you, thick and electric, as he refused to answer, though the words lingered in his mind, each one pricking at his thoughts like sharp needles.

You leaned in closer, your smile widening as if his defiance amused you even more. “Come now, I don’t bite… much.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with a perverse kind of curiosity. “Surely you have something to say to your new… patron. Or are you too busy pondering all the ways you’ve painted Earth red?”

“Patron?” he finally spat, his voice dripping with scorn. “I don’t need a patron. I don’t need anyone, least of all some fancy devil with a superiority complex.”

“Such bold words,” you mused, your voice lilting in a mocking singsong. “Yet here you are, bound and at my mercy. Do you really think you’re in a position to play tough, Ronin?”

He tried to wrench himself free, but your tail tightened its grip, the tip tracing a slow, almost taunting path along his jaw as you held him in place. “Tell me, Ronin,” you purred, voice thick with dark delight, “are you even remotely aware of how beautifully shattered you are?”

He scowled, refusing to let you see the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face. “I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me. What, you gonna try and fix me? Play the devil with a heart?” He laughed, though it was strained, defiant.

“Oh, fix you?” You laughed, a sound like shattered glass and honey. “No, darling. I like you just as you are. After all, you’re not here to be fixed. You’re here to serve a greater purpose. But that shattered little mind of yours… I simply must understand it.” You grinned, eyes gleaming with a hunger that wasn’t entirely of this world. “You have no idea how utterly fascinating you are to me.”

He glared up at you, his defiance dampened but not extinguished, even as you kept him bound, floating there like some impossibly powerful nightmare. He was beginning to realize just how deeply he was in over his head, but he wasn’t about to let you have the satisfaction of knowing it.

Finally, he smirked, a glint of his usual bravado returning. “I’m just another sinner, aren’t I? Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

You leaned closer, your breath cold against his skin. “Oh, but you’re so much more than that, Ronin. Sinners come and go, screaming and begging.” You tilted his face toward yours, eyes narrowing as you studied him with a disturbing kind of affection. “But you, you’ve painted yourself a god of sin, the judge and executioner of those who dare hide behind lies and faith.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush. and very obsessed..”

You scowled as Ronin’s eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curving into a smug smirk. The nerve of this guy! How dare he look at you like that, all high and mighty, like he had some sort of upper hand here. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your tail twitching in irritation as you stepped closer to him, floating just out of reach.

“I am obsessed?!” you snapped, voice rising in pitch, but you quickly reined it in, trying to regain your cool. “Don’t you dare act like you know me, you stupid human!” You threw your hands up in a mock dramatic flair, something that screamed more tsundere than you ever intended. "I’m just… just reciting lines! You think I’m some clown trying to play a role?”

His dead eyes, now glowing faintly, flickered for a second before he actually started laughing. A low, guttural sound that echoed through the room, and it made you clench your teeth. How dare he? He was laughing at you, and not in the way you wanted!

“You—you think you're a devil?” he choked out between his laugh, voice full of mockery, “But you’re just a freakin’ wannabe!” He wiped a tear from his eye as he continued to laugh, and it was almost too much. “Oh, my bad, a royal devil, right? You're not even pretending to be terrifying. You're just… pathetic."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your hand twitched as you resisted the urge to burn him where he stood. Pathetic? You were anything but! And yet, somehow, his words cut deeper than you expected. You had a role to play in this, dammit! A role that you worked hard to perfect. Every word, every gesture, was meant to give you authority, make him fear you, respect you.

But instead, he was calling you out, reducing your entire performance to nothing more than a joke. You bit back a curse, hands curling into fists at your sides as you finally spoke again, your voice laced with venom. “I’m a devil of royalty, you idiot! I don’t need to play tricks on you like some stupid human. If anything, you're the one who’s insulting me right now!”

Ronin wiped another tear away, his laughter dying down, though his grin remained wide and irritating. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he drawled. “I still think it’s hilarious. You’re like some bad actor trying too hard to be edgy. Like I’ve never seen a wannabe demon in all my life.”

You felt a surge of heat rising to your cheeks, frustration boiling over. “You—” You gritted your teeth, “Just because I’m not out here spouting random nonsense about the end of days, doesn’t mean I’m not the real deal, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning like he had you figured out. “Oh, I figured you out ages ago. You’re just all bark and no bite, huh?”

You inhaled deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of control, even as your tail lashed in irritation. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Ronin. You’re the one who’s going to be taught a lesson. I’ll have you begging for mercy by the end of this. Mark my words.”

But when you finally looked him in the eye again, his smirk hadn’t faded. Instead, it was… genuine. And somehow, that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t afraid of you. He wasn’t even impressed. He was mocking you, yes, but it was almost like… a form of respect?

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath. “Damn you, Ronin,” you muttered. “You’re not even worth the effort.” But inside, the embers of frustration were still smoldering. You had something to prove now. Something you couldn’t just walk away from.

Ronin finally stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to the side. “Oh, no need to get all sensitive now. Just calling it like I see it. And I’ve gotta say…” His lips curled into a small, wry smile. “You’ve got more personality than I expected. I thought I was just dealing with another devil spewing the same tired lines.”

You blinked at him, the words sinking in slowly. More personality? You stared at him, and for a moment, the room felt unnervingly quiet. "I’m not here to entertain you, Ronin," you said flatly, but the edge in your voice was softer this time, as if something had shifted.

Ronin nodded slowly, his amusement fading into something… else. A flicker of understanding, maybe? Whatever it was, you weren't sure you liked it. But before you could dwell on it, he threw a final barb.

"Hey," he said with a teasing glint in his eye, "I’ll give you credit. You’re not boring. I’ll give you that."

You scowled at him, tail flicking agitatedly behind you. “Shut up.”

Ronin’s grin only widened at your frustrated outburst, and he leaned back, the chains binding his arms creaking slightly as he stretched. “God, you're like a dog with a bone, huh? So touchy," he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. His deadpan expression was still smug, like he’d just figured out the secret to driving you mad, and he was loving every second of it.

“You’re so annoying!” you snapped, your voice sharp and cold, but underneath it, there was a subtle hint of exasperation. How was he managing to get under your skin so easily? You had so much more control than this, but Ronin just seemed to unravel it all. It was almost like he knew what buttons to press, and you hated it.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. “Am I?” His grin morphed into something a bit more wicked, a glint of mischief dancing in the depths of his gaze. “Funny. I thought you were supposed to be a devil of royalty, not some whiny little brat.”

Your tail twitched violently at his words, the sharp tip of it slashing through the air like it had a mind of its own. “I’m not a brat,” you spat, almost instinctively puffing your chest out in a way that was more comical than intimidating. “I’m royalty, damn it. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronin drawled lazily, his hands still bound but his posture completely relaxed. “But if you're royalty, shouldn't you, I don't know, be a little scarier? You’re kind of like a kid pretending to be an adult, and it’s adorable."

“Adorable?” You hissed the word like it was poison. “You really think I’m some cute little plaything for you to laugh at, huh?” You took a step toward him, not fully realizing how much closer you were getting until your breath hitched.

But Ronin didn't back down. No, instead, he gave a lazy smirk and tilted his head further, eyes scanning you with a sort of casual, unimpressed interest. “Well, not cute exactly… but definitely something. I mean, you’re trying real hard to be intimidating, so it’s cute in a... 'this isn’t working at all' way.”

“You’re seriously pissing me off,” you muttered under your breath, your patience already wearing thin. You could feel the heavy weight of the energy building up inside of you—the raw, primal urge to do something. But you held yourself back, mostly because the way Ronin just sat there, not even slightly fazed by you, was starting to make your skin crawl.

“And yet,” he continued, utterly unfazed, “you’re still here. Which means I must be doing something right, right?” His voice was thick with that irritating, infuriating smugness that made you want to rip him apart, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

“You’re... You’re so infuriating!” The words practically exploded out of you, and you turned away, pacing the small, dimly lit room. You could feel your control slipping further with each second that passed, and it was like he was doing it on purpose—getting under your skin until you had no choice but to react. You could hear the low chuckle coming from behind you, and it made your teeth grind together.

“You’re funny, though,” he mused, his voice rich with sarcastic sweetness. “Not as funny as me, of course, but you’ve got some charm. Keep going like this, and you’ll be the star of my personal hell.”

You spun around, eyes flashing with frustration, and he just raised an eyebrow, his expression all but saying, You know I’m right.

“Don’t mock me, Ronin,” you warned, your voice low, warning laced with venom. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving a dismissive hand, as if you were a pest he could easily brush off. "I’ll let you get to that. But just so you know..." His eyes gleamed with amusement. “If you really wanted to make me regret anything, you’d have to actually do something about it, sweetheart. Right now, all you're doing is making me laugh.”

The last of your restraint snapped, and before you could think, you marched right up to him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. The act was impulsive, but there was something about that irritating smirk on his face that finally pushed you over the edge.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” you whispered through gritted teeth. “You think I’m a clown? Maybe I’ll show you just how terrifying I can be.”

You leaned in, a mischievous glint in your eyes that mirrored the mocking challenge in his. But instead of stepping back, his lips curled into something just a little too intrigued.

“Well then, make your move,” he said with a half-smirk. “Prove it to me, Your Highness.”

The moment he smirked again, that same irritating, condescending smirk that made your blood boil, you snapped. All that self-control you’d been pretending to have, all those carefully crafted lines you’d spent time perfecting, shattered in an instant.

Before Ronin could even react, your tail whipped forward, wrapping tightly around his throat with the precision of a predator capturing its prey. The pressure was instant, and you could feel his breath hitch as he fought against it, but you weren’t about to let go. Your tail tightened around him, lifting him slightly off the ground as your anger flared to life, burning hotter than before.

“You’re so damn annoying!” you growled through gritted teeth, a mix of frustration and something else bubbling up inside you. “If you’re gonna keep mocking me, at least make it worthwhile, you stupid human!”

Ronin’s eyes were wide now, but his grin didn’t falter. Instead, he chuckled—chuckled! Like he was actually enjoying this. His hands tried to pry your tail away, but it only made you squeeze tighter, your grip unrelenting as his face started to turn a little redder from lack of air.

“Why... are you so... pissed?” he managed to rasp out, his voice barely audible, but that damn smirk still stuck on his face.

You snarled, pushing him up higher, your floating form steady, even though the anger burned through your veins like wildfire. “Because you don’t stop, Ronin! You think you know me, but you don’t know a damn thing! I’m not just some… some little devil here to play games!”

And yet, despite your words, something in you was still... off about this whole situation.

Your mind screamed at you to stop—to pull away, to let him breathe. But no. He’d crossed the line.

"I’m a devil of royalty,” you hissed, your grip tightening. “You’re the one who’s gonna learn respect, got it?”

But Ronin, that bastard, only chuckled again, this time with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You know... if you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

You stopped. You stared. Your tail loosened slightly, but only out of sheer disbelief. What the hell did he just—?

“You... you—!” You cut yourself off, realizing you were staring at him like some blushing idiot. “You’re—ugh!” Your tail tightened again, but not in anger now. This was more of a reflex, a defensive move, like you were trying to shake off the absurdity of his words.

But then he did the worst thing possible. He grinned wider. “I mean, you’re cute when you’re mad. Really cute.”

You froze, a wave of frustration washing over you. Cute? Did he think you were some kind of child? Did he think he could just—?

“Shut. Up,” you spat, but the venom in your words was overshadowed by how genuinely mad you were now. You were supposed to be a devil, a royal one at that. And yet here you were, looking like some lovesick... idiot who couldn’t even keep it together.

Your tail, like a reflex, tugged him closer again, as if you wanted to shut him up once and for all. “You... you just don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, looking away as you tried to regain your composure.

Ronin, however, looked completely unfazed, eyes dancing with amusement. “No, I get it,” he said coolly. “You’re just not as scary as you think you are. You’re like one of those... princesses who’s stuck in her tower, throwing temper tantrums.”

You blinked at him, and for a moment, you honestly couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Princess? Tower?

And that’s when it clicked. You… you did have a bit of that princess vibe, didn’t you? The whole “royal devil” thing, the way you floated around, angry yet trying to maintain some composure. You were like one of those fairy tale princesses, locked away in a tower, trying to pretend like everything was under control.

The realization hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you felt a strange wave of embarrassment. Rapunzel, of all things?

“Are you... comparing me to that stupid princess?” You demanded, your tail loosening, now only holding him in place rather than choking him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you’re all high and mighty, but honestly... you don’t even know how to really handle me. You’re just making it all worse. You know what you need?” He looked at you, his smirk almost kind. “You need to get out of your tower. Take a step down. Get your hands dirty.”

Ronin’s expression shifted the moment he spoke, his tone veering from amusement to something darker. “So… if Hell exists,” he muttered, “then Heaven must exist, too.”

You nodded slowly, watching his face, the usual hard lines and cocky smirk softened with something almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Heaven and Hell… they’re both very aware of you, Ronin. Let’s just say, they’re happy with you making certain… types suffer.” You gave a crooked grin, hoping to lighten the mood, but he didn’t bite.

Instead, he scoffed, his face twisting with pain he hadn’t let slip before. “So Heaven does exist…” he whispered, as if the words themselves hurt. He looked off to the side, jaw clenched.

You could feel the weight of it immediately—the shadows in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. “Ronin…” you ventured, softer than before. “Is this… is it some kind of religious—?”

“Shut up,” he spat, but there was no real venom in it. Just exhaustion.

The silence stretched long and heavy, until finally, he looked at you, eyes sharper, more focused, like a steel trap snapping shut. “Someone I knew once… named Ther,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Where… where would she be?”

You froze, taken aback by the rawness in his voice. He didn’t ask for your answer, didn’t even look at you, his gaze lost somewhere beyond you, as if searching for something he couldn’t name.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, you watched him, and for once, you didn’t have anything clever to say.

[tsbs-shipfessions]

me x KC

My otp if you will

A wonderful OTP indeed.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[treasuringizu]

“Hmmm…” Satoru holds your hand up, twisting it this way and that and carefully examining it, pitch-black glasses discarded on the side to allow his azure eyes to show. He hums, a deep rumble in his throat as his long, pale fingers trace the back of your palm, gently tugging on your pointer finger, then your pinkie, and your ring finger.

His eyebrows furrow in faux concentration, lips in a pout, and then he nods once to himself. “Alright. Looks promising!” He says out-loud to himself, like a child inspecting their new toy.

You’re so used to his antics that you don’t even bat an eye at his out of the blue examination of your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips as you watch him. You had been walking past where he sat on the couch, only for his arms to wrap around you and pull you sideways onto his lap, no care for what you had been doing prior. He then proceeded to grab your hands with no words, silently beginning his very serious yet sudden inspection. Not like you put up much of a fight, though.

“Satoru,” you say. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “Everything okay, baby?” You ask, raising your eyebrows as your smile grows wider with the way his arms tighten minisculely over your midsection at the pet name. You love him. So, so much.

He grins, pearly white teeth winking at you and he ardently nods his head. “Yes! Everything’s great in fact, my dear sugar plum.”

You shake your head, and his attention is momentarily taken from your hands to you, dramatically sighing. “Not that one either?”

“No, Satoru. Try another name.”

“Aw, okay. Anyways!” He intertwines your hands together, affectionately squeezing. Your arm that’s wrapped around his shoulders moves so that your other hand is in his hair, running through the soft snow-white strands, causing his eyes briefly flutter shut at the kind touch. “…Hmm.”

You grin, always happy to see the little ways you affect him. “Anyways…” you prompt, dragging it out and successively reminding him of what he had started to say.

His eyes snap back open, and he gets back to his original task. “As I was saying, you have really, really nice hands,” he murmurs, gently swaying your locked hands, then placing a soft kiss on the back of your palm. “I love them.”

“Thank you, Satoru. I love your hands too.”

“I know, they’re pretty amazing.”

“I’ll smack you.”

He glosses over your threat. “Buttttt…” His grin grows a bit shy, timid— well, as timid as he ever could be. Leaning in for a kiss, you meet him half-way, and your heart leaps as your lips touch, even though this definitely isn’t the first time he’s kissed you before.

When you part, he leans his forehead against yours, his hand that’s not interlocked with yours smoothing over your back, under your t-shirt and fervidly rubbing against your bare skin.

He winks, and your mouth dries. “I think it would look even better with a ring on it.”

[triasticalwarlock]

Which one would you fuck, marry, and kill?

[killerelysia]

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

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

Happy Birthday, Ronin!

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday.

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

Hey, I hope this is real..?

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

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 15k!

TW: Blood etc

How long!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ronin—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Night, angel.”

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

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

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

Shut it, Ronin

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

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

But-----

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

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

“What the hell are you doing down here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ronin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Misaki shot back quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He typed back quickly, trying to brush it off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apple Crumble Cake Recipe Steps:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ronin Beaufort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Midnight Bell. It’s his birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, taken aback. "You will?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here," he said, holding the cake up to your lips. "Open up."

You blinked, feeling your heart race as you stared at the piece of cake hovering just in front of your mouth. It was absurdly intimate, and yet, in some twisted way, it felt... natural. You could already feel the edge of Ronin's gaze on you, and there was no escaping that look.

You sighed, giving in. "Fine," you murmured, opening your mouth just enough for him to feed you.

As you took the bite, your heart pounded even faster. Ronin’s eyes never left you, his smirk returning in full force as you chewed the cake slowly.

"Good, huh?" he teased, his voice low and almost dangerous.

You nodded quickly, trying to suppress the nerves threatening to spill over. "Y-Yeah. It’s good."

Ronin watched you for a moment, amused by your flustered state. "Now it’s your turn," he said, his eyes glinting. "Feed me."

Your eyes widened. "No way! That’s—"

"Do it," he growled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. "You said you’d listen, didn’t you?"

The command in his voice was unshakable, and despite your reluctance, you found yourself leaning forward, holding the cake between your fingers and lifting it to his lips.

"Alright, alright," you muttered, your face flushed with heat. "Ahn."

Ronin’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in, accepting the cake, his gaze sharp and possessive as he chewed slowly, savoring the moment. "There we go," he murmured. "Now we’re even."

You swallowed, trying to control your racing heart. It wasn’t the cake or even the birthday celebration anymore—it was something else entirely.

Ronin leaned back on the bed, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand after finishing the last bite of the cake. A grin stretched across his face, almost too smug. "Heh. Is that all?" he teased, the tone in his voice making it clear he was enjoying every second of your flustered state.

You, however, had a different idea. Your smile widened with something darker, more playful. "Not quite," you said, standing up and brushing crumbs off your lap as you moved toward the door. "You see, I may have something else for you... something more... interesting."

Ronin’s eyebrows arched, clearly intrigued, though he didn’t rise from the bed just yet. "More?" he asked with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You only gave him a sly grin before disappearing out the door, reappearing moments later with bags—bags upon bags, the weight of them evident as you dragged them behind you.

Ronin’s expression shifted. "What the hell is all this?" His voice held a note of both amusement and disbelief as you began pulling the bags one by one into the room. "You’ve got more of this stuff hidden in your basement?"

You nodded, smiling sweetly as you placed the first bag next to him. "Oh, there’s a lot more downstairs," you said casually. "I figured you’d like them."

Ronin’s eyes widened, his interest piqued. "A whole damn basement full of... what, presents?"

You shrugged, not bothering to give away all your secrets. "You can say that. I figured I should really get something special for you. You know, for all the things you’ve done."

Ronin just stared at you as you unloaded the contents of the first bag, his gaze narrowing as he saw the items in front of him. First, there was a beanie—black, perfectly styled, just like the one he always wore. He couldn’t help but smirk, though there was a slight confusion in his eyes.

"Nice," he muttered, running his fingers through it. "But, uh, I’m starting to wonder... how many damn bags do you have?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you continued pulling out more bags, each one filled with more extravagant, bizarre items: dark, emo clothes, studded jackets, chains, ripped jeans, and layers upon layers of black fabric that screamed both punk and chaos. Ronin looked at them, then back at you, eyes flicking with disbelief. "What... is all this?"

"And..." you said with a dramatic pause, pulling out something else, "your crowbar." You placed it next to him with a flourish, like it was the final piece of a grand display. "A new crowbar separately for your work, the one you’d want."

Ronin blinked, his gaze switching from the crowbar back to you. He was visibly taken aback, mouth slightly agape. "How the hell did you get all of this stuff, Y/N?"

You sat down beside him on the bed, your fingers lightly brushing against his as you gave him a sly, confident look. "Well... let’s just say I saved up all the tips you gave me."

His eyes widened further. "You—what? How long has this been going on?" He let out a low whistle, his disbelief turning into a mix of admiration and something close to shock. "I didn’t realize I was such a great tipper."

You shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Hey, it’s fine. ." You leaned forward, your voice lowering as you added, "It’s just... the least I could do."

Ronin’s expression softened, though there was a tinge of something else in his eyes—something like warmth mixed with the confusion of being overwhelmed by your unexpected generosity.

He looked down at the piles of presents in front of him, the crowbar, the clothes, the beanie, everything carefully picked out and perfectly fitting for his twisted sense of style. After a long pause, his voice finally came, gruff but sincere. "Thank you," he muttered, meeting your eyes. "This... this is a lot. I didn’t expect... all this."

You smiled, your hand resting gently in his as you gave a soft squeeze. "It’s nothing, really. You’ve given me so much... I just wanted to give back." Your voice softened as you added, "I’ll always find a way, even if it means saving every penny for months."

Ronin took a deep breath, trying to suppress the emotions welling up in him. He shook his head, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual smug facade. "You’re insane,"

Ronin smirked, leaning back against the counter as you nervously brought the slice of cake closer. His plum-colored hair framed his face, and those sharp eyes of his glinted mischievously as he leaned in.

Now, He wants to shut up!

"Good, just like that, transfer it to my mouth…" he murmured, voice dripping with playful mockery.

Your cheeks flamed as you complied, but before you could even think of pulling back, Ronin’s lips grazed the fork—and your fingers, on purpose, of course.

"Mmm… Nn…" he mused exaggeratedly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as you fidgeted.

"Ronin! Seriously—!" you protested, pulling your hand back.

He leaned in closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What? You’re blushing like crazy, darling. Was it that good?" He chuckled darkly. "Gotta say though… it was delicious."

You turned your head, already flustered, but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Wait, darling," he said casually, his voice dropping. "You’ve got some cream stuck on your mouth. Sit still. I’ll get it for you."

Before you could react, his thumb brushed over your lips, but instead of wiping it away, Ronin leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste the sweetness from your skin.

"Nn… Sweet," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Ronin! " you gasped, trying to squirm away, only for him to suddenly push you back against the counter.

"Ah—!"

"Damn…" he muttered, pinning you beneath him, his breath hot against your ear. "It’s your fault for moving, darling. You know better than to disobey me."

"Let me up—!" you stammered, your heartbeat thundering as he hovered over you.

"Not a chance." His voice was low and teasing, laced with a hint of danger. His eyes burned into yours, and his smirk widened. "Now that you’ve got me all riled up… how about I skip the cake and gobble you up instead, hmm?"

Before you could even muster a reply, he leaned in, sinking his teeth gently into the crook of your neck.

"Ah—!"

Ronin groaned softly against your skin, savoring every moment. "Damn, darling… The cake was good, but this…" He licked his lips as he pulled back slightly, his breath hitching. "Your sweetness puts that lovely apple crumble to shame."

You tried to catch your breath, your fingers gripping his arms weakly. "R-Ronin… the cake… your presents—"

He silenced you with a low chuckle, his face impossibly close. "I don’t care about the cake. And the gifts? Yeah, those are nice too, but they don’t compare to you, darling. You’re the best damn thing anyone could’ve given me."

"R-Ronin…"

He pressed another kiss to your neck, humming softly. "Never thought I’d give a damn about my birthday, but if this is what it’s like… I could get used to it."

You felt your resolve wavering, his words melting into you like honey. "T-Thank you for being born, Ronin…" you whispered. "I love you."

His movements stilled for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. "Say that again, I love you too." he demanded softly.

"I love you," you repeated, your voice trembling.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a ghost of a kiss. "Now, darling…" His tone dropped dangerously. "Don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you leave my side. You’re mine. Forever. Got it?"

His hand clasped yours tightly as he murmured against your lips, "I’ll treasure you, darling—always."

Forever, indeed.

A dream, A shame, the last thing you remember is being.....hit by the same man, you found peace out.

Hey why..?

Was I that painful to you? Did I become boring to you?

Or Did you give me the peace I wanted..?

[thatsdemko]

super bowl - t.kelce

masterlist

requested: n

pairing: dad!travis kelce x mom!reader

warnings: established relationship + children + mentions of pregnancy + mentions of Patrick mahomes

a/n: I just wanted to write for this fine man! me writing this does not mean I’m happy the eagles lost just an fyi.

you weren’t sure how the chiefs were able to pull this game off, but they did. the whole second quarter looked like a disaster. with mahomes down, the defense playing like shit, you weren’t sure how they were going to pull it together after half time. but there you stood waiting for the ‘okay’ to go onto the field with your two kids after the chiefs won the Super Bowl.

your arms were being tugged in two different directions thanks to your son, Lucas who was five, and your daughter, Ari, who was three. the two of them had minds of their own attempting to play with other kids or chase after the opposing team players. you were growing irritated hoping the security guard would finally free you all so you could find Travis, your husband.

finally being given the okay, you herded your children straight to your husband who was searching for you three the second everyone entered the field. “Daddy!” he heard Lucas’ voice and a small body wrap around his lower half.

“daddy won!” ari reached upward and Travis took her in his arms planting a kiss on her cheek before bending down to ruffle Lucas’s ginger hair. his eyes finally landed on yours giving you a big grin and you returned it.

“congrats, champ.” you pressed a quick kiss on his lips earning some gross noises from your kids only leaving you both to roll your eyes.

this was your kids first Super Bowl fully able to remember it. Lucas was young the first time around, and Ari was barely one the last time. you couldn’t believe how much time had gone by as you watched the three of them run around the field playing the confetti.

the Lombardi was making its way around with the players, while the press snapped pictures, video footage, and even interviewed the players. you watched an interviewer approach Travis and your daughter while you watched him answer questions.

“Travis, how are you feeling right now?” you watched Ari position herself into the crook of his neck to avoid looking at the camera. it earned an ‘Aw’ from the two of them, as Travis’ hand touched the back of her head, protectively.

“I’m happy! my wife and kids are here and they couldn’t be happier to celebrate.” he gestured for you to join the interview, but you just shook your head. it was much cuter the two of them, Ari was playing with the hat on his head while he tried to focus on the question she was asking him.

“we noticed your son has drifted off to hang out with the mahomes family, who do we have here with you?” she asked, making sure the microphone wasn’t too into your daughters face as Ari turned her head to look at the camera for a second before hiding again against her dad.

“this is Ari, she’s a little camera shy. but she’s her daddy’s girl, right?” he asked earning a little nod from her before she wiggled in his arms to be free. letting her down, she ran straight to you and the camera panned over to you and her.

a couple more questions later, he was done with the interview and finally being handed the Lombardi. you watched him carefully take the trophy from Patrick, and squat down to his kids letting them both touch it.

“daddy has two of these now.” you mentioned earning a nod from Lucas, who explained to Ari about the 2020 Super Bowl—that was narrated by Travis to him for bed time stories.

“does this ever make you wish you had one more?” Travis turned his head to face your direction. an irreplaceable smile was still on his lips that just melted your heart. despite the sweaty appearance, he was still handsome.

a smirk formed on your lips watching his eyes grow with concern, “well you don’t have to wish.” you watched his eyes grow big as the news settled in his brain, he reached over pulling you into his sweaty body. you had been holding off the news since you found out just before your departure for the Super Bowl, you figured it would be a perfect surprise no matter the outcome.

“you’re pregnant?” he mouthed the words, hoping nobody caught this interaction between you two and was still stuck on your kids cuteness with the Lombardi.

nodding, you felt his lips press against your forehead, “this is the best Super Bowl win.”

[elysiaheaven2]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 1)

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

01: Host-Pathogen Interface

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

"Breaking news! A monster in human skin has committed atrocities beyond murder! This criminal, vile and unrepentant, has torn apart not just strangers but their own family as well. They didn’t stop. They didn’t care."

The reporter extended their hand toward the screen, fingers trembling as though desperate to reach those watching.

"These acts are beyond comprehension. What they’ve done is worse than death itself. If you see this person, don’t hesitate. Don’t hide. Report them immediately."

The screen flickered, and the reporter leaned closer, their hand trembling slightly as they pressed a button. A distorted image appeared—grainy yet unmistakable. A face. Vacant eyes stared out from the screen, their expression hauntingly neutral, as though untouched by the chaos they had wrought.

“This is the face of the devil walking among us,” the reporter whispered, voice low and quaking with disgust. “You won’t find them easily. Authorities haven’t. But their trail is marked by the missing… the abused… the broken. Those they left behind whisper of horrors too ungodly to repeat.”

The screen darkened, leaving a reflection of yourself staring back from the glass. You smiled, slow and crooked, as if the image had shared an inside joke only you understood. With a quiet chuckle, you turned, your steps echoing in the hollow hallway. Not toward the comfort of a home, but to your sanctuary.

Not Your office. It was a special place.

Sliding into the chair, you reached for the camera and flicked it on. The red recording light blinked to life, casting its glow across your desk. The scene you’d prepared came into view.

Ropes. Tools. A backdrop streaked in abstract patterns of red. The room smelled faintly of copper and bleach, but it didn’t bother you. Your stream began with a soft, almost gentle giggle. But it grew, morphing into something jagged and unsettling. The sound of it filled the small room as your viewers began flooding in, the chat bar rolling with their messages:

“What’s tonight’s special?” “The Pathegon's back!” “Are they still alive?”

You leaned in close to the lens, your breath fogging the glass as your giggle shifted to a low, manic whisper:

'Let's start the bloodbath!"

The first thing they noticed was a pounding headache.

Clicking… sharp, deliberate, like nails tapping against glass.

Their eyes cracked open, blurry shapes bleeding into focus. Kneeling on the cold, unyielding floor, arms wrenched above their head, they tugged instinctively—only to hear the heavy clatter of chains.

You stood in front of them.

"Right on time," you said, your voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "It’s 9 p.m."

They flinched, jerking against the restraints, but the chains held fast.

Their gaze flickered to you, wide and desperate. You tilted your head, watching them with a cool detachment, like they were a bug caught under glass.

"Where—?" Their voice broke, trembling.

"Try to remember," you interrupted, your tone as lifeless as the expression on your face.

"It hurts… You said you’d help me," they rasped, panic rising in their throat.

"I did," you replied, calm and matter-of-fact. "I took you away from the police, didn’t I?"

"But…" Their voice cracked. "I saw the news! It said I ran away!"

You smiled then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes.

"You did." As you spoke, they darted frantic glances around the room, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Their eyes locked onto the cold glare of cameras, all pointed directly at them.

"Don’t worry," you said, voice unnervingly casual. "We’re going live in two minutes. You don’t need to worry about the police—they won’t catch you."

Their mouth opened, a protest forming, but you had already turned away, your attention fixed on the array of equipment surrounding you.

Their stomach twisted as they took it all in: monitors, wires, and blinking red lights.

"What the hell! Are you filming me, you sick—"

"Shh, shh!" you interrupted, a finger pressed to your lips as you glanced over your shoulder. "We’re starting."

You turned back to the screen, your tone shifting to something unsettlingly cheerful.

"Hello, everyone! How’s the feed?"

You weren’t talking to them anymore.

Their confusion turned to horror as your voice softened, addressing a live audience.

"Hihi! Everyone’s here! Oh, Goreboy, play nice in the chat, no bullying tonight!" Your fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping rapidly as you giggled, the sound high-pitched and unnerving.

"Yes, yes! We’ll pull this guy’s guts out!" you typed, glancing at the screen with glee. "Oh, Goreboy, that’s perfect! Love the creativity, even if you’re not donating. Your ideas for gore? Chef’s kiss."

The person on the floor thrashed against their chains, a strangled scream tearing from their throat. You looked over your shoulder at them, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Relax, it’s a metaphor," you said with mock reassurance. "We’re just going to do something… small. Don’t worry."

"What the fuck is this?!" they shouted, their voice cracking with panic.

You tilted your head, the grin slipping into something colder. "Radio silence," you said sharply, holding a finger to your lips. "You’re ruining the vibe."

"This isn’t a fucking show!" they cried, their voice trembling with hysteria.

You crossed the room in three deliberate steps, crouching down to their level. Your hand reached out, gripping their face tightly, forcing them to meet your unyielding gaze.

"What you did," you whispered, your tone venomous, "was justice, wasn’t it? You made choices—choices that led you here. So, tell me…" Your grip tightened slightly, enough to make them wince. "What the fuck makes you think you deserve anything better than this?"

Their breathing came in ragged gasps, their eyes wild with fear and disbelief.

You smiled then, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and released them, standing up and brushing your hands off like you’d just handled something filthy.

"The show must go on," you announced brightly, spinning back to the camera. "Alright, chat, who’s ready for the main event?!"

You turned back to the camera, fingers dancing over the keyboard as you laughed, a sound that sent a chill through the room.

"Chat, you won’t believe this one," you said, voice dripping with giddy malice. "Our guest tonight? Oh, they’re not just anyone. No, no, no! They’ve got a history. You wouldn’t think it, looking at them now, but…"

You spun around to face them, your eyes glittering with a deranged light.

"Should we tell them, hmm? Should we talk about how you snapped and tore your own family apart? Oh, I bet chat would love the details—the blood, the screaming, the mess you left behind."

Their face drained of color, their chains rattling as they thrashed. "Shut up!" they yelled, their voice cracking.

"Shut up?" you mimicked, tilting your head like a curious predator. "Why? Is it because you remember? You remember how it felt, don’t you? The rush, the heat, the way the knife felt in your hand as it went in again, and again…"

" "Stop it!" they screamed, their voice breaking into sobs.

"Oh, but why should I?!" you barked, your voice rising with manic energy. "You did it, didn’t you? You made sure they’d never stand in your way again. Your own family. And for what? Some twisted idea of justice? Some self-righteous, pathetic excuse for power?!"

They shook their head violently, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean—"

"‘Didn’t mean to’?!" you interrupted, a sharp, mocking laugh escaping your lips. "Please. Save it for someone who cares, because here’s the thing—chat loves this shit. They eat it up. You? You’re a goldmine. The more depraved you are, the more twisted your story, the bigger the payout. And trust me, I’m going to milk every single second."

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Oh, and let’s not forget the other things you’ve done. The theft, the blackmail, the drugs…" You giggled, pulling back with a theatrical flourish. "You’re an all-star of illegal shit, aren’t you? Chat! Can we get a round of applause for our guest here?"

"Good evening, everyone!" you chimed, your voice bright and saccharine as you gazed into the camera. "I’m so glad you could join me on such short notice—Oh? Oh, Goreboy! Missed me, huh?" You let out a soft, teasing giggle. "Chat! Can you believe it? Goreboy’s being sweet tonight! Usually, they’re my harshest critic. What’s that, darling? Missed my streams that much?"

You laughed again, high-pitched and lilting, the sound dancing unnervingly in the air.

"Yes! Yes! My delightful patrons of exquisite taste, welcome back!" you said, raising your voice theatrically, your arms spreading wide as if to embrace your audience. "The block is gone, babies! I’m back and better than ever."

Your expression shifted subtly, a crack in the cheerful mask, though your tone remained syrupy sweet.

"And boy, do I have a treat for you tonight!" you cooed, spinning dramatically toward the camera. "Rottenlings, meet our fresh face! Please give a big, warm hello to Victim No. 66!"

You stepped aside and gestured mockingly toward the chained figure behind you.

"I plucked this one straight from the hands of justice itself," you announced with a flourish. "Oh, the police? They think they ran away. Poor, clueless idiots! But don’t worry, chat. I’m here to make sure justice gets served properly."

The person on the floor squirmed, their eyes darting toward the glowing monitor. Their heart sank as they realized what they were seeing: a live video feed of themselves, surrounded by a scrolling chatroom full of excited, laughing messages.

People were watching.

"You sick fucks!" they screamed, straining against their chains. "Why aren’t you calling the police? What’s wrong with you?!"

Your sharp, manic laughter sliced through the air like a knife.

"Oh, you poor, stupid thing!" you sneered, turning back toward them. "Do you think they care? Do you think anyone in this room—" you gestured at the screen, the chat still buzzing with twisted excitement— "is on your side?"

You leaned in close, your grin wide and predatory.

"This is Goreboy’s arena, sweetheart. Big win for them tonight, huh, chat?!" You shot a playful wink at the camera, then turned back to your captive, your expression mockingly soft.

"You’re begging them? Them?" you laughed, louder this time, your voice echoing around the room. "Oh, honey. You don’t beg for mercy here. You entertain."

The person trembled, their voice breaking into raw, desperate sobs. "Please! I’m sorry! Just call the cops! I’ll do anything!"

You tilted your head, feigning pity.

"Another one for the beg bucket, chat!" you teased, your voice sing-song. "Honestly, I don’t know why any of you bet on these fools. Mr. Duck, sweetie, let’s see how your other bets fare tonight, hmm?"

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

"Oh, Goreboy!" you said, giggling as you typed. "That’s disgusting! Hahah! Maybe later, hun. One day we’ll meet, but not now. Patience, my dear!"

You hit send, then turned back to your captive, the grin fading into something colder, sharper.

"Now," you said, crouching down to their level, your tone like ice. "Let’s see if you can make this interesting, Victim No. 66."

They tried to pull away, but their hands were bound—shackled together and chained tightly.

"Alright, my lovely audience! Place your bets! What should I do next, hmm?"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Their scream echoed sharply as you yanked their finger back with a brutal, deliberate twist. The sound of bone grinding against itself cut through the air, sickening as always—but you didn’t falter.

"Oh? Should I fix it for you?" You teased, your voice lilting with mock concern before grabbing the mangled finger again. Without hesitation, you forced it back into place. The wet crunch of it snapping back made bile churn in your stomach.

But you laughed—loud and cruel. "Hah! Just kidding!"

And then, with a merciless twist, you snapped the fingers holding the knife they’d dared to wield.

Screams. Screams. A melody sweeter than any you’d ever heard.

Turning sharply, you faced the computer, a smirk splitting your face.

"Well, well! A donation like that deserves my full attention! Fingers again, madam? Oh, you know me so well."

You chuckled, eyes narrowing on the username. "Ah, Goreboy suggested that one? You always know how to make me smile. You should visit me more often, you know—I’d love to see you in my streams, but you never act on it. Tsk, tsk. Let’s not skip ahead, shall we?"

With a theatrical flourish, you bowed low, a sick mockery of grace.

"Now then, my darlings—let’s see what we can do!"

You straightened up, spinning on your heel as you stalked back toward your captive, menace dripping from every step.

You glanced at the screen again, the bright flicker of another donation lighting up your face. The amount was juicy, and the request? Deliciously cruel.

You giggled—soft at first, then sharper, like broken glass grinding against stone.

“Well, well, what do we have here? ‘A clean slice this time,’ huh?” You read aloud, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I like the way you think. Quick and clean—but where’s the fun in that?”

The knife glistened in your hand as you turned back toward them. It wasn’t elegant—worn, slightly rusted along the edges—but it did its job. And tonight, its job was simple.

“Don’t squirm,” you cooed sweetly, crouching down to meet their tear-streaked face. “You’ll ruin the show for everyone.”

Their eyes widened in horror as you grabbed their hand, gripping their trembling fingers one by one as if you were inspecting them.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

The blade pressed against their skin—cold, biting. You didn’t hesitate. With a sharp pull, you sliced through the first finger, the knife slipping through flesh and bone like paper.

Their scream ripped through the air, a raw, broken sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Ohoho, there we go! That’s the sound I wanted—don’t be shy, darling, let it out!” You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, giggling as blood splattered across the floor. “Are you all hearing this? Such raw emotion. Truly unmatched!”

Another donation alert flashed. Your eyes sparkled.

“Oh, another request! You all spoil me!” You gripped the next finger tightly, blood slicking your palm as you lined up the blade once more. “Shall we keep going? I think they have a few more fingers to spare, don’t you?”

The knife cut down again—swift, unrelenting. Another scream, another bone snapped, another rivulet of blood trailing to the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back as you bathed in their agony.

“Ahhh… music to my ears.”

Turning to the camera, you grinned, lips and cheeks splattered crimson.

"You were always so… predictable," you said, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Begging, pleading… You never even tried to fight back, did you?"

Chop. Another slice, this one to their thigh. The skin split with a sickening sound, a cry of agony escaping their lips as they tried to curl away from you, but there was nowhere to go.

The blade danced in your hand, a fluid motion, as you shifted positions to stand over them. The chains that held them were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to you. They could barely move, their arms and legs bound, while you towered over them, each strike faster, sharper, more merciless than the last.

Chop, chop, chop.

The rhythm of it was almost musical, a cruel symphony played out with the sounds of metal biting into flesh, followed by their pained gasps and helpless cries. Blood splattered, staining the floor beneath them, staining your hands, your clothes.

Their body was slick with blood now, each movement an agonizing reminder of how helpless they were, how trapped they’d become in this nightmare. They whimpered, desperate for it to end, but you weren’t done yet. You never were.

You pressed the blade deeper, feeling the pulse under their skin, the warmth of blood soaking your hands. A twisted smile curled on your lips, but it wasn’t a smile of satisfaction—no, it was something far colder. The silence between the strikes had grown deafening, and now, you spoke again, your voice sweet and venomous.

“Do you know what’s funny?” you whispered, your breath hot against their ear, a cruel contrast to the sharpness of the blade. “You think this will end soon, don’t you? That this... torture, this agony, will stop when you beg enough. But the truth is, you’re not dying tonight.”

Their eyes flickered in confusion, exhaustion, desperation. “What... what are you saying?” they rasped, barely able to form the words through the pain.

“Oh, sweet, sweet fool,” you purred. “You really thought I’d end your misery. No, darling. You hurt them—your family, your loved ones—and now, I’m going to make sure you feel it. You’re going to remember the weight of what you did long after this moment, long after your body is no longer able to fight back.”

The blade hovered above their chest now, drawing slow, shallow cuts along their skin. Each mark was a reminder of the harm they’d caused, the consequences that would never leave them.

“You thought you could escape the aftermath of your choices, didn’t you?” you taunted, drawing out the words as if savoring the slow breakdown in their expression. “I’ll make sure you never forget. Every inch of your body will burn with the guilt you can never outrun. And when you beg for mercy again... remember, I’m the one you’ll answer to now.”

You stood over them, chest heaving slightly from the rush. Their sobs echoed in the room, broken and ragged, as they cradled their ruined hand to their chest. But you weren’t done. Oh no—not yet.

With a casual hum, you stepped back to the computer, wiping the blood-slicked knife against your shirt. The screen blinked again, another donation flooding in. You glanced at it, a wicked grin curling your lips.

“Ah, I see you all are in a particular mood tonight,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with menace. You grabbed a nearby folder—one you had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come. With deliberate care, you fanned the photographs out across the table, one by one, before turning back to your audience.

“Now, my darlings, it’s time to turn up the fun, don’t you think? We’ve had our share of blood—let’s break something deeper.”

You knelt in front of them, holding the first photograph up to their tear-filled eyes. Their gaze trembled as they caught a glimpse—a snapshot of someone familiar.

Their brother.

The photo was crisp, taken in that final, quiet moment before you got to him. “Look at him,” you whispered, your tone a mocking semblance of pity. “He was so peaceful, wasn’t he? Didn’t even scream when I—”

“STOP!” they wailed, thrashing against their chains, tears streaming freely down their face. You tutted, reaching out to grip their chin between your fingers, forcing them to look at the image again.

“Ah, ah, don’t look away. You owe him that much, don’t you? After all, you’re the reason this all started. You really shouldn’t have crossed me, sweetheart.”

You let the photo flutter to the ground and held up the next one. Their father this time—face slack, eyes empty.

“And him? Oh, he fought. I’ll give him that. A real family man, wasn’t he? Told me to spare you if I had to choose. Isn’t that sweet?”

Their sobs turned to screams—raw, desperate. They yanked at the chains, the cuffs cutting deeper into their wrists as they thrashed.

You laughed softly, soaking in their misery like it was the sweetest wine.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you crooned, brushing a bloodstained finger across their cheek. “They’re not in pain anymore. You’re the one who has to live with it now.”

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with venomous glee.

“And when I’m done? I’ll make sure you see each and every one of them waiting for you. Won’t that be nice?”

You straightened back up, turning to the camera with a theatrical flourish, spreading your arms wide.

“Well, there you have it, folks! I’d say tonight’s stream is going splendidly, don’t you agree? Emotional devastation, physical ruin—everything you could ask for!”

A flood of donations pinged on the screen, the sound filling the room as you beamed at your audience.

“Keep those requests coming! After all…” You glanced back at your captive, their broken sobs barely audible now. “We’ve got plenty of time—and I’m far from done.”

The show did go on <3

"Why let a monster's body go to waste?" you murmured, your voice dark and chilling as you circled them, each word dripping with twisted logic. "Why let evil walk away unscathed when their heart could beat inside someone pure? Their lungs, keeping an innocent child alive, their hands, building a future for someone who deserves it. If their mind is corrupted, their flesh... their flesh can still redeem them."

You paused, the sharp blade gleaming under the low light. Their chest rose and fell in erratic breaths, their body shivering from more than just physical pain.

"You think this is torture, don’t you?" You chuckled softly, almost fondly, but the sound was anything but kind. "No, darling. What you're about to experience is... redemption. A form of cleansing that you’re far from ready for. You hurt people. You destroyed lives. Now, we make sure the world can still benefit from the leftovers of your broken, filthy soul."

With a cruel laugh, you reached for their hand, grabbing their wrist with the kind of brutal strength that matched your words. You dragged them forward, a twisted sort of calmness in your touch despite the violence in your eyes.

"How much would you beg for your own skin to be saved now? Would you fight back if you knew that every piece of you, every organ, could serve a better purpose?" You let the blade hover above their finger, glinting menacingly. "I’ve got no use for your nails, but someone else might. They’ll make a good memory for someone who knows how to truly suffer."

Each breath they took was ragged, desperate for release. But you weren’t done yet.

"You’re not dying, not yet. You’ll live long enough for me to make sure you never forget what you’ve done. Your body’s gonna be stripped of its evil, piece by piece."

You couldn't help yourself. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you, a dark, mocking sound that filled the space with an eerie resonance. It was a sound of triumph, of cruel satisfaction as you watched them break, piece by agonizing piece.

"You really thought you could hide from this, didn't you?" you taunted between fits of laughter, your voice shaking with cruel delight. "You thought you could walk away, escape the damage you caused, the people you destroyed. But look at you now."

Their screams intensified, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls like a symphony of agony. "Please! PLEASE! STOP! I DIDN’T MEAN IT, I DIDN’T—!"

After some time, the air had settled into a chilling stillness, the only sounds being the faint sobs of the broken figure slumped against their chains. You sat back at the computer, fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease as you typed a single message into the chat:

“Will Send this one off to organ donation. All tonight’s donations will go directly to the little boy’s treatment fund. Isn’t that just heartwarming?”

The chat exploded. Messages flooded in, filled with adoration, awe, and sick fascination.

“You’re an angel!!!” “Saving lives AND giving us a show? King/Queen.” “I can’t believe how selfless you are! This stream is legendary.”

You leaned back in your chair, laughing softly—almost sweetly. Turning to the camera, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes gleaming as you scanned the incoming flood of messages.

“Aww,” you cooed, voice dripping with condescension, “I didn’t know you all cared so much about happy endings. It’s so touching, really. Sick fucks like you still want to feel good about yourselves? That’s cute.”

More comments rolled in, their tone shifting, teasing, and pushing:

“But YOU should’ve taken the organs yourself!” “C’mon, don’t you want to be hands-on with this one?” “We know you’re the real surgeon here. Give us some blood, maestro!”

You sighed dramatically, letting your shoulders slump as if their demands were such a burden. “You all really don’t let me rest, do you? Fine. Fine. Since you’re so persistent…”

You stood, rolling your neck with a quiet crack before grabbing a nearby surgical kit—polished steel tools neatly arranged and waiting, just for this. The captive’s head snapped up, their bloodshot eyes wide with renewed panic.

“No—no, no, no, please—” they choked out, words dissolving into incoherent sobs.

You ignored them completely, addressing the camera instead as you slipped on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex cutting sharply through the air.

“You asked for this. Remember that.” You picked up the scalpel, holding it up for the audience to admire. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve always been a fan of hands-on work.”

You stepped toward the body—your expression blank, detached, almost bored as you knelt beside them. The cold blade kissed their skin, tracing a slow, deliberate line just below the ribs.

“Now, I’m no doctor, but I do know my way around a body.”

The first incision split them open, and blood welled up instantly—thick, warm, dark. The room filled with wet, sticky sounds as you worked, hands steady and sure, your movements practiced like a grotesque symphony.

You paused briefly, glancing back at the camera, your gloved hands slick with crimson.

“There’s your blood, chat. Are you happy now?”

The chat erupted, filled with cheers, donations rolling in like a tide:

“YESSSSS BLOODDDD!” “This is art. You’re a god.” “More, more, more!!!”

You laughed again, the sound low and breathy as you reached deeper into the cavity, fingers curling around what you were searching for. You lifted the organ slowly into view, the slick muscle glistening under the dim lights.

“Well,” you murmured, holding it up for the audience to admire, “they won’t be needing this anymore, will they?”

Blood dripped onto the floor in a rhythmic patter as you turned to the camera one last time, a triumphant grin splitting your face.

“Don’t forget to donate generously, my loves. After all, we’re saving lives here.”

You worked with deliberate care, gently placing each organ into the sterile metal tray beside you. Liver, kidneys, lungs—each glistening under the dim light as blood pooled around them. The wet squelch of the final piece being set down echoed in the room like the last note of a haunting melody.

You straightened up, gloves slick with crimson, and turned back toward the camera, face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. With a swipe of your forearm, you wiped a streak of blood from your cheek, your grin bright and satisfied.

“And done! There you have it, chat! A perfect collection. Hope you enjoyed tonight’s little… performance.” You gave the camera a theatrical bow, smearing your gloves against your chest. “All thanks to your generosity, of course.”

The chat exploded:

“You’re insane, I LOVE YOU!!!” “This stream was god-tier.” “BYEEE ANGEL, YOU’RE SO CUTE!”

You pouted playfully, tilting your head as you rested a bloody glove against your cheek. “Aw, you all know how to make me blush… if only I wasn’t covered in—” you gestured lazily to the gore streaked across your shirt—“well, this.”

Then, a message popped up that made you pause:

Goreboy69: “What now, darlin’? Gonna leave me hangin’? Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

You squinted at the chat, a half-smile curling on your lips as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Oh? Someone’s feeling bold tonight.” You typed quickly, your tone sharp but teasing:

“Leaving. Bye, Mr. Goreboy. Don’t miss me too much.”

The response was instant, his reply lighting up the chat like a flare:

Goreboy69: “Too late, sweetheart. Already do.”

You froze for just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through your expression before you masked it with a sharp laugh. “Well, isn’t that sweet,” you murmured, shaking your head as you leaned toward the camera.

With one final look at your blood-splattered stage, you winked.

“Alright, my darlings. That’s it for tonight. Be good—or don’t. Either way, I’ll be back soon.”

You reached for the mouse, hovering over the “end stream” button as the chat flooded with protests and goodbyes:

“Nooo don’t go yet!” “Byeee CUTIE!!!” “Best stream EVER.”

You grinned one last time, your voice dropping to a low murmur, just for them:

“Goodnight, my loves.”

With a soft click, the screen faded to black.

You thought you will end your life with this.

Then, came a idea to write.

Then came him..

It had been almost a year since you and Ronin had been together, and things had been… comfortable, even in the darker corners of your shared lives. You’d both found your own spaces, with your gruesome world of streaming and his quiet, almost enigmatic nature. You had your gore, and he had his secrets. Neither of you had yet come to know the whole truth about each other. (You were the only one liar) He never suspected you were the streamer everyone in the underground chats adored—and you had no idea that he was Goreboy69, your loyal fan and the one who teased you so affectionately on the livestream

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- Y/n, you weren't online for some time.

[You]- I was busy ;-; Job was killing me

[Goreboy]- Darlin, There's a Angel Two now. But seriously did your boss made you Overwork again?

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not. I'm Worried Angel, They're My Partner

[You]- I'm fine, even my boss told to rest but I want to work for this case...I need to sleep tooo ahhhh!!!

[Goreboy]- Dm me. Angel. Sorry I'm taking my Lover for sometime.

[Angelic]- Since, when you start saying it that loudly ;)

[Goreboy]- Haha, Don't make me revive-

[Angelic]- Ronin, What the fuck?

After some time...

You settled into your chair, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across your face as you stared at the video call. Ronin’s voice drifted through your headphones—smooth, teasing, always holding that edge of danger and flirtation. He lounged casually on the other side of the camera, the faint hum of his mic picking up the distant sounds of his apartment. His dark hair was mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed, the sly grin he always wore firmly in place.

The server call buzzed with energy. Truth or Dare had turned into its usual chaotic mess, but you didn’t care to play this time. Instead, you just kept pressing him for details about his latest… “hobby.”

“How’d your kill go, Mr. Crowbar?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you swirled your drink in hand.

Ronin’s eyebrow quirked up. He chuckled low and sharp, voice dripping with that same playful tone that always made you pause. “Now that’s new, darlin’. You never ask me about the details. What’s got you so curious all of a sudden?”

You shrugged. “Just in the mood. Humor me.”

Ronin’s grin widened into something sharp, something that tugged at the edges of darkness. He leaned closer to his screen, as if to close the distance between the two of you. “If you insist, sweetheart,” he purred, stretching his arms behind his head as though he were telling you a bedtime story. “Well, y’see, there’s somethin’ so poetic about a crowbar. Personal, messy, and it leaves a mark. You know exactly what did the job.”

“Of course it was a crowbar,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Predictable.”

Ronin laughed—a deep, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You wound me! Predictable? I call it classic. But since you asked so sweetly…” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles before continuing with exaggerated theatrical flair. “Guy was scum. The type of fella whose face just begs to be rearranged. A couple swings later, I turned his skull into modern art. … Abstract, really.”

You tried to mask the way your lips curled upward. You didn’t want to let him know how much his words intrigued you tonight.

“Messy,” you replied simply, voice cool as you leaned into your chair. “But I expected nothing less from The Devil’s Butcher.”

That earned a gleam in his eye. He tilted his head, watching you through the camera like he was seeing something just out of reach. “Hah. You’re full of surprises tonight, doll. Didn’t think my little bedtime stories were your cup of tea.”

“They’re not,” you shot back, fighting the smirk threatening to break through. “But tonight I’m making an exception.”

Ronin hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave you that grin again—sharp, teasing, always bordering on something you couldn’t quite name. “Y’know, you’d make a good audience for my streams, darlin’,” he said offhandedly, though there was a hint of something heavier beneath the surface. “Too bad you’re such a softie. You wouldn’t last a minute.”

You stiffened. For a split second, your heart skipped a beat before you forced yourself to laugh it off. “As if. I could handle your ‘gorefest’ just fine. It’s you who doesn’t know me, Mr. Crowbar.”

“Oh?” His voice dipped lower, amusement dancing in his tone. “Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want,” you shot back, biting back your grin.

Ronin watched you carefully for a beat longer before he leaned closer to the camera, his tone soft but dripping with meaning. “Careful, sweetheart. You might surprise yourself. You never know how much you like the darkness… ’til you’re drowning in it.”

You met his gaze through the screen, your pulse racing in your ears. Neither of you said a word for a moment, the silence between you charged and unrelenting.

You broke it with a casual, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Devil.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and dangerous all at once. “Always playin’ hard to get. One day, darlin’, you’ll admit you’re just as curious as me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words sent a thrill through you. “Keep dreaming, Ronin.”

The call moved on and others rejoined the conversation, you couldn’t shake that lingering feeling—the way Ronin’s words sat heavy in your chest. You didn’t know why tonight felt different, why his details about his kill caught your attention more than usual.

And you definitely didn’t want to think about the unsettling idea swirling in the back of your mind—that maybe he was someone else entirely. Someone whose streams you knew far too well.

But that couldn’t be, right?

Ronin’s voice crackled through the call, that usual teasing tone dripping with curiosity. “Darlin’, you look like you’ve been through hell—what’s with the eyebags? You chasing ghosts or something?”

You groaned, letting your cheek rest against your palm as you lazily stared at the video feed. His smirk was too smug, as always, like he’d already won some game you weren’t playing yet. “It’s research. Even if I became a writer because of you, I’m still a reporter at heart.”

His brow quirked at the mention. “Research? What poor bastard you chasin’ now?”

You adjusted your position, letting out a slow breath. “Shithead of the year, honestly. A hacker who made millions off stolen data, killed a dozen people—including his own wife—and stole drugs. The worst part? He abused her into silence for years, and when she finally came forward, he killed her, too.” Your tone sharpened with disgust, almost venomous. *“He’s scum. The kind of filth that makes even *you* look almost… disgusting.”*

Ronin’s expression shifted at that. His smirk twitched, just slightly. “Almost disgusting, huh? Can’t tell if I should be offended or flattered.”

Your lips curled into a thin smile. “Does this guy make you angry or somethin’, Ronin?”

For a beat, he was silent, his eyes narrowing. Then, he gave a small nod, his fingers drumming against the desk he sat at. “Y’know what? Yeah. I’d say he does. Kinda wish…” His voice trailed off, almost testing the waters before continuing. “Kinda wish someone like Pathegon would grab him first.”

Your heart froze, all the blood in your veins rushing to your face. It felt like you’d been dunked into ice water. Pathegon. That was your red room stream name. No one else should’ve known. Your voice barely left your throat, a fragile whisper. “…How do you know that name?”

Ronin blinked at you, tilting his head with that same casual grin, as if nothing about this situation was remotely shocking. “Huh? Oh—nah, nah. I didn’t mean you, I meant this streamer. Gorey as hell, almost like a twisted love letter to the worst kinds of scum: abusers, killers, lowlifes—name it. Pathegon’s… good. Real good.”

Your body went stiff. You stared at him, pale as a ghost. He kept talking, too nonchalantly for your comfort, but his words were like a blade sinking deeper and deeper.

He's Goreboy69?!

You could barely hold your composure. Ronin laughed then, sharp and loud, like this whole thing was the most fun he’d had in years.

“Wait—no—hold on.” You stammered, pulling yourself together. “Was it you who gave the police intel on that guy? On… him?”

He grinned wider, teeth flashing in the dim light of his camera feed. “Bingo.” He leaned in, voice lowering into something sickly sweet. *“What can I say? I play both sides. Can’t leave *all* the fun for the cops. Someone’s gotta keep the game interesting.”*

You stared at him, stunned, before the anger boiling inside you started to twist into something darker. Something… dangerous. Your fingers curled tightly around your mouse as your lips parted, words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I wish I could kill him myself.”

The room fell silent. For once, even Ronin seemed taken aback. His eyes flicked over you through the screen, studying every inch of your expression, as if trying to see if you really meant it.

“…Well, well.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost like he was savoring the moment. “Now, that’s somethin’ I wasn’t expectin’. You’d make a real good serial killer, y’know that?”

Your face burned. “No, I wouldn’t!”

But Ronin didn’t stop there. His smirk deepened, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he watched you with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Nah, nah. Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’. Picture it: that piece of shit tied up, bloody and broken, beggin’ for a mercy he doesn’t deserve. You’d look real pretty standin’ over him, crowbar in hand, paintin’ the walls red…”

You gawked at him, your mind spinning. “Ronin!”

He laughed—deep, low, and unrestrained. He looked almost giddy, a blush faintly dusting his cheeks as he leaned closer to the camera. “What? Can’t blame a guy for admirin’ talent when he sees it. You’re finally speakin’ my language, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

You threw your head back, groaning, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded at his words, or the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. He was still grinning when you looked back, that dangerous, teasing edge in his voice.

“Careful, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might fall even harder for ya.”

You glanced at the clock on your monitor, eyes widening in panic. “Shit! Ronin, it’s almost 9 PM!”

Ronin tilted his head, visibly unfazed. “And? Time’s a social construct, darlin’. You goin’ somewhere?”

“You’re literally gonna show our stream to the whole server. I need to get ready.”

He pouted, slouching in his chair dramatically. “Tch. You’re ditchin’ me? You could stay a little longer. You always bolt the second I’m startin’ to have fun.”

You sighed, trying not to let your voice waver. “I can’t stay. I… have a show.”

Ronin’s brow quirked suspiciously. “A show? You didn’t mention that before.”

You glanced away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. “I just need to sleep, Ronin. That’s all.”

He didn’t argue further, though his exaggerated sigh was loud enough to be heard. “Fine, fine.” He leaned closer to the camera, sticking out his tongue as he smirked—a glint of silver shining off the piercing he had there. “I’ll be nice just this once. Go get your beauty sleep, angel. You’re already lookin’ kinda rough.”

You scoffed but couldn’t help a faint smile.

Before you could hit the end call button, his voice cut through softly. “Hey—before you go.”

You froze mid-motion, glancing back at his face. His tone wasn’t teasing anymore; it was quieter, almost… earnest. “How’s the relationship?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “…Relationship? I’m fine with everyone, I guess.”

Ronin rolled his eyes, leaning forward until the glow of his screen cast sharp shadows across his features. “Not what I meant. I’m talkin’ ‘bout you n’ me.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, unsure how to respond at first, before a small, stunned smile tugged at your lips.

“…Happy,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All my life, I never thought I’d… date someone like you. A serial killer.” Your throat tightened as the words escaped you. “But I do care about you, Ronin. I really do.”

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, the usual cocky demeanor softening around the edges.

Your hand trembled as you held it out toward the screen, palm open as if reaching for him, for something intangible. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re my dream come true, you know that? My wish fulfilled.” Your voice cracked faintly. “I just… hope we can be like Vince and Ai one day, even if we can’t ever get married because of… everything. Because of your past, your trauma, your beliefs. That doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy I’ve got someone who respects me, even if you play with me sometimes.”

Ronin’s face softened, his cocky grin finally faltering as his gaze locked on yours.

You swallowed, gathering the last of your resolve before whispering, “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.” Your hand stayed raised, trembling slightly, before you quickly ended the call without giving him a chance to respond.

The screen blinked black. Silence swallowed the room, save for the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

—

Meanwhile, Ronin sat there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the mouse as the call screen went dark. His face was frozen in a stunned expression, his mouth slightly ajar as if you’d knocked the wind out of him.

The faint blush on his cheeks deepened as your words replayed in his mind over and over again. “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“…The hell was that?” he muttered under his breath, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of his desk. A crooked grin ghosted across his lips, but it couldn’t hide the flush creeping up to his ears.

Ronin stared at the dark screen, completely still for a moment… and then he burst into a grin—one so wide it nearly split his face. His hand shot up, running through his shaggy hair as he leaned back in his chair, teeth flashing through the growing smile.

“Shit.” He let out a breathless laugh, a giddy, uncontrollable noise that echoed in the quiet room. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying (and failing) to smother the wild grin that refused to leave.

“They said they love me…” He muttered it like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world, like he needed to say it out loud just to confirm it had really happened. A giddy warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar and exhilarating feeling that left him downright giddy.

He couldn’t stop smiling. His cheeks hurt, but he didn’t care. His hand slammed down on the desk as another breathless laugh escaped him. “They actually said they love me. God—what the hell?”

Ronin tilted his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, face still flushed as pink as his tongue piercing. “They’re so damn cute.” His voice dropped into a low mumble, but the fondness lacing his words was impossible to ignore. “Holdin’ out their hand like that, all teary-eyed. Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack one day.”

His grin only grew as he replayed the moment in his head—you reaching for him, whispering “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Goddamn, they’re insane,” he muttered to himself, though his voice was dripping with affection. “Insane for lovin’ someone like me…” He paused, his grin softening just slightly as he added, “…but I guess I’m insane for lovin’ them back.”

His eyes flickered to the corner of his monitor, where your last message still lingered. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, his smirk returning but more dangerous this time—like he was plotting something.

“I’m gonna wreck ‘em, one day.” He snickered under his breath, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “They don’t even know what they’re doin’ to me…”

And still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Like crazy. Like he’d just been given a secret that no one else could understand.

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort…”

Those words echoed in his head like a melody on repeat, and for the first time in a long, long while, he actually believed it.

[2hiigh2cry]

rip chiefs 💔 loser!luke is a major chiefs fan and would rail the shit out of you in anger at his beloved team’s loss

[elysiaheaven]

KC band au where reader is someone they chose from an audition to be a drummer kek…

ANGEL-GOTHIC! KILLER CHAT X READER! BAND AU!

Band AU Character Introductions: Angelgothic

Ronin (Electric Guitarist, Main Member): he/him Now playing!-"Ghost Rule"

"Rolling Girl" Lost One’s Weeping" Unhappy Refrain" Tokyo Teddy Bear" "Blessing"

Ronin stands tall at 6'1" with a devil-may-care attitude that could rival any rock star stereotype. His plum-colored hair peeks out from beneath his worn black beanie, and he’s almost always clad in dark clothes that lean heavily into an alternative, punk-goth aesthetic. Tattoos peek out from the sleeves of his ripped shirts, telling stories no one dares ask about. Known for being post-ironic, Ronin oozes confidence and sarcasm, loving to toy with people’s expectations. He has an intimidating, haunting presence that lingers even after he leaves the room. Despite his rough exterior, there’s something enigmatic about him that keeps people guessing—and intrigued.

Specialty: Wicked guitar solos that leave the audience breathless. Personality Highlight: Snarky and complex, hides deeper traumas under layers of wit and punk. Fixing is different from healing!

Angel (Lead Singer): she/her Now playing! "World is Mine"

"Tell Your World" – "Melt" ."Miracle Paint" – Not Allowed" (ダメダメよ) "Starduster" World's End Dancehall

Angel is the heart and soul of the band, known for her magnetic stage presence and a voice that can switch from angelic to ferocious in seconds. She has blonde, hair and wears outfits that are a blend of edgy and ethereal, playing into her stage name. Her optimism and warmth make her the glue that keeps the band from falling apart during tough times. Offstage, she’s the type who remembers birthdays, brings snacks to practice, and makes sure everyone feels like part of the team. But she has her moments of introspection, shadows that creep into her usually sunny demeanor. Specialty: Bringing raw emotion to every performance. Personality Highlight: Sweet with a strong backbone; can stand up to anyone when it matters. Misaki (Bass Guitarist): she/they! Now playing! Electric Angel

"Remote Control" "Ageage Again" "Nijigen Dream Fever" "Romeo and Cinderella" "Teo" by Omoi

Misaki is chaos personified, with short, choppy hair carrying an aura of wild energy. They’re nonbinary and switch between fashion styles effortlessly, sometimes punk, sometimes glam. Misaki has a sharp grin and a knack for stirring the pot, whether it’s with mischievous pranks or daring antics on stage. They keep practice sessions lively and are always the first to suggest taking a break for spontaneous dance-offs. However, behind their playful exterior is someone who fiercely protects those they care about. Specialty: Killer bass riffs that pulse with infectious energy. Personality Highlight: Jokester with an unyielding loyalty; wild but deeply caring. V (Pianist): he/him

Now playing!-"The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku

"The Thought to Relinquish" "Judgement of Corruption" by KEMU VOXX

"Senbonzakura" "Dark Woods Circus" "Two-Faced Lovers" "Kagerou Days"

V is the brooding genius of the group, with a cold exterior that hides a mind working a thousand miles an hour. Tall, with dark, neatly kept hair and sharp eyes, he exudes an air of mystery and meticulousness. He dresses in clean-cut, dark clothing, looking more like a classical pianist than a heavy metal musician—an image he subverts with hauntingly powerful keyboard solos. V is quiet and doesn’t give away much, choosing his words carefully and never indulging in small talk. His rivalry with Ronin is palpable, fueled by differing philosophies and a history they never talk about. Specialty: Complex and dramatic piano accompaniments that give the band a unique edge. Personality Highlight: Stoic and highly intelligent; has a deep, hidden care for his bandmates.

Other characters!

Vince (Manager): Vince is the brains behind the operation, a sharp-eyed man with a penchant for sharp suits. He’s dedicated, resourceful, and knows the industry inside out. Vince has a strong bond with the band, even though he often has to play the role of the exasperated parent. He believes in Angelgothic’s potential and pushes them hard to reach it, but he’s also the first one to show up with support when things go south. Specialty: Business acumen, organizing tours, and keeping the band in line. Personality Highlight: Strict but supportive; a true believer in the band’s potential. Ai Hua (Boss’s Wife & Band Caretaker): Ai Hua is a warm, motherly figure who makes sure the band is well-fed and looked after. Though she isn’t officially part of the crew, she’s a comforting presence at gigs and practices. With a love for music herself, she enjoys watching Angelgothic’s growth and often gives them pep talks before big performances. Specialty: Bringing stability and emotional support. Personality Highlight: Kind, nurturing, but with a hidden fire when it comes to defending those she cares about.

PLAYLIST! FOR THEM! "Magnet" (with Luka Megurine) "From Y to Y" "Cantarella" Luca and Feli Just fans and "friends" Luca x Feli now playing!

"Wave" by Lily "Sayonara Memories" by Supercell (feat. Hatsune Miku) "Blue Star" by Hatsune Miku "World is Mine" (Soft Version) "Meteor" by Hatsune Miku Main lover!-you! (Y/N) (Drummer): (Y/N) embodies resilience with a rebellious streak, decked out in an emo style that reflects the turmoil and drive inside them. They grew up under strict, judgmental eyes, enduring the suffocating expectations of a religious upbringing that clashed with their true self. Every beat they strike is a declaration of independence and defiance, heavy with the promise to prove themselves and silence those who doubted them. When they auditioned, (Y/N) brought an energy that shook the room and a confidence that masked their jagged edges. Specialty: Thunderous drumming that adds explosive energy to the band’s sound. Personality Highlight: Charismatic with hidden depths; driven by passion and a need to belong.

Now playing!?

"ODDS&ENDS"

"1/6 -out of the gravity-"

Ura-omote Lovers"

PoPiPo"

"Love is War"

This is part 1! Let me know if i should continue this!

You stood outside the worn-down building, heart pounding in your chest like a drum, a mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbling within you. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. After countless auditions, you’d finally made it here to audition for a band, and not just any band, but one called Angelgothic. The name alone sent shivers down your spine, resonating with your desires for rebellion and expression.

You’ve always wanted to be part of a band. Ever since you were a kid, the beats and riffs of heavy metal resonated with you, making you feel alive in a world that felt hell-bent on crushing your spirit. Your parents, however, saw it as nothing but a phase—something associated with rebellion, with styles they deemed inappropriate and sinful. It didn’t matter to them that music was your refuge, your sanctuary. It was just another thing to add to their list of disappointments.

Growing up in a strict household, your parents had never understood your love for heavy metal, the powerful beats and raw lyrics that spoke to your soul. You’d spent your teenage years confined within the walls of a Christian school, where the teachers preached about righteousness while you sat in the back, doodling skulls and flowers in your notebook, dreaming of a life drenched in black leather and screaming guitars. They didn’t just push you away from music; they tried to erase who you were, constantly reminding you that your style was unacceptable, that your dreams were foolish. They wanted you to be perfect, but perfect wasn’t a cage, it was a prison, and you’d had enough.

Ever since you were a kid, your heart beat to the rhythm of heavy metal, drowning out the judgmental whispers of your parents and the cruel laughter of your peers. They never understood your passion for the dark and gritty side of life; to them, it was just a phase. But you were determined to break free from the shackles of their expectations. You wanted to prove them wrong.

Every night, you’d sneak into your room, blasting the music that made your soul sing—the harsh chords and thunderous drums calling to you. You longed to be part of a band, to unleash your frustrations on the drum kit, to feel the vibrations of the music pulsate through your veins. But life was shit. Your parents had made it clear: heavy metal was a sin. So you kept your dreams hidden, nurturing them in the shadows.

You had auditioned for countless bands, hoping to find a place to belong, only to be turned away time and time again. But then came the fateful day you heard about Angelgothic—a new band formed by talented individuals who had faced their own struggles. You felt a spark of hope ignite in your chest. This could be your chance.

You walked through the doors of the rehearsal space, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. You were about to meet the people you would be sharing the stage with, and while the fear of rejection crept in, the thrill of potential success pushed it aside. You had to prove to your parents that you could make it, that you were more than just a disappointment.

What you saw left you breathless.

There he was—Ronin. He was mesmerizing, his hands moving fluidly over the strings of his electric guitar, a devilish grin plastered on his face. The music he played was intoxicating, a dark melody that resonated with the chaos you felt inside. His hair fell just above his eyes, a wild plum color that contrasted against the stark black of his clothing. Everything about him screamed rebellion and artistry, and you found yourself completely captivated.

When you entered the room, you were hit by the sound of electric guitars screaming with energy. The sight of the band was overwhelming. Ronin, the electric guitarist, was in the middle of a solo, hair falling over his face as he played with an intensity that made your heart race. There was something devilish about the way he moved, a magnetism that drew you in. He was the embodiment of everything you adored about the heavy metal scene. You felt your cheeks heat as you watched him, feeling as if you had fallen in love at first sight.

Misaki, the bass guitarist, was energetically keeping up with the rhythm, her fiery spirit contagious. V, the pianist, added a layer of complexity to the sound, his fingers dancing over the keys like a master magician. And Angel, the singer, poured her heart into every note, her voice echoing through the room with a passion that sent shivers down your spine.

You watched in awe as the band played, feeling a connection to the music that coursed through your veins. It was raw, it was powerful, and it was everything you had ever wanted. You felt a sense of hope blossom within you—maybe this was your chance, your opportunity to finally become part of something great.

But then, reality struck. You remembered the trepidation that followed you everywhere. Your parents’ disapproving faces flashed in your mind, the words of your teachers ringing in your ears. “You’re wasting your time. You’ll never make it.” Doubt crept in, threatening to suffocate the excitement bubbling within you.

You took a moment to catch your breath, soaking in the atmosphere. V, the pianist, was in the corner, his fingers dancing across the keys, lost in his own world. He seemed cold and distant, the kind of person who might look right through you if you dared to make eye contact. Misaki was chaotic, dancing around the room with a laugh that was infectious, as if she were filled with pure energy. And then there was Angel, the singer—her voice cut through the air, sweet and powerful, a combination that felt like a promise of what was to come.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and you felt like a deer caught in headlights. Ronin turned slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, piercing through the haze of uncertainty. The room went quiet, the air thick with tension as everyone’s gaze shifted to you.

Now, Ronin noticed you. His eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against his guitar, looking you up and down. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little lost lamb wandering into the devil’s den?”

You felt your stomach twist with a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. He was teasing, and there was something about that glimmer in his eyes that both frightened and excited you. It was a challenge, and you weren’t about to back down. “Just here to audition,” you said, trying to sound confident despite the fluttering in your chest.

“Is that so?” He crossed his arms, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You think you can keep up with us? We’re not just any band; we’re Angelgothic. We bring chaos, darling.”

“Please, Ronin, be nice,” Angel interjected, her voice soothing like a gentle breeze. “You know we need a drummer, and if they made it this far, they must have some talent. What's your name?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N,” you managed, feeling a bit out of place but excited nonetheless.

“Awesome! We’re about to take a break. Why don’t you grab a seat?” she suggested, motioning to an empty chair nearby. You nodded and settled in, your heart racing as you tried to absorb everything happening around you.

The band took a break, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Ronin. He caught your eye and flashed you a smile that made your heart race. Your stomach flipped, and you could feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks. Was it possible you had fallen for him just like that? You couldn’t help but admire how he seemed so comfortable in his skin, exuding a confidence you wished you had.

“What brings you here, Y/N?” Angel asked, her voice sweet and melodic

You couldn’t help but admire how Angel balanced the chaotic energy in the room with her sweet nature. She exuded warmth, making you feel more welcome. But Ronin wasn’t done with his game. He leaned closer, his voice low and teasing, “You do look a little… emo for our style. What’s your story, huh?”

You felt your heart race at his words. Here was this handsome devil of a guitarist, flirting and taunting you all at once. “Just someone who got tired of being told I couldn’t be myself,” you said, trying to inject some attitude into your response. “I want to be in a band and prove everyone wrong.”

Ronin’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Rebel against the system, huh? I can respect that. But can you really handle being in a band with a bunch of misfits like us?”

Misfits. That was the perfect description. You had always felt like an outsider, the black sheep of your family, especially after years spent in religious schools that drilled the idea of conformity into your head. The trauma of being told you were wrong for wanting to express yourself in any way lingered like a dark cloud overhead. But here, surrounded by these musicians, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe you could carve out a place for yourself after all.

“I’ve handled worse,” you replied, smirking back at him. “Besides, if I wanted to play it safe, I wouldn’t be here.”

Misaki burst into laughter, and V, still focused on his piano, rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “Spunky, I like that, Vince is back, Let's see how you do!"

Um! What! Oh shit! This is it! Breathe y/n! Breathe!

The rehearsal came to an end, the energy in the room was electric. Ronin had been relentless with his teasing, as usual, throwing playful jabs at you and challenging your confidence. You could tell he wanted to push your buttons, testing how far he could go before you snapped back at him. But there was something about it that felt… invigorating.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, drummer,” Ronin said, leaning against his guitar with an amused smirk. “I hope you’re not just here to play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ because I might have to kick you out of the band myself.” His tone was teasing, and you rolled your eyes, a small smile creeping onto your lips.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you,” you shot back, your ego rising as you felt a surge of determination. This was your chance to show them what you could really do, to prove that you belonged here among the chaos of Angelgothic.

Angel, with her ever-supportive nature, jumped in to defend you. “Come on, Ronin, give them a break! We all know they’ve got talent.” She shot him a look, her hands on her hips as if to say, “Don’t mess with my new friend.”

Ronin feigned innocence, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, Saint Maria, I’ll be nice. For now.” The rest of the band chuckled, and the atmosphere lightened as everyone settled down to watch you.

“Alright, (Y/N), we want to hear what you’ve got!” Misaki exclaimed, bouncing on her heels with excitement. Her chaotic energy was contagious, and you felt your heart race with anticipation.

“Yeah, show us what you can do!” V added, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Though his tone was cool, you could sense the underlying interest in his words. It was a rare moment of encouragement from the usually aloof pianist.

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained on you. You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced it. You took a deep breath, letting the rhythm of your heart guide you. This was what you had always wanted—a chance to prove yourself.

“Alright, Ronin,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me.” You picked up your drumsticks and took your position behind the kit, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Better not play something lame like ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep,’” Ronin quipped, his voice dripping with mockery.

With a smirk, you launched into a rhythm, the sticks flying through the air as you brought the drums to life. You started off slow, teasing the beat, but then you cranked up the energy, drumming like you were channeling every ounce of passion that had been pent up inside you.

The sound echoed around the room, and soon Ronin couldn’t help but join in, his guitar weaving seamlessly into the rhythm you created. His playful demeanor faded as he focused on the music, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious collaboration. You could see the spark in his eyes as he began to lose himself in the moment, the two of you creating something electric together.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” he shouted, a grin breaking across his face. The way you drummed made his laughter fill the air, invigorating the energy in the room. You poured everything into the performance, the adrenaline surging through your veins as you locked into the groove with Ronin.

Misaki bounced along with the beat, she joined in on her bass guitar, matching your intensity with her chaotic style. “YES! SLAY!” she cheered, the excitement radiating from her. You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, feeling like a part of something bigger than yourself.

V picked up the piano keys next, adding a melodic layer that wrapped around the rhythm like a warm embrace. His cold exterior melted away as the music filled the space, and you could tell he was enjoying this as much as the rest of you. The synergy between the four of you was palpable, and it felt like you were creating magic in that moment.

When you finally ended the song, a triumphant crescendo of sound echoing in the rehearsal space, the room erupted in applause. Misaki dashed over, wrapping her arms around you in an enthusiastic hug. “You’re so good!” she exclaimed, squeezing you tightly, her chaotic energy wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“Thanks, Misaki!” you laughed, feeling elated by the praise.

V, maintaining his cool demeanor, nodded slightly. “You did well,” he said, his voice steady. It was as close to a compliment as you would likely ever get from him, and it made your heart swell with pride.

“Still not that great, but you’ll survive,” Ronin teased, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. You shot him a mock glare, your competitive spirit flaring up. You wanted to kick his nose, honestly.

“Shut up, Ronin,” you said, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your irritation.

Angel laughed softly, shaking her head. “If you keep this up, we might just have to keep you around,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

The band exchanged glances, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Did they really want you to stay? You couldn’t help but feel a swell of hope, a flicker of possibility igniting in your chest.

Vince, the band’s manager, watched the scene unfold with a thoughtful expression. He exchanged glances with Ai Hua, who stood nearby with a supportive smile. After a moment of consideration, he approached you, extending his hand for a shake. “I think we’ve found our new drummer,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Welcome to Angelgothic!”

You couldn’t believe it. Your heart soared as you accepted his handshake, feeling like you had finally found your place. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!” you shouted, your excitement bubbling over.

“Yasss!” Misaki cheered, jumping up and down. “We’re going to be the best band ever!”

Ronin pretended to roll his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Just remember, I’ll always be watching you, (Y/N). Don’t think you can slack off just because you’re part of the band now.”

The laughter in the rehearsal space began to fade, Ronin crossed his arms, leaning back against his guitar with that ever-present smirk still plastered across his face. “You think you’re just going to waltz in here and take my spot without a fight? I’m gonna give you a hard time, (Y/N).” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made you gulp involuntarily.

But you weren’t going to let him see any fear. You straightened your posture, plastering on your best “womanizer” face, filled with bravado. “Okay, bring it on! Just remember, if you keep messing with me, does that mean you’re a little obsessed?” You winked, reveling in the challenge you had thrown his way.

The room fell silent for a split second, all eyes shifting to Ronin, who seemed unfazed by your cheeky comeback. He just leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Obsessed? Please, I’m just trying to keep you on your toes. Wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable.” His smirk deepened, and you could see the playful fire in his gaze, but the tension in the room crackled with something deeper.

Nudging Misaki with your elbow, you added, “NGL, you remind me of that guy from Heathers, JD. You’ve got that whole ‘dark and brooding’ vibe down pat. How do you feel about it?”

At the mention of the character, Ronin’s expression shifted, a dark look crossing his features that sent a chill down your spine. It was a split second, but you caught it—a glimpse of something more intense behind his playful facade. Angel must have sensed it too because she immediately pulled you aside, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“Oh, you just did emotional damage to him,” she whispered, barely containing her giggles. “He’s definitely gonna hold that against you.” You wanted to glance back at Ronin, curious about his reaction, but Angel shook her head vigorously, a teasing grin on her face.

“Nope! Keep looking forward! Trust me, it’s better that way!” she said, leading you away as Misaki snorted in laughter, clearly enjoying the whole scene. You couldn’t help but smile at the chaos surrounding you.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the studio!” Angel continued, her excitement infectious as she dragged you further into the space. As she pointed out different areas—the sound booth, the lounge where the band often hung out, and the practice rooms—you felt your nervousness begin to melt away.

You walked through the studio, Angel, always the enthusiastic one, decided it was time for proper introductions. She spun around to face you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Alright, it’s time for everyone to introduce themselves properly! I mean, you’re going to be part of our little chaotic family now, after all!”

Ronin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smirk as he observed. “Sure, but don’t be surprised if I don’t like you after this,” he quipped, the playful edge still evident in his tone. You rolled your eyes at his antics but couldn’t suppress a smile; it was all part of the game with him, and you were more than willing to play along.

“Okay, I’ll start!” Angel beamed, clearly thrilled to take the lead. “I’m Angel, the voice of this band. I’m basically the sunshine in this chaotic mess, and I can’t wait to work with you!” She was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to Ronin's cold front.

“V here,” the pianist said next, his tone cool and detached. “I’m the one who adds depth to our sound, or so they say. Nice to meet you.” He didn’t seem particularly invested, but his presence carried a quiet intensity that intrigued you.

“Yup, and I’m Misaki!” she chirped, bouncing on her feet. “I’m the chaos factor and the bass guitarist! If you ever need a partner in crime or someone to annoy Ronin with, I’m your lover!” She winked at you, her energy infectious.

Finally, it was your turn. You took a deep breath, channeling your inner Britney Spears, ready to be bold and sassy. “I’m (Y/N), the new drummer in this delightful chaos. I’m here to prove to my parents that I’m more than just a rebellious phase,” you said, matching Angel’s enthusiasm but adding a cheeky wink of your own. “And for good luck, I think we need to introduce ourselves again!”

The room fell silent for a moment, then erupted into laughter. Ronin, arms still crossed, rolled his eyes. “Oh great, just what we need—more introductions. Can’t wait to hear your sob story again, (Y/N).” He was being insufferable, but you loved it.

“Hey, if you don’t like it, you can just leave,” you shot back, the confidence surging through you. “Besides, I’d love to hear everyone’s sob stories. It’s like a twisted group therapy session!”

Misaki clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! I love this idea! Ronin, you first!”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather you all didn’t hear my tragic backstory,” he retorted, his tone sarcastic but the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. You could see that even beneath his facade, he was intrigued by your spirit.

“C’mon, Ronin! It’ll be fun!” Angel chimed in, clearly not ready to let him off the hook. “And it’s only fair since we’re all sharing!”

With the pressure on, Ronin sighed dramatically, finally giving in. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m a dark, brooding enigma that doesn’t need pity or sympathy, especially from someone like you, (Y/N).”

“Oh please, if you were a real enigma, you wouldn’t be making such a big deal about it,” you teased, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. “But go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Ronin opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to find the right words. “Let’s just say I’m a misunderstood genius with a tragic past,” he finally said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Boring!” Misaki shouted, her laughter ringing through the room. “Angel, you go next!”

The introductions continued, the camaraderie grew. You felt a warmth spreading through you—a sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Each person shared their quirks and stories, and even if Ronin continued to act like a jerk, you could tell he was intrigued by you.

The laughter and chatter subsided, Angel’s bright voice rang out again. “Alright, since you’re our new drummer, we think it’s only fair that you choose someone to look after you! It’s a big responsibility being in this band, and we want to make sure you’re taken care of!”

Everyone turned to face you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and expectation. The weight of their gazes made your heart race, but you couldn’t help but feel a thrill at being the center of attention. You bit your lip, weighing your options carefully.

“Who’s it gonna be, (Y/N)? You have to pick someone!” Misaki exclaimed, practically bouncing on her feet. “Choose wisely; you might get stuck with someone really weird!” She flashed a cheeky grin at Ronin, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Great, just what I need—a babysitter,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced at each of them, your mind racing with possibilities.

V stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression cold yet contemplative. Despite his detached demeanor, you sensed an undercurrent of interest in his eyes. “I may not be the warmest person, but I’ll keep an eye on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Just don’t expect me to hold your hand.” There was a strange comfort in his straightforwardness, and you could tell he meant what he said, even if he had a unique way of showing it.

Then there was Angel, radiant and sweet as ever, her smile infectious. “Oh, I would love to look after you!” she gushed, stepping closer. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need, and I’ll be here to cheer you on! Plus, we can totally have girl talk whenever you want!” The warmth in her voice made you feel safe, and the thought of having her as a supporter was undeniably tempting.

Misaki leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “C’mon, you know you want me to be your guardian! I’ll make sure you have a blast, and I won’t let anyone mess with you! Plus, I have snacks!” She flashed a playful wink, making it hard to resist her chaotic charm. The thought of Misaki by your side filled you with excitement—she’d definitely keep things interesting.

Finally, there was Ronin. He watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker. “You know I’d make the best choice. I’d keep you on your toes, and you’d never get bored,” he teased, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Besides, who else would challenge you the way I do?” There was an undeniable allure in his confidence, even if he did come off as a bit of a jerk.

The room was silent as everyone awaited your decision. You took a deep breath, glancing from one person to the next, each offering their own unique promise of companionship and support.

After a moment of deliberation, you felt your heart race as you finally spoke up, ready to make your choice. “Alright, I’ve made my decision!”

If you choose V: “I think I’ll go with V. I could use someone steady and reliable.” The moment the words left your mouth, you saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he masked it with his usual cool demeanor.

If you choose Angel: “Angel, I’d love for you to look after me!” You grinned, and her face lit up with delight.

If you choose Misaki: “Misaki! I want you as my guardian!” You laughed at her excited squeal as she jumped up and down.

If you choose Ronin: “I’m going with Ronin. I think he’ll keep things... interesting.” A teasing smile spread across your face as Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your choice.

If you chose V:

V’s expression shifted slightly, his cool facade cracking just enough for a hint of a smile to appear. “Interesting choice,” he remarked, his voice steady. “Just remember, I’m not a hugger, and I prefer silence over chatter.” The others chuckled at his classic V-ness, but you could see the glint of approval in his eyes. “But if you need someone to help you focus or keep you out of trouble, I suppose I can manage.” He inclined his head slightly, making you feel like you’d made a wise decision.

If you chose Angel:

Angel squealed with delight, clapping her hands together. “Yay! I’m so excited!” She bounced on her toes, her enthusiasm lighting up the room. “We’re going to have so much fun! I’ll make sure you have everything you need—snacks, a cozy spot to hang out, and I’ll always be your biggest fan!” Her bright personality radiated warmth, and you couldn’t help but smile back at her infectious energy. It felt reassuring to know she’d be there to support you through the ups and downs of being in the band.

If you chose Misaki:

“YES! Finally, someone who knows how to have fun!” Misaki exclaimed, launching herself at you for a quick hug. “We’re going to make this band the wildest one ever!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled back and grabbed your hand. “Get ready for spontaneous dance parties and chaotic practice sessions! You’re gonna love it!” Her chaotic energy was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh, already picturing all the shenanigans that awaited you.

If you chose Ronin:

Ronin’s smirk widened, a glimmer of intrigue flickering in his eyes. “Oh? You want me to look after you?” he teased, leaning closer with a playful yet slightly sinister grin. “I hope you’re ready for a wild ride, then. I promise to make you tougher.” The others rolled their eyes, but you could feel the heat of his gaze. “Just remember, I don’t do hand-holding. You’ll have to keep up with me.” There was a strange mix of challenge and allure in his words, and you found yourself oddly excited at the prospect of navigating this complicated dynamic with him.

The banter continued, everyone began to settle into their roles, the energy in the room shifting from uncertainty to an electric thrill. It felt like a new chapter was opening, and you were eager to dive headfirst into this chaotic world filled with music, friendships, and the occasional drama.

“Welcome to Angelgothic, (Y/N),” Vince said, a proud smile on his face. “You’ve officially joined our crazy family.”

The acceptance from everyone made your heart swell with happiness.

part 2!

W-what you- k-killed somone?! You h-have blood?!

"Look, sweetheart, you see this crowbar? It’s got your name written all over it. You’re just a drummer, just like the last one. And trust me, he didn’t end well. So unless you want to end up just like him, keep your mouth shut. I’ve got no patience for some whiny emo loser ruining our lives. Got it?”

Congrats Y/n! You did join a hell-den!

If this post is good, I'll do a part 2! Until then!

[informalcrybaby]

One Condition (Travis Kelce x Reader) P.2

“I’m Travis by the way.” You could feel his warm breath as his low gravelly voice crested over your ear. He was so close, invading your space in the most exhilarating way. If you moved a fraction of an inch, your back would be pressed flush against him.

“Y/N,” You replied, trying desperately to keep your voice even.

“Well, Y/N,” He shifted slightly behind you, “I hope you have some kind of competitive spirit because I don’t like to lose, honey.”

You couldn’t stop your giggles as they fell from your lips. You grew up fighting for everything and anything you ever got. When it came to you, competitive was an understatement. You turned towards him, having to raise your chin significantly to meet his gaze.

“Try to keep up handsome,” You smiled a devilish smile as you spoke, “You look a bit too heavy to carry.”

His eyes blazed with a mixture of amusement and some other emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was caused an increasing amount of heat to gather between your thighs and you squirmed slightly to soothe the ache it left behind.

“Stop flirting you two!” Murphy’s booming voice broke through the haze Travis created, “You’re up Y/N.”

“Game on,” Travis chuckled, his big hands reaching out to give you a gentle nudge forward, “Show me what you’ve got pretty girl.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The game was down to one final throw, and you needed a fucking bullseye to win. You had gone shot for shot with Travis the entire game. He cheered you on with every hit you landed on the board and goddamn if that wasn’t doing something to you.

“Come on honey,” He cheered, clapping his hands together, “You got this!”

“Choke! Choke!” Murphy mocked from your side jokingly, but she was shot down quickly by Travis.

“Hell no peanut gallery, my girl is a badass, she’s got this on lock!”

You swelled with pride at his praise and decided there was no way in hell that you were going to lose. You let the dart fly without hesitation and before you could even register that it hit dead center, your legs were swept out from underneath you.

Travis had his arms tightly around you, squeezing your back to his front. His warm, mahogany scent invaded all your senses as he held you close. He turned you to face the losers and you joined him in rubbing in your joint victory.

“Ya’ll are sore winners!” Murphy exclaimed, “But I’ll still buy your next round.”

She turned on her heel and dragged her partner back towards the rest of Travis’s group. You expected Travis to let go but he didn’t. He set you back on your feet but kept his arms firmly wrapped around your middle. His fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach. You could feel him through the layers of clothes in between you and a shiver rippled down your spine.

“How about we skip those victory drinks and get fresh air instead, badass?” he asked as his index finger skimmed a bit lower.

You shifted backward into him, rubbing your ass slightly against what you were sure was his growing erection. He groaned, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips falling to the shell of your ear and giving it a gentle kiss.

“I have to let Murphy know where I’m going in case you turn out to be some kind of sexy murderer.” You joke, trying to cool the intense burn in your core.

He lets go and you gasp as he gives you a gentle tap on the ass, nudging you forward.

“Meet you outside, I promise to leave my chainsaw in the truck.” His lust-filled voice drives you forward, and you can't help but latch onto the bait he's cast.

"Leave the chainsaw," You call over your shoulder, sending him a playful wink, "But I can be talked into handcuffs."

[mariposa-writes]

Stressed - Travis Kelce

Travis Kelce x reader

Summary: Travis just wants to help you.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Trying to put more Travis fics out there, since there are barely any. This is my first time ever posting on here, please let me know what you think. Thanks and have a great day!

You sat at Travis's dining room table, looking over your stack of bills. It felt like they were never-ending, and it seemed like no mattered how much you worked there was never enough money.

You were constantly stressed, over everything. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd felt even slightly relaxed. The bills you received yesterday, were much higher than expected. Then you had to find time to work at your job while interning at KPMG, one of the top accounting firms. Not to mention you had 3 essays due soon along with multiple assignments. Plus Travis had some event he wanted you to attend, where you would officially be showing up as a couple.

You guys had decided to keep your relationship on the DL for the past year and managed to keep your relationship hidden from the public.

Travis placed a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You hadn't even noticed that he'd gotten home. "Hey, it's just me." He chuckled, finding your reaction funny. You got up out of your chair, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. "Sorry," you mumbled before cleaning up the mess you'd created on his dining room table.

You quickly hid the bills under some of your notes, not wanting Travis to know you were struggling. You knew Travis all too well, knowing he would want to do anything he could to help you, whether that meant paying off your student debt or paying all of your bills. Hell, he'd probably even higher someone to write your essay's for you if you asked.

You were his world, and he was willing to do anything to make your life easier.

You quickly shoved the papers into your backpack, "I'll get started on dinner. I didn't realize what time it was." You said, getting ready to head into the kitchen.

"Hey," Travis grabbed your wrist, leading you back to him. "What's wrong?"

You blinked a few times, "Nothing, everything's fine. Just tired." You plastered a smile on your face, trying to be convincing. His eyes narrowed, clearly not believing you.

He sighed, deciding to let it go. "Why don't I cook tonight." He suggested, "You can go take a relaxing bath or something."

"Are you sure?" You asked knowing Travis didn't normally cook, "I can help if you want?"

"Babe, don't worry, I actually can cook, believe it or not." He laughed slightly.

"Not," you mumbled. You'd guys been together for a little over a year, and he hardly ever cooked. If you didn't feel like cooking, then you'd guys either order in, or he'd have his private chef come cook up a meal.

He slapped your butt as you turned to walk away, "I heard that." You laughed before rushing up the stairs to take a shower.

You loved Travis's shower, especially when he was with you. Sadly he was cooking dinner, so you had to enjoy the waterfall shower alone. At least you got to make the water scolding hot when you were alone, Travis always accused you of trying to burn your skin off with how hot you liked the water.

After your shower you changed into one of his shirts, that went to mid thigh on you and threw on some shorts you had in the dresser Travis had gotten for you 6 months ago.

You ventured down stairs with a smile on your face, feeling slightly relaxed after your shower. You could also smell the food from down stairs and it surprisingly smelled delicious.

Your smile quickly left your face when you turned the corner and saw Travis standing over your bag, with papers in hand. "What are you looking at?" You asked, despite already knowing what he was looking at.

Travis dropped the papers on the table, "Why didn't tell me you were struggling to pay your bills? Is this why you've been so distant lately?" His words were unexpected, you didn't think you'd been distant lately. You always tried to be in the present when you were with him.

You snatched the papers up and shoved them back into your bag. "You had no right to look through my stuff." You seethed. You couldn't believe he actually went in your bag and looked through your personal belongs.

"Well, I feel like I have to cause you'll barely talk to me anymore." Travis threw his hands up, frustrated at the situation.

You walked to the kitchen and grabbed your keys from the counter. You hated fighting and all you could think about was getting out of there before it got worse. "I have homework, I need to go home and finish it." You stated, walking out of his front door and to your car.

"Y/n" He called, following you. You ignored him, opening you car door and getting in. He caught the door before you could slam it shut. "Babe, don't leave please. We can talk about this."

"Trav," you pleaded. "I don't wanna fight right now. I just wanna go home."

"Bab-" you interrupted him by closing the door, starting your car and backing out of the driveway. He stood there watching you the whole time.

_____

The next day you had gotten up and went to your classes. Travis had been texting you all day, but you weren't responding.

You didn't know what to say, you felt like Travis had invaded your private information. Travis was an open book, he would tell you anything you asked. But you were more closed off.

You didn't trust people as easily as him. Maybe, because of the way you grew up. You learned to be independent form a young age and your mom always taught you to never trust anyone.

This caused some issues between you and Travis, even if you didn't realize. Like the time he bought you a car because, he didn't want you driving your old beater that had trouble starting up during the winter.

He worried that it would break down and you'd get stranded somewhere. Well, you're still driving that car and Travis has a spare car parked in his garage since he refused to return it.

You walked up to your apartment, feeling even more tired than normal. You hadn't been home all day, after your classes ended at 2 you went to the place you're interning at and worked until 6, then you went to your other job and worked till close.

It was now 11:15 and when you opened your door, you didn't expect to see Travis sitting on your bed. His head snapped up when the door opened and you walked through. "Trav, what-"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have looked through your stuff. I don't wanna fight, I love you so much baby and it kills me when you're mad at me." He was now standing in front of you cupping your face with his hands. "I just want to make your life easier. You could've told me you were struggling. I would've helped you pay your bills."

You sighed, leaning into his hand. Travis loved physical contact, while you were the opposite. You hated hugging your friends, or anyone for that matter. But when it came to Travis you craved his touch. "That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you would want to pay for everything and fix it. I can handle it myself, I've been doing it for the past 22 years. "

"Just cause you have been doing it doesn't mean you still have too. I'm here now, you're not alone anymore." Tears started to well up in your eyes.

"But what happens when I become dependent on you, and you leave me" He tried to cut you off, to tell you that'd never happen but you kept going. "Trav, you have literal super models in your dm's. What if you wake up one day and realize you don't wanna be with me and you want to be with one of them." You were crying now, you'd never voiced these fears to Travis. He wiped every tear that fell away with his thumb. "Then I'm alone and I don't know how to function on my own anymore, because I'm so dependent on you."

"Babe, I'm never gonna leave you." He knew where these thoughts were coming from. "I'm not your father, I would never leave you because I thought I found something better."

"How do you know?"

"Because I already know that you're the best there is." He took your hand in his. "Babe, we fit together so well. You fit with my family so well. Jason and his family love you, my parents love you, and most importantly I love you. So I'm begging you to stop shutting me out. Turn to me when you need help."

"I love you too Kelce." He leaned down, his lips meeting yours. His tongue slipped between your lips, making you moan. You were certain that he was the best kisser in the world. This continued for a few minutes, you growing wetter by the minute.

"Move in with me." He said, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes widening, "and before you say no, just know that I've been thinking about this for a while. This isn't a split second decision."

Your mind told you no, but for once you decided to listen to your heart. "Yes." He smiled, before his lips meet yours again. He lead you over to your bed and you two had the best night of your life.