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vandme12 · 2 months ago

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𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝟭𝟬𝟬 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 - 𝗩𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗦𝗵𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗞𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 -( 1 )

Header made by @@kianasflowers

This is my first LONG PROJECT, so much ideas. I had to shorten

PROMPT : FALLING FOR YOU

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

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : You're a shrine keeper, One day you met a strange man with teeth like fangs, Which you thought belonged to the Tengu, There's so much about him. Will you lead into the gift he gives you? He opened the door, You always kept close. Following him is your wish

WORDS : 10947

"Stay still, sweet pea… I promise, I won’t take your life." His voice was a velvety whisper against your ear, his grip firm yet teasing as he held your trembling hand.

"Mm… Forgive me, darling, but I haven’t had a taste in quite some time," Ronin murmured, his lips hovering just above your skin. "It won’t take long… just a little sip." His hungry gaze followed the faint pulse beneath your throat, temptation darkening his black eyes.

"I'm afraid I must decline."

Before he could react, the world twisted—sky and earth flipping as he was thrown backward. Pain erupted along his shoulders, his back colliding hard against the ground. His head swam from the impact, but a sharp thrill curled through him.

Then, your voice, low and unwavering.

"Don't underestimate me… I’m far stronger than you think."

Ronin barely had a moment to react before your fist connected with his chest—a direct, clean strike infused with divine energy.

A sharp crack echoed through the night as he staggered back, breath hitching. Pain laced through his ribs, but his lips curled into a slow, almost blissful smile.

"Ah… That was divine," he purred, crimson eyes hazy as he gazed up at you. "Such strength… such beauty… Oh, darling, you’ve utterly ruined me."

His body swayed, legs giving out beneath him. As the world blurred at the edges, his last thought was that he had never seen anything so breathtaking as you, standing tall beneath the moonlight, fire in your eyes.

Then, with a dreamy sigh, Ronin collapsed, utterly smitten—and completely unconscious.

When he woke, the world was unfamiliar. The dim light flickered against wooden walls, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. This wasn’t the cold embrace of the night he knew—this was a room, warm and quiet.

Something was different.

Ronin’s sharp eyes flicked downward, his brow arching as he took in the strange garments draped over his body. Someone had changed his clothes. A thick futon cradled him, softer than he cared to admit.

Before he could dwell on it, the sliding door creaked open. The one who had thrown him down not long ago stepped inside, carrying a small wooden tray.

"You're awake." Their voice was steady, unreadable. "You should eat something."

Ronin leaned back against the futon, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. "You are offering me food?" His tone was smooth, teasing, but the person merely set the tray before him.

He eyed the simple meal with mild curiosity. A bowl of dark broth, pale vegetables floating within. A small pile of pickled greens. And a white, rounded shape.

"...What is this?" he mused aloud.

"Miso soup, pickles, and onigiri," they explained. "Haven’t you tried them before?"

Ronin let out a soft chuckle, his fangs catching the light. "You realize I intended to make you my meal… And yet, here you are, feeding me?" His voice dropped, slow and indulgent. "How unexpected."

They didn’t respond, only crossed their arms and waited.

A sigh left his lips. "Very well, if only to humor you."

He lifted the bowl to his lips, taking a small sip of the soup.

First, the saltiness hit his tongue. Then, something deeper, layered—earthy miso, a faint sweetness, an umami that lingered at the back of his throat. His brow furrowed slightly.

"It has a… complicated taste," he admitted, rolling the flavor over his tongue. "I can’t say if it’s pleasant or not."

His host exhaled, long-suffering. "You're rather rude."

Ronin smirked but took another sip, curiosity getting the better of him. The vegetables—soft, but with a crisp bite—were unlike anything he usually consumed.

He tried the rice ball next, following it with another mouthful of soup. This time, the flavors settled, the warmth of the broth spreading through him in a way he hadn't expected.

"...It’s actually delicious," he murmured, almost to himself.

A sharp voice cut through his musings.

"Hey. Were you even listening to me?"

Ronin licked a stray drop of broth from his lips, gaze flicking upward with lazy amusement.

"Ah, forgive me," he drawled, "I was rather… distracted."

"Are you a monster?"

The words left your lips before you could stop them, hanging heavy in the dimly lit room. Your fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles white against your robes.

Across from you, the man—no, the creature—tilted his head slightly, as if amused by your question. The remnants of his meal sat untouched before him, yet his crimson eyes remained fixed on you.

"Ronin," he said simply.

You hesitated. "…What?"

"My name," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Ronin."

"Ro…nin?" The unfamiliar name felt foreign on your tongue. "Are you… from another land?"

He only smiled.

You straightened, gathering your resolve. "I am Y/N L/N, a miko—a shrine keeper. This shrine is my responsibility."

Ronin exhaled, resting his chin against his hand, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. "A shrine keeper, hm? How quaint."

His words unsettled you, but you pressed on. "I asked if you were a monster."

His smile widened. "I wouldn’t know." He leaned forward, the candlelight casting his sharp features in shadow. "It’s been… a long time since anyone called me human."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"...I see. I thought as much," you muttered under your breath, unable to tear your gaze from his.

You had thought you were saving a lost man in the woods.

But you had invited a monster into the shrine.

"In general," Ronin continued, his voice a low hum, "people call me vampire."

"Vam…?" You frowned. "What is that?"

"Vampire," he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue with deliberate slowness.

You had never heard of such a thing. A creature from a foreign land, wandering into the sacred grounds of Sakaki Shrine?

The very thought unsettled you.

The Sakaki Shrine was once a sanctuary of divine power. The gods enshrined here—Amaterasu, the radiant goddess of the sun; Ame-no-Uzume, the bringer of dawn; and Izanagi, the father of creation—had long protected this place.

This shrine had been a refuge for those cast aside, for women seeking sanctuary from cruel families or spouses. In its golden age, it had flourished, a beacon of safety in the mountains.

But that time had passed.

As the people dwindled, so did the shrine's influence. Fewer came to worship, the grand ceremonies faded into memory, and the once-powerful barriers that protected these lands began to wane.

Then, your father—the last chief priest—had passed.

And with him, the last remnants of the shrine’s strength.

Now, the monsters grew bolder. Shadows moved where they shouldn’t. Whispers carried through the trees at night.

And now, he was here.

Ronin had found his way past the weakened barrier.

Which meant your power wasn’t enough.

"As I told you before..."

You keep your voice steady, though the weight in your chest feels unbearable.

You were born and raised in this shrine. The sacred grounds, the endless rituals, the flickering candlelight during prayers—this place has been your entire life.

But now, there’s an intruder.

A monster lounging before you as if he belongs here.

Your parents are gone. Your grandmother, once the head shrine keeper, retired years ago. Now, the responsibility falls to you alone. You’re the last line of defense for a shrine that is already crumbling, its power waning.

Becoming the chief priest should have been the answer, but your father’s will had made that clear:

"Get a spouse, let them take over the shrine."

Disappointment had been a dull ache in your chest ever since.

Your father had been old-fashioned, stubborn. He believed the shrine needed a man to lead it. And if you were to follow his wishes, you’d have to find someone soon.

Your grandmother, at least, had spared you from that fate—never forcing you to obey a dead man’s will. And so, you ignored the matchmaking photos that arrived with maddening regularity, stuffing them away as if that would erase the reality of your situation.

It didn’t change the truth.

It didn’t change the weakness you felt.

You know the rituals. You’ve memorized the prayers, the chants, the sacred dances meant to invoke divine protection. And when people come, asking for blessings, you deliver them with precision.

But the truth?

You’ve never felt it. Never once performed a ritual and known, with certainty, that it had worked. That you had power.

You’ve watched the monsters multiply in the forests surrounding the shrine. You’ve heard their whispers, felt their presence, but you could never see them, never touch them, never banish them.

You never told anyone.

But your father knew.

A sigh slips from your lips.

"Tch. Don’t sigh like that, shrinekeeper."

Your head snaps up. Ronin watches you with that ever-present smirk, fangs barely peeking past his lips.

"It’s because of you," you bite out.

You hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

But it’s true.

He’s here because of you. Because you weren’t strong enough. Because you let the shrine’s barrier weaken.

Because you let a devil waltz right through your sacred gates.

"Tell me something." Your voice is firm, even as you sit before something that shouldn’t exist. "What is a vampire? Are you like the tengu?"

Tengu were known creatures of the mountains—mischievous, yes, but they followed their own rules. If Ronin were tengu, then maybe, just maybe, he could be allowed to remain.

His laughter is low, rolling through the air like a storm on the horizon.

"Tengu? Oh, shrinekeeper… do I look like a bird to you?" He leans forward, the candlelight flickering against his sharp features. "I wouldn't know if we’re the same. But me? I'm immortal."

His fingers trace the rim of his empty soup bowl, slow, deliberate. His eyes never leave yours.

"I drink the blood of the living. The strong, the wicked, the desperate." His smile spreads, dangerous and dazzling all at once. "But above all? I have a preference, you see…"

The room feels smaller. The air thickens.

"I love the taste of beautiful people’s blood, Y/N."

Your breath catches.

"Beautiful?" The word tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

No one has ever said that to you before.

Ronin hums, as if considering something, before grinning like the Devil himself.

"Oh? Did I say something shocking?" He leans in further, voice a whisper of silk and sin. "You’re cute when you’re flustered, shrinekeeper. It’s almost a shame..."

His fingers brush against your wrist.

"...that I didn’t take a bite when I had the chance."

"Especially."

▷

Ronin’s fingers traced the delicate skin of your neck, his touch feather-light, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"These blood veins here… easy to sink my teeth into, darlin’."

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—your hand shot forward, aiming for his collar, ready to shove him away.

But Ronin was faster.

Before you could touch him, his hand closed around your wrist with effortless precision.

"Tch. Now, now—" His smirk widened as he tightened his grip just enough to make a point. "I won’t be tossed aside so easily, shrinekeeper."

▷

To a vampire, young blood was the richest feast.

And the young themselves? They were always the most valuable.

Yet, no matter where in the world, they were treated as lesser. Ignored. Discarded.

Ronin tilted his head, gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"Your martial arts aren’t bad, darlin’. You’ve got fire. But the second I grab hold of you…?" He leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "You’re still just a weak little thing."

His words stung, but not with malice.

"Don’t mistake me for the kind to spit on you for what you are." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "But don’t waste time regretting what you can’t do, either. Focus on what you can."

▷

"What I can do?"

The words escaped you before you realized you’d spoken them aloud.

Ronin’s grip loosened.

"Exactly." His voice curled around the syllables like a secret meant only for you. "Forget what’s expected of you—man, woman, shrinekeeper, prey. None of that matters. Just figure out what only you can do, darlin’."

And then, just as easily as he had captured you, he let you go.

▷

His smirk returned, easy, lazy, ever-dangerous.

"By the way—" He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wicked. "I’ve got one more thing to ask ya, shrinekeeper."

After Y/N explained the shrine’s history to Ronin, the sun was already dipping below the horizon by the time they returned to the house.

▷

Y/N suddenly halted.

Someone was standing in front of the building.

"Tch. A visitor?" Ronin drawled, tilting his head.

"It’s just a delivery. But you stand out too much. Can you hide yourself for a moment?"

"Oh? You wound me, darlin’." He placed a hand over his chest, as if genuinely offended. Then, with a low chuckle, he stepped back into the shadows, vanishing from sight. "Fine. I’ll play along."

Y/N approached the delivery man.

"Hello, L/N-san. Got a package for you."

Ronin could hear everything. His senses were sharper than any human’s—the rustling of fabric, the way the man’s breathing hitched slightly. And his heartbeat? Fast. Anxious.

Pathetic.

"B-by the way, L/N-san… do you, uh, like musical theatre? I—I have two tickets for a play and..."

"Oh! Osen from the sweet shop wanted to see that one!" Y/N replied without hesitation.

"Eh? Uh—yes, but—"

"She’ll be thrilled! You two enjoy the play together! And thanks for the delivery!"

Ronin almost laughed. Brutal.

The poor bastard barely had time to process the rejection before Y/N effectively sent him packing. The man hesitated, shoulders slumping, before walking away, dejected.

Only when he was completely out of sight did Ronin step forward, slow and deliberate.

▷

"Shrinekeeper."

Y/N turned.

"Did anyone see you?"

Ronin let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Then, without warning—

"L/N... what the hell was that?"*

▷

"Eh? W-what? What do you mean?"

"Oh, don’t play dumb with me, darlin’." His grin was wide, sharp, teasing. "That poor man was redder than a fresh kill. He was askin’ you on a date, and you—" he let out a low chuckle "—you shut him down so fast I thought his soul left his body."

Y/N blinked, genuinely confused.

"Eh? No way! That’s impossible!"

Ronin leaned in, lips curling at the corners.

"You really don’t get it, do ya?" He tsked, shaking his head. "That man was desperate to watch that play with you. But instead—" his smirk widened "—you handed him off like an unwanted offering."

Y/N fumbled for words, flustered.

"D-don’t say weird things..."

Ronin watched them carefully, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"Oh, shrinekeeper…" His voice dropped to something velvety, teasing, dangerous. "You really don’t notice when someone’s hungry for you, do ya?"

The night air was cool, the scent of old wood and fresh earth filling your lungs. You turned away from Ronin, your mind still buzzing from his teasing words.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, shaking your head. "I’m not beautiful. I’m just... a person."

Silence.

Then—

"Tch." A soft, amused scoff.

Before you could react, Ronin’s hand was beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

"And yet..." His voice was low, slow, deliberate. "You catch the eyes of men who don’t deserve you. You shine in the dark like a little ember, too stubborn to burn out. You fight battles that ain't yours to win, but you fight anyway." His thumb brushed lightly against your jaw. "And you tell me you’re just a person?"

Your breath hitched.

"You’re pretty, shrinekeeper." His crimson gaze locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the sharpness. "Might even be beautiful if you ever let yourself see it."

Your pulse quickened. You opened your mouth, but your voice was barely more than a whisper.

"What did you just say...?"

Ronin smirked. "Consider it a riddle, darlin’."

▷

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step back. "I don’t have time for riddles."

"Oh, but you got time to waste your life on a shrine that's rotting beneath your feet?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not—"

"Not what? Not the truth?" His tone was still playful, but there was an edge to it now. "You struggle to keep this place alive. You follow the will of a dead man who never saw you for what you are. Tell me, shrinekeeper—when’s the last time you made a choice? A real one?"

His words slithered into the cracks you tried so hard to ignore.

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Get a husband and let him take over the shrine.

Your hands curled into fists.

Ronin watched you, head tilting like he was examining something delicate, fragile. Then—

"You have the right to be free, y’know."

Your breath caught.

"Or have you really never considered it?"

The night air was cool, the scent of old wood and fresh earth filling your lungs. You turned away from Ronin, your mind still buzzing from his teasing words.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, shaking your head. "I’m not beautiful. I’m just... a person."

Silence.

Then—

"Tch." A soft, amused scoff.

Before you could react, Ronin’s hand was beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

Your breath hitched.

"You’re pretty, shrinekeeper." His crimson gaze locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the sharpness. "Might even be beautiful if you ever let yourself see it."

Your pulse quickened. You opened your mouth, but your voice was barely more than a whisper.

"What did you just say...?"

Ronin smirked. "Consider it a riddle, darlin’."

▷

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step back. "I don’t have time for riddles."

"Oh, but you got time to waste your life on a shrine that's rotting beneath your feet?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not—"

His words slithered into the cracks you tried so hard to ignore.

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Get a husband and let him take over the shrine.

Your hands curled into fists.

Ronin watched you, head tilting like he was examining something delicate, fragile. Then—

"You have the right to be free, y’know."

Your breath caught.

"Or have you really never considered it?"

The ornate box sat before you, heavy with expectations. A symbol of a future you never asked for. A future that wasn’t yours.

It was meant to speed up your marriage.

You hated it.

ব

Frustration burned beneath your skin, and before you knew it, you were outside, the cool breeze whispering against your face. The air carried the last chill of winter, a fleeting moment before spring's arrival.

You walked with no destination, only the need to escape.

But you weren’t alone.

"Tsk. It ain’t smart to wander in the dark all alone, shrinekeeper."

You stiffened at the voice behind you.

"I don’t care if a monster attacks me," you muttered, not stopping. "I can handle it."

A soft chuckle.

"Now that," Ronin mused, slipping into step beside you, "is a dangerous thing to say."

▷

The trees loomed around you, their shadows stretching long in the fading light.

"Before... I could see monsters." Your voice was quiet, like admitting it was a crime.

Ronin tilted his head. "There are monsters in front of you right now, darlin'." His grin was sharp, but there was something behind his eyes—something almost curious.

You ignored him, lost in memory.

The Tengu and fox spirits had once been your friends. Every day, you played together, laughing, running through these very woods. See you tomorrow! you would say. See you tomorrow!

Until your father found out.

Until he was furious.

You shouldn’t let monsters near this place. You shouldn’t become friends with them.

Then, one day, they were gone.

You thought your father had purified them.

But the truth was worse.

You had lost your power.

You couldn’t see them anymore. But they were still there. Watching. Waiting.

You had failed them.

Just as you were failing this shrine.

It was almost weeks now.

"This place… it won’t last past my father’s generation." The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Ronin said nothing. He just watched.

"Was I wrong?" Your voice cracked. "I can’t take over this shrine until I—" you swallowed hard "—until I marry someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t want."

Your hands curled into fists.

"If I had power—"

The words trembled.

"If I was born as someone stronger—"

Your throat tightened.

"Then I could protect this shrine on my own."

The weight of everything crashed down at once.

▷

"Why... why..."

Your breath hitched, shoulders shaking. You gritted your teeth, but the tears came anyway.

You hated this. Hated feeling weak.

"I can’t do this anymore."

And then—

Cool fingertips brushed your cheek. A touch so gentle it startled you.

You blinked up at Ronin.

His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light, unreadable, but his grip was firm as he pulled you against his chest.

"You said you wouldn’t attack me," you whispered.

He huffed a soft laugh.

"Don’t say that, darlin’."

His arms tightened around you.

Ronin’s embrace was colder than you expected, but solid—too real to be a dream. You didn’t push him away.

And worse?

You didn’t want to.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat before you could stop yourself, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking.

His breath ghosted against your ear, slow, deliberate.

"Y’know," he murmured, voice laced with amusement, "for someone who claims they don’t need anyone, you sure are holdin’ on tight."

You flinched, about to pull away, but his arms didn’t let you.

"Nah, uh-uh. Don’t run now. That’d be boring."

You could feel his smirk, the sharp edge of his voice cutting through the night like a blade.

"It’s funny, shrinekeeper. You cry about chains, but you’re the one lockin’ yourself up."

His grip loosened—just slightly. A test. A dare.

"Tell me somethin'." His voice dropped lower, slower, dripping with something dangerous. "Why do you gotta suffer just 'cause a dead man said so?"

Your throat tightened. "I—"

"Because it’s tradition?" He snorted. "Because it’s right? Pfft. Whose right? Yours?"

Silence.

You didn’t answer.

Ronin leaned in, his lips just beside your ear now.

"No. It ain't your right."

His words slithered through the cracks in your mind, slipping into places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"It was never your choice, darlin’. Just another leash wrapped ‘round your pretty little throat."

His fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him.

"And the worst part?" His grin widened. "You ain't even the one holdin’ it."

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t wrong.

That was the terrifying part.

You wanted to tell him he was twisting things, warping your thoughts like poison in a well.

But when you looked into those crimson eyes, burning with amusement, with curiosity—

You realized something.

He wasn’t twisting anything.

He was simply saying what had always been there.

"You’re scared." His voice was almost gentle now, but the sharpness never left. "Not of me. Not of monsters."

His lips curled.

"You’re scared of what happens if you take that leash off yourself."

He was playing with you.

But the worst part?

What he said made sense.

"Falling for a monster, huh?"

Ronin’s voice was thick with amusement, but there was something else beneath it—something darker, something knowing.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.

"Tsk, tsk. What have you become?"

His grin stretched wider, fangs glinting under the moonlight.

"A shrinekeeper tangled up in the Devil’s arms. Oh, darlin’, if your ancestors could see you now…"

You should pull away.

You should shove him back, say something righteous, something to wipe that smirk off his face.

But you don’t.

Because for the first time in your life—

You don’t feel weak.

You don’t feel like something waiting to be offered, waiting to be given away for the sake of a tradition that never saw you as more than a piece to be moved.

You feel wanted.

Not as a duty. Not as an obligation.

As you.

"Look at you," Ronin practically purrs, fingers brushing your pulse. "All torn up inside. You’re askin’ yourself, ‘is this wrong?’"

His lips ghost over your ear, and your breath hitches.

"Lemme answer that for ya, sweetheart—"

His hand slides down, resting over your own, pressing your fingers against his chest, against the steady, unnatural rhythm beneath.

"Of course it is."

His smirk deepens, but there’s something dangerous in his eyes now—something raw.

"But tell me… why does it feel so good?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, your pulse traitorously quick beneath his touch.

"What have you become?"

Ronin leans in, closer, closer—

...

You sighed, the weight of the evening settling on your shoulders. "It's late, Ronin. You should sleep."

For once, he didn’t have a sharp remark waiting. He just glanced away, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a moment before he muttered, "Yeah... guess I should."

Together, the two of you made your way back to the shrine. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—just different.

Inside, you busied yourself preparing the bedding, laying out the futon for him while pulling a simple mat onto the floor for yourself.

"You can sleep on the bed," you told him. "I’ll take the floor."

Ronin didn’t even acknowledge that statement before flopping onto the futon with a dramatic sigh.

"That’s cute, darlin’. Real cute." He patted the space beside him with a lazy smirk. "C’mon. I don’t bite... much."

You huffed, already turning to grab an extra pillow. "Fine. But only on one condition—"

"Oh, I love conditions," he mused, propping himself up on one elbow. "Do tell."

You tossed the pillow at him. "Pillow barrier."

Ronin blinked. And then—he laughed.

A full, genuine, slightly mad laugh, the kind that sent warmth curling through your chest before you could stop it.

"A pillow barrier, huh? Sure thing, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You slipped under the covers, keeping a respectable distance, still feeling shy despite yourself. You tried to fill the silence, talking about nonsense—old shrine stories, the way the seasons changed, how the moon looked tonight.

Ronin listened, humming in acknowledgment, his responses laced with teasing but... softer, somehow.

And then, somewhere between your rambling, he did it.

A kiss.

Right to the top of your head.

You froze.

Before you could even react, his arm slung lazily around you, his fingers absently tracing shapes against your sleeve.

"You talk too much," he murmured, voice low, amused.

You tried to find words—any words—but your thoughts had scattered into nothingness.

Ronin took full advantage of your silence, reaching over to lightly bop your nose with a chuckle.

"Finally shut you up, huh?"

Your face burned, your heart betraying you with its frantic rhythm.

And then—he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not teasing.

Just warm, lingering. Real.

And gods help you—

You liked it.

The warmth between you was unfamiliar. Strange.

Comforting.

You weren’t sure why, but for some reason, being close to him—this close—didn’t make you want to pull away. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation.

It was... something else.

"It’s comforting," you murmured, almost to yourself.

Your hand, as if acting on its own, moved to rest against his chest. Through the fabric, you could feel it—not the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of a human, but something different. Slow. Unnatural. Yet constant.

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, his gaze unreadable in the dim light.

Then, without a word, his fingers reached up and found the tie in your hair.

You should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Because you didn’t want to.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled it free, letting your hair spill down over your shoulders. His touch was light—never forceful. Never demanding.

Just there.

"That’s better," he murmured, more to himself than to you. His fingers brushed through the strands, idly toying with them as if testing their weight.

Your breath hitched.

This closeness, this attention—it made your pulse stutter, made something deep in your chest tighten.

It should have been overwhelming.

But instead—

Instead, you found yourself shifting.

Leaning in.

Your body moved on instinct, drawn toward him like a tide pulled by the moon. Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping just enough to feel the texture beneath your touch.

Ronin didn’t move. Didn’t pull you closer.

But he didn’t pull away, either.

He let you decide.

And gods help you—

You chose.

You pressed closer, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Your face found a resting place against his shoulder, and for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you allowed yourself to sink into it.

To feel held.

Ronin exhaled, a soft, almost amused sound. His arm tightened just slightly around you, fingers tracing lazy circles against your back.

"Pullin’ me in now, darlin’? Hah... funny how things turn out."

His voice was teasing, but there was something else there. Something softer.

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

For weeks, Ronin remained hidden within the shrine.

You kept him safe. He healed, slowly—but you couldn't ignore how, with time, he seemed weaker. His steps grew heavier, his voice a touch raspier, his once-sharp movements losing their usual precision.

And yet, he laughed in the face of it.

"Weak? Darlin’, I was weak the day I let you knock me on my ass. This? This is just me bein’… considerate."

Then he would drape himself against you, not quite clinging, not quite dependent, but there. Always. A fleeting brush of fingers against your wrist, an arm thrown lazily around your shoulders, his weight against your back when you sat by the shrine’s steps at night.

It was nothing.

And it was everything.

Strangely, Ronin wasn’t useless.

You expected him to do nothing but lounge in the shadows, teasing and toying with you as the days passed. And, well—he did do that. Constantly. But in between his infuriating grins and sharp-edged flirtations, he helped.

Not in the traditional sense—he wasn’t about to start sweeping the shrine or preparing offerings. No, his help was… different.

He could sense things.

He spoke of rot—of festering energy that clung to certain areas, invisible to your eyes but evident to him. Places of ill intent. Forgotten corners where something wrong had settled. You listened. You told the other shrines.

And with their help—your help—the land was cleansed.

People noticed.

They started whispering of miracles, of a Miko unlike any before. A force of purity, of divine guidance. They called you a blessing.

Ronin found it hilarious.

"Miracle Miko? Cute. Adorable, really." He grinned, sharp as ever. "You do all this cleanin’… but the rot’s still here, ain’t it?"

He tapped a finger against your forehead.

"Right there. Right where it’s always been."

You stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Ronin exhaled, his amusement slipping just slightly. His crimson eyes, always so playful, glinted with something deeper.

"You don’t spread the rot, darlin’." His voice was almost thoughtful. "You contain it."

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, watching you.

"You really don’t see it, do you?" A chuckle. "That’s the thing about you, sweetheart. Everyone else pretends the world is clean—ignores the filth, looks away from the darkness. But you?"

His fingers brushed your cheek, just briefly.

"You see the dirt, and you try to scrub it away."

A pause.

"But me?" His grin widened. "I just wanna play in it."

Something in your chest twisted.

The air was still that evening, save for the sound of distant, unfamiliar singing.

It wasn’t like the chants of your shrine, nor like the festival songs carried through the village on warm nights. It was... something else. Harmonious, but hollow. Something that had existed long before you, and would exist long after.

Ronin paused mid-laugh, head tilting, brows furrowing just slightly.

"That ain’t from around here, darlin’."

"I know."

You didn’t know why, but you both followed the sound.

It led you deep into the woods, where the air was colder, where the trees whispered secrets to one another, and the light barely touched the earth. There, nestled between gnarled roots and overgrown moss, was a burial site.

A forgotten grave.

You stopped at the sight of it.

Ronin, however, didn’t move.

His grin had faded. His body was still. His crimson eyes—so often alight with amusement, mischief, or hunger—were empty.

And then you saw it.

A statue, weeping, hands covering its face, frozen in sorrow.

And beneath its shadow, a dark face.

A smile.

It wasn’t carved from stone. It wasn’t part of the burial. It was watching.

You inhaled sharply.

"What is this?"

Ronin didn’t answer at first. He exhaled slowly, then chuckled—low, dry. A laugh with no joy.

"Something from my culture."

You turned to him, confused. His expression was unreadable, his body loose, but dark.

"You’re laughing."

"‘Course I am." His voice was smooth, but something in it was... off. "The irony’s just too good, sweetheart."

"Irony?"

He finally looked at you, the glow in his eyes dim.

"Took me hundreds of years to see somethin’ like this again. Ain’t that funny?"

You didn’t know if he was actually laughing or if he just wanted to be.

And for the first time since you met him, Ronin looked... tired.

You stepped closer to him, hesitant but unwilling to let the moment slip away.

"What... happened?"

Ronin didn't answer at first. His head tilted slightly, eyes flicking back to the weeping angel, then to the dark face beneath it. His fingers twitched at his side, as if they wanted to curl into fists, but he only exhaled sharply through his nose.

Then, he laughed.

It was hollow. Bitter. Not the usual amused, teasing chuckle that often left his lips. This was different.

"Ah... they're gone."

Your chest tightened at the way he said it. Like a joke only he understood, like a wound reopened after centuries.

"Because of this bullshit."

His voice was like gravel. Rough, biting.

Then, as if catching himself, Ronin rolled his shoulders back, forcing his expression into something lighter. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his teeth, shaking his head as if it didn’t matter. As if it was nothing at all.

"Tch. Forget it, darlin’."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his jaw before cupping his face gently.

"Ronin."

He tensed.

You searched his face, trying to find whatever he was burying. His eyes flickered—just for a moment—before he pulled away, stepping back, putting space between you.

"It's nothing."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the statue and the whispering trees.

But as you turned back toward the weeping angel, something in your chest stirred.

It wasn’t just a statue.

It meant something.

And it had everything to do with him.

The walk back to the shrine was quiet. Not the kind of silence that felt empty, but something heavier—like unspoken words lingering in the air between you.

Ronin kept his head down, hands in his pockets, shadows clinging to his figure as the trees parted for the shrine’s lantern light. He didn’t look at you, not once, but you could feel his presence more than ever.

When you reached the entrance, just as you were about to step inside, he moved.

Arms wrapped around you.

Strong. Firm. Desperate in a way that didn’t quite match his usual demeanor.

You froze for a moment, your body tensing against his.

"Ronin...?"

His grip tightened just slightly.

"I don’t know," he muttered, his voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "I just... want to. I need to."

Something in your chest ached.

You didn’t hesitate this time. Your arms lifted, circling around him as you pressed into the warmth of his body.

For once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t tease.

He just held you.

The night was still. No wind, no rustling trees, no distant voices from the village. Just the two of you standing there, wrapped in the kind of closeness neither of you had ever really known before.

Then, after a while, he finally spoke again.

"Just be yourself, darlin’."

His voice was steady, but there was something behind it—something raw, something real.

"Be true to yourself."

Then, a pause.

"Little miracle shrine keeper."

The way he said it wasn’t mocking, wasn’t playful. It was... warm.

Like he meant it.

The next few days were… difficult.

Ronin wasn’t himself.

He didn’t complain, didn’t joke, didn’t even try to tease you. He just—existed. Weak and quiet, draped across the futon like a ghost of himself.

You had seen him tired before, seen him injured, but this was different. This was suffering.

And the worst part? He laughed about it.

"You’re lookin’ at me like I’m dyin’, darlin’." His voice was hoarse, low, as he rested an arm over his forehead. "Tch. If I could die, I woulda done it a long time ago."

"Don’t say that," you muttered, adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead.

"Why not? It’s funny." He chuckled, but it lacked any real mirth. "Hell, I bet it’d be a sight. The Devil himself, finally kicked the bucket in some shrine of all places. Irony, huh?"

You didn’t laugh.

He must have noticed the way your hands trembled when you pulled back, because his red eyes flickered to you, something unreadable in his gaze.

Ronin had never been gentle—not really. But now, when he lifted a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, it was almost too soft.

"Hey."

"What?" You didn’t look at him.

"You’re scared."

"No, I’m not."

"Liar."

Silence.

Then, he sighed, turning his head away.

"Y’know, I could just take what I need. Wouldn’t even be hard. Wouldn’t hurt you too bad, either."

You swallowed hard. "You don’t have to."

He laughed again, but this time, it was bitter.

"Tch. Don’t have to, huh? That’s rich."

Still, he didn’t push. Didn’t bare his fangs or corner you. He just laid there, pale and exhausted, his body growing weaker by the day.

And yet, he never brought it up again.

Never begged, never threatened.

He didn’t even hunt.

Not because he couldn’t, but because he knew it would scare you.

And for some reason, that mattered more.

You weren’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

But one thing was certain—if he didn’t do something soon, he would waste away.

And that terrified you more than anything.

It happened just before dusk.

A shadow flickered above you, too large for a normal bat, its wings beating soundlessly against the sky.

You barely had time to react before something fluttered down—a scroll, old and worn, landing at your feet.

Your gut twisted as you picked it up, unrolling the brittle paper.

"Make the vampire sleep… before the red moon."

Your blood ran cold.

You knew exactly who they were talking about.

Without thinking, you turned on your heel and ran, feet barely touching the ground as you sprinted back to the shrine.

Ronin was exactly where you left him, sprawled across the futon, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He barely stirred as you dropped to your knees beside him.

"Ronin—" You held up the scroll, chest heaving. "I found this outside. Someone dropped it. It’s about you."

He glanced at the paper, unimpressed. Then, slowly, his lips curled into something resembling a smirk.

"Hah. ‘Make the vampire sleep’? Sounds poetic." He yawned, stretching out like a lazy cat. "And? What about it?"

"Ronin, this isn’t funny." Your grip on the scroll tightened. "They’re talking about you. Someone’s after you."

"Yeah? And?" His crimson gaze flickered to you, lazy but sharp. "You worried about me, darlin’?"

"Of course I am!"

Silence.

Something unreadable passed through his expression. Then, he exhaled through his nose, amused but… tired.

"Tch. Cute."

You expected him to say more, but instead, he shifted, swinging his legs off the futon.

"Welp, guess I better get going then."

You stared. "What?"

"You heard me." He rolled his shoulders, standing up with all the grace of a man completely unbothered by impending doom. "Been cooped up here too long anyway. If someone’s got a problem with me, they can come and say it to my face."

He turned toward the door.

You felt something in your chest twist.

"You’re just… leaving? Like that?"

"Mhm."

"Ronin—" You reached for him. "You can’t just—"

"Can’t what?" He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. "Die? Already tried that, sweetheart. Didn’t take."

Your stomach churned.

"That’s not—Ronin, please."

He paused.

For a second, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d reconsider. That he’d stay. That he’d listen.

But then he just chuckled, ruffling your hair in that infuriating way of his.

"Relax, little shrine keeper." His voice dropped lower, quieter. "I won’t go far. Just gotta stretch my legs a bit."

Your fingers clenched.

Something about this felt wrong.

You knew Ronin played things off, made light of everything, but this… this was different.

There was something in his voice, something in the way he was forcing that smirk.

Like he already knew how this would end.

Ronin had promised he’d be back.

"I’m just hungry, darlin’. That’s all," he had said, ruffling your hair before slipping into the night.

But by afternoon, he still wasn’t back.

By evening, there was screaming.

You ran toward the sound, heart pounding against your ribs. The air smelled of iron, thick and suffocating. And when you reached the clearing—

Your breath caught.

It was a mess of red.

A body—no, what was left of a body—was sprawled across the ground, twisted into something that might’ve once been a person but was now nothing more than a grotesque art piece.

And in the center of it stood him.

Ronin.

His lips were stained red, his fangs bared in a sharp, delighted grin. He licked the blood off his fingers like a man savoring the last bite of a meal.

Beside you, a woman stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.

You turned to her. She was unharmed.

Ronin noticed your stare. He tilted his head, crimson eyes gleaming. "Oh, her?" He gestured lazily toward the trembling woman. "She’s fine. Not my type."

You swallowed. "What happened?"

Ronin stretched, rolling his neck with a satisfied sigh. "This guy was being a bastard, so I showed him a side of me he wasn’t ready for."

You looked down at the remains. It was brutal. It was excessive. But…

You exhaled, glancing back at the terrified woman. She was still alive.

Carefully, you reached for her, guiding her away from the carnage.

"Come with me. It’s okay."

She hesitated but let you take her to the shrine. You helped her clean up, gave her something warm to drink. But despite your efforts, she bolted the second she had the strength, running off into the night without looking back.

You didn’t blame her.

Later, when Ronin returned, he expected anger.

Expected you to yell, to curse, to finally call him the monster he knew he was.

But instead, you just sighed.

"I’m not mad."

He blinked. "You’re not?"

"No." You met his gaze, steady. "Because it’s in your nature. If I asked you to stop being like that, it wouldn’t be true to who you are."

Ronin stared at you.

His smirk twitched, but his fingers flexed, like he didn’t know whether to grab you or push you away.

"So that’s it?" he muttered. "You’re just… fine with it?"

"No. But I understand." You exhaled. "I just need to know… are you full?"

Silence.

Then—

Ronin laughed.

Ronin was getting weaker.

It wasn’t just the occasional stumble or the way he leaned on you more than usual. It was in his eyes—the sharp gleam dulled, the endless energy dimmed.

He still smirked, still laughed, still teased. But now, his voice was quieter.

And that scared you.

You found him slumped on the shrine steps one evening, head tilted back, staring up at the darkening sky. His usual easy sprawl looked heavier, like even gravity was pressing down on him.

"You need to rest," you said, kneeling beside him. "You’re getting worse."

He scoffed. "Tch. What, you worried about me, darlin’?"

You didn’t answer.

Because yes, you were.

Ronin dragged a hand down his face, sighing. "Fine. I’ll sleep." He shot you a lopsided grin. "Like a date with death, huh?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not funny."

"Sure it is." His grin widened. "‘Cause if I sleep now, I won’t wake up for another hundred years."

Your breath hitched.

"What?"

"Y’heard me." He flicked your forehead, smirking at your stunned expression. "Ain’t that tragic? I’ll stick around until your little mortal ass kicks the bucket. Then it’s lights out for me."

The weight of his words hit like a stone to the chest.

Your hands curled into fists.

"So what, that’s it?" Your voice wavered. "You’re just going to sit here and let yourself waste away?"

"‘Course not." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Not yet, anyway."

And that—that—made something in you break.

You didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know how to fix this.

All you knew was that the thought of losing him—truly losing him—felt worse than anything.

The shrine was quiet that night.

The kind of quiet that presses down on you, heavy, thick—like the whole world is holding its breath. Like even the spirits that roamed these lands knew something was ending.

You sat beside Ronin’s resting place, watching him as he lay still, barely breathing. He looked so different like this. Always moving, always teasing, always smirking—now silent, motionless.

It felt unnatural.

But it had to be done.

You had decided.

Ronin had to sleep.

And it had to be you who ensured it.

You had spent the past few days preparing, carving out a hidden place within the shrine, somewhere safe, somewhere sacred. You placed talismans at every corner, protective wards woven into the very air. No one would find him. No one would harm him.

He would be safe.

For a hundred years.

And by then—

You swallowed, staring down at the crumpled paper in your hands.

It wasn’t even a proper letter. Just messy ink strokes, emotions spilled onto parchment in an attempt to untangle what sat so heavy in your chest.

"I don’t want this to be goodbye."

"But it has to be, right?"

"I don’t even know why I’m writing this. You’ll never see it. You’ll never read it. But if I don’t get these words out of me, they’ll rot inside."

"You always said first love never ends well. I guess I should have listened."

You sniffed, wiping your face before the tears could fall onto the ink.

"I don’t know what happened to you, Ronin. But I know you hate them—the ones who follow crosses and kneel in stone halls. I read about them. I tried to understand. But I know whatever they did to you, it broke something inside."

"And I hate them for that. Because now I know what it’s like to love you. And now I know what it’s like to lose you."

Your grip tightened.

"You told me once that everything we love gets taken away. That love is cruel. That it ends in betrayal, in suffering, in rot."

"I don’t believe that."

"I won’t believe that."

"Because I love you, and I don’t care if that’s foolish. Even if this love is doomed from the start, even if you sleep for a hundred years and wake up never remembering my name, even if this was all just a fleeting thing—"

"It was real."

"It was real for me."

You let out a shuddering breath.

"But it doesn’t matter now, does it?"

"You’ll sleep. I’ll live. And someday, I’ll die."

"And that will be the end of it."

You stared at the ink-stained page, blurred where your tears had fallen.

Then, slowly, you crumpled it.

It didn’t matter if you wrote it.

It didn’t matter if your hands ached from holding onto something you could never keep.

Because in the end, love was love.

And this love—yours—was meant to be buried.

Ronin stood at the edge of the shrine grounds, his back to you, his coat shifting with the breeze. He hadn’t turned when you approached, but you knew he heard you. He always did.

"You should sleep."

He chuckled. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true."

He finally looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Nah, I’ll be fine. Just gotta step out for a bit. Stretch my legs."

You frowned. You knew what that meant. He was weak. You could see it. The way he leaned against the shrine gate just a little too much, the way his voice had lost that sharp playfulness. He needed to rest. But he refused.

Ronin turned fully, reaching out and flicking your forehead with a smirk. "Don’t make that face, darlin’. I’ll be back before you know it."

Then, before you could react, he pressed a kiss to your hair. Light. Fleeting.

And then he turned to leave.

You grabbed his wrist.

"Ronin."

He stopped.

"You have to rest."

"Do I?" He tilted his head, amused. "Has to is a strong word."

You stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "You can barely stand. If you don’t stop now, you’ll just keep getting weaker."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on—"

"Please."

The word left you before you could stop it.

That caught his attention. His smirk faded. His brows furrowed slightly as he finally looked at you. And that was when he saw it.

The tears.

His whole body went still.

"...Shit." His voice was quieter now, a little unsure. "Hey, don’t—"

"You have to sleep," you said again, gripping his wrist tighter. "I— I prepared a place for you."

That made him pause.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Inside the shrine. It’s hidden. No one will find you. No one will hurt you."

He was staring at you now, something unreadable in his expression.

"...You planned this?"

You nodded.

"You knew I’d be stubborn about it?"

Another nod.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "I should be mad at you."

"You should be grateful."

That made him snort. "You are somethin’ else, you know that?"

"I know."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, his amusement faded, and something else crept into his eyes.

Something heavy. Something tired.

"...You really want me to stay?"

"Yes."

A beat of silence. Then—

"...Alright, darlin’."

The fight drained out of him. His shoulders slumped, his weight leaning slightly into yours. You didn’t realize how much tension he had been holding in his body until now, until he let you carry some of it.

"...Lead the way."

You nodded, tightening your grip on his wrist, guiding him back toward the shrine.

When you reached the hidden space, you hesitated.

"You’ll be safe here." Your voice was quieter now. "No one will find you."

Ronin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Yeah... guess it’s not the worst idea you’ve had."

You nudged him lightly. "I don’t have bad ideas."

He huffed a soft laugh. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, pulling you into a loose embrace.

You blinked. "...What—?"

"Just... let me have this, alright?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, then slowly wrapped your arms around him too.

He held you there for a long time.

Just breathing.

Just existing.

Ronin held your hand gently, his fingers tracing along your palm like he was memorizing every detail. His touch was cool, but it didn’t make you shiver—not anymore. You’d gotten used to the way his presence lingered, like a shadow you never wanted to be rid of.

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the tip of your finger. A small, quiet gesture.

Then, before you could say anything, he bit down on your ring finger.

You gasped softly, more in surprise than pain. His fangs didn’t sink deep—just enough for the pressure to linger, for the act itself to mean something.

When he pulled back, he smirked at the little red mark left behind. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something deep and dangerous. "There," he murmured. "Something to remember me by."

Your chest tightened.

Tears welled up before you could stop them.

"...Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For coming into my life."

His expression flickered. Just for a second.

Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. "Even though I sucked your blood?"

You let out a weak laugh, wiping your tears away. "Especially because you sucked my blood."

Ronin grinned. "Gotta admit, darlin’... I didn’t think you’d be so sentimental."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You rolled your eyes, sniffling, and he just laughed again—soft, quiet, real.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t look like a man ready to disappear. He just looked like himself.

Ronin had been asleep for days now, his chest barely rising and falling, his face eerily peaceful.

You cleaned his face every morning, ran your fingers through his hair, even whispered to him when no one was around.

"You look cute when you're asleep," you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "You'd probably kill me if you heard that, huh?"

He didn't answer. He never would—not for a long time.

Then came the voices outside.

Loud. Angry.

You heard them before you saw them, their footsteps heavy, purposeful. A pit formed in your stomach as you rushed outside, heart pounding.

And there they were.

Torches. Rope. Men and women you recognized—people from the village.

People who had once called you Miracle Shrine Keeper.

And at the front of them all… her.

The woman Ronin had saved.

"What's going on?" Your voice was steady, but your fingers trembled.

"You know what's going on," one of the men spat. "That thing—that monster—is here. And you’ve been hiding him."

You swallowed hard. "He's not a threat—"

"Not a threat?" The woman scoffed. "Shame on you. He killed a man!"

"He saved you!" you shot back.

She faltered. Just for a second.

But it wasn’t enough.

The people around her tightened their grips on their torches. Their hatred burned hotter than the fire they carried.

"We're burning this shrine down," someone declared. "That monster won’t wake again."

Your blood ran cold.

"No," you whispered.

They stepped closer.

You slammed the shrine doors shut.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you locked it, pressing your back against the wood.

They were going to burn it down.

Burn him down.

And suddenly… you understood.

This wasn’t about Ronin.

It had never been about Ronin.

It was about you.

A shrine keeper who didn’t follow the rules.

A person who refused to be what they wanted.

You were no longer a "miracle." You were a stain.

And stains had to be cleansed.

Outside, the crowd roared.

Inside, Ronin slept on, completely unaware that the world was ready to erase him.

He was right about this world, Everything you believed crumbled.

You held the crumpled letter in your hands, the ink smudged from the tears that had fallen onto it. The letter you had never sent. The words that would never reach him.

Outside, the crowd still raged, their voices sharp as blades, their hatred thick like the smoke they were ready to summon.

You could hear them stacking wood.

They’re going to burn this place down.

You pressed the letter against your chest, your breath shuddering. Your father’s shrine. The place you had been forced to protect, tied to it by a fate you never chose.

But for once—just once—you made a choice.

And that choice was him.

You turned back toward the room where Ronin lay.

His body was still, his breath slow. He looked more like a corpse than a sleeping man, but his presence was there. The same presence that had wrapped around you like a shadow since the day you met.

You walked toward him, slow and quiet, as if he could wake any moment.

And you wanted him to.

You desperately wanted him to.

"Ronin…"

Your voice cracked.

Nothing.

You swallowed hard, then lay down beside him, curling up close. The way you had done before, when he was still awake—when he was still able to tease you, flick your forehead, drape himself over you just because he could.

Now, he couldn’t even hold you back.

Your arms wrapped around him as you buried your face into his chest.

"It feels nice," you whispered, voice shaking. "Making a decision on my own. This shrine… it was never my dream. It was never my wish. It was just something my father gave me. Something I carried because I thought I had to."

Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking into his clothes.

"But you… you were mine."

You clung to him, shaking.

"I don’t care about this shrine. I don’t care if it burns. Let it burn. Let it disappear."

You gritted your teeth.

"Just… let me have you."

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply.

His scent was still there. Something dark, something sharp. A mix of dried blood, incense, and something that was uniquely him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt.

"In the next life," you whispered. "Can we meet again?"

You squeezed your eyes shut.

"Can we love again?"

Your lips brushed against his collarbone, trembling.

"Please... torment me with that devilish smirk of yours again."

A broken laugh slipped from your throat.

"Ha... I hate that stupid smirk."

Memories of it flashed in your mind—his sharp, knowing grin. The one that always meant trouble. The one that always made your heart race.

Ronin—who never cared about rules, who laughed in the face of death, who saw the world for the broken thing it was and decided to break it more.

Ronin—who touched you like you belonged to him, who held you just to remind himself you were real, who spoke in riddles but never lied.

Ronin—who was yours.

A sob tore through you.

You pressed your forehead against his chest.

"I don’t want to say goodbye."

The shrine creaked.

You ignored it.

The shouting outside grew louder.

You ignored it.

The world was falling apart.

But you didn’t care.

All that mattered was the boy in your arms—the boy who should have never belonged in this shrine, in this world, in your life…

And yet somehow, he did.

You held him closer, your breath unsteady.

"Even if you never wake up… even if I grow old and die before you open your eyes again…"

You swallowed back another sob.

"I will wait for you."

The shrine walls trembled with the weight of voices outside.

The scent of burning wood crept through the cracks.

And yet, inside, it was quiet.

You sat beside Ronin, your hand resting lightly against his cold skin. His chest barely rose, his breath shallow. He hadn’t moved in days, locked in that deep slumber—the kind that wasn’t sleep, not really. It was something heavier, something closer to death.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"Ronin…"

Nothing.

Of course, nothing.

You swallowed, your throat dry.

And then, you sang.

It was an old miko song—one you had learned as a child, meant for the gods, meant to bring peace.

"The river flows, the mountain stands…"

The words felt strange on your tongue. They were meant for something pure, something holy. Not for him.

Not for the Devil.

"The stars will shine, the dawn will come…"

The crackle of torches outside grew louder.

"And even if the night is long…"

You gritted your teeth.

"I will wait… I will wait…"

Your voice trembled, but you kept going.

Your fingers brushed against his cheek, against his jaw—sharp as ever, but softer like this, at rest.

Ronin.

The monster, the killer, the butcher.

The Devil.

Your Devil.

He had told you once—everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of pain.

You hadn’t understood then.

You understood now.

Ronin never pretended to be anything else. He was murder and madness wrapped in a grin, in teasing words and blood-stained hands. He was a storm, and you had walked straight into him.

And now, you were drowning.

Your voice cracked.

"The wind may howl, the waves may break…"

Your fingers curled into his hair, and you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his.

"But I will wait… I will wait…"

A slow, shuddering breath left your lips.

"…so come back to me."

The last note hung in the air.

Then, silence.

A tear slipped down your cheek, landing softly on his.

His face was still, unchanged.

You pulled back just enough to see him.

His lips were slightly parted. His lashes barely fluttered.

Was he dreaming? Could he dream?

If he did, what did he see?

You pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

No heartbeat. No warmth.

And yet—he was still here.

You closed your eyes.

"First love never ends well."

That’s what he had told you once, smirking, his voice dripping with that cruel amusement of his.

Had it been his own love that ended in ruin? Had he been the one left behind?

You wished you could ask him.

You wished he could answer.

You wished—God, you wished.

The voices outside grew louder.

"She’s bewitched by that thing!"

"Burn it down!"

"Burn them both!"

You clenched your fists.

They would not touch him.

You would make sure of that.

Even if it meant everything else burned first.

You laid down beside him, your arm draping over his waist.

"In the next life…" you whispered, lips brushing against his skin.

"Can we meet again?"

"Can we love again?"

"Please…" you let out a broken laugh. "Torment me again with that devilish smirk of yours."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding him close.

The fire had spread.

You could hear it—wood cracking, voices shouting, the distant roar of flames consuming everything in their path.

And yet, inside this small, hidden chamber of the shrine, there was nothing but quiet.

Nothing but him.

Nothing but you.

Ronin hadn’t stirred. His breathing was shallow, his face so still it almost hurt to look at. You traced a slow line down his cheek, across his jaw—sharp as ever, even now.

The firelight flickered against the walls, creeping closer.

Shh… it’s peaceful here.

A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips.

How fitting, really.

He had come into your life in the dead of night, all sharp teeth and sharper words, whispering temptation in your ear.

And now, as everything burned, he would leave you in the same way.

Your grip on his shirt tightened.

You had known, hadn’t you?

From the moment you met him, from the first time he smirked at you with that impossible mix of amusement and something deeper, something dangerous.

You had known he was going to ruin you.

You just hadn’t expected to let him.

You pressed your forehead against his.

"First love never ends well," he had told you once, laughter in his voice.

It hadn’t meant much then.

It meant everything now.

The fire was closer. You could feel it.

Heat licking at the walls. Smoke curling through the cracks.

The people outside were still shouting.

"Burn it down!"

"Burn them both!"

Your fingers trembled.

You had never belonged here.

Not to the shrine. Not to its traditions.

You had tried—God, you had tried—to be what your father wanted. To be what the shrine needed.

But it was never your choice.

This?

This was your choice.

You curled against Ronin, pressing yourself into the curve of his body, letting his cold seep into you.

"Shh," you whispered. "It’s peaceful here."

You let your eyes close.

And for the first time in your life…

You felt free.

The fire raged outside, swallowing the shrine whole.

But inside the hidden chamber, nestled in the darkness, untouched by the flames—

A vampire slept.

And in his arms, a shrine keeper dreamed.

Small Song, I wrote for the Prompt! Falling for You based on this fanfic!

The wind calls your name, but you never stay A shadow that dances, a ghost in the gray You laugh like the night, with stars in your eyes But I see the sorrow you try to disguise

Falling for you, like the leaves in the breeze Drawn to your fire, though it burns me with ease Even in darkness, I still see your light Even in silence, I know you're alive

The world calls you monster, but I call you mine A sinner, a devil, yet somehow divine Your hands paint in red, but they tremble with truth Your voice is a weapon, yet soft in my youth

Falling for you, like the rain in the sea Lost in the storm, but you’re guiding me free Even in bloodshed, I still hear your name Even in endings, you’ll call me the same

If you must slumber, then dream me tonight Let me be warmth when you wake in the light And if I must burn just to keep you alive Then light me like candles and hold me in time

Falling for you… falling for you… Though the world calls it madness… I call it the truth.

Present Day: A Dream or a Curse?

The dream came again.

Smoke. Heat. A voice calling your name, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t wake up. Couldn’t remember—

Then your phone rang.

You bolted upright, heart slamming against your ribs, fingers fumbling to grab it. The name on the screen made your stomach twist.

Ronin.

Your breath hitched.

“…Hah?”

You barely had time to process before the call connected, and his voice—smooth, teasing, dripping with that goddamn amusement—filled your ears.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

You nearly threw your phone across the room.